Giuseppina Matarazzo

Giuseppina Matarazzo was my god mother. I've known her since before I can remember. She and my godfather Paolo were from Sicily and they spoke only a few words of english. She used to take me fishing as a child. We would drive about an hour from home to their cottage in Clinton, CT. Paolo would stay home painting landscapes in oil while Giuseppina and I sat together silently for hours on the rocks fishing. After our afternoon of fishing we would gather up what we had caught and bring it back to the cottage where she would clean it and serve up some delicious Sicilian meal. Although we'd say very little to one another I knew she was fond of me, I could just tell. Those were magical summers spent largely in silence. When the week end ended, they'd drive me back home.

Giuseppina was an excellent seamstress and ran a small dress making shop in Hartford, CT. Recently, she passed away with cancer and Paolo followed soon after her. They were great people. A few weeks ago I received Giuseppina's industrial Singer sewing machine. Although it is over 100 years old it was her main gun, her preferred gun. Now that I've fired it up I can begin to understand why. What a sweet old machine. Fast, quiet, useful and powerful! It is one nasty machine. I'll bet this thing can sew sheet metal together. Who needs a MIG welder!

One of the things we have limited control over is the welding of leather and vinyl, sewing. We rely on other people to take care of this for us because we are not set up to handle the task...until now. Its all about control. Absolute control. Failure can always be chucked up to someone else's lack of standards. Someone who simply doesn't care. I want control over the final product not only because I love what I make but also because I have to face the person who is going to pay for and live with my work. I have to look them in the eye and tell them that this is as good as it gets.

Our antique Singer was Giuseppina's machine, and now its has arrived here so that we can continue to do great things with it. Giuseppina has helped me gain control over a once elusive part of my craft, which I feel is an important thing when you are trying to create something memorable. I hope she knows how grateful I am.

Pelle

Pelle, a red 1967 SAAB 96, recently spent a few months here at the shop. And I have to say, Pelle is one of the most memorable cars I've ever had the pleasure of knowing.

I get to work with so many great cars, Alfas, Mercedes, BMWs, Fiats. I'm no stranger to exotic and lust worthy relics on four wheels. But Pelle really surprised me, this little car is a commoner, a blue collar worker, a simple car. But my god, it has more personality than all of the cars in Yokohama (or wherever it is that they build Subarus) combined.

Pelle is a rally champ. A car that snorts reliably at you. A car whose pedals are awkwardly off-center, but make perfect sense. It is the only car we've had through here that actually has a wider track up front than in the rear, meaning that Pelle has a fat nose and a skinny butt. Pelle was imported by its current owner from the arctic circle in Sweden and that car drives like a miniture Swedish tank. With a 4 speed on-the-column shift, quick jerky revs. and the smallest windshield you've ever looked out of Pelle is memorable.

Art, Steve, and I did a considerable amount of work to this old car. We lovingly put it back together, addressing all of the strange issues that so often turn up after years of being incomplete. It was a wonderful experience. When Pelle was finally ready to leave our shop we were all a bit sad, myself especially. I really enjoyed driving that car around and around. When the owner asked if Pelle was ready to come home yet I replied - she's ready, but I'm not.

Bella Berlina

I have a beautiful 1972 Alfa Romeo Berlina that is waiting for someone to fall in love with it. This car is currently and unfortunately painted gold, but her original color was eggplant, and to my eyes it is one of the sexiest colors that has ever been draped upon an automobile. 

This is the kind of car you'd see Elga Andersen driving recklessly down a bustling city street towards some unknown tragedy. Someone she loves, no doubt, is in peril. She speeds along, her big head wrapped in a flowing scarf, in an eggplant colored Alfa Romeo with a limited slip differential and a mahogany dash. My god!

I am patiently waiting for the day when I meet the right person, the one who wants to love and take care of my old girl. I am waiting for someone who wants to remove her putrid gold latex exterior and reveal her luscious eggplant as desperately as I do.