I was meandering down the Main Drag of Frankfurt, Germany, one fine Spring day, taking in all the sights and sounds of the country. I was stationed near there, protecting all of you from those evil commies behind the Iron Curtain. But every now and again they let me loose to go out and explore...
I soon found myself in front of a huge Mercedes-Benz showroom. Floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows displayed its wares. And among those wares were the wettest of dreams a hot rod kid like me could ever have...
Displayed behind velvet ropes and under intense spot lights was the 1955 Mercedes-Benz 300 SLR open roadster that Juan Fangio and Stirling Moss had driven to victory in the 24-hour race at Le Mans. And then the Mille Miglia (1,000 mile race across Italy) in 1956. And next to it was one of the only two 1956 300 GTO "Uhlenhaut" Coupes made to prove the concept of a closed car before mainstream production. And that production we all know as the famous 300 SL coupes (3,245 produced) that now command at least $1 Million Dollars each at auction today. I was transfixed!
Maybe 16 year-old boys had picture of Farah Faucet on their walls back then, but car-crazed, 16 year-old boys also had pictures of this amazing race car tacked up there as well. And now I was given the chance to see it in the "flesh," 10 years later. And that flesh was aluminum. Beer-can thin aluminum. Bright aluminum made thin in an unending quest for lightness, the velvet ropes protected it from onlookers who might get too close. And ruin its sleek silver flanks with their overeager mitts. Poking an expensive hole that couldn't be repaired. In what would come to be known as the "Silver Arrow."
The M-B 300 SLR was designed just after the Big War to prove a concept; that a clean-sheet-of-paper, super-light roadster could win Le Man, a race previously the province of the Italians. And with the 300 SLR, they did. Three years in a row.
It was a thing of beauty. It was designed by Rudolf Uhlenhaut, M-B's chief engineer. It featured an inline six-cylinder engine producing for the time a phenomenal 302 horsepower! That's pretty racy even today! Due to its lightness, it would peak out at an unheard of 182 miles per hour! And remember again, this was back in 1955!
Anyway, I entered the showroom and edged up to the car. I was noticeably drooling. The salesman asked in German if he could help. And I knew enough of the language by that time to ask if the car was for sale. Not expecting a positive answer, I was surprised when the guy came back nonchalantly with, "Ein hundert tauzen Deutchmark." Or, with DM's, their currency, trading at the time at about $0.25 each, the guy was asking for $25,000 for what I knew to be a museum piece.
Perhaps he didn't.
Now, it's not like $25 Grand wasn't a lot of money back then. It was. The average American car back then could be had for around $3,000. And I'd just bought a new Volkswagen bug to tool around Germany in for $1,600. So $25,000 was Big Money! Yet, I thought this might be a good investment. So I called my Dad...
Now, my Father was a successful real estate broker. So was my Mom, his partner. So I asked Dad to sell my beloved 1966 427 cu. in., 450 hp, 4-speed Corvette* I'd placed in storage for while I was away. And anything else he owned which he might like to contribute to the project. I knew he owned several houses, a farm and a motel at the time, so I knew he was able to make the investment. And I'd been playing pool professionally for several years before I got drafted into the Army, so I had a bunch of assets I was willing to dump toward making this deal come together as well. Let's buy this car, I told him!
He thought I was nuts at the outset. Until, that is, I outlined the deal and explained the rarity of this car and why we should take the plunge. He slowly came around to my way of thinking. He wanted to know if they were serious. I said the only way we could find out was to present them with a certified check for $25 Grand. He agreed...
I recall the day a couple of weeks later when I proudly walked in to the show room and presented the salesman with the certified check. He nearly fainted. His manager nearly fainted. And I would assume that the manager of the Mercedes-Benz Museum in Sindelfingen, Germany, from which I later learned this car had been borrowed for display, nearly fainted also. In short, I was told in halting English by some executive they called in to queer the deal that it was all a mistake. That the car wasn't really for sale. "So sorry, estumerlite! May I get you a coffee?"
I'm guessing somebody got fired over this.
Anyway, I was pissed. But if I couldn't buy the roadster, I asked the guy, how about that Uhlenhaut Coupe, the "Silver Arrow" sitting next to it? Presumably less valuable that the SLR with the famous driver pedigree, I thought, but still valuable. Maybe I could pick it up for a bit less. Nope, the manager told me, they couldn't do that either. So I took my check and left in a huff, promising to never, ever buy a Mercedes-Benz.
Well, fast forward, I did later buy an Benz. Actually several of them. But what made this story interesting to recall, and why I'm writing this blog entry, was I just learned that M-B had decided to sell one of its two prized Uhlenhaut Coupes. And they did so, I learned, at a private auction over this past weekend, to an unnamed, British collector. This was the very same Coupe I'd drooled over that bright Spring day back in 1968 Frankfurt. And Christie's just sold it...
...For $183,000,000!
I was right back then. That M-B would have been a pretty good investment. My Dad and I were both right. Screw the money, I wish he were still alive so we could gloat about it together. Over a cold beer. Laughing our asses off all the while...
* (That '66 Corvette was equipped with all four "off-road" options, including exhaust, brakes, steering and suspension. And those extra options make such cars so valuable today. In fact, one just like mine sold at a Mecum auction over this past weekend for $145,000. That would have been a pretty good return on my original $6,100 investment...)
No comments:
Post a Comment
The Chuckmeister welcomes comments. After I check them out, of course. Comment away!