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Classics
For more than 20 years, RM Sotheby’s has been the official auction house of The Amelia’s predecessor, The Amelia Island Concours d’Elegance. A name change and the retirement of long-term event organizer Bill Warner have not changed that, and once again the venerable (since 1793, far predating anything you’d recognize as an automobile) company is on hand at the Ritz-Carlton, Amelia Island, with 94 cars representing the mixture of motorsports and classics that characterize Amelia.
In previewing this week’s offerings, Senior Editor Matt Litwin and I have taken note not only of the significant and possibly high-yielding cars on offer, but those that appeal to us on a personal level. Over the last two days, we’ve analyzed our preferred lots from Bonhams and Gooding. Now, it’s time to take a look at RM’s offerings and make note of a rather unusual situation—Matt and I both picked the same car.
Rather than fight over it, we’ll just show you that one and the eight others that we would happily have taken home. You, the reader, can decide if our taste is good, bad, or indifferent.
Dave and Matt’s Joint Pick:
1932 Buick Series 50 Sports Phaeton
Dave’s view: Perhaps this should come as no surprise. After all, Matt’s a long-time Buick aficionado and I have a real weakness for moderately sized phaetons and touring cars of the ’20s and ’30s. Naturally, then, this ’32 Buick with a Holden-built phaeton body (originally a RHD car from Australia) spoke to the both of us. To me, it’s possibly the best GM car you could buy that year. It’s not much bigger than a ’32 Ford, better built than a ’32 Chevy, and boasts one of the early iterations of Buick’s excellent straight-eight. It is, naturally, as handsome as can be (GM’s real value in the era was its styling, thanks to Harley Earl), and sports some technically interesting touches like remote-control adjustable shock absorbers: Sports Phaeton, indeed! For me, this one rivals many bigger and more expensive cars in its appeal.
Matt’s view: Interestingly, not only did we pick the same car, we did so for essentially the same reasons. An old friend once owned a McLaughlin Buick - of Canada - from the 1923 model year, which took me on a path into a deeper realm of appreciation for the more unique Buicks through the Thirties. After all, wouldn't you rather own a Buick?
Dave’s Picks:
Just before W.O. Bentley lost control of the company he’d founded (and it wound up in the hands of competitor Rolls-Royce), he released the enormous 8-litre cars. While Woolf Barnato and Bentley Boy friends made the W.O.-era cars synonymous with supercharging, the founder himself believed that displacement was the better route to performance and the 487-cu.in., SOHC six-cylinder in the 8 Litre reflected that. Unfortunately, the cars were also incredibly expensive and came out just in time for the worst of the Great Depression. From 1930 to ’32, just 100 were produced. This one was doubly neat because not long after it was built, it received the sporty coachwork you see here atop a shortened chassis. The resulting beast is an amazing period performance machine, right down to the vented brakes and lightened front axle. I found that the history, backstory, and its sheer presence made it a car I’ll think about for many years to come.
Matt’s response: Few in my circle of car enthusiasts know that I'm an early Bentley enthusiast. The make was introduced to me in somewhat greater detail by Ian Fleming's reprinted novels I collected and read in my formative years, which in turn sent me scurrying to find one to view in person. It took years - they weren't exactly common in my southern Connecticut hometown - and by then I found myself gravitating to the 4-1/2-Litre "Blower" Bentleys.
Roadsters are undoubtedly the most coveted early Ford body. The lightest, most elemental body for most of production, the roadster style is the perfect complement to Ford’s jaunty V-8 engine. The two overlapped for just five years, however, and demand has long outstripped supply thanks to the ravenous appetite for early Fords of both racing and hot rodding. It’s rare, then, to see a completely stock V-8 Ford roadster like this, and that’s the appeal to me, as so many have been modified in questionable taste. Model year 1933 has its plusses and minuses: With its curved grille and hood louvers, it’s a bit fancier than the near-identical-looking 1934s; but 1934 also saw the introduction of the two-barrel carburetor, slightly improving responsiveness despite an unchanged peak horsepower rating of 75. One-barrel or not, there was nothing to dislike about this one.
