by Roger Fenton
My wife is a student at Chaffey College in Rancho Cucamonga, CA. One of her instructors knew of my interest in vintage cars. One day he mentioned to her about ‘some old foreign car sitting down at the bottom of the hill.’ The school was going to send it off to the scrap yard unless a buyer could be found.
I thought that it would be an old rust bucket that no one would want; it probably had scrub brush pushing up through the bonnet and possums using it as a hotel. The last thing I needed right then was another hangar queen in my back yard. But one day I stopped at the school to meet my wife for lunch. The instructor had no idea what make or model the car was, except he thought he had heard some rumour that it was an old racecar and Paul Newman had something to do with it. So just to be polite, I volunteered to go have a look.
I found it sandwiched between old automotive equipment with its nose wedged into some shelving. A pile of dust enveloped it and the interior reeked of long time furry inhabitants using it as a toilet. I took a look at it and cleared off the pile of dust. Prying open the doors in the tight space, I shimmied inside. I was stunned to find a fully equipped racecar. Finally it dawned on me that this was a really rare 4-door Triumph which had been custom built for Paul Newman in 1978 for the 2.5 Litre Challenge series. And the more I heard about the car, the more excited I got. Apparently the Triumph 2500TC (four door) had been donated to the school 24 years ago by Paul Newman, but no pink slip. Chaffey College in its heyday, was the PREMIER Automotive College in the USA. Sam Contino and Kent Fisk headed up their remarkable racing program and it was as well known in automotive circles back then as USC (Trojans) are renowned for their football team today. Many of the US auto giants wanted to be involved in Chaffey College’s racing curriculum.
After much delay and deliberation the school decided to send it out to public local auction in Fontana. They just didn’t want to “hassle with the legal liabilities of selling the car”; hence, the auction.
Meantime I asked my wife to see if anyone was poking around; figuring word would get out fast. It didn’t take long learn that she was decidedly pessimistic of my chances of getting the car.
“Big money will step in and yank it out from underneath your nose.” she predicted.
A few days later my wife came home and told me that guys from the Automotive Department had the garage door open and were trying to figure out how to move the car. It had flat tires with hardened brittle rubber. I was afraid that they would tow the car and bugger up the light alloy Cromodora rims. I’ve seen Cromodora elektrons like these go for $500 a pop, and these looked great. (So what’s special about them? Magnesium is ¼ the weight of steel and 2/3 the weight of aluminium. Elektron is lighter and stronger still. At one time you could buy them at Sears, Roebuck & Company. Can you believe that?)
My wife looked at the car again and overheard that the car would be advertised in AutoWeek. That first day when I had shimmied in for a look-see, there was a ten year old sign in the back seat: ‘$10,000 minimum or exchange for equipment for the Automotive Department’. I took the sign out and placed it behind some junk to hide it but the instructor found the sign and stuck it back in the car again! Bugger, back to a minimum of $10,000 again. I didn’t have that kind of money.
The school delayed sending it to auction again for two or three weeks. I kept my mouth shut about the car and didn’t tell my friends. Anyway I agonized over this – it kept me up at night. For starters I didn’t have a lot of money for a bidding war and I had heated ‘discussions’ with my wife over putting out money to buy this car, especially when the house needed some improvements. But in the end we hit on a compromise and took out a second loan on the house for the financing. I got a line of credit for $15,000; $10,000 for the car if $5,000 went into home improvements. I found out what the auction house percent would be, plus sales tax, and came to the conclusion that I could bid up to $8,500; that was my limit. And so the money finally arrived even though my wife was hesitant about doing the loan and had dragged her feet with the paperwork.
With one week to go before the auction I rationalised that I would get outbid especially since the car was to be posted in AutoWeek magazine. So rather than see the car go to someone who may not appreciate it, I called up a friend who knew the car and would give it a good home; he had tried to buy the car ten years ago. I gave him all the details but I felt like I had missed out on a lifetime opportunity. I was rather grumpy around my household in the following days.
So two days before the auction my friend called up to say he couldn’t attend due to an unbreakable business commitment in his schedule. Wow, I felt like I had been given another chance at the jackpot. Since he was familiar with car auctions, I asked him what to expect, what to look out for, any hidden tricks and how to spot any ringers who might be working for the auctioneer. His advice was to seek out people who had an interest in the car and find out who I would be bidding against. Don’t tell them what you know, size up the competition and act ignorant, he advised. (An uncle of mine had used that technique to great effect at art auctions.)
