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Porsche Club of America
The Northeast Region

By Steve Boris
NOR'EASTER Online - April 2002

Good afternoon! I think it is time to address a condition that a few of the better drivers in the club may eventually suffer from. It's not an easy problem to treat nor is it easy for a driver to even know he or she suffers from it.

As difficult as it is to diagnose it is even harder to explain. In order for me to illustrate exactly what the problem is, I must unwillingly expose a part of my past that no one in the club knows about, not even my closest friends. Unfortunately due to the space allowed for this article I will have to leave out many details. I also will not do any name-dropping. My past, as it turned out, exposed me to many of today's well-known people in the automotive racing community. As much as it was my plan to become famous too, it just wasn't meant to be.

So let's turn the clock back to the summer of 1975. As a recent high school graduate I was facing a crossroad in my life. Like most other graduates I wanted an education that would provide me with the ability to make big bucks. But I also wanted to be around cars. So now what? Do I go to Montana State School of Architecture for 3 years and then transfer to Graphic Design for 3 more, after a problem with a structures professor, or I could do something that would allow me spend my life around and driving cars.

After much debating and time convincing the folks I decided on the path towards a career in racing. Fortunately, in a round-about way I found a job opening as a maintenance person at Limerock Park in Connecticut. This would allow me to work at a track that had a full time driving school. Bingo! My folks had committed to $12,000 per year tuition and decided to give it to me to help with relocation and living. I'm sure they didn't think much of my decision but they did a pretty good job of hiding it.

I packed up my 1969 911S (with steel flares), that I had purchased from my fathers buddy, and headed to Connecticut. The job was not very glamorous but I was as close to a track as I could get. I also had to get a bartending job at night to help pay the bills. Over the next 2 1/2 years I cleaned, raked, shoveled, painted every inch of the facility. I also spent a lot of time doing work for, and sucking up to, the owner of the driving school and all his employees.

Finally after much begging and pleading he consented to instruct me whenever we both had some free time. He was very familiar with 911s having raced them a few years back. The fact that I own a Porsche and not a Mustang impressed him too. Things went on like this for the next 4 years. Cleaning, raking, shoveling, painting, sucking up and driving. I knew every inch of that track because I had either drove on it or cleaned it, one of the two. I also had spent much time getting the 911 ready to handle the rigors of racing. This in turn forced me to buy a crappy Dodge van to get around in. I had done a couple SCCA races at various tracks within a 10 hour radius with mixed results; nothing to make headlines with but certainly not bad. I was racing.

Then, the unexpected happened, while working during a race weekend I made time to hangout around some of the Porsche drivers. They seemed somewhat interested in the fact that I've been studying under resident instructor in a 911 for the past few years. I thought it was their way of being pleasant, but bit later I got a call from one of them. It seemed he knew of a young team that didn't have a big budget and was searching for a co-driver/under-study for the 1982 season. They wanted me to be at Sebring for the 2nd weekend in October. That was a couple months away. I convinced the head instructor to help me prepare. We worked extra hard and he also allowed me to help out at a couple of his school sessions. One of the instructors had spent some time at Sebring so he helped me learn the track best I could without being there. The poor old 911 was getting worn out but it held together.

I finally arrive at Sebring to find 5 other prospects trying to take my possible ride from me. The team was going to run the last year's Holbert and Bell 924GTP. I'd never driven one of the new front engine Porsches but after a few laps in the car I felt right at home. It was a lot easier to keep on the track than my 911 but the Turbo was a tough thing to get just right. It took a few laps and a bit of coaching from the team manager. He had finished 6th at Le Mans last year in one of the sister cars to this one. Fortunately only 1 of the other 5 drivers had ever driven a Turbo so we all had the same challenge. As it turned out I didn't have the fastest lap time but I was the most consistent once I got used to the car. Apparently a couple of the other guys couldn't keep the concentration level up. The team manager had informed us that we would be notified after they made their decision. It was a very strange weekend, fun, but strange. The principles seemed very aloof. I guess that was so they could pick us on our skills and not our ability to talk a good game.

Then came the call. I was to report to Laguna Seca for an April race for a real shot.

Having never driven Laguna Seca they thought it necessary that I show up several day earlier. So I arrived at the track on Tuesday night before the Saturday race so I could get some seat time on the track and to try and get a chassis set-up that I felt comfortable with. Wednesday and Thursday went well even though I wasn't pushing, too hard yet. Friday was tougher; we had practice with a qualifying session later that afternoon. After the crew did some tweaks to the car I was off for my qualifying laps. I can't remember any of my times but it was fast enough to get me gridded 8th against some pretty great drivers. I later went to the pole sitter and reminded him that we had met at Lime Rock 5 month's prior and had a decent chat with the guy. He wouldn't give me any tips except he said, "try to keep me in sight".

