Raphael Orlove
This 101-year-old family-run repair shop exclusively services cars that haven’t been sold in America for four decades. It’s busier than ever.
“It’s actually starting to drive me crazy,” says Frank Freccia III, the fifth generation of the family-run Freccia Bros Garage. His daughter, Guinevere, is the sixth. Together with David D’Andrea, Guinevere’s husband, they are the three employees of this family-run business in operation in Greenwich, Connecticut since 1922. Frank is talking about the new kind of work keeping this shop increasingly busy: overpriced Volkswagens bought online or at auction, which look perfect on the outside and reveal nightmares underneath.
“They roll them across the auction and then find out it has no brakes,” laughs Frank. “Their first stop is to call here.”
When the Freccias immigrated to America and built this place, they serviced carriages. Now they’re a VW-only shop, having serviced Volkswagens when they were brand new, when they were lightly-used daily drivers, and now, as they have morphed into vintage classics. “I had no idea 20, 30 years ago I’d still be doing this,” says Frank. A row of immaculate VWs line the front of the building, awaiting pickup from eager owners. Behind them, rows of dune buggies, Buses, and water-cooled Rabbits wait in the queue.
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Microbuses have gotten it the worst, Frank explains. What were $12- to $14,000 vehicles at the start of Covid ballooned to $20-, $25-, $30,000 by 2022. With prices now pressing past $100,000, the market has started scraping the bottom of the barrel. “They paint them up nice,” says Frank, but under the skin “it’s like they were used as chicken coops.” Cracked transmission cases and floor panels siliconed in place aren’t uncommon, particularly as more cars are imported from south of the border, says Frank.
The Freccias have seen it all, with terrifying frequency. “On a weekly basis, we get stuff that comes off the Internet. When did eBay start? Twenty years ago? The scams are still happening.”
Repairing these auction cars is a never-ending tidal wave. “We’re busier than ever,” says Frank. Freccia Bros’ waiting list is months long, in part because good-looking cars brought in for quick repairs often reveal problems unseen by the owners. Standing in front of the shop’s wooden door, Frank unwinds story after story of cars bought from pictures alone. A purportedly pristine red Karmann-Ghia, advertised as owned by a Roman-Catholic priest, arrived with a plank of wood instead of a dashboard, probably done by hippies in the Sixties. A particularly desirable 21-window Microbus that went for $150,000 at auction arrived with a governor on its carburetor, likely scavenged off of some yard equipment. It had no brakes to speak of. “They told me ‘Well, it’s an old VW. I thought it was supposed to have bad brakes,’” Frank laughs.
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While plenty of shops accept old Volkswagens, few mechanics have experienced one that’s been properly repaired and tuned. Buses and Bugs are often sent out the door poorly patched up. One customer came to Freccia refusing to go back to where they’d gotten their Bug repaired. “It was running on three cylinders,” explains Frank. “They tuned it for three. They advanced the timing and upped the idle.” What had flummoxed the other shop took Frank moments to diagnose with a simple spark plug test. Echoing the same problems seen by Italian car specialists Dominick’s in nearby White Plains, this knowledge and understanding is becoming rare.
“A whole generation of old VW mechanics has died off,” Frank says. Freccia Bros is one of a few VW-only shops left dotting the area in and around New York City. It wasn’t always this way.
If California was a beachhead for Japanese auto imports in the Sixties and Seventies, the Northeast was the landing point for European cars in the Fifties and Sixties. The streets of Greenwich were clogged with Volkswagens. They were cheap to buy, cheap to run, and sturdy enough to survive often-negligent owners.
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“When I was a kid there’d be five Bugs at this light, Squarebacks at that light,” says Frank, gesturing at the intersection out front, as Bentleys and Benzes amble past. The glittering glass-and-metal facades of Greenwich’s Porsche and Mercedes dealerships sit across the street, and Miller Motorcars is down the block. “It looked like those pictures from Brazil.”
Shops sprung up across the city to service these air-cooled cars’ particular needs. “There were five or six guys who ran shops out of their driveways,” Frank says. “Bugs only!”
The Freccias started servicing VWs in the Sixties, and Bugs kept them busy. Frank remembers spending most of the Eighties rebuilding engines. These cars were virtually disposable.
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While plenty of shops accept old Volkswagens, few mechanics have experienced one that’s been properly repaired and tuned. Buses and Bugs are often sent out the door poorly patched up. One customer came to Freccia refusing to go back to where they’d gotten their Bug repaired. “It was running on three cylinders,” explains Frank. “They tuned it for three. They advanced the timing and upped the idle.” What had flummoxed the other shop took Frank moments to diagnose with a simple spark plug test. Echoing the same problems seen by Italian car specialists Dominick’s in nearby White Plains, this knowledge and understanding is becoming rare.
“A whole generation of old VW mechanics has died off,” Frank says. Freccia Bros is one of a few VW-only shops left dotting the area in and around New York City. It wasn’t always this way.
If California was a beachhead for Japanese auto imports in the Sixties and Seventies, the Northeast was the landing point for European cars in the Fifties and Sixties. The streets of Greenwich were clogged with Volkswagens. They were cheap to buy, cheap to run, and sturdy enough to survive often-negligent owners.
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For all that VWs have appreciated, the Freccias continue to do the same kind of work they have done for decades. Guinevere can’t pass a sad, old Bug in town without stopping. “There was one where the body was going to slide off the frame. I left a card on the windshield.” It’s noble work for these vehicles that are more than just cars. “It’s like bringing your kid to the doctor,” says Guinevere. “They’ll say, ‘This is Lola please take care of her.’”
While many Volkswagens do get flipped for profit, small-town Greenwich still has its cherished hand-me-downs. “We get people who come in for 40 years,” Guinevere says. “They come the same day every year.”