BY GEORGE SPATOLA In the early ‘90s, Mark Kramer—a Ferrari enthusiast and McDonald’s franchisee—built the first McDonald’s on Native American land at the Pavilions. When I took over managing the store, business was slow, mostly due to freeway construction delays that impacted traffic and visibility. At the same time, several fast-food joints in the area were actively kicking out car clubs and their gatherings. So, Shari Fransen-Lopez and I visited these locations and invited the clubs and car owners to our McDonald’s instead—with the promise of free fries. That first Friday, 11 cars showed up (including one truck). The second Friday six cars showed up. The following Saturday, about 20 teens arrived in mini trucks, blasting music. The Salt River Police quickly shut it down and contacted McDonald’s corporate marketing. The next morning, I got a call from the marketing director who told me, “If any cars show up tonight, kick them out. No more car shows allowed.” But Mark came out that Saturday night, saw just over 20 cars gathering, and committed to supporting the event. He arranged for security and worked with SRPD directly, even offering the officers free meals. He also made a donation to their teen police program, and the show continued. The following year, my portable boombox stopped working. That’s when Johnny from Johnny B’s Entertainment stepped in and offered to bring out his sound system. The first night he played music, the Scottsdale Police showed up in response to noise complaints from across Pima Road. They asked us to shut it down. Once again, Mark went to bat for the show. I remember sitting in meetings with homeowners and city officials, working to find a compromise. We repositioned the speakers and agreed on set hours for music. The show was saved again—and if you’re a classic car owner, you know it’s still going strong every Saturday night. In 1996, the McDonald’s set a dinner sales record thanks to the show. The following January, in 1997, the location hosted a charity event that raised over $10,000 for veterans. Then in 2003, the mall management tried to shut the event down after more than 100 motorcycles showed up one weekend. Mark responded by hiring additional security and even gave one of the mall’s VPs a pass for free food at all of his stores. Crisis averted—again. That same year, while Mark and I were walking the show, he asked me, “Do you want to own a Ferrari someday?” I told him I was aiming for a nice classic Mustang. That annoyed him at first—until I explained I needed four seats. Later that night, he called me outside to show me a Ferrari Mondial—a four-seater. He even gave me some seed money for a future classic car and made me promise: after I bought a Mustang, I had to eventually go after a Ferrari. I let that fund grow over the years. In 2020, while doing volunteer work with veterans, I met Bob. He asked for help selling some belongings, including a few cars. We became friends, though I never sold a single vehicle—he just wasn’t ready to part with them. Then, one summer evening, Bob asked, “Do you want to buy my Mustang?” I told him it was out of my price range. He said he didn’t care about the money—he just wanted someone who would love the car. We agreed to an “evil split” deal: we’d each write down a price. If our numbers were within $1,000 of each other, the sale would go through. Otherwise, we’d walk away as friends. I told Bob I wasn’t offering the car’s true value—just what I had saved from the fund Mark helped start. He smirked when I revealed my number, then turned his over: “George’s number + $999.” We laughed. He was happy. I was happy. Then he called that night and asked, “Would you be mad if I backed out? I don’t want to sell my favorite car.” I told him it was OK. He promised that if he ever changed his mind, I’d have first dibs. Later that year, Bob called again. He said he’d nearly crashed the Mustang and didn’t trust himself behind the wheel anymore. He sold me the car for our agreed price. Two weeks later, he tragically died in a car accident. During the COVID years, I spoke with Mark a few times. He reminded me of my promise. Not long before his passing, I found a Ferrari for sale and gave him a call to share the news. He wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t join me to look at it—that was the last time we spoke. To my surprise, when I went to see the car, it was the same Ferrari that used to show up at the Pavilions show. I now own that car, too. I still make it out to the show every few months. Every time I do, I sit back, look around, and feel amazed by the community. The families, the longtime regulars, the cars—it’s all still there. Still going strong.