Matt’s response: I agree with Dave's comments pertaining to the relatively rare appearance of a completely stock V-8 Ford roadster, which made me pause on my stroll through one of the preview tents. Though as I looked over the Ford's cowl, it was game over when I saw the 1932 Buick discussed above.
Even people who think every pre-1933 car is a Ford Model T at least recognize the names Mercer Raceabout and Stutz Bearcat, nearly a century since either has been available new. They have been collectible seemingly forever and certainly since the old-car hobby got its start in the 1930s. Thus, it’s rare to see one at all and rarer still to see one for sale. It was a real treat to see this Bearcat, then, bask in its aura of quiet confidence, and ogle all the details (look at those green-shaded MacBeth headlamp lenses!). The real treat, though, would be in the driving and I’m awfully sad I didn’t have the $350,000 to $450,000 for which it’s expected to sell.
Matt’s response: I've been fortunate enough to see a few genuine Stutz Bearcats in my lifetime, and each seemed to have a special aura enveloping what was essentially a street-legal racer, long before the term was coined. Oddly, though - and despite my attraction to anything with ties to motorsports - I would likely pass on the opportunity to add one to my garage (if I had the capital to do so). That's not to say I don't appreciate the legend; it's a simple matter of having a deeper preference for other makes of this epoch.
1934 Packard Twelve Custom Individual Sport Phaeton in the style of LeBaron
Coachbuilding never died, it just scaled way back. Thus, if you have a chassis plus the talent (or the financial wherewithal to commission the talent), you too can have whatever custom body you would have ordered from the likes of Brewster, Dietrich, or any other of the legendary names of the Full Classic era. Numerous dowdy, damaged, or decayed vintage bodies have been replaced over the years with handcrafted replicas that are indistinguishable from the originals. This 1934 Packard Twelve is one of those, wearing an exactingly recreated LeBaron “Custom Individual Sport Phaeton” body drafted and commissioned by one-time owner Joseph Albanese. Mr. Albanese chose well, I’d say, and the result is one of the most beautiful Twelves I’ve ever seen.
Matt’s response: One hand is all you need to count how many domestic luxury car makers had the number "12" at the end of the "Number of cylinders" entry in a model's owner manual. Cadillac; Marmon; Packard - they all rate high in my mind just for the pure feat of engineering it took to make the powerplant all come together when eight-cylinder engines were honing in on a new level of performance prowess. Throw in a long, elegant body like this LeBaron - recreated or not - and more often than not my reaction is "WOW!"
Matt’s Picks:
1966 Austin-Healey 3000 Mk III BJ8
If there's one British make I'd buy in the blink of an eye that didn't wear an Aston Martin emblem, it would be one of these "Big Healeys." A 3000 anything is fine, and until this week, my ideal color combination wasn't BRG with a black cockpit - you buy these for the boulevard, after all - but silver over black. Whelp, that changed in a flash. Where do I sign?
Dave’s response: I’m an unabashed fan of British Racing Green, the original color of this Healey and perhaps a cliché at this point on ’60s sports cars, but I must admit that the 2019 change to Golden Beige Metallic and red Ambla vinyl resulted in a visually striking car. It’s shocking that there are so few miles on it and that’s something I’d want to change in a hurry. Donald Healey would want it that way, I’m sure.
1948 Packard Eight Station Sedan
I’m a glutton for punishment, and my fiancé would likely agree. While she's all on board for my future car ownership consisting of a long-overdue "fun car" (meaning something sporty with a folding soft top), I can't help but stop and ponder the possibilities every time I see a station wagon. I suppose it may be that way for anyone who experienced a road trip in the back of of a wagon; the joy of being a 2x4's length away from parents, one of whom was trying to concentrate on traffic while us wee ones were goofing around, which usually unleashed a brief, colorful rant (aka major driving distraction--I get it now, Dad!). My taste in wagons is simple: station wagon. The more unique, the better, and Packard's infrequently seen blend of of wagon-to-sedan build completely won me over.
