300Es and Rivieras

[Russ Fine <russfine@xxxx>]

Sorry for the delay in getting back to you. Our days seem to be more
complicated and demanding than ever. This is a little disconcerting because
I was under the impression (false) that life was supposed to become less
complicated after one passed 50 (I'm 56).

Anyway, my thanks, again for the search for Dad's 300E. I've re-read your
message a hundred times and each time my gratitude increased ... as does the
mystery of what became of his car ... and even more importantly, why the
survival rate of the E car is so incredibly low. One would have to be brain
dead to have seen this car and not realized that it was something special;
very special. I can close my eyes and go over it in my mind, literally inch
by inch.

Some History:

The town bully threatened to steal the air cleaners shortly after Dad took
delivery. He did this publicly and to my face. I was only 14 or 15. He was
at least 5 years older and very tough and very mean as I recall. He came
from a nice family and my Dad was their family doctor and his dad was our
plumber. His grandparents lived a few houses down the street and they
treated like their own grandchild. I never understood that guy. One day,
sure as the world, Dad raised the hood and they were gone. Everyone knew
about it but Dad said nothing; did nothing. Simply replaced them through
Eddie Karr Chrysler-Plymouth Motors in Herrin, Illinois and life went on. I
always resented "Red's" brazenness for that theft. He died a few years ago
in a fiery car crash. Fitting. I didn't waste much time mourning his passing
when I learned of it although many years had passed and I'm told he had
become "an upstanding citizen." Still, he stole from my Father and he
seemed to take great pleasure in having done so... and he had no use for the
air cleaners (he had a really nice 56 Mercury with a 2 barrel) and I suppose
he simply carried Dad's air cleaners around in his trunk as trophies of his
"courage." Dad never discussed it; never mentioned it again but -- I'm glad
to say Dad outlived the son-of-a-bitch :-) Fitting.

Anyway, as I may have mentioned, my Father was a simple man. He was an
orphan who somehow overcame the adversity of the depression and a number of
tragedies that marked his youth, teen years and young adulthood. Somehow he
got in and went to medical school. The many sad aspects of his life made
him, as I remember, quiet and somewhat unable to relate to any of his 4
children (I am the eldest). He did not smoke, nor drink, nor gamble nor (at
least to my knowledge) "fool around" with other women. In retrospect, given
my Mother's suffocating ways, I wouldn't have blamed him if he had - or did.
Mom was not meant to have / raise children. She was obsessed with my Dad
and like my wife (of 35 years) has concluded: "If she hadn't married him,
she would have stalked him." Thus, his only two vices - if one could call
them that were his love of classical music (which to this days bores me
because it's all that ever played in our home) and CARS. Oh, G-d ... did he
love cars. He didn't work on them or anything... he just liked to have 'em
and drive 'em. He had an E and later an H. I begged him not to trade them,
but in those days people collected Model As and Model Ts and ... who ever
dreamed that those beautiful Mopar behemoths were irreplaceable. I'll tell
you who dreamed that dream: I did. Something told me they were special.
Although he was a doctor and we had more money than most of the people in
our town, that wasn't saying much. We come from a place that basically
subsisted on coal mining and farming. Our house was 3 bedrooms and 1 bath,
a kitchen, front room and a converted garage for a "playroom." Dad "blew"
his money on cars... one at a time... but in Mother's estimation "wasted it
on those damn cars." He didn't waste it. When I saw him turn the E into our
driveway that summer day (maybe it was spring, I can't recall) the look on
his face said it all. It was his symbol of success and manhood. So be it.

I loved that car. I loved that fire engine red, upside mouth "grill" and
those fins and the quadralight headlamps. I loved that speedometer that
registered 150 and I knew that there was something incomparable about 2-4s."

I swooned when he got it and I cried (albeit to myself) when he traded it
... even though I thought the new H was "cool." But, "given my druthers, I'd
rather have that E than any other car in the world ... except one ... and
that's the one for which he traded the H: a 1965 Buick Gran Sport Riviera
with every toy, bell, whistle and buzzer Buick made and that big, bold 425
nailhead with... his gas guzzling, trademark requirement: 2-4s (covered by a
big jazzy round chrome (stock) air cleaner).

My life's dream has been two acquire 2 cars: the Buick and the E. I'm
half-way there, sort of. I tried in vain to locate the Gran Sport but the
Riviera Owner's Association has NO ONE like you. They took my $$$ and I get
their literature, but you 300 folks are something special. No one tried to
help me find the Gran Sport (or even offered advice as to how I might go
about locating it). You, on the other hand ... well, what can I say?

Suffice to say, after searching "on and off" for 4 years, I ran across an
internet post (quite by accident) and my heart skipped a beat, because the
description (color, etc) sounded as if I may have located "Dad's Riv."
Turns out, it was a California car but not his. The description and the
photos clinched it. Dad had a special order green 'simulated' leather
(probably a real good vinyl) emerald green interior which was greenish
black... and stunning. The 65 Riviera had the clamshell headlights that
open in a vertical plane. If you are unfamiliar with the car, it had a
classic European line (at least to me) and in part, looked sort of mildly
customized because of the "decked" trunk lid and a paucity of chrome.

