PDLJMPR's Sprite Hall of Fame

Mom....can I keep it? It's soooo cute and it won't eat much....
by Amy Turner

Key to photos:
Above - A beauty shot of my car, from its very first show, the Dogwood Arts Festival Car Show in Knoxville. I had the opportunity to have a bikini model pose with the car, but I passed it up. Rats! Now I wish I had it. I could have told people that the blonde bombshell was me.
1. A fat-bottomed Bugeye
2. Wooden dash, customized with some badges I'd like to remove, but not until I'm ready to refinish the whole dash. That's a tweeter at the right end of the dash, and there's a matching one on the left end. The midrange speakers are in the doors, pointing right at the driver's and passenger's knees. Not an ideal placement, but it's not like you have much choice with this car!
3. Here's what's under the bonnet. A 1275 engine, Weber carb, metal hoses, dry cell battery. The most common question I get is, "What's that blue thing with the heater hose coming out of it?" It's the air filter, feeding the Weber. The previous owner told me that the Weber has a "ram jet" system, so I assume that there is a forced air intake of some kind, although I haven't really gotten into it to see just what makes it tick. I'd love to hear what others know about this.
4. The boot has been enclosed on my car. I didn't appreciate the uniqueness of this until I went to some shows and found that this was unique. There is a lock on the boot cover, so I can feel a little secure about the amplifier and such stowed back there. You can also see the speakers peeking out from behind the seats.
5. Me and the car in Cincinnati, after I got a lovely award. I was hot and tired and sticky, so the car and the award look a good bit better than I, but there aren't many pictures of me with my car. I'm usually the one behind the camera.
6. HEALIUM was invited to attend a car show for the Great Race, which passed through my hometown. Someone asked me to be in an Independence Day parade, but on second thought...a British car in a 4th of July parade? Hmm...in Tennessee...I might get shot at. No thanks.
7. This picture appeared in the Nashville Tennesseean on the cover of the Local News section. This was the only mention of the British car show in the newspaper and I was honored that the editor selected my car to represent the entire gathering!

Everyone enters the Healey family in a different way. Some of us were raised in homes where Austin-Healeys were appreciated. Some were introduced by friends in college. Some stumbled in when we noticed a gorgeous car in a movie or magazine. But when you're a 35-year-old woman who's always been in love with little convertibles, the story is a little different.

You know the kids who always come home with stray puppies, whining "Mom, can I keep it?" That was me...but substitute "sports cars" for "puppies." Off the top of my head, I recall an MG, a Falcon, and a Camaro ("Oh, Mama, it has flip-up lights!" "Yes, but they don't flip up.") The only car I drove in my teens that could be termed a classic was a Ford Gran Torino Sport. The scoop! The style! The power! I was both Starsky and Hutch. Then my gray-haired mother borrowed it for a long drive and wound up cracking the block. (Unusual twist on the age-old story, hmm?) My yearning for a little sports car never went away entirely.

1996 was the last year of production for the Chevrolet Impala SS, the car that won my husband Paul's heart from the moment his dad pulled into the drive with one when Paul was but a tot. 1996 also saw the commencement of serious pining from Paul to own one of these Detroit behemoths. Over dinner we'd argue the pros and cons of acquiring such a beast. "Paul, the Saturn's fine!" "Yes, but it's about to turn over 100,000 miles." "Yes, but it's never given us trouble." "Yes, but you have to shift down when you roll over a piece of chewing gum." And so it went.

As the end of the year approached and Paul's company, Aslan Media -- a pro sound sales and installation company -- got a few nice contracts, the pining grew more intense. December 13, a Friday, was set to be the last day of production for the mighty Impala. I confess. I gave in. I remembered all those disappointments from my youth when I knew a car was absolutely perfect for me, but someone else had the final say. He placed an order for an Impala and we were both happy.

One night as we watched sitcoms, we happened across the infamous Home Improvement episode; the one where Jill gets a Healey. I sat up and took notice. I glanced at Paul at the other end of the couch (where he may have been reading his Impala brochure for the 10,000th time, I'm not sure) and said those fateful words: "Now, if I could have any car in the world, it would be an Austin-Healey, not that big ole hunk of metal you're getting." Paul blinked. He thought for a second. "Why don't you get one?"

