Robert Agar's Journal

I must have been conceived in a rumble seat ‘cause I’ve been a car nut since birth. I can remember as a young boy being able to identify, by make, year, and model, every car we passed on the highway. And since it was amusing to me to do so, I figured it was probably just as amusing to adults. Such is the logic that has guided me through life as a car nut.

My earliest exposure to British sports cars was the Triumph TR-3 that my much older cousin, Jim, drove to college. One turn around the block in that wide open, rackety little roadster and I was hooked for life. By the time I reached driving age I was ready to take the plunge. My father, however, thought better of the idea of his teen-age son racing about in that kind of accident waiting to happen. His insurance premiums for a male teen driver might have had something to do with his thinking. Go figure. So I drove my trusty and rusty ’51 Ford through my high school years and then enlisted in the Air Force. My plan was to buy that coveted British sports car and travel Europe in style. The Air Force had other plans. But being on military bases has a way of exposing one to all sorts of exotic cars and I soon acquired my first TR-3 in Texas. My roommate totalled it within months and put me afoot until my return from a tour in Korea in ’64. Life’s hard lessons learned.

It was while on leave in my native Iowa, between Korea and a stateside assignment, that I happened upon a ’62 box Sprite. This was a very nice, well-cared-for little car that a local British car mechanic had on consignment and I couldn’t buy it fast enough. A short time later I was off to South Carolina with my duffle bag containing all my worldly possessions stashed behind the seats. My parents thought I was nuts, but I never enjoyed a trip more than that leisurely drive through the Smokey Mountains to Carolina. I finally sold the Sprite in favor of something with a little more power…my first MG. I found a beautiful blue MGA roadster in North Carolina, and failing in my quest for a Healey, “settled” for the MG. It was the start of a long relationship with the marque that I still enjoy today. When I left the Air Force, the MG and I returned to Iowa where I had the same mechanic who sold me that Sprite do a complete mechanical rebuild. A local body shop brought the body to pristine condition and applied a new pale yellow finish. That MG and I managed to finish college before parting company for a “more practical” form of transportation to carry me off to Kansas City and my career. It was to be some time and many American cars later before I returned to my Brits.

In the late 70’s I found myself back in Iowa and working for a local retailer when (remember that local mechanic and the Sprite?) I decided I could afford a “fun car”. As fate would have it, he had a ’72 MGB that he would part with. And I just happened to have enough money to part with, and that was that. It was orange and I was tickled pink! I owned, drove, and loved that MG for over twenty-five years. It went with me from town to town, state to state, until I retired to Arizona. During my stint in KC, I also temporarily acquired another Triumph…a GT-6, and a Frogeye Sprite and became quite active in the local British Car Clubs. I reluctantly parted with the B in Kansas City, willing it to a young couple just as enamored with Brits as I had been at that age. It was a sad parting, however, and for the first time in memory I was without a Brit in the garage.

Retirement leaves old men with altogether too much free time. And southern Arizona provides entirely too many sunny days that beg for a top-down roadster. I found a ’73 MGB, joined the local Brit club and was off on another love affair. After several fun-filled years, the ’73 B went to a friend in Iowa who loves MGs almost as much as I do. He too was entering into a second childhood. The ’73 B was soon followed by a 74-1/2 B. and now that has been joined by a ’53 TD. My carport runneth over and I am still in love with MGs and the joy of driving back roads topless at every opportunity.
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