Victoria & Lucy

Model:

1979 Super Beetle Convertible

Name:

Pete the Plumber named her.

Color:

Turquoise

Mileage:

17,898

Motors:

One, if you can call it a motor

Owned since:

2020

Owners:

I bought it from a classic car dealer. The key chain had an auction house on it with the auction number, so I called them as I was curious about the backstory. It turns out it was a guy’s car; he was the only owner and when he died, his son’s friend got it and sold it at auction.

Location:

Connecticut

Favorite driving song:

“Rosalita” (live at the Roxy) by Bruce Springsteen.

My maiden name is Wentz, and so all the older kids in the neighborhood called me by my initials, VW. My mom loved that because we had a Volkswagen at the time. My parents had Buses and campers and would drive us around, and we have these really funny stories from when we were younger. My mom would put my baby stroller, like a pram, in the back of the Bus and just lock the wheels. That’s how they drove us to Florida from New Jersey, where I grew up. I just slept in the back of the Bus. Driving around with the air-cooled engine, my mom had my sister and me in full snowsuits in the winter, totally bundled up, and then in the summer, we would be dying of heat.

When I was around eight, my dad gave me a black toy convertible Bug. I still have it! He knew then how much I loved them. It was always the car I was going to get when I was older. Finally, when Covid hit, I started looking and found this one in Palm Springs, California. I found her and then just kind of went for it. I don’t think my husband thought I was actually going to do it. Then I had to get her shipped out here.

In the summers, we go to Fishers Island, off the coast of Connecticut. It’s really small—seven miles long, with one road that goes up and down it. It was the summer during Covid, and I wanted to have the Bug shipped out to the island, but the car dealer couldn’t find a shipper.

I’m dying to get my hands on the car, so I find a shipper, which in hindsight was really stupid. I found a guy named Vito, and I have a friend named Vito who is the worst—you should never trust someone named Vito. The man from the dealership said, “You know, I’ve never seen anybody pick up a car like this.” He said, “They came in here like Repo Man, put it on a hook, and took off.” That was the first sign that this was not going to be a great trip east for her.

It evokes this time of freedom and happiness. In the movies, VWs are never associated with anything bad. It’s always happy times or happy people or just carefree.

So we take it to the gas station. They order some parts. Ten days later, it still doesn’t work, it’s the wrong part. Now we have to go home to the mainland, so we leave the Bug there.

Two weeks go by—they’re waiting, I’m waiting. So I google “Pete the Plumber” and I call him. I say, “I met you at the ferry dock. It’s my birthday, and all I want is to drive this car.” He says, “Well, I’ve been checking on her, and I know what’s going on at the gas station. You don’t have anything to worry about.” Four hours later, he calls me back and says, “Dude . . .” (everything is dude). He’s like, “Dude, I fixed your car on my lunch break. Get a pen, write all of this down,” and he gave me a long list of things to get looked at and made me promise I would do it. I had it towed home that night and my birthday wish came true.

A couple of weeks later, I call Pete the Plumber again and say my car needs a name. “What is your wife’s name?” (I’ve decided I’m going to name her after his wife.) He says, “My wife’s name is Julie, but that car is named Lucy.” I said OK and never asked why.

The next summer, I see him on the island and ask him if he can help me install my new door panels. He says no. Then he calls and says, “I’ll do one and show you how to do it, and then you can do the others.” He comes over and has some guy with him who sees the Lucy license plate, and he asks, “Who is Lucy?” Pete the Plumber says, “She’s my niece.”

I love talking to people about their VW stories—I think the car brings that out in people. At some point in someone’s life, they’ve had some connection with a Volkswagen and then when they see Lucy, or see another Volkswagen, it just triggers that memory. When I go to get gas, my husband is like, “Oh God, you’re going to get gas in Lucy, I’ll see you in an hour,” because somebody will always stop me and have a story: “Oh my gosh, in high school I had this car” or “This was my first car in red” or whatever. People love to share their stories. And Lucy becomes a story too. It makes people happy, and it’s a fun conversation starter to learn about random strangers.

My grandfather loved old cars and so does my mom—I think that’s where a lot of this came from. Because my mom was so into cars, I had to learn to drive on a stick shift. She said, “If you want to switch to automatic at some point, that’s fine, but that’s not how you are going to learn.”

I would love to have the money to fix her all up, but a paint job costs about what I paid for the car. It is a labor of love, but I feel like that’s my thing. Every year, I make a checklist of things that I’ll do to her this year. A wish list.

I told my kids, when I die, just drive around and throw my ashes out of this car. Take her somewhere fun, go for a drive, and just toss my ashes.

It takes days longer than it’s supposed to. They told me I could track it and see where she was at all times, which never happened. Then the guy misses four ferries to the island. Finally, I get ahold of Vito, and he says, “You know, the car doesn’t run.” I said, “What?” He says, “It doesn’t work.” I think, This is ridiculous. The dealership says that’s not how the car was picked up. They had sent me videos of the car and pictures and she was running perfectly. It goes back and forth . . . eventually, they push it onto the ferry.

My husband, John, and I go down there, and it’s just sitting in the ferry parking lot. There is one gas station on the island, so we are going to tow it there. We are sitting waiting for the tow truck, and out of nowhere, this guy comes up in his van with “Pete the Plumber” painted on the side. He is tatted up, with big glasses, totally seems stoned, and asks, “Is that a ’79 Super Beetle?” I’m like, “Yes,” and he says, “I restore them. I just redid a ’79 for my wife.” So John asks, “Could you look at this one?” He says, “No, you’ll be in good hands with the gas station.”

Part of the journey is driving around in her.

It makes me happy too. I love driving stick, which is a really fun change. The convertible is great, and it’s just hilarious to see people’s reaction when you drive around. When I first got her, I drove her everywhere—on the highway, everywhere—until she broke down and I had to have her towed. My mom then suggested maybe she is just a “town car.” The gas gauge doesn’t work, so my mom made me promise that on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I’d go to the gas station so I won’t run out of gas.

I wish the weather was better here, then I could drive her all year. When it’s a nice day, we call it a Lucy Day. I don’t want to waste a Lucy Day. So if it’s a nice day and I can’t drive, I’ll have my friend who can drive a stick take her girls for a drive in Lucy. People around town will see the car and yell “I love Lucy!”