When classic joys meet present possibilities

Why does it feel so good to hold on to things from the past?

In my apartment, my bookshelves are lined with vinyl records. Some are from my father: I've got a handful of Johnny Cash, the "Man in Black," to whom my dad partially attributes his dark monochromatic style, plus a lot of Elvis Presley. Let's just say my sister and I learned how to do Presley's signature lip curl at a young age. Some records are from my mother: Journey, Heart, Jethro Tull, et cetera. (No offense, Mom, but those ones don't get played often.)

Others, however, are the result of spending my own time sifting through cramped crates of records at small shops in cities near and far. One of my favorite finds is a collection of 1960s French songs featuring big name "it girls" like Brigitte Bardot, Françoise Hardy and Anna Karina.

Ah, if I could dwell in a world of old library books and dusty records for all eternity, I certainly would. But there is also this little issue of availability as the world — and our beloved joys from the past — ages.

I ran into this problem last year when my dad let me have his old wooden cabinet-style stereo console. It's a 1960s Magnavox with a Micromatic record player — the kind where you can stack records on top of one another, which also led me to understand why early pressings were made as side A and C, and so on, as opposed to side A and B on the same record that we typically see on reissues or newer pressings.

It was a beautiful piece of furniture, but years of neglect and water damage resulted in an unbalanced sound and a record player that couldn't do the one thing it was designed to do: turn.

I decided that I was going to get it fixed. I couldn't bear to see this "lovely lady" at the edge of a curb. The problem, however, was finding someone who knew how to properly fix vintage record players. And, once I found someone, would the right parts still be available?

Just as plastics processors, and many in the manufacturing sector, are having a tough time filling open positions with workers who have the necessary skill sets, admirers of vintage audio equipment are faced with the slimming odds of finding qualified repair technicians and the availability of spare parts required for the fix.

Classic car lovers, too, have had to confront this conundrum. But automakers like Germany's Porsche AG are alleviating some of the frustration by looking to the present as a way to fix products from the past.

For Porsche Classic customers, the automaker is using 3D printing methods to produce rare parts needed in small quantities for its vintage automobiles.

If a customer needs a new release lever for the clutch on a Porsche 959 — only 292 of these super sports cars were ever made, by the way — the automaker can use selective laser melting to produce the component, layer by layer, in a matter of two days or less.

The Porsche Classic range includes about 52,000 parts, of which only nine can currently be 3D printed. Materials used for 3D printing the parts include aluminum, stainless steel, nylon, fiber-reinforced nylon, polypropylene and elastic polyurethane.

Porsche Classic's Thilo Jauch said the automaker is testing other materials for potential applications and is also working on expanding the number of parts that can be 3D printed. Currently, Porsche is testing whether 3D printing is suitable for 20 other components.

"We attach the greatest possible importance to the quality of the parts," Jauch said in an April 5 email. "First, we check the original tools and original method from the time the parts were produced. If this is not economically possible, we make an evaluation of alternatives, which could be, but does not have to be, 3D printing."

As for my beaten up and water-logged Magnavox console, I probably spent close to its original value in repair costs, but music has never sounded sweeter.

Plus, the nice repair technician made it compatible with Bluetooth technology — for free. Who would've thought something from the 1960s could fare so well in 2018?