The hunt was on. Now, you must understand. I'm a certified, genuine, dyed in the wool computer nerd. I teach all over the country for Oracle, the database company. On any given night you can find me surfing the Web, reading and responding to e-mail, or maybe writing a program just for the heck of it. I'm attached to my PC almost as much as I'm attached to my Healey. I went to the book store and bought specialty car magazines. I cruised the Web. I found the Special Car Journal (http://www.specialcar.com) and, of course, PDLJMPR. I checked prices. I got pictures. I bought books.

It took me a few weeks before I could bring myself to confess to my sister Beth that I was looking for a classic car. It's a little embarrassing being a grown woman looking for a teeny little sports car, especially when the extent of my mechanical knowledge is where to put the gasoline. (Well, I'll confess, I do know where the dipstick is and what it's for.) On a warm October evening we sat on her porch and I showed her pictures of Healeys. Beth understood as only a sister could. She went through the Mom-can-I-keep-it episodes, too, and had been madly in love with a '66 Plymouth Valiant that was her transportation in college. As we perused the photos and discussed the various merits of big Healeys versus little Healeys, she suddenly perked up. "Oh! You know, there's a guy at work with pictures of cars all over his walls. I know he drives an old car to work now and then. Maybe he'll know a little about Austin-Healeys."

A few days later, she found herself in the coffee room with "the guy at work." I didn't know this at the time, but he was a very important "guy at work" -- the operations manager at MasterCraft (at that time, although he has recently become CEO and President of MasterCraft), newly transplanted from Detroit where he was an important guy at GM. So important, it turns out, that I had him to thank for the indestructible body of my Saturn.

"Hey, Gary, do you know anything about Austin-Healeys?" Gary's eyes, I'm told, lit up. That "old car" he drove to work now and then was an award-winning 3000. Beth told him that I was planning to buy "an Austin-Healey...Spitfire?" Gary corrected her politely. "A Sprite, I think you mean."

That's how Gary Lownsdale became my first Healey mentor, a grueling job that has included trailer lending, photo scrutinizing, late night car washing, and 7:30-Saturday-morning-way-below-freezing electrical system repair. I cannot thank him enough for his technical support, both via telephone and in person. It constantly amazes me, too, that he continues to have anything to do with me. Every time he touches my car, it bites him.

In researching my automotive options, my husband had come across a Mercedes 450SL and gave me a sales pitch. "I've owned a Benz before. I know who the mechanics are. I know where to get parts. It...it...it has a pretty emblem?" I drove the car to humor him, and he was right; it did have creature comforts. Still, this hulk was not the little convertible I had always wanted.

Along with the sources I had found on the web, I located an Austin-Healey e-mail list, to which I subscribed. (You can find information on subscribing to this list at http://www.team.net/www/tn-mail.html.) I monitored the list for a week or so, determining that the kind souls who were so helpful to each other surely wouldn't be too unkind to this newcomer. I gathered up my courage and presented my choice to the list: Mercedes or Sprite? Of course, I knew I was asking a somewhat biased bunch (Note: those three words may be a candidate for "Understatement of the Year"), but the enthusiasm with which my question was met knocked me off my feet. One list subscriber said that parts were definitely not a problem. Frank Clarici, true to form, wrote to tell me that anything that breaks on a Sprite can be fixed. Another list member said that, while the Mercedes might be fine for toodling off for tennis at the country club, nothing could beat the Sprite for flat-out fun. The one I liked best came from Jim Albeck who declared that, if my husband insisted on getting the Mercedes, he would adopt me sight unseen. Above all, no one told me to shut up and go away when I had called an electronic ignition an "electric" ignition (they're all electric, aren't they?), and someone even took the time to explain to me exactly what points are.

With the Mercedes out of the picture — it certainly didn't come with a built-in support group like the Healey! — the hunt continued. I asked the e-mail list to let me know about Sprites, bugeyes in particular, that were for sale. I wanted a restored Sprite in good condition. I figured that I couldn't turn a basket case into a gold concours car, but if I started with the car I wanted, I could learn how to fix it as things broke.

One list member sent me an e-mail saying that he knew of someone with two cars for sale: a 1959 blue bugeye, not concours but tastefully modified to be a good street car; and "the most pristine 1967 Sprite you've ever seen, with only 11,000 original miles on it." At about the same time, Gary Lownsdale had spotted the '59 in Chatter. He knew the seller and vouched for him.