Before the school was to move the car I had asked the Purchasing Agent at the college to use a dolly while getting the car out and protect the valuable rims. My wife came home from school that night and told me that ‘they dragged the car out with a forklift’. Aaaargh, the insensitive bastards!
The car was delivered to the auction yard on Thursday for the Friday Preview, with the auction scheduled on Saturday. But all day Friday it bloody rained cats and dogs, big thunderstorm, lots of rain and the car was left, out in the open, unprotected, in a torrential downpour – that kept me up at night worrying. My wife told me to shut up and go to sleep.
Saturday morning arrived and I was up early, anxious, VERY anxious. (The last time I was this nervous was the first time I dated my wife). I asked my wife to do the driving while I planned my game strategy and created potential scenarios; I wanted to be ready. At the auction house up on their marquee, I read ‘Paul Newman’s Race Car’ and my heart sank. I hadn’t planned on that possibility — now the cat was out of the bag!
I found the car in a far corner by itself propped up on wooden blocks; it caught my eye immediately, being an attractive car. This was the first time I had a chance to see it out in the open. It looked great, and CLEAN. The rain had cleared off all the dust and dirt; it’s disguise was gone. Now everyone would recognise it for what it really was. Damn!! I walked up to it for a quick look to assess the overnight damage. There were pools of water on the inside. My head was spinning as I quickly went through my checklist to see if any damage had been added. I didn’t want anyone to know just how interested I was in the car. After a cursory inspection, I was satisfied that the Triumph was still intact and stepped back to walk over to some nearby machinery for camouflage. I sat there watching the car to see who else was nibbling at the bait. I wanted to watch their expression, to assess the competition.
A big fellow stepped up to the car and started talking excitedly to his mate, poking and prodding the car, then stepped back to size it up. A smaller fellow was the next contender. He looked at the car and his eyes lit up. I could see the mental arithmetic clicking in his brain while he scanned the car’s inventory. He knew that he was onto something as he furtively looked around seeking out the competition. He searched his back pocket, pulled out his check register, thumbed the pages – pursing his lips – pausing here and there looking at the numbers, then –once again—furtive glances and quiet words to his son. His face went from a scowl to a self-assured and satisfied smile as he stuck his checkbook deeply back into his pocket, folded his arms and rocked back on his heels. Ahh, I thought, that makes two buggers I have to watch out for! I decided to sus out the big guy and sidled up next to him, standing shoulder-to-shoulder and mumbled out loud.
“This must be a Datsun 510?”
“NO,” he said with clarity and decisiveness, “THIS is a Triumph!”
“Oh, you know these cars?” I said, acting ignorant.
“OH, YEAH!” he said with a broad grin.
I went into my wind-up and pitched.
“Look man, it’s a piece of junk. Tires are flat, it has dings and dents in it, the door is beaten up, it stinks like rat sh—and piss. And the engine probably hasn’t run in years—it’s probably rusty as crap. Look, they tried to fool people by putting it on wooden blocks. Those tires are shot! Besides I’d rather go buy a bloody truck than this piece of junk”.
“Are you going to buy this?” he replied.
I ignored his question. “So what’s good about this car – why do you want to buy it?” I asked.
“I want the engine, six cylinder Triumph engines are hard to come by.
I’m not interested in the rest of it, it can be junked.”
“Hell, if I was going to buy the damn car you could have the engine,” I answered.
“Why? Are you interested in buying the car?” he questioned.
“Nah, I’m going to buy a television set. If I come home with another car my wife will shoot me. I’m going to go look at television sets”, as I walked away.
So then I thought, let’s try the other guy, see what he is all about. But he was gruff and didn’t want to talk to me. All right, I’ll ask the wife to try to find out his interest in the car. But no luck, he clammed up and wouldn’t provide any information to her either. At this point I thought that I’d better check in and observe the auctioneer at work, to get a feel for his selling style.
Back into the hall I slipped up to the front of the crowd as a group of sewing machines were bid for. I listened to the auctioneer, to feel out his cadence, his speed. He had a portable speaker box strapped over one shoulder, while he rattled along –going flat out into the microphone. The guy didn’t let up for a breath, but I had trouble keeping up with his rapid pace – like trying to learn Morse Code in five minutes. My next thought was to wait and listen to him while he sold bicycles, but even then the guy was moving too fast for what my brain could sort out. And too soon my big moment had arrived. The NEXT item was the racecar, the first of the lineup of cars to be auctioned.
A crowd quickly grew sensing that this item was special. They gathered around the car like metal shavings to a magnet. Without any preamble the bidding was started time was money.
“All right, we will start the bidding at one hundred dollars for Lot #126, who will start the bid?” and immediately hands shot up.
