The year was 1970, a time long before the internet revolutionized classic car hunting. For enthusiasts like myself, the Sunday New York Times classifieds were a treasure trove. Flipping through the old car section, mostly filled with local Northeast gems, became a weekly ritual. Duesenbergs were present, majestic but priced beyond a medical student’s budget, often exceeding $50,000. My aspirations leaned towards something more practical yet imbued with history, sportiness, and timeless design – values instilled by my car-loving father.
My dad, a family doctor, operated from a modest office at home, dedicating himself to our community. His patient logbook from 1956, a testament to simpler times, reveals the modest earnings of a general practitioner, averaging just $3-4 per visit, yet seeing a remarkable number of patients daily.
Before his office hours began, I’d often accompany him on house calls. While these visits seemed mundane to me then, they often led to exciting detours to local junkyards or used car dealerships. In the 1950s, cars from the mid-1930s were only about 20 years old, and even then, my father helped me recognize their potential historical significance. He understood, even then, that cars with classic sporting lines were destined for discerning collectors.
Back to the New York Times and my 1970 quest: an ad caught my eye. A suburban gentleman was selling his 1955 Mercedes 300 SL Gullwing. It boasted fewer than 30,000 miles, desirable Rudge wheels, and was described as being in excellent condition. The seller, a pool builder, had acquired the Gullwing in a trade but discovered his wife found it impractical – too hot, unwieldy, and not exactly suited for everyday errands.
Fortunately, 1970 represented a value low point for these iconic cars. A phone call later, a deal was struck. Amassing $3,500 in cash, I arranged a ride with my girlfriend Jackie, knowing I’d be driving back in my newly acquired Gullwing. The transaction was swift, and the car, then and now, remained in remarkable condition, unscathed by major issues over the years. It became my daily driver, parked openly on streets, and despite a minor Becker radio theft outside a hospital during an emergency, it has wonderfully survived the subsequent decades.
When I proudly showed my father the Gullwing, his reaction was understated. He didn’t say much, but I sensed his quiet approval, particularly since I’d financed it myself.
A few months later, driving past Jerry’s Used Cars in our less affluent neighborhood, I spotted a gleaming black Gullwing amidst mundane American cars. On my way to visit Dad, I mentioned it. His reply was a gentle, “Well, we don’t need two of them.” Understandable, I thought.
Life went on, and I continued enjoying my Gullwing. About two months later, the black Gullwing was gone from Jerry’s lot. “Jerry, what happened to that black Mercedes?” I inquired. With a sly grin, he revealed, “Your dad bought it!”
Returning home, the surprise was unveiled. Dad led me to the garage where he was already meticulously detailing his new acquisition. The black Gullwing, boasting its original paint, looked practically new. The bill of sale, however, revealed he paid $4,750 – significantly more than my $3,500, giving me a momentary sense of one-upmanship!
As it turned out, he enjoyed his Gullwing immensely. While I was immersed in medical studies, he dedicated himself to restoring and showcasing his car, proudly winning first prize at the 1971 New Hope Auto Show. The photograph captures his sheer pride and joy alongside his prized 1970s Mercedes.
Both of these remarkable 1970s Mercedes-Benz 300 SL Gullwings, symbols of a shared father-son passion, are proudly displayed at the Simeone Automotive Museum to this day, a testament to a timeless era of automotive excellence. It’s worth noting that $3,500 in 1970 equates to roughly $21,000 today, while $4,750 is approximately $28,000 when adjusted for inflation, highlighting the relative value of these classic Mercedes even then.
