Squire

I received a call from a friend in Maine in late summer telling me I really needed to come visit in October. He said they were having a memorial service in honor of an old racer, and then heading down to a new track for a test and tune day in a recently acquired Porsche 914 6-cylinder race car. Oh, he mentioned, almost as an afterthought, and the leaves should be well into their fall colors by then. How could I turn this down? Being a tourist in Maine is a wonderful experience. Being a tourist in Maine while riding shotgun in your buddy’s BMW who has lived his whole life there is altogether a different type of experience. I’ll refrain from going into detail here about all the different nicknames people from away acquire as they cross the state line into Vacationland. We’ll stick to the more direct and PC moniker, “out of staters”. Now imagine hurtling through the woods and along coastal two-lane roads trying to take in the beautiful fall scenery, or rubba-neckin, while said buddy dodges “out of staters” in a frenzy to get to the business at hand. The business at hand turned out to be a tour of the new Squire Motors shop then to help clean and decorate for the upcoming memorial. Over the next three days, I got to know George Squire.  

Our first task was to finish the reassembly of his race car, the S-1. Designed, built from scratch, and then raced by George himself, the S-1 sat immobile on jacks in the middle of the shop. This tiny little car had a four-cylinder engine displacing 750cc and tipped the scales at a mere 750lbs. The chassis, in order to save weight, was largely constructed of thin wall tubing. The hand-shaped body was fiberglass and the cockpit was formed especially for the height and width of its builder and pilot. Powered by Crosley, the S-1 could top 100 mph on the track. Under the direction of George’s son, Taz, over half a century since its birth, I watched the car once again take shape. Panels were fit, last-minute bits and pieces were fabricated and cleaned. I was tasked with bringing the windscreen up to par with the rest of the freshly painted car. As I was handed the windscreen, a power drill, and some sandpaper, Taz told me that of all the parts on this car, George had treasured the windscreen the most. No pressure.  

The crew at Squire Motors had spent countless hours on the car in the weeks leading up to this moment. Now, the four of us fell into a rhythm that occurs when a group of like-minded individuals are working together for a singular purpose. Everyone moves fluidly around the project to and from workbenches and toolboxes. Talking all the while as if our hands knew exactly what needed to be done, leaving our minds to the important job of singing along with the radio, and bantering back and forth with one another. With the car assembled, the brakes bled, the battery installed, and the S-1 was lowered to the floor.  

The next day George’s legacy began to unfold. Old shop mementos were hung, and pictures were displayed alongside priceless correspondence between George and his many colleagues and customers. An entire life devoted to the automobile was cataloged here in his memory. One picture, in particular, connected the past and present in a tragically appropriate way.  

During the cleanup, the S-1 needed to be moved outside to facilitate sweeping the shop floor. We could have easily pushed the 750-pound race car in and out of the shop, but why would anybody push a perfectly good car when you can drive it? Taz fired up the little Crosley and eased it outside. So far so good he thought as he steered it around the parking lot. He began to ease the car a little faster. The parking lot, at present, consisted of three race car trailers, a 30-foot Class A motorhome, 2 BMWs, a Toyota FJ40, a Porsche 944 and a Mercedes Sprinter (long wheelbase of course). This was not a parking lot; this was a track and Taz was making laps. As fate would have it, cold tires and enthusiasm directed the car into one of the race trailers knocking it off the blocks supporting the tongue, and splintering the driver’s side of the car’s fiberglass front end. The sudden silence augmented our disbelief at what had just happened as Taz climbed out of the car.

At the service, the initial shock, though still regrettable, had faded into shoulder shrugs and smiles. Taz, perched on a workbench in front a visual timeline of his father’s life, told stories of the many lives the man had touched. George was a man of many great talents. Having worked as a designer with some of the great names of the automotive world, he eventually chose the life of a racer. He followed his passion, and along the way guided and assisted not only his son but many others in pursuit of the dream. Stories were told of his love of food and how he always took time for a good breakfast. In the days before Google and GPS, he kept a mental log of his favorite eateries on the routes to and from races.

While reminiscing with friends and family, the topic of the splintered fender on the S-1 came up in conversation. A clipping from a newspaper article showed the S-1 up against a fence at a race track. The same front fender as met the trailer outside was crammed into the wall. This was going to be the third or fourth time that same fender would be repaired. Another story told of one of George’s many celebratory mishaps on (or off) the end of a pier. You see, Taz didn’t have an accident in the S-1, he was simply carrying on a family tradition.

-Geoff