Back in 1970, the world of classic cars was a different landscape altogether. Long before the internet and specialized collector car magazines dominated the scene, enthusiasts like myself relied on the Sunday New York Times classifieds to uncover hidden gems. This weekly ritual was a treasure hunt, particularly for those of us in the Northeast, where many listings were conveniently local. I devoured those pages religiously, even though the reality was that most of the advertised automotive masterpieces were financially out of reach for a young medical student. Duesenbergs, for instance, were plentiful but commanded prices exceeding $50,000 – a sum astronomical compared to a student’s income in those days.
What I yearned for was something more practical, yet deeply rooted in automotive history and imbued with sporty elegance and design excellence – values instilled in me by my car enthusiast father. He was a family doctor, a general practitioner content with his modest office at home, dedicated to our community. Financial wealth was never his priority. Looking at his 1956 patient logbook, with visit fees averaging just $3-$4, it’s clear how modestly priced healthcare was, and how many patients he diligently served each day.
Before his office hours began, we’d embark on house calls, which, admittedly, were somewhat tedious for me as a child in 1956. However, these trips often included visits to local junkyards and used car dealerships afterwards. Back then, the captivating cars of the mid-1930s were only about 20 years old. Even at that young age, my father helped me recognize the potential historical significance of these vehicles. He understood then, as collectors do now, that cars with classic “sporting” lines are the ones that truly capture the hearts of discerning collectors.
Returning to my 1970 New York Times quest, an advertisement caught my eye. A gentleman from the suburbs was selling his 1955 Mercedes 300 SL Gullwing. This wasn’t just any car; it was a low-mileage example with less than 30,000 miles on the odometer, equipped with desirable Rudge wheels, and reportedly in excellent condition. The seller, a pool builder, had acquired the car in a trade for his services. However, his wife, it turned out, found the iconic Gullwing doors and sporty nature less than ideal for her daily errands and family duties.
Fortunately for me, 1970 represented a relative low point in the appreciation of these magnificent machines. The asking price for this pristine 1955 Mercedes 300 SL Gullwing was a manageable $3,500. A deal was struck swiftly over the phone. I had diligently saved enough cash to meet his asking price.
Excitement surged as I called my girlfriend Jackie for a ride, knowing I’d be driving back in my dream car. The transaction was seamless, and the Gullwing was, and remains to this day, in remarkable condition, having thankfully avoided any major mishaps over the decades. I proudly drove it everywhere, street parking it without a second thought. The only minor casualty was the Becker radio, pilfered while parked in front of a hospital during a medical emergency – a small price to pay for decades of enjoyment.
When I enthusiastically presented my new acquisition to my father, taking him for a ride, his reaction was understated. He didn’t shower me with praise, but I sensed his quiet approval, especially knowing I’d independently financed the purchase.
A couple of months later, chance led me past Jerry’s Used Cars, a lot situated in the less affluent part of town where we grew up. There, amidst a collection of unremarkable American cars, sat another Gullwing, this one gleaming in black. Intrigued, and on my way to visit Dad, I mentioned the sighting. His response was a gentle, somewhat dismissive, “Well, we don’t need two of them.”
Point taken.
Life with my silver Gullwing continued. Then, about two months after that Jerry’s sighting, I drove by again. The black Mercedes was gone. My curiosity piqued, I stopped in. “Jerry, what became of that black Mercedes?” I inquired. With a knowing smirk, he replied, “Your dad bought it!”
Returning home, the secret was out. Dad led me to the garage where he had already begun lavishing attention on his new black Gullwing, meticulously enhancing its already stunning condition. Its original black paint was immaculate, giving it an almost factory-fresh appearance. The bill of sale, however, revealed he’d paid $4,750 – a notable sum more than my $3,500. In my youthful exuberance, I felt a slight sense of triumph at having secured a better deal!
As it turned out, my father derived immense joy from his black 1970 Mercedes acquisition. While my life was consumed by medical studies, he dedicated himself to lovingly restoring and showcasing his Gullwing. The photograph captures him beaming with pride, winning first prize at the 1971 New Hope Auto Show.
Beyond the gleaming car and the celebratory cheesecake, his proud expression speaks volumes. Both of these iconic 1970 Mercedes 300 SL Gullwings are now proudly displayed at the Simeone Museum, testaments to a shared passion and a cherished father-son story.
Note: $3,500 in 1970 is equivalent to approximately $21,000 today, and $4,750 is roughly $28,000 when adjusted for inflation.