“Onehundred, twohundred, threehundred, fourhundred, fivehundred, sixhundred dollars.” In rapid staccato bursts from the auctioneer, the price escalated quickly to fifteen hundred, sixteen hundred….TWO thousand. I was very nervous, my heart was starting to pound wildly, and loudly, like an engine hitting its rev limiter. My heart madly raced out of control as the panic fueled the adrenaline surge, the throbbing drowning out the noise of the bid process; I couldn’t hear a damn thing of the voices around me. I felt like I was in a foreign movie without sound or subtitles. The only visible items that interested me were the hands dancing up and down pumping the bids; I was breaking into a sweat and my eyes stung. People jostled in front of me, caught up by the excitement. I couldn’t see, so I jockeyed into a closer position behind the big guy I had spoken to earlier; the one who only wanted the engine. I still couldn’t hear the words. What was the bid? I was in full panic desperately trying to stay in touch with the events. It was a three-way race between the big guy, the smaller gruff guy who wouldn’t talk, and me. And I was scared that I was going to LOSE.
Suddenly no movement from the smaller gruff guy; he dropped out. This left the big guy bidding against me. Less than two minutes had passed; an eternity. I jockeyed for position behind the left shoulder of the big guy, like a runner closing in on the last lap. (I had learned a long time ago during my track days in high school to settle in against your opponent matching his pace, to sense when he was going to make his dash for the finishing line. If you time it right you can break his rhythm and demoralise him.) The auctioneer focused his attention in our direction as the sole bidders. The big guy signaled a higher bid. I immediately countered, raising the bid. He responded, I raised it. We dueled seconds apart. He seemed perplexed that the competing bids pointed in his direction. He shuffled left to separate his bid signal, blocking my view. I raised my hand directly behind his head. The auctioneer immediately acknowledged the 2 bids from the big guy. He jerked around like a startled rabbit, trying to find out how come he was being billed a double bidder. He spun around finding me face to face, breathing hard on his shoulder; the dumb ignorant bugger who should be looking for TV’s. His eyes widened in surprise and his mouth hung open in disbelief, his rhythm broken. The bidding halted.
“Do I HEAR twentyninehundred? “, cried the auctioneer — and I raised my hand again, sweat dripping down my arm. I still couldn’t hear, but I was going to keep bidding until I was the last man standing.
“Wait a minute”, said the auctioneer, “twentyninehundred that’s your bid –you are bidding against yourself!”. The crowd grew quiet.
I stood still, dumbfounded not comprehending the situation and raised my hand again. The auctioneer looked around briefly and hit his staccato pace again.
“Sold, twentyninehundred dollars, Lot #126, here’s your ticket”. He scribbled on a ticket, pushed it into my hand. I stood there like a deer standing blinded by oncoming headlights.
The auctioneer stepped quickly to the next item to be sold, slipped back into his fast lane delivery and resumed his staccato pace. The excitement was gone, the crowd dispersed from around the Triumph and meandered on to their next item of interest. My wife jumped up and down yelling in my deaf ears that we got it. I breathed a sigh of relief as the news began to sink into me; my hearing began to return as my heartbeat slowed to a dull roar and the pounding subsided. One of the auto instructors from the college stepped forward to offer his congratulations and expressed pleasure to see that car was going to a good home. The big guy stepped back into view.
“Hey I thought you said that you didn’t want it”, the surprise still apparent on his face. “I am still interested in the engine. Do you want to sell it?”
“No!”, I replied. “The engine is real valuable. You don’t know what you just missed out on.” Then I began to describe what level of components were really on this car, in detail. The mag wheels, the twin brake systems, ventilated disc brakes, the Lockheed 4 pot aluminium calipers up front and the big Hurst Airheart rear aluminium calipers. Not to mention the engine with a custom steel crank and the rare close-ratio Kastner gear set. . The car is unique. It is the only one in the USA. In 1978 they put over $80,000 into it and all the original equipment is still there. His mouth hung open as he fathomed the depth of the car’s potential. And to add insult to his misery, I nonchalantly dropped the ringer.
“You see those initials on the car, the ones that spell PLN. Well, that happens to be a driver by the name of Paul Newman”.
His knees buckled as he slumped in defeat, folded his arms and walked away shaking his head in disbelief.
I had won the car, and that was just the beginning of the adventure with my four-door taxi…….and with the money saved, guess what? The home improvements turned out to be a new back fence with a 20 ft sliding gate and a 3 car-parking pad. After all, it was only fair that I keep up my part of the bargain.
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