the l-word

Growing up, they were the enemy. Stylish forbidden fruit. Glamorous and elegant but frowned upon in my hometown. Not that they were declasse', anything but. They were chic to the nines, and that left me at sixes and sevens because they were a product of the wrong one of the big three. So for years, we resisted. After all, in my hometown, Cadillacs were respectable. A smart Sedan de Ville expressed success without crossing the corporate line. A man we knew bought a Mark III, then he got an Italian haircut and a French mistress. We blamed the Lincoln.

Dad finally acquiesced in a historic way, figuring that his 1947 Lincoln Continental Coupe and 1956 Continental Mark II were not a threat to the Cadillac dealer down the road. So all through the seventies we admired Town Cars and Continentals but Cadillacs were kept in our garage. In high school, when I thought that a Mark III would make an excellent commuter car, it somehow appeared as a Chevrolet Chevette instead. Oh, the horror.

So in my early adulthood, I suffered an explosion of pent up demand and filled my garage with Lincolns- long, low and lovely. A 1956 Mark II, a brace of 1959 Continentals, a low mileage 1964 sedan and a pair of 1965's. A Mark III in a shimmering Auburn color called Ginger Moondust, with pearlescent white leather. Many of the fairest of the Ford Family of Fine Cars passed through my hands.

Certainly they were not without their little flaws, it was I who observed that they always run better with a dashboard statue of Electron, the Roman God of properly functioning electrical systems, for inspiration. This was not their strong suit. I also noticed that Lincolns don't learn- they will require the exact same repair four times in a row whereas a Cadillac will thoughtkly break a different component each time so that you might mistake them for a higher quality car. In reality, both had their flaws, but the Lincolns were forgiven their shortcomings because of their sheer beauty.

And now in my advanced age, when I mostly spend my time caring for other people's cars, the L-word has returned with a vengeance. A triple-yellow Town Coupe, as delicious as vanilla ice cream. A Mark V in the same color, with a two-tone yellow and gold interior. Another Mark V, this one in Rose Crystal Poly with Rose and Cranberry Leather. The task of awakening a long cherished low mileage 1964 Continental, and and outrageous (and rare) 1974 Continental Coupe in Lime Gold Moondust Poly- Lincoln's answer to Persian Lime. There are exploding fuel pumps and vacuum leaks in the headlamp doors and chewed up power window gears and lots of battery cable issues, but hey- they're Lincolns. What else would you expect?

But we look GREAT driving them around.

low roller

Yes, it's true that Palm Springs is the Desert Paradise of the Wealthy and a wonderful place to drive classic cars on its wide, uncrowded streets, but unfortunately that is no guarantee that each and every car will have a rich and fulfilling life. Sometimes unfortunate fates befall innocent automobiles.

Like our case in point. Forgotten and forlorn behind a resort called the Stardust, its life has of late contained more dust than stars. Peeling clearcoat, ravaged Everflex roof, flat tires and missing wheel treatment- on a 1976 Rolls Royce Silver Shadow. No, Patina Firemist is not an original color. How the mighty have fallen.

Are you listening, Lynda Carter?

on blocks

Hello again gearheads and sorry it's been so long, but February was a very busy month for your humble curator. Clients with new acquisitions, clients with de-acquisitions, children needing shoes (like the one above awaiting brake shoes), a Thunderbird with electrical gremlins (now just imagine) and a long story involving the L-word that I will share with you soon. Sorry to leave you all up on blocks, but like the sweet little Starlight Coupe, we'll be back in the road soon. And just in time for spring.

miss belvedere update

Those of you who knew me when recall that I was pretty obsessed over Miss Belvedere, the brand new 1957 Plymouth Belvedere encased in a concrete vault as a memento of the 1957 Tulsarama! celebration. The intent was, of course, to open the watertight vault in 2007 and present the world with immaculately preserved artifacts of the late 50's. Except that when one plans on underground preservation, airtight is the required standard and a watertight concrete vault will, in fact, revert to the swimming pool it do closely resembles. Fast forward to 2007 when the ruins of a cruelly drowned and devastated 1957 Plymouth were unearthed, displayed, and celebrated.

