Monterey on a Dollar a Day: Sat, Sunday

The auction starts off with five paintings that look like those pictures of rock stars of the Fifties, the ones where they try to cram every known star in one painting, then my two go through, both GT40 related—and I collect a chit for an eventual $250 minus commissions. By contrast, I find out later that later that day the Daytona coupe was gaveled through for just over $7 million. I miss seeing Bob Bondurant, former Cobra factory pilot, and Pete Brock, who designed the Daytona when he was what, 24? They were scheduled to make an appearance for the sale but I figure I’ll catch up with them later, which I don’t (one trouble with Monterey, you see people fleetingly you knew in former lives but lose them in the crowd for another few years or decades…).

The real excitement is to see one being push-started through the crowd, scattering people like a bull on the streets of Pamplona.

On to Laguna Seca. In former years I would always be there at Sparrow’s Fart for the free breakfast accorded racers, pit crew, and reporters. But this year I get a late start, owing to horse feeding times and such, and pickup Sylvia only to arrive just in time to see many Porsches circling the track on the parade lap. Specially appreciated is the way Monterey displays the most precious of the honored marque in the center of the pits. There I was able to get some portraits of Porsches that I’d only seen in historical photographs. There were at least four 917s though I didn’t actually see any run, and it’s a car I have a fear of since I wrote of them and remember they were doing 240 mph when a Ford GT could just do 220 mph, and that was with both front wheels off the ground!

My procedure at the races is to walk up and down the pit rows hoping to find a car that isn’t hiding under a tent so I can capture it on film. The real excitement is to see one being push-started through the crowd, scattering people like a bull on the streets of Pamplona. And it’s always enlightening to read the mini-histories entrants post on in their pits, how they found the car at the bottom of a gold mine, or in an old barn, and had to chase all over for the engine and suchlike.

The midway, where all the booths are, is more exciting to me at Laguna than the races. In the booths I find artwork, some superb model cars, some new books, lots of T-shirts and classier shirts with collars. I buy nothing but hand out art work to a couple of booth entrepreneurs heretofore unaware of my work.

One of the best booths is that of photographer Jesse Alexander who had the luck of being at the races in Europe back in that golden era when you could be three or four feet away from a Fangio or Moss as they took a corner. Sylvia was entranced by the photos even though she has no background in racing and wouldn’t have known one racer from another. It’s rare to find anyone that appreciates black and white today.

I looked in vain among the hundreds of Porsches for racing 944s, but it seems that the Porsche enthusiasts are experts at rewriting history; they must have made owners of the front-engined water cooled-series feel sufficiently excluded so they didn’t show up.

Another tradition at the Historics is to have cars of the honored marque line up in a parking area so you can walk down the row and see over one hundred of them. It seems that the Porsche enthusiasts are experts at rewriting history; they must have made owners of the front-engined water cooled-series feel sufficiently excluded so they didn’t show up.

I leave Laguna reluctantly because Ars Longa Vita Brevis, (Art is Long, life is Short) and The Automotive Fine Arts Society wingding was due to start promptly at 4 pm. Sylvia was dressed in a summer frock looking all summery like opening day at Ascot minus the big hat. I tell my friends at the Art Show that Sylvia is my bodyguard and when they look dubious, I explain “She only has to take the bullet.” Speaking of Ascot, I had been saving my flowered ascot tie to wear it to the one event where I know I won’t get beat up wearing it but can’t find it so, earlier in the day, I found time to buy a tweed jacket at a Monterey thrift shop for $10 and a pair of shoes for the same price because I lost the keys to my Geo and can’t open the trunk where the shoes are.

On the way to the art party we run into a Bugatti salesman pitching some clients who don’t seem to know much about the car other than it comes in two forms, open and closed, and don’t seem that worried that one is several hundred thousand more than the other.

Not since Eddie Keinholz’s sculpture of a couple making out in an old car (Back Seat Dodge ’38) have I seen such a linking of sex and cars in fine art.

We then proceed to the art tent where I run into several famous artists, including Bill Neale, Harold Cleworth, Richard Pietruska, and the ever effervescent Nicola Wood, who has deviated from her usual befinned Cadillacs to depict a Ferrari 512S.

I met an artist who painted a shocking portrait of a young lady in a car with a hint of swoopneck clothing that was more the focus than the car. Not since Eddie Keinholz’s sculpture of a couple making out in an old car (Back Seat Dodge ’38) have I seen such a linking of sex and cars in fine art. Niles Nakaoka, the group’s only Hawaiian member, was there too. I liked the swirling lines he employs around his depictions of single seat race cars but now, a few years later, I want something new from Nakaoka. Ken Dallison said if I liked the painting of a large blimp with classic cars he was showing I should try to find the book he wrote and illustrated about lighter than air ships. Ken’s from Great Britain and during the war he was a kid, cheering the RAF in the battles with the Huns overhead, unaware of the carnage when someone got hit.

In the crowd I note the portly presence of Edsel Ford II and his taller son, who if I am not mistaken is called Henry Ford III. Edsel’s father, Henry II, was known as quite an art collector in his time and apparently the younger Fords are continuing the family tradition. Ford sponsors this preview of the art show and accordingly had an old Lincoln Continental outside on the grass with some new prototypes of future Fords.