I arranged to fly to Chicago to look at my first bugeye. The temperature hovered around 30 and snow clouds threatened, but Mike, the seller, insisted that you really couldn't get a feel for this car unless you drove it with the top down, so we did. It was love at first sight. The restorer was a machinist, and every cover and cap under the hood was adorned with perfectly machined, shining metalwork. The car drove like it was on rails. The wind tied my hair into a thousand knots, and my ears felt like they were going to crack and fall off from the cold, but this was what I had yearned for since I got my drivers license. We spent too many hours talking Healey with Mike, but the whole experience was intoxicating. At the end of the evening, Mike had a downpayment and I was on my way to buying an Austin-Healey, the first bugeye I had ever driven.

The logistics turned out to be a problem. Of course, we didn't have a trailer, and I didn't want to learn to drive this car on the interstate. According to U-Haul's computer, their trailers are too wide (I have since found that they're not!); Ryder won't rent a car trailer to you unless you rent one of their trucks, too; buying a trailer would stretch our budget a bit too much. Again, Gary came to the rescue. One of his trailers was making the rounds from Michigan to Tennessee and back again, bringing to his new home some of the many cars he's collected. Just after New Year's was a convenient time for me to borrow his trailer, drive it up to Illinois, and bring home my car. We made the two-day trip stoked with adrenaline. I think my nose print is still on the van's back window, left there from admiring my car on the long trip home.

I found out quickly that owning an Austin-Healey sets you apart from the rest of humanity. Even though cold rain was falling in Illinois, cars full of people would slow down to look at the little car being towed. The road salt being thrown up by passing cars was absolutely unacceptable, and I made the discovery that you had to keep a sharp eye out for passing cars. They weren't likely to hit the Sprite, but I was sure that someone was going to run into the towing vehicle as they craned their necks to look at the Healey.

We got back to Tennessee on one of those freak January nights with clear, sparkling skies and near-70 degree temperatures. Our first stop was at Gary's house to return the trailer, and he taught me how to wash a convertible with the top down. We took the car for a spin and he proclaimed that I had done well. The 30-mile trip home was another eye opener. At the gas station, a father came running with his son. At an intersection, a bunch of teenage boys hung out the windows of their pickup to look at me and my car. (What I wouldn't have given for that kind of attention when I was a teenager!) I stopped to take my 9-year-old niece Emily for a drive and caused a commotion at a gas station where I turned around. Emily helpfully beeped the horn.

I've already had the opportunity to start learning about the inner workings of my car. The fuel pump gave up the ghost. The wiring harness had to be replaced. The electrical system did the typical Lucas thing and gave me nightmares until I installed an alternator. The transmission may be due for a change soon. Frank Clarici has held up his end of the bargain. He's talked me through starter replacement, electrical system diagnosis, valve adjustment, negative ground conversion (including the tach), and heaven only knows what else. His task is doubly difficult because his automotive instruction has to be delivered via e-mail or over the phone. I'm beginning to think he's right, though: Anything that breaks on these cars can indeed be fixed.

I've entered a few shows this year and have discovered that the fun of owning and driving my bugeye can be augmented by attending (and winning!) shows. Here's the rundown:
- Spring 1997, Dogwood Arts Festival Car Show - I was entered in the "Exotics" class and was the only one out of four cars not to get a trophy. I had much to learn about car shows...and some cleaning and painting to do under the bonnet.

- Early May, Tenth Annual British Car Gathering, Townsend, Tennessee - Scads of beautiful British cars in the mountains of Tennessee! I loved every minute of this show and took home a second place award.
- May 24, Fourth Annual British Car and Motorcycle Show, Nashville, Tennessee - Another lovely setting, more great people, and another second place award! To top it all off, my car was on the cover of the local news section of the Nashville Tennesseean the next day. I love it when editors have good taste!
- June, British Car Day South, Tanglewood Park, North Carolina - A huge gathering of British cars, and I took third place in my class. I was honored to find myself next to the green bugeye of Tammy Anderson, editor of Chatter, the Austin-Healey Club of America's monthly magazine.
- July 13, British Car Day in Cincinnati - After we finally found a hotel room at 2:00 in the morning, Paul and I made our way to the show and settled in among a gorgeous group of Sprites. This show was held next to a drag strip and I'm still kicking myself for not getting my car clocked in the quarter mile. In addition to a door prize of Griot's Garage products (thank you!), I took home a gorgeous trophy for being a runner-up in my class.

I can see already that this is the beginning of a wonderful...and exciting!...journey.

Amy Turner

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