Dave’s response: Station wagons speak to me—probably because I grew up in the minivan era and quickly figured out what we were losing. Unusual variations on the theme can work well or poorly. Packard’s take, turning its pregnant-elephant sedan into a wagonish vehicle, was one of the winners, in my book. I think the Station Sedan is an improvement over its non-woodie stablemate and I’ve always admired them. This was a great car that only made Matt’s list over mine because I had already insisted on sharing the ’32 Buick.
My first Iso Grifo drive was across the living room floor, made possible by the 1:64 scale die-cast likeness by Matchbox I received as a gift. It was my first race car (a deTomaso Pantera, also by Matchbox, joined the racing fleet within months). It didn't look like Richard Petty's Dodge, but that was okay by me, as I was racing across some imagined street circuit in a far off land. It was only much later that I learned of the Iso's combination of Italian styling and American muscle that made the Grifo a grand tourer the discerning enthusiast truly enjoyed. Oh, how I would love to add a few thousand miles to this odometer... next week. Taking the long way home.
Dave’s response: This is an incredibly good-looking machine. Once again, it’s Italian styling at its very best before it went nuts with the wedges and angles later on. Better yet, it’s motivated by one of my favorite engine and transmission combinations: a 350-hp L79 327-cu.in. Chevrolet V-8 backed by a four-speed manual transmission. This is truly the best of both worlds and I’d be happy to own it.
Dad. I blame Dad. Hearing stories about his fascination and appreciation for Ford performance cars, the 427 Cobra he once considered buying, and the 1968 Shelby G.T. 500 he eventually did purchase, had my wheels spinning. Together, we witnessed the Cobra Club's stop at Lime Rock Park one summer; I swear the ground shook as a pack of big-block serpents powered away from the diving turn. The power-to-weight ratio is insane, by all accounts. But as one may have guessed by now, my driving ambitions have persuaded me to pass by a 427 and roll with a more manageable 289 Cobra, like this one. Or, one of the few early 260 models, but since that wasn't an option here at the RM Sotheby's sale, I'll gladly warm this 289 up and drive it onto the block - if they need a volunteer. Hey, it's a start.
Dave’s response: The 427 cars, with their fender flares and legendary Ford big-block powerplants, seem to get all the glory, but to me it’s the 289 cars that are the real legends. Maybe blame my father for telling me about the Cobra that came to town one day and ate all the muscle cars’ lunch. The AC Ace roadster and the lightweight Ford small-block were a match made in heaven—light, lithe, and frighteningly quick. While any 289 car would be good, and honestly my preference would lean toward a yellow one, this Bright Blue car with its red interior was undeniably beautiful too.
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Photo: Provided By Author
I had been into cars since childhood, so this was a magical job. I was part of a crew of six or seven that worked for tips, and we wore orange coverall uniforms so that we were easily seen at night. We routinely parked and returned more than 400 cars on a busy Saturday, with parties in the afternoon and then again at night, together with public dining.
Jockeying cars for position in shrinking lanes during return rush times made me a better and more precise driver. Another benefit was that I developed a higher appreciation for well-designed dashboards, budding smart controls, and quality upholstery. I preferred gauges to warning lamps, and I intensely disliked the flashing green and yellow dashboard fuel economy indicators that seemed unwelcome in luxury cars. The only way to make the annoying indicator stay green was to coast.
As a crew, we elbowed each other to park the hot imports, such as BMW’s 2002, Datsun’s Z variants, the first Honda Accords, Toyota Celicas, and less frequently, Volkswagen Sciroccos. These were all well-equipped, light, quick, and easy to park. It was also possible to shift them into higher gears for test drives by taking the long way around to the lower back lot. As far as I knew, none of us ever got a Porsche 911 out of second. Our boss knew the joyride risk, so we had to keep numbered dashboard tickets in sequence for assigned spaces that discouraged long drives around the property.
Photo: Hemmings Archives
I have many fond memories of the job. To start, the things people left in their vehicles were nothing short of amazing. There were open bills with private information in plain view, and mail of every other conceivable variety, as well as checkbooks, laundry, arts, and crafts in all stages of non-completion, sticky food wrappers, and other trash. I also quickly learned that a tip amount didn’t always correspond to the expense or condition of the car after one guest left a caged guinea pig in his 1967 Pontiac Le Mans when he arrived late for a wedding reception. Aside from needing to be washed and vacuumed, that car was quite fragrant. It was a dry day, so I lowered the side windows, and we took turns checking the pet as we ran to and from other vehicles. Later, the guest told me he was glad the party was over and was eager to reunite the guinea pig with his young daughter. Having noticed us checking on the pet, the car owner gave me the biggest tip I ever got to fetch a car.
Another unusual thing happened while parking a 1975 Buick LeSabre sedan. Two people got out and went inside for dinner and as I got in immediately noticed the aroma of freshly baked bagels emanating from two gigantic bags that took most of the rear seat, nearly reaching the headliner. After parking the car, I was spooked by a low voice from the far-right of the back seat that asked, “Howee doin’?” I had not seen the slight fellow partially hidden by one of the tall bags, and all I could ask was if he intended to go inside. He said he didn’t want a fancy dinner, just a nap. He offered bagels to the entire crew, which were delicious, and stayed in the car and slept for two hours.
Rare cars would roll up on occasion, including one almost everyone guessed was a Maserati, though I recognized it as a Facel Vega. The exhaust growl of the Chrysler Hemi V-8 was positively rhapsodic, and the grand tourer had polished wood throughout its interior. We parked it in a special spot on an outer aisle near the front door and overheard customers speculate what it was while waiting for their own cars. When the tweedy owner eventually came out, my boss, Ray, was determined to sound smart and amuse himself. He conspicuously and formally signaled, “Christopher, the Facel Vega, please.” Seeing where we placed his pride and joy, the owner gleamed. He may have enjoyed that moment more than his dinner.
Another story involved a regular customer’s Cadillac Seville during lunch hour, when Ray often let me work alone so he could get a break. Two County Sheriff’s detectives stopped to tell me they were looking for two inmates who had escaped from the local penitentiary wearing–what else–orange coveralls. They were last seen running on the neighboring golf course. Of course, we always left keys in the ignition of parked cars. The detectives asked how many cars remained from lunch, and whether I could account for each. To my dismay, the Cadillac (one of only three cars left in my charge) was gone! The owner was very classy when the detectives needed his license plate number and unselfishly said he was glad I had not run into the thieves. Luckily for me, the car was recovered unscratched at a nearby shopping center, but we never heard if the thieves were caught.
I rarely drove a car onto the open road, but one exception was a permanent resident’s 1976 Rolls Royce Silver Shadow. The luminous dark red sedan was overdue for its annual state inspection and the owner’s wife “volunteered” me to drive it to the inspection station in the next town. The engine was so quiet and vibration-free that I had to concentrate to hear it. The interior was beautifully appointed with the finest leather I had ever seen or touched. Intuitive controls were set in burled walnut. In my opinion the steering wheel was somewhat primitive and too hard for an ultra-luxury auto, but it was a minor nitpick since the car was a magic carpet. It literally floated when put in drive. As expected, there were no buzzes, squeaks, or rattles. It handled well and predictably with adequate road feel, despite its considerable weight. Power came immediately at the slightest touch, suggesting ample reserve, and the Rolls-Royce stopped on a dime.