After lengthy email correspondence, countless hours on the phone, etc., I
committed to buy the car sight unseen. It turned out - thank G-d - to be
very straight and real good. Not quite as good as described or disguised in
the carefully angled photographs, but a high 2, for which I paid much far
too much money. My purchase was somewhat impulsive and somewhat desperate. I
figured, it was now or never and since I am going blind (advanced macular
degeneration) I don't know how much longer I'll be able to look at the
classics I love. (SIDEBAR: I can hardly wait for Old Car Trader, Collector
Cars and Hemmings Motor News to arrive each month, although with my eyes,
it's almost impossible to read Hemmings comfortably. I am real sucker for
the photos and the stories and the ads...hmmm). Anyway, the Riviera was
delivered by the seller in January of this year and I've spent a small damn
fortune getting it into the condition that people who know assure me is a #
1, although not concourse. Although the color, Champagne Mist/Gold, was
exactly the color of Dad's this car has a cloth interior that everyone is
nuts about, except me. They don't seem to understand why I am still mumbling
about the difference in the interior. The reason is simple; perhaps, I need
not explain this to you ? Anyway, no one in their right mind would pay me
what I've got "invested" in this car (probably around $30,000 total) but
somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I think that Dad is smiling because of
this labor of love and rememberance.

The day "the Riv" was delivered, I could not meet the seller and he called
me at my office when he was a few miles from our home. I dropped everything
and headed for the house, but he beat me there and he had unloaded the car
and it was in my driveway. As I rounded the corner into the cul-de-sac
where we live, I almost had a heart attack, because it was as if Dad had
pulled up and was waiting for me. The day was dark, overcast, rainy and
cold (even here in Birmingham, AL) but for brief moment, as I stepped from
my car and walked slowly up the drive towards "the Riv" the rain stopped and
the cold seemed to disappear. There was a parting of clouds and the sun
broke through for around 20 minutes and that 36 year old Buick basked in
nature's warm yellow spotlight. I paid the guy, we did the paper work and he
was gone - gone in a flash before I could spot the carefully disguised dings
and things that proved he made far more money on me than he should have ...
but, it was done and a part of Dad had now displaced my own car's place in
our garage.

Dee and I took soft towels from our bathroom and wiped away the icy
raindrops from its sleek body. And you know what, we were both crying. She
remembered this car as I did. Perhaps, not with quite as much enthusiasm
(she likes small shiny expensive stones set in jewelry more than cars) but
she was taken back, as I was to that time long ago, when we would see him
coming down the road, slouched to the left, and ready to "punch it" just to
hear it roar and smoke the tires ... strictly for the thrill of it. We put
his photo on the console.

Today is December 29th. The work was just completed last week, nearly a
year after I took delivery. The restoration (repaint and body repair -
because there was a little hidden, poorly repaired damage) was "nightmare
city." The guy was recommended by another body shop. He was good but a
real screwball and while our contract read 2 months ... I damn near had to
get the police to recover the car after 8 months. The work is excellent, but
it sure took a lot of the fun out of it because I never knew from week to
week if he would finish or even be in business the next Saturday, while my
car lay in pieces in his garage. That's another story. I'm sure you've
probably heard some horror stories about restorations, but I'll bet mine
would have to rank in the top 10.

Anyway, I'm supposed to be able to pick up that "bad boy" this coming Monday
morning after my show <www.russndee.net> and I'll bring it home for the
week. Despite my failing vision and a couple of other crummy, unexpected
things that fate has brought our way this year, everything's OK. I've
practiced "seeing" the Riviera with my hands - by touch - so that when I
can't see it anymore, I'll be able to integrate that which I'm feeling with
my recollection of how it looks. The only thing missing is the E. That's the
rest of my dream: to be able to open the garage door and having an E sitting
beside the Riv. I feel a little ashamed of myself "coveting" another man's
treasure ... because I know where a good one is right here in Birmingham (I
think I mentioned it) ... but I've watched him with it (it's been garaged
for 6 years) and it's clear that he's glad to have it as an investment but
he doesn't love it. Too bad. Too bad for him and too bad for me. I love it.

Someone told me about the September Hemmings ad, but $29,500 seems more than
I can spend (read:borrow) in good conscience for a car that will cost me
another arm and leg to "get right" but ... I think about it all the time.
Maybe ... just maybe that's enough.

Have a Happy New Year and Thanks Again for being so wonderful. I can never
repay your thoughtfulness because now, at least, I know that Dad's E (or
what's left of it) is somewhere that I can't get to ... and in a way, a
small way, that makes it a little easier to cope with because I find myself
thinking: What if some guy had it and would sell it to me for ... $50,000
and not a penny less. What would I do ? I'd have to turn and walk away and
that would be heart-breaking ... this way, I'll probably never know what
became of it ... Who knows, maybe Dad's driving that monster in Heaven?
Hope so.

That's my story I promised. Apologize for the typos. I'm not a real good
typist and it's hard to see the screen 'cause my eyes are pretty misty. I
miss Dad, especially today, but tomorrow it will be OK.

Russ