Saturday arrived and the butterflies in my stomach were the size of buzzards, buy I made it to race time without throwing up. Here it was what I'd been waited for. To make a long story short, I finished the race in 5th place. I made some passes and got passed a few times. Some guy even rubbed me in some yellow European thing I'd never seen before. As for keeping the pole sitter in sight, well, that guy was so fast. I lost sight a few of times and never even came close to gaining on him. As usual he won and later told me he checked his mirrors for me a couple of times. I don't know if he was being nice or rubbing it in but I was still racing against him, sort of.

The team owner finally warmed up to me and welcomed me to the team along with one of the other drivers. So it looked like I was on my way to being a racecar driver. At least until I wrecked the car or they found someone better.

The 1982 season went OK. I didn't win any races but got 3 podium finishes and didn't wreck the car. I did, however, blow a turbocharger at Bridgehampton and had to retire the car 6 laps before the end. Oh well. The season ended at Daytona in the beginning of October, which was not one of my better attempts. I finished a ways back in the pack due to a misjudgment as to the entrance speed of turn 4.

The team let me know that they had a couple of new drivers they were going to look at for 1983 to drive their new 934 racecar. Apparently they wanted a consistent winner and I wasn't there yet, but after making a call to another acquaintance I found a possible seat with little team from England that wanted a guy to drive one of last years 956s. So he put me in touch with the team owner to set-up a test drive.

Apparently they had some hotshoe set-up to drive but lost him to the Porsche Factory Team. I was to meet them at Silverstone in a week. The team manager was in a crunch to get a driver for next season and wanted to meet me before he brought the car to the states for winter practicing. October wasn't the best time to drive in Europe but we were fortunate enough to get some mid 60s days.

The car was unbelievably fast even at the speeds I was comfortable at. The owner told me I was going to have to be faster than that if I wanted a permanent ride. I spent most of the night going over the track in my head trying to rethink my acceleration and braking points. The next morning I told myself that I was probably going to scare the #&!* out of myself and I did! I have never driven that fast before. I had that thing doing 190 on the front straight and there was a bit left. I guess I was fast enough for Peter to see potential so I got the ride. We had to spend the next few months in Florida getting ready for the season. That winter was a lot more intense than the previous winter but a lot more fun too! I see why they made the 962s to replace the 956s. They are downright scary sometimes.

The season went well. I was starting to understand racecar driving. The car, although a bit temperamental at times, proved itself to be everything Porsche intended it to be. As the season progressed, I won 2 races and a couple more podiums, nothing for the history books but I was starting to gain some respect from the other drivers. The highlight of 1983 was an invite to Le Mans as a backup driver. That was fine with me; just being there gave me a woody. I ended up doing a few 2-hour shifts while the other two drivers were getting some sleep. The third scheduled driver ran into a run of bad luck and was unable to attend. Everything was going pretty well, we were sitting in the top 5 of our class and 13th overall when the left side cylinder head let go around 7:30 am. Not that I had any thoughts of winning but I wanted to finish. All I can say is I'm glad I was sleeping when it happened and not behind the wheel.

The next couple of years went about the same. The team eventually upgraded to a pair of 962s and added another driver from Germany. This guy was about 13 years old and weighed all of 90 pounds. But I have to admit he was fast. We had a lot of fun together and I actually found I had a knack for instructing. Having been to most of the tracks, I was tutoring him as to the best plan of attack. It became clear that he was a natural. I can't say I wasn't jealous about his abilities but the two of us together made a great team. He won more races than I ever did but I still got one in now and then.

As 1986 came to a close I decided to step away from racing. Having come close to buying the farm a few times I felt it time to try my hand at something different. Fortunately my then wife accepted my decision with great enthusiasm. Having met her at the track, she was a racing fan but wasn't thrilled with being married to it.

After several years of job jumping and part time instructing I finally settled into a great job and started to devote all my energies to raising a family. Life had been good and I knew in a few years that I would rejoin the Porsche Club so... here I am.

I know what you're thinking. This guy is full of #&!*. He's not married, he never raced LeMans, this is some kind of joke.

Perhaps, but this type of thought can enter the mind of any driver that has even the slightest feeling he made a wrong turn somewhere in life. Fortunately my life's been pretty good (probably left a possible wife in Houston), but what if? Fact is, I downplayed my Path Not Taken. In actuality I became a great driver and Brian Redman is selling insurance somewhere in England.

You say April Fools. I say "Paths Not Taken".

My Driver's Window is always open...

Porsche Club of America The Northeast Region

Porsche Club of America
The Northeast Region