for the Porsche enthusiast

His life was like a race with every lap flat-out
By Ted Dahlke

Hello Anke,

Perhaps you remember me, "Ted Dahlke"

I had an early Porsche in my shop today with Vasek Polak frames on the plates and one of my mechanics was going about dutifully removing them to put our plates on. I stopped him of course. I had to explain to the young wiper-snapper who Mr. Polak was (believe it or not), after going to vpracing.com to show him some pictures. I thought I'd submit this story for your consideration and perhaps it might be added to the visitors page.

I enjoyed reading some of the other letters like some sort of class reunion of former employees of "Mr. Polak".

Regards

Ted Dahlke
RAGS Private Auto Club LLC

Mr Polak was already in his eighties by the time I arrived at “VASEK POLAK PORSCHE” where I worked for him about five years in the early nineties. It was not uncommon that the unwary underestimated the old gentlemen to their peril. Many times did He distractedly totter through the service drive from the parking lot, usually unnoticed and for all appearances noticing little. But then something or someone out of place or out of line would catch his eye and it became instantly obvious as he roared to life, that he noticed everything.

He was tough, no doubt, but he truly liked people, and he could see through insincerity like a human x-ray. I learned over the years that if he was yelling at you it was because he liked you, it was when he was yelling about you to someone else it was time to pack up your tools.

A favorite memory of Mr. Polak is the time I had just started the engine of an early “nine eleven” after a tune-up. The distinctive rip of the open throated carburetors and blaring concussion of the exhaust must have called to him… I looked up just in time to see the octogenarian leaning into his stride as he tore down the back stars from the showroom with a gleaming grin. He hastily tucked his tie into his shirt front as he jokingly shouldered all six foot two of me out of the way. I watched as he grabbed throttle linkage and started revving the thing like he was showing me how! Running his hands over the carbs as they screamed and popped, briefly covering the intake horns force feeding fuel to a couple errant cylinders, he listened intently with the biggest smile. Finally satisfied with his examination he snatched a shop towel to wipe his now grimy hands as he’d probably done a million times before. He then turned to me excitedly saying “You, you, You be good boy, make one size bigger fuel jets, one size smaller on air. Then call mine office. I check for you again”. After that he sprung back up the stairs like he just won the big race.

His life was like a race with every lap flat-out. His passion inspired me… His focus instructed me… He was truly one of a kind having and known him, my life is enriched.

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West Linn, OR
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