Frank Markus

I started critiquing cars at age 5 by bumming rides home from Sunday school in other parishioners' new cars. In those days I was terrorizing my street in Prairie Village, Kansas, in my most prized possession -- a pedal-powered midget racer purchased by my dad and grandpa. Ten long years later my folks let me buy a banged-up '66 Mustang (six-cylinder, three-on-the-floor coupe) for $125 and even let me drive it home solo on my learner's permit. I learned a lot about auto repair fixing that heap up --- like, rear brake drums won't come off, even with the assistance of a propane torch, if the emergency brake is firmly set.

Since 16 I've been getting paid to drive new cars I don't own, and I still love it. That first job was running parts for an Olds dealership in Memphis, Tennessee. It only paid minimum wage, but brought with it wholesale pricing of any part in town, even those to fix up my second '66 Mustang, a convertible with Flintstones floorboards and a school-bus yellow respray over aqua interior. I fashioned floorboards from galvanized ductwork, sheet-metal-screwed them in, and treated it to a $299 quickie re-squirt in Tahoe Turquoise in time for senior-year cruising. I knew I'd only find joy in an automotive career, and engineering seemed the most likely way to achieve that. So I went after a couple of Big Ten degrees in mechanical engineering and landed in Lee Iacocca's "New Chrysler Corporation."

While there, I helped lay the foundations for the original Neon, LH cars, and second-gen minivans. I loved every second of that job, but when a friend told me about an opening for a technical editor at another car magazine, I jumped at what was the car-biz equivalent of running off to join the circus. I loved that job, too, until the phone rang again with an even better opportunity: the chance to drive other people's new and old cars for money, with Motor Trend and Motor Trend Classic magazines. It's nearly impossible to imagine a better job, but I still answer the phone...