Another nice touch at the art show was a photo tribute to the late Strother MacMinn, who had taught at Art Center for nearly 50 years. He was an ultra car enthusiast, and a real gentleman. Many of the car designers the world over have been taught by MacMinn.

Sunday August 16th
In past years, I would brave the line of cars to get in to Pebble Beach, or even flit through the darkened forests commando style; this year Sylvia and I leisurely drove in at noon, and we found the show in full roar, with so many people that it was difficult to see one whole car, only a fender here, a tire there. The row of Ferrari barchettas were impressive, quite a few of them considering how rare and valuable they are. Another Italian car that impressed me was the ATS V8. I remember when Dr. Norbert McNamara first restored it, and what an effort it was to restore a car of which only twelve or so were made.

I would have tried to crack the hospitality booths but found out last year they aren’t quite as hospitable as their name would imply, at least in regards to the ink-stained wretches of the press.

Zagato was a coachbuilder they honored this year and though I admired the TZ-2, I think the TZ-1 was a purer shape. The 250GT Ferrari done by Zagato is one of the best Ferraris and it’s a shame more weren’t made.

I pay $8 for a hot dog and $4 for a drink and am glad to have them as opposed to a box lunch that would have been much pricier. No hope of finding Sylvia in the crowd but I think she was over at the art tent talking welding with Pietruska, one of their eminent sculptors. I would have tried to crack the hospitality booths but found out last year they aren’t quite as hospitable as their name would imply, at least in regards to the ink-stained wretches of the press. I remember once, in a previous Pebble visit, relaxing in the Mercedes Hospitality Suite, talking to a fellow and Leo Levine telling me that whoever that fellow was, he could buy a motorcar maker with what he has in his pocket. I supposed that’s why they don’t want the press there–we might ask too many questions…

Like. what happened to the Pininfarina bodied Nash Rambler? The what? I knew it existed but not where. And there it was at Pebble Beach. In a brief conversation with the owner I found out that the car had been in the possession of Nash president Roy Chapin for decades. And here I thought it was “lost.” Then I remember that, back in those days, company presidents often took a dream car or two home to keep, a la Harley Earl….

A new sports car –called the Devon GTX–was shown at Pebble the same time the AFAS was having its art party. I mosied over to kick the tires. I later heard it ran at Laguna and put in a good lap time, which is first and foremost what a sports car should be judged on. We can then put up with a lot of oddball things (like flip forward doors). Its nose was the only thing out of joint and later I see George Barris (he of the ’51 Hirohata Merc) and tell him there’s another car up yonder that needs his attention.

There is also a new ice-blue Aston Martin on what I call the Dream Car Lawn. The name had something to do with “7” not 007 but the designer, a red faced Brit who looked about 25, did mention 007 so didn’t mind the reference. Because of an exceedingly toothy grille, it looked menacing, like some fish that bare lots of teeth. But I really think that one of the proudest moments of a designer must be when his work is shown at Pebble, because in this case he’s not just showing it to the rabble wearing Press badges but to people who can afford to buy his creation.

When I think of the great cars Bertone did in the Sixties (all by Giugiaro while he was at Bertone) I wonder, is this what the great house of Bertone has come to?

Also on the New-Car and Dream-Car Lawn was a Stile Bertone effort called the Mantide that is based on a Corvette.

When I think of the great cars Bertone did in the Sixties (all by Giugiaro while he was at Bertone) I wonder, is this what the great house of Bertone has come to? The best thing I think they could do with it is paint it flat black and use it as a prop in the next Batman flick.

As I was leaving Pebble my way was temporarily blocked by a black Suburban with red and blue strobe lights in the grille, pushing all the traffic out of the way with a half dozen CHP and black & white cars flanking it on all sides but before I could give the driver what for, it stops and out emerges Arnold, still in command of a State whose economy is a shambling wreck, gladhanding one and all, not looking at all ashamed of wasting the taxpayer’s money with a needless rock star-like entourage (if Arnold can’t defend himself, who can?) He seemed interested in the Moss OSCA, but haven’t any idea of why.

I head over to Woodies of Carmel and once again run into some Infiniti people–this time charming young ladies–who want to offer me a test drive in the ragtop and once again I am tempted but then demur saying “I don’t much like to ride with minders” or whatever they call the people who insist on accompanying you in their $45,000 car and then blanch at the point when you downshift the automatic at 6,000 rpm in order to do a drift around a corner on Laureles Grade.

Turning over the keys to the splendid test car I get back into the wheezing Geo Metro and commence to lay an oil track southward on Hwy 101, feeling some satisfaction that I’d done the best I could do. But it was with twinges of regret that I quit the scene, having missed so much–the R & M Auction, the Gooding auction, the Quail and on and on, not even taking the time this year to dine on the outdoor deck at Clint Eastwood’s Mission Inn, an eatery and hotel built out of an old farm he first discovered when stationed at Ford Ord. Wow, could it really be as far back as 1952?

And so it is. Another Monterey mission completed. I know I could have done this on the cheap even more (there’s a campground on 101 18 miles North of the Salinas exit) which charges $22 a night, and offers hot showers and a parking spot, and I could have skipped that expensive meal at Phil’s in Moss Landing but every once in a while, in this life, you have to stop and ask yourself, what’s a heaven for….. ?