1987 Porsche 944 S – Calling The Eighties

1987 Porsche 944 S. Wrigleyville, Chicago, Illinois. Sunday, February 22, 2026.

The Porsche 944, introduced for the ’82 model year, was widely seen as a legitimate Porsche, which was something questioned of the 924 on which it was based.  Those flared front and rear fenders weren’t just for looks – they were necessitated by wider tires and wheels.  The most significant difference was under the hood, where a Porsche-designed, four-cylinder “heart” displacing 2.5 liters heart rated at 147 horsepower (in non-turbo form) had replaced the 924’s Audi-sourced 2.0 liter four.  The 2.5L was basically one-half of the 4.5L V8 found in the 928 grand tourer, but slightly bored out.  Weighing in at about 3,000 pounds, the naturally aspirated 944 was able to do 0-60 miles per hour in the mid eight-second range.  Per a license plate search, this example was originally built in Neckarsulm, Germany, and had a base price of $28,905, which is $82,500 adjusted for 2026.

1987 Porsche 944 S. Wrigleyville, Chicago, Illinois. Sunday, February 22, 2026.

I’m a Generation X-er who had grown up mostly in the ’80s, and there are certain familiar, comforting touchstones from that decade that will always bring me joy on some level.  I have long since learned that when I search for things online (perhaps maybe even when I merely think about them), my social media news feeds will then be populated with not just advertisements related to said search topics, but also related shorts and clips.  Aside from the general creepiness of this (which I’ve long made peace with, and I love social media much more than I hate certain aspects of it), I enjoy seeing posts showing what the typical ’80s living room had looked like.  I get a kick out of seeing old pictures of the loaded cassette cases of peers.  Pictures of ashtrays on the tables at the local McDonald’s.  You get the idea.

1987 Porsche 944 S. Wrigleyville, Chicago, Illinois. Sunday, February 22, 2026.

I also just can’t get enough (Depeche Mode reference, there) of discussion threads of favorite movies from that era, which will often veer into singing the praises of the late, great John Hughes and his impressive filmmaking legacy in which he had so beautifully and near-universally captured the zeitgeist of ’80s teendom.  Many of his films had been set in Chicagoland, my home of over two decades, which has endeared me even more to his body of work at this stage of my life.

The elephant in the room is that there will sometimes be moments during such a screening when something in one of his films is undeniably cringey.  Mr. Hughes, may he rest in immortalized teen-angst peace, will never be cancelled by me simply because even though he pushed certain aspects of his plot lines, character development, and dialogues a bit far, he had done so with a discernable love for his subjects and protagonists that his work had portrayed.

1987 Porsche 944 S. Wrigleyville, Chicago, Illinois. Sunday, February 22, 2026.

With all of that said, Sixteen Candles from 1984 remains one of my favorites in Hughes’ canon of teen-themed pictures and, at least in my mind, the red ’83 Porsche 944 driven by the character of Jake Ryan is easily one of the most iconic movie cars of the ’80s.  The 944 was available in fourteen colors for ’83 (and in sixteen for ’87, the year of our featured car), but the color I most associate with these cars is red, without question.  In fact, four of the ’83 colors and three for ’87 were in some variation of red.  The whole red Porsche thing seems even more such an ’80s phenomenon especially when contrasted against this make’s current offerings.  Off the top of my head, I can picture some red 911s, but zero Panameras or Macans – the latter two of which, of course, are not sports cars.

1987 Porsche 944 S. Wrigleyville, Chicago, Illinois. Sunday, February 22, 2026.

The other connection with that decade that’s present on this car are those iconic rotary phone dial wheels which, interestingly enough, were not present on Jake Ryan’s car.  I’m trying to remember approximately the last year I can remember having dialed a rotary phone at my parents’ house.  If my memory serves me correctly, this might have been the early ’90s, after which the Dennises were exclusively a touch-tone family.  I loved calling my friends back in the day, and I find it fascinating today just how much of my mental bandwidth I had committed to memorizing so many phone numbers.  I suppose this is really no different than how I have now internalized myriad passwords out of necessity, but I can still remember so many of those old phone numbers even as I type this – my own, and also those of my family of origin and of many friends.

My white rotary phone.

Some years back, a friend and her then-adolescent daughter were visiting my home.  As a fun experiment, we asked the daughter, Addison, to attempt a fake phone call using the rotary phone (which is still in my living room – inoperable, of course).  Addison, a very bright young lady, had managed to pick up the receiver and position it correctly between her shoulder and her cheek, but her mom and I (this probably sounds a little mean, I know) were barely able to suppress laughter as Addison tried to figure out what to do with the dial.  Don’t worry.  We showed her.  I suppose this would be no different than a member of the Greatest Generation asking me to work a victrola, or something.  Yes, we’re old, but that’s only a state of mind.  Just don’t tell my joints on some days.  I’m thankful for rolling reminders like this red 944 S with the rotary phone dial wheels of how great it was to grow up in the ’80s.

Wrigleyville, Chicago, Illinois.
Sunday, February 22, 2026.