Don't misunderstand, I'm mad about Miss Belvedere. Not so much for her ruined condition, but for the can-do attitude that swept a bunch of Tulsa businessmen into thinking that they could create this remarkable time capsule. The fact that they really couldn't is more of a footnote.

Okay, so two years later, where is Miss Belvedere? I had read that she was in the care of a company called Ultra One, that makes a rust removing product. They were going to attempt to stabilize her and get some good PR in the process. Along the way they discovered that the frame is ravaged, the rear springs crumbled and the axle was fused. They have removed most of the red clay and even gotten portions of her to resemble an automobile. Enough suspension components were replaced to make her push-worthy, but the realization has dawned that she is an artifact with the structural integrity of a potato chip.

Follow this link to an update in today's New York Times about her saga since 2007, complete with a photo slideshow.

a single mess

I went to see "A Single Man", Tom Ford's motion picture directorial debut, last night at the Camelot. I'm not discussing the plot, which seems to be about a despondent suicidal Colin Firth discovering the possibility of new love and then dying anyway, but rather the execution. This is the film that is being described as immaculately detailed by film reviewers. Tom Ford himself was quoted as saying "believe it or not, I didn't care about the style".

I believe him. Is that why there are so many obvious errors?

Now a period film is exquisitely hard to make, and one will never have every detail correct, so pay attention to the important ones. For example, if a film is clearly set in November 1962 and the entire plot pivots around a terrible traffic accident in the late winter of 1962, approximately March, do not choose a 1963 Rambler Cross Country as the victim's mode of transport, as its unavailability at that time ruins the credibility of the production design. Are we to believe that the factory flew in a prototype for the express purpose of dispatching the late lamented lover?

Furthermore, the fact that the car lies totally undamaged on its roof as if gingerly placed there by an army of fairies is odd, and one wonders whether this was an attempt to sanitize the gruesome nature of an early sixties auto crash, or whether they simply had to have the Rambler back to Hollywood Picture Cars by 5 pm to avoid additional rental charges. However rationalized, the Rambler is an epic failure.

So the camera follows George (Colin Firth) to work in the morning, starting with an establishing shot of his oh-so-chic Mercedes 220S coupe in the carport. The camera pulls back slightly and reveals a yellow and black California 1956 license plate with a year sticker. Period correct. For a pickup truck. E 95 047. A Commercial plate. A passenger car would have a three letter, three number configuration such as ABC 123. A twelve year old could catch this one- so how did it work its way into this film so highly praised for detail? Or do glaringly inaccurate details still qualify?


The offending Mercedes, from the HDNB Blog.

I'll cruise past the conceivable but unlikely narrow whitewalls on the 220S and drive to school with George. We pull into his College parking lot and there in full glorious view for several seconds is the totally restyled 1966 Lincoln Continental convertible. Not the original 1961-63, not the lengthened second generation 1964-65 with totally new roofline, but the all new 1966. They're two generations off. I am now totally screaming inside, I can't think any more, and we're only twenty minutes into the film. Yes, I am a stickler for detail, but how can one make so many glaring mistakes in important scenes?

Oh, right. The quote. Tom said he didn't care about the details. Well, Tom, maybe if you ever make another film, and I'm certainly not suggesting that you do, you might think about caring. For all us little people in the dark.

thurston and the dinos

Well, kids, we're back after a holiday whirlwind. Not too much going on with cars this last week or so, but I did take a trip you might find amusing. A friend was in town and wanted to see the Dinosaurs at Cabazon, so we made a brief trip that, unfortunately, was combined with one of our rare rainy PS mornings, so it was fun but not a photo op.

I'd been polishing the heck out of Thurston, the noble dunkelblau 450SEL and was looking for a fun setting for a picture or two when the dinos popped into my head. Off we went for a tour. Thurston, whose full name is Thurston Mc Thirsty, seemed to enjoy this. Look how lost in thought he seems, as if he's calculating the number of gallons of unleaded in each dinsosaur.

santa's gto

Most of you know I'm crazy about the Ramones, and that enthusiasm extendes to some of their tribute bands as well. Today's stop on the tour of the truly unusual features the world's only all-female Ramones tribute band, the Ramonas, and their festive little holiday number called "Santa's Got a GTO". This video features original imagery including renderings by legendary advertising artist Art Fitzpatrick.

So put some Octane in your holiday and take a look: