About twenty years ago, a good friend of mine in Florida
heard about a ‘possible Ferrari’ that was hiding in a garage not far from where
he lived. Tim was acquainted with a gent who had several real estate
investments, mostly older commercial buildings in Sanford, a small town on a
big lake north of Orlando. One of his buildings used to be a Chrysler
dealership back in the ‘50s. It was a two-story wood frame structure
whose ground-floor showroom had become a carpet & flooring business many
years before. The upstairs, which used to be the dealership’s service
department, was unused, but full of junk left by past tenants over the last
thirty years….and two old cars. The flooring business was moving to a new
location and the investor wanted to sell the old building, but first he had to
get rid of those cars, which belonged to an eccentric old fellow who had been
allowed to store them for a “little while” that had turned into ten
years. Knowing Tim was involved with collector cars, he had mentioned
them to him. When Tim asked what kind of cars they were—assuming they were just
common scrap—he was told that one was “some Ferrari-kind-of-thing.” Well,
you can’t win if you don’t play the game, so Tim got the phone number for the
old gent, who fortunately was still alive.
Calling revealed that he lived in an old-age home in
downtown Orlando; the phone was a wall-mounted pay unit in a hallway, and
whoever answered it had to go find the call’s recipient. Presently, a
aged voice came on the line, and after introducing himself, Tim asked the
gentleman if he owned a couple of old cars stored in Sanford. “Damn
right. Wanna buy ‘em?” came the lively reply. After a half-hour’s
conversation about whatever the old fellow wanted to talk about, Tim suggested
that they get together and see the cars. One problem: the old gent didn’t
see too well and didn’t drive anymore, and the cars were thirty miles
away. So Tim offered to come down to the Home, pick him up and they’d
drive up together, which was very enthusiastically agreed to. But
the Home had pinochle that afternoon, so it had to be tomorrow. So, the
next day Tim picked up a pretty spry octogenarian who obviously was excited to
have a break from the routine in the Home and to get outdoors, meet someone new
and talk about his beloved old cars.
On the trip to Sanford, Tim learned the
“Ferrari-kind-of-thing” was actually a 206 Dino coupe that the gent had bought
new while living in Italy in 1969! After a few years sporting around the
continent, he brought it back to the states and, eventually, after moving
around a bit, he settled in Central Florida. But the car started getting
cantankerous, no one wanted to work on it and he bought something more
modern. The other car mothballed in the garage was a 1939 LaSalle coupe
that had been his father’s. Both were in “real good shape.” After
getting to the garage, and helping the old fellow up the steep ramp to the
second floor, Tim saw two dim, dusty shapes covered with pigeon droppings and
mouse prints, sitting on flat tires on the oil-stained oak floor, partially
hidden by boxes of old business records, broken appliances and other
detritus.
Fortunately, all the windows had been left up and the mice
hadn’t gotten inside, but both interiors were full of dusty cardboard boxes of
spare parts and old family junk. The owner was depressed at how the cars
had gone downhill since he had last seen them and he was ready to leave, not to
discuss selling them. So, Tim put him in his car and they headed back to
town with the old gent carping that Tuesday was Meat Loaf Day at the Home and
he hated meat loaf. Inspiration struck, and Tim asked him what had been
his favorite restaurant when he was still getting around. It turned out
to be a nice place that was still in business, so Tim took him to dinner.
Over a good steak, Tim began making friends with the gentleman and the process
of buying the cars began. He had gotten a notice from the real estate man
that the cars had to be moved, and he knew the Dino was attractive to a lot of
people from calls he had gotten over the years, but no one wanted the LaSalle
and he didn’t know what to do with it. Tim didn’t either, but he wanted
the Dino, so he offered to buy both, and to pay “extra” for all the spare stuff
that had been accumulated for the cars. But this was just the first
date. It became apparent the fellow wasn’t ready to make a decision that
evening, so a lunch date was arranged for Fish Stick Friday.
By Friday the owner was getting accustomed to the idea of
parting with his cars and felt he could trust Tim, so he was willing to talk
about price. They went back and forth for a while and eventually settled
on something they could each live with. The seller had to relinquish his
memories of razzing his new Dino along the Mediterranean seaside and recognize
that those days were gone. He still didn’t see the same faded paint and
many problems Tim did, but he acknowledged that the car hadn’t run in a decade
and would probably need extensive repairs. Tim factored in the value of
the boxes of new parts and he had found someone who wanted the LaSalle for a
few thousand dollars, so the two new friends made a deal over dessert.
Another logistic (and excuse for a trip) came up a couple days later after the
titles had been found, with the man asking Tim to take him to his bank so he
could deposit the money for the cars; he then signed the titles….and, of
course, it was lunchtime again, so another meal away from the institution’s
fare was enjoyed.
As a favor to the building’s owner who had given him
the tip about the cars, Tim hauled off all the trash from the second floor,
making the cars accessible to be moved. Tim packed all the stuff from inside
the cars into his van, brought an air compressor to pump up the tires, which
miraculously held air, and began to wonder how he was going to get the cars off
the second floor. He had a tow dolly to transport the cars on
one-at-a-time, but there wasn’t enough room to bring his van up the ramp with the
dolly attached, nor to allow a roll-back truck to get up there. Dealerships
built during that era, when cars had high ground clearance, frequently had
these steep ramps that led upstairs, and the angle was pretty severe.
Metal lath was often nailed to the boards to provide some grip when it was
rainy. (Luigi Chinetti’s first Ferrari dealership in New York City
had exactly the same layout!) But that plan assumes operational cars with
brakes! Neither of these cars had working brakes any more, and there wasn’t
anything secure enough at the top of the ramp to attach a cable and winch to
let them down gently. So, being a very resourceful guy, Tim rounded up a
helper and a few old tires.
He unhooked the dolly, left it outside and backed the van up
the ramp, stopping nearly at the top. They pushed the Dino over to the
ramp, fastened the old tires to the van’s rear bumper and then eased the Dino
down against the tires. With the helper steering the Dino, Tim slowly
eased the van down the ramp keeping the Dino in check behind it. Once on
the level, they could easily load it on the tow dolly. The same trick was
employed to get the big LaSalle down, but the van’s brakes could barely hold
itself and that monster on the thirty-degree incline!
Over the next few weeks, Tim sold the LaSalle and started
the restoration of the Dino. He also got occasional calls whenever his
new friend at the Home found some other bit of old paperwork, receipt or
something else relating to the Dino, which he wanted Tim to have….usually on
Tuesday or Friday. As months went by, the car’s engine was freshened up,
the interior trim replaced and the car repainted before finally being offered
for sale. That was around 1987 or so; Tim sold it to someone in
California and I have no idea where it is today, but I sometimes wonder if it,
too, occasionally thinks about exciting younger days along the Cote d’Azure.
by Bill Orth
