There’s a common axiom among car journalists: Don’t drive your heroes. It’s a riff on the more universal sentiment, “don’t meet your heroes,” the idea being that whatever personal idolatry you’ve fostered in your mind about someone or something can’t possibly be lived up to in real life. But what if the hero in question isn’t yours, it’s someone else’s? That’s what came to mind as I slipped into the tiny, leather-covered bucket seat of this 1956 Porsche 356 A 1600 Speedster. This elemental, upturned bathtub of a sports car is an icon among icons, and not just because it’s the genesis of Porsche as a brand. And yet, as I clicked its driver’s door home for the first time, I admit I had more respect than love for the 356.
Porsche’s rear-engine, air-cooled 356 is about as uncomplicated as cars get — then or now. I’ve always admired the simplicity of its form and appreciated its…
