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The Young Gun in a Garage of Legends

Stepping inside an unassuming Pittsburgh garage the air feels heavy with history. Ferrari, Jaguar, Lamborghini, AC — names that shaped the language of speed - the names that defined eras of racing and excess — are lined up shoulder to shoulder, waiting patiently under covers like sleeping lions. It’s a place that could easily feel like a museum. But it isn’t. The heater hum, the bright lights, the smell of oil and gas — that all comes from a 21-year-old named Jacob Serbin. Jacob isn’t your average young enthusiast snapping photos at Cars & Coffee. He’s the one under the hood, the one welding a cracked frame back into shape, the one who learned to rebuild fiberglass panels not because it was fun but because no one else would touch them. He is, in every sense of the word, a craftsman — one forged in grease, patience, and trial by fire. He is the conservator and mechanic of this wild collection owned by a man we will simply call Joey.

Jacob’s story starts with his father, a Porsche master technician whose own resume includes working with Bob Bondurant. Growing up, Jacob was surrounded by horsepower: his dad’s BMW track car, his mom’s Porsche Boxster, and weekends spent tearing around in go-karts. Car culture wasn’t just a hobby — it was family life. That early exposure gave Jacob more than a mechanical foundation. It gave Jacob something most young enthusiasts never find: confidence. Confidence to view a Lamborghini Miura or Ferrari 512 not as rolling jewelry, but as machines. Machines that can be rebuilt, improved, and resurrected if you’re willing to put in the hours. Whether it’s a Lamborghini Miura or a tired Subaru, his mantra is the same — do it right the first time, or don’t do it at all.

The leap from Hot Wheels and family track days to wrenching on some of the rarest cars in America came through Joey, a larger-than-life Pittsburgher whose garage houses everything from vintage race cars to exotic supercars. Joey met Jacob’s father years ago while shopping for a trailer, and soon Jacob and his brother were helping polish Joey’s Elva race car before the Pittsburgh Vintage Grand Prix. What started as odd jobs turned into a decade-long apprenticeship. By the time most teenagers were still figuring out their first clutches, Jacob was crewing vintage racers and learning fabrication. Today, he’s Joey’s go-to man for keeping the fleet alive.

The collection itself is staggering.

Ferrari 512 BB – Unlike most of its kind, which were painted in two-tone schemes, Joey’s car left the factory in solid yellow over a blood-red interior. The original paint has spider cracks, the leather carries the sweet smell of age, and yet its imperfections make it more beautiful — a true survivor.
Jaguar XJ220 – Often misunderstood, this spaceship-like coupe was supposed to house a V12 but instead debuted with a twin-turbo V6. Collectors balked, but time has redeemed it. Joey’s car looks showroom-fresh, though its fuel system is awaiting a rebuild that will require pulling the engine and transmission — a task Jacob is already preparing for.
Lamborghini Countach – The crown jewel. Purchased new by Joey’s father, it has lived its life entirely within the family. Fresh from a meticulous four-year restoration, the angular red wedge sits on rare cylindrical wheels, stripped of the clumsy U.S. bumpers that mar so many examples. For Jacob, riding shotgun in this car with his dad remains one of his earliest and sharpest memories.

And those are just the headliners. Scattered throughout are rare Jaguars, Ginetta racers, a Porsche RS Lightweight — each with its own story, its own quirks, and inevitably, its own repair needs.

Jacob speaks about these machines with a mix of reverence and pragmatism. To him, a Miura is not an untouchable museum piece — it’s another car that uses relays, connectors, and bolts just like everything else. But he also knows that perfection doesn’t exist. Old cars break. Old cars strand you. Old cars fight back. That’s the fun. “There’s never a problem you can’t solve,” Jacob says. “It might be hard, it might take longer than you want, but there’s always a solution.” It’s the kind of mindset that separates car guys from car keepers. Anyone can own a Countach. Very few can keep one alive.

Amidst the Ferraris, Jaguars, and Lamborghinis, Jacob’s own car tells a different story. While he could have chosen a V12 Mercedes or another exotic, he fell for a Plymouth Fury — a massive slice of Americana with original paint, patina, and presence. Found on Craigslist in Burgettstown, Pennsylvania, the Fury became his canvas for learning the hard way: no shortcuts, no calling dad for help, just wrenching, problem-solving, and making it roadworthy again. It may not fetch auction-block millions, but the Fury represents something the Miura and Ferrari cannot: independence. It’s Jacob’s car, his project, his reminder that car culture is as much about connection as it is about horsepower.

Most teenagers dream of their first car. For Jacob, it was love at first sight. “I was like, wow. This is a really cool car. Why don’t we go look at it?” he recalls. He was barely 16 — not even licensed yet — when he and his dad brought home the Plymouth Fury that would shape his automotive journey. It wasn’t just any car. Big, brash, and unmistakably Mopar, the Fury stood apart in a world where high-schoolers lusted after Camaros, Mustangs, or imports. Jacob even took his driving test in it — much to the examiner’s dismay when she realized there was no passenger-side mirror. He failed the first time. Passed the second. And by then, the Fury wasn’t just a car; it was his car.

Owning a vintage Mopar at that age meant learning lessons the hard way. Unlike Fords or Chevys, parts aren’t interchangeable. Pedals, trim, interior pieces — everything is rare, often model-specific, and expensive. Jacob spent years hunting down a proper set of four-speed pedals, finally landing a pair after paying double what he expected. “It’s pretty scary cutting up a set like that,” he admits. “I spent two years looking.” Still, the challenges became part of the bond. He restored the interior with original materials, sourced through an upholsteryshop in Pittsburgh, and learned firsthand that sometimes you have to pay more to get it right. “It hurt when I saw the bill,” Jacob laughs. “But every time I sit in it, I know it’s exactly how I wanted.” Plans for the Fury’s future are ambitious. A modern Gen III Hemi swap with a five-speed is on deck, giving it the reliability to bomb down highways and cruise to shows without worry. But while performance upgrades matter, Jacob’s connection runs deeper than horsepower. This Fury carried him through high school, drew curious stares at car shows, and made him one of the few young guys in Pittsburgh keeping old Mopars alive.

In an era when younger enthusiasts lean toward turbocharged imports and digital tuning, Jacob stands apart: a self-taught welder, fabricator, and restorer of the analog greats. He’s proof that car culture’s golden age isn’t locked away in museums. It still breathes — in garages, on lifts, under grease-stained hands. Joey’s garage could have been just a mausoleum of great machines. Instead, thanks to Jacob, it’s a workshop, a proving ground, and a classroom where legends are kept alive. Because for Jacob Serbin, these aren’t just cars. They’re teachers. They’re family. And they’re the challenges that will keep him — and this garage of icons — roaring into the future. You can find him on instagram furyous_412 or local car shows and vintage races in the area!