Dad, Dad’s friend Jay, Nathan, and I went to the Von Braun Center to a classic car auction today. This was one of my very favorite things to do with Dad when I was little. He took me with him several times to sales in Atlanta and Birmingham. My sister Jenny also remembers such trips fondly.
According to the auction company’s web site, there were supposed to be 79 cars there today. Instead, Jay counted 37. Supposedly there was a consigner who was supposed to send 40 cars, and he only sent 20. (OK, so where were the rest?) There was a ’60 Impala listed online I wanted to have a look at, and Jay might have bid on a ’67 Camaro that was listed. Both were no-shows.
Worse, there were even some folks yanking their cars before they ever ran, including a mildly resto-modded ’62 Thunderbird I was curious about. It was disappointing. I talked to a couple from Georgia who had spent last night here in town, and they were pissed.
Still, we made a couple of entertaining hours of it, though Nathan might be a bit spoiled from watching Mecum on Discovery HD. Heh. We’ll get him a better sale soon.
Here’s Nathan with a well-done resto-modded ’67 Chevelle that I think was the orangest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. There were a few nits to pick, but it was mostly sharp. It was a no-sale at $21,500. Guy probably had half that in the paint alone.
I gave Nathan lots of guesses on this one, and even showed him the coffin inside, but he couldn’t tell me what this car was for. So I got to explain to him what a hearse was. Jay, Dad, and I had a few cracks about side businesses. I wondered aloud if you could have a freelance hearse business like some folks do with ambulances, and I don’t know why not. How in the world do you value a funeral coach? This Chevrolet-based one with 78,000 miles was worth $3,000 (sold) in Huntsville, Alabama this morning:
This ’59 Jaguar saloon was a magnificent car at the wrong sale. It was a stately British motorcar amongst American muscle—a lone plate of roast pheasant surrounded by burgers and chili cheese fries, dig? Its paperwork said it was a 96-point car, and I believed it. We didn’t stay to see it go through, but I’d be surprised if it brought even half what it would in the right environment.
Finally, here might be a little insight into the poor state of the inventory and crowd today. Dad saw this sitting in the front seat of a pickup:
We had a pleasant day, but like I said, we’ll get to a better one soon.
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That Chevelle is sweet! I would love to dress it up in tiger paws and flags with a tail hanging from the trunk. Make the horn play ‘Tiger Rag’ and it would be perfect for game days!
Bo – I have seen an “orange-er” car than the Chevelle. Remember the ’71 Opal station wagon I drove in high school? Auburn orange from bumper to bumper, 4-speed, AM radio, no air conditioning. I hated that car with all my being, but I drove it!
Cheryl: Indeed, that would be a great game-day vehicle in your neighborhood.
Jenny, I do remember that car, and don’t hate it! At least you drove something distinctive.
You know, now that think about it I have you in a white 626 as well, like Karen’s gold one. Is that accurate, or did I make that up?
You didn’t make that up! That was the car my Dad bought me in college, after the orange bomb finally died. It was an ’82 Mazda 626 with power-everything. I LOVED that car.
Cool. Funny what guys remember.
My sister had a green 4-door that served her well. Want to say it was an ’81.