Photo: Hemmings Archives
Admittedly, I was very nervous driving it, even when it seemed other drivers stayed out of the way once I reached a multi-lane avenue. The inspection station was in a not-so-nice area on a narrow, bumpy street, and being near closing time the station was busy. I had to get in a line that snaked around the block and all I could do was hope nobody hit the darn thing.
As I crawled to the entrance, the inspection staff was laughing and pointing at me, still wearing my orange coveralls: “Hey kid, how did you get out of jail and where did you get that car?” Fortunately, my uniform sported a company crest. Seeking mercy, I said it was the boss’ car. Then the Rolls failed its emissions test. Adding to the insult, the dented, oxidized Volkswagen Beetle behind me passed with flying colors. In those days, a sticker with a big red circle signifying failure was affixed to the windshield’s lower left corner. You couldn’t miss it.
I finally relaxed when I pulled the Silver Shadow into the familiar driveway without incident. To my surprise, the owner’s wife was happy to see that the car failed, because now she could get it tuned up without further debate. Apparently, her husband was always working and neglected his cars. We were reminded of that later when we had to jump the battery in his seldom-driven Jaguar XJ12. The next time I saw the Rolls it had a proper inspection sticker.
After parking cars for eighteen months, I transferred inside to become a bartender as my college days progressed. I missed handling the cars, but not enduring cold winter nights or donning those orange coveralls. Over the years I have almost always insisted on parking my own car, but when valet parking is unavoidable, particularly in a city, I tip in advance. It’s remarkable how a few dollars will often gain a spot close to the attendant’s booth, sometimes with a safety cone next to our car.
Photo by Matthew Litwin
Photo by Matthew Litwin
Race wins touted in national headlineswere not lost on manufacturers, so by the start of the 1956 season nearly every major domestic brandhad invested performance resources into NASCAR. Pontiac initially supported two teams: Jim Stephens (Stephens Pontiac), and A.L. Bumgarner (Brushy Mountain Motors). Each were armed with a new-for-1956 engine designed for racing: a 316.6-cu.in. V-8 fitted with dual Rochester four-barrel carburetors that, along with a high-performance camshaft, dual-point distributor, specialized valley cover, and 10:1 compression cylinder heads, conspired to produce 285 horsepower (in street trim, mind. It’s well-known that racers knew how to make more horsepower).
A Pontiac win looked favorable, beginning with the sixth race of the season at the Daytona Beach/Road race, where Stephens’ two-car effort - with Ed Kretz and Cotton Owens - qualified 3rd and 4th, while Junior Johnson, in Bumgarner’s Pontiac, qualified 26th in the 76-car field. None saw the checkered flag. Johnson crashed, and the Stephens effort was met with mechanical woes. It was a sign of things to come. Strong as Pontiac was, bad fortune and mechanical reliability were its Achilles’ heel. Pontiac attained just 17 top 10 finishes with a best of 3rd recorded by Pat Kirkwood in a Stephens’ Pontiac.
Going winless, coupled with poor street ability of the dual-quad 316.6 V-8, spurred Pontiac to develop Tri-Power and fuel-injected 347-cu.in. engines for 1957. They became instant hits on the track - the brand notched two wins prior to a June rule change that mandated a single four-barrel induction system - and on the street, leaving the dual-quad 316.6 a nearly forgotten footnote of Fifties factory performance.
Rare reminders, however, still exist, such as this bred-for-NASCAR 1956 Pontiac twin Rochester carburetor and intake manifold assembly spotted for sale at the 2023 AACA Eastern Fall Meet in Hershey, Pennsylvania. Also included as part of the $4,500 package price was the system’s specific air cleaner assembly, which looked similar that of Cadillac’s (the two reportedly would not interchange without modifications). Save for rebuilding the carburetors, it looked ready to install on a specific “HY” stamped block.
1956 Pontiac Dual four-barrel induction setup
ASKING PRICE:$4,500
FOUND AT: 2023 AACA EASTERN FALL MEET (HERSHEY, PENNSYLVANIA)
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