David’s 1965 XKE Jaguar Roadster
David took this photo of his Jag on Virginia Beach where he lived at the time (November 1965).
David Pick’s 1965 XKE Jaguar Roadster
Dennis
The year was 1965 and David had just purchased a brand new opalescent-silver blue Jaguar XKE Roadster. I was 12 years old. He brought it home to show it to the family. When I first saw him drive toward us down that long farmstead driveway with the roadster top down, my young heart almost stopped. It was so beautiful, so sleek, so sporty, so unbelievably elegant. I thought to myself, this car was far more beautiful, elegant and hotter than James Bond’s Aston Martin!
David asked Guy and me if we wanted to take a ride. We screamed “yes”!! It was a two-seater so Guy and I sat in the passenger seat together. We headed north out the driveway and the car had so much instant torque (power), that when David touched the gas pedal, he almost spun out of control on the gravel road. We took it easy until we reached the highway (Highway 3). David told us to hang on as we entered the highway. He then unleashed the secret weapon – he pressed the gas pedal to the floor and that machine started to roar like a wild tiger. Tires were squealing, and so were Guy and I. I never felt G-force like that before. For a moment, I was afraid that I would fly out of the back of the car. As David masterfully made his way through the gears, he told us to look back at the highway. Each time he shifted, the Jag left two strips of rubber on the road. When he shifted into fourth gear - at something like 90 miles per hour - the Jag laid down two patches of rubber! Unbelievable!
For someone raised in the muscle-car era, it just doesn’t get any better than that. Starting that day, I dreamt of having a car like that. In 1997, I was blessed to have that dream fulfilled and after searching the U.K. and U.S., found a car exactly like it. She was a work of art, so precious and rare that we kept her in an environmentally controlled clear plastic bubble. Thanks to David for giving me that ride and instilling that dream.
David (written in 2010)
That was a dream indeed. No nineteen-year-old has the right to own a car like that, and no insurance company was willing to insure it either. When I couldn’t get insurance myself, I sold the car to Dad for a dollar so he could put it on his policy with me as a secondary driver. I think I was going on a Mediterranean cruise at the time and left it with him asking him to drive it on occasion just to keep it from getting rusty. Now, Dad had his prejudices and one of them was his dislike for the British. He was not predisposed to like this car but a drive to Granville on a sunny day brought him around. He drove there on some errand with the top down and was stopped at the only light in town on his way back home when a Mustang stopped behind him and revved the engine. Dad said you could hear the carburetors sucking air. When the light turned green, he drove off with the Mustang on his tail. When they got out of town the Mustang burned around him, got up front, and slowed down. The speed limit was 70 mph in those days so Dad pulled out to pass and the Mustang speeded up. Dad pulled back into the right-hand lane and the Mustang slowed down. Dad wasn’t making eye contact with the driver of the Mustang and he was not going to play this game for long…he was going to do the speed limit at least. The second time he pulled out to pass and the Mustang speeded up again, he gave it all he had and was nearly to the Alton farm when he felt the wind pulling on his cheeks and looked down at the speedometer to see he was doing 140. He did not want to try to brake at that speed but slowed down and pulled over to wait, and to wait, for the Mustang to catch up. You never know whose parents you might offend by dusting off their kid with the muscle car. In any case, there was apparently no offense taken. The driver flew by honking and waving. And, Dad had a story to tell.
Dad’s insurance would not take another chance with me on his policy either, so I bought the car back and was forced to buy uninsured plates in the state of Virginia. This meant if I was to be sued and lost, the state would pay, but I would have to pay back the state with interest. I didn’t realize what financial jeopardy I was in, or what jeopardy I was putting my family in by being 19 and driving an uninsured 160 mph car like there was no tomorrow. I was a very fortunate 19-year-old in many ways.
Mary
It was a hot summer afternoon, when David, home for a visit, pulled up in the front of our house with the top down on his XKE. On my 1966 calendar, date July 6, I wrote, “David & I took Matt to Dr.’s office then to the hospital for convulsions in pm (afternoon.)” (Dr. George was in surgery at the Le Mars hospital, the town next door and nine miles west of Remsen). With Matt in my lap, unconscious and limp as a dishrag, David, as terrified as me, put the pedal to the metal. We literally flew to Le Mars, passing two cars on Hwy 3 like they were standing still. Without a doubt, that nine-mile trip was the fastest car ride I ever had…my first and last ride in an XKE.
David (written in 2022 after we found the 8mm footage below)
This is it with Iowa tags. The color contrast was not good. I drove it with English plates (HDU 37C) for a couple of months before a VA Beach cop suggested that I register it somewhere in the US. I imported it as a used car registered in Coventry, England where it was built. I still have the Coventry city sticker, the Lloyd's Of London policy insuring it against loss in shipment due to weapons of war, a wrench that was part of the tool kit for owners in remote areas, and a picture of the Victory ship that brought it here, the SS. American Challenger.
I got the day off to pick it up on a Monday after it arrived. But a couple of friends and I climbed over the fence of the customs lot in Norfolk the Sunday before I picked it up to look at it. It was covered in paraffin with cardboard on the floor, plastic on the seats, and planks bolted to the front and back bumpers in a lot along with old Jags and MGs. There were no containers in those days. It was shipped in a crate. I had a camera and have snapshots of these friends with the car as well as a picture of the ship moored next to the lot.
I don't think I slept a wink that night. The next day, I cleared it through customs and headed for the beach where I was sharing a house on 18th St. with one of these same friends. There was no Interstate or toll road in those days, only Virginia Beach Blvd. connecting Norfolk and Virginia Beach. I put the top down before I started the car and lost my sailor's hat at 115mph in third gear on my way there. I had the car for two weeks before I used fourth gear. I was the luckiest guy in the world. Nobody was killed or injured. Every ten years or so I still have a dream where that car is sitting with the top down in a used car lot with the keys in the ignition and I get in and go for a ride. Glorious!
I'm still the luckiest guy in the world.
We found these three video clips of the Jag in the reels of 8mm footage taken by Marvel Pick. All the Pick boys enjoyed reliving the 1965 Jag!
Uncle Bob and Aunt Mary Hahn took this photo of David’s car. The picture was taken in front of Grandma Ethel (Mrs. Dan) Hahn’s home in Cherokee IA.
