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This marks the beginning of a monthly series exploring the evolution of the Porsche 911, tracing its origins from the early 356 models through each generation and culminating with today’s 992.2 series cars.

Gary Lea

Part One: THE BATHTUBS

Genesis in Aluminum and Air: The Porsche 356 A, B, (D), and C

Before the numbers became sacred—before the 911 became a silhouette recognized in rearview mirrors across the world—there was something quieter. Lighter. Almost uncertain of itself.

The Porsche 356 wasn’t built to dominate a category. It was built because Ferry Porsche couldn’t find the car he wanted to drive.

So he made one.

And in doing so, he set a pattern Porsche would follow for the next 75 years:
“If the world doesn’t understand it yet, build it anyway.”

My very first time to behind the wheel of a Porsche of any stripe was in 1971, at the age of 17, when my cousin showed up in a crème colored 356 SC Coupe with Oxblood interior. He got out with a big smile and said, “get in you are going to drive it.” We spent an hour going up over Hwy 50 from Meyers to Strawberry and back into the Tahoe basin. At the time I had a 1970 Beetle in Red with black interior, and it came with a custom exhaust, Hurst shifter, and Empi style wheels. I was really enjoying that car when gas was less than half of the current cost of a package of gum. The Porsche 356 SC (Super) was the top-performing, final iteration of the 356 C model, produced between 1964 and 1965. It featured a high-performance air-cooled flat-4 engine (Type 616/16) producing 95 to 107bh, four-wheel disc brakes, and a top speed of 120 to 125mph. It was considered the most refined and powerful pushrod 356. The car was already 7 years old and had been replaced by the first 911 (901) variant but looked brand new. I always liked the simplistic nature of both the VW and the Porsche and was expecting them to be quite similar. Boy was I way off base. Way off base! From that first drive I swore I would own a Porsche someday.

356A (1955–1959): Finding Its Voice

By the time the 356A arrived, the idea had stabilized. This was the heart of Porsche and the future was here.

The earlier cars proved the concept—rear engine, lightweight construction, balance over brute force. But the A refined it into something cohesive. The curved windshield replaced the earlier split design, the body became smoother, and the car started to feel less like an experiment and more like intent.

This was still a modest machine on paper. Small displacement. Minimal horsepower. But that misses the point entirely.

The 356A wasn’t fast in the traditional sense—it was alive.
Every input mattered. Every pound mattered. Every road felt like it had something to say, and the car was finally listening. So did the public as the 356 quickly hit a lot of sports car enthusiasts across the planet. 

What Porsche refused to change:
Rear-engine layout, lightweight philosophy, driver focus. Things that are still hallmarks of the 911s today.

What Porsche refined:
Usability, comfort, build quality and never stopped improving these aspects to this very day.

The A is where Porsche stopped asking, “Can we do this?”
…and started saying, “This is how it’s done.” Other manufacturers began to take notes.

356B (1959–1963): Confidence, with Edge

If the A found its voice, the B spoke a little louder.

The changes were subtle unless you knew where to look—higher bumpers, revised headlights, a more practical shape. The T5 to T6 transition brought twin engine lid grilles and improved cooling, but more importantly, it reflected something deeper:

Porsche was no longer building just for itself. It was building for a growing audience. Again with this version the buzz heightened immensely. 

The 356B had to live in the real world—longer drives, broader markets, more expectations.

And yet, it didn’t lose its character.

What Porsche refused to change:

The core driving experience—light, communicative, slightly mischievous, a bit more refined but still all about the driving experience.

What Porsche adapted to:
Regulations, export markets (especially the U.S.), everyday usability.

There’s a tension in the B:
A car learning how to grow up without becoming ordinary!

The Speedster, the D, and the American Influence

If Europe shaped the 356’s engineering, America shaped its attitude. And who would have known then what this slight shift in the line would be worth today?

The Speedster—low windshield, minimal comforts, stripped-down purpose—wasn’t born out of German engineering doctrine. It was born out of the U.S. market’s appetite for something raw and affordable. Something you could drive hard, park on the coast, and not apologize for. Then came the Convertible D—slightly more refined, a nod to comfort creeping back in.

These weren’t just variants. They were proof that Porsche was willing to bend—just enough—to survive. 

What Porsche protected:
The essence of lightness and driver connection

What Porsche experimented with:
Minimalism vs comfort, image vs function

The irony is that the simplest versions would become the most iconic and the most valuable of the genre. It is hard to imagine that in the day anyone thought it would become one of two of the most replicated cars in history and still going strong.

356C (1963–1965): The Quiet Perfection

By the time the 356C arrived, Porsche had nothing left to prove—only things left to perfect.

The most important change wasn’t visible immediately: four-wheel disc brakes. It was a modern solution wrapped in a familiar shape. The handling, already delicate and precise, now had stopping power to match.

This was the 356 at its most complete. The SC version that I was introduced ticked every box any driver could have wanted. My experience left me feeling I was in automotive nirvana.
Balanced. Mature. Confident without excess. Truly satisfying in every aspect.

And maybe that’s why it had to end.

Because sitting just over the horizon was something that would carry the same DNA forward in a new form—the car that would become the Porsche 911.

What Porsche held onto until the end:
Lightness, simplicity, the belief that driving should feel like participation and the driver should be one with the car.

What Porsche quietly prepared for:
A future that would demand more power, more space, more expectation.

Looking Back from Now

The 356 wasn’t trying to become a legend.
It was trying to solve a problem: What does a proper sports car feel like?

Every version—A, B, Speedster/D, and C—answers that question slightly differently. But none of them overcomplicate it.

They whisper the same idea:

A car doesn’t have to be powerful to be meaningful.
It just has to be honest.

And in that honesty, Porsche found its identity—one it would spend the next several decades trying not to lose.