When Cadillac was king

I met my friend Bob about five years ago while working at the motorcycle shop. He's a wonderfully unassuming, yet classy gentleman who's been around cars and motorcycles (and boats and planes) his whole life. But one of his endearing (and admirable) qualities is his great attention to detail. When making repairs, he's very particular, and everything is done carefully in proper sequence.

This, of course, makes him the perfect one to own and care for some fine machinery.

One of the vehicles he owns is a 1931 Cadillac All-Season sedan. Now, this isn't just any old Cadillac. It's fully restored. It's a Pebble Beach class winner. And it's one of only 4,067 chassis that came with Cadillac's V16 engine.

From 1930-1940, at the height of The Great Depression, Cadillac introduced it's most powerful, most expensive car ever: the Cadillac Series 452. At the time, Cadillacs were available in V8, V12, and now a V16 configuration. Rumor has it that Cadillac heard Packard was developing a new V12 in the late 1920s, and waited until after Packard released the V12 to launch their own V16, and steal Packard's marketing thunder.

GM's design chief, Harley Earl (arguably the father of "tail fins" which appeared on cars in the 1950s),wanted GM to build a car in the same fashion as European cars of the time. When you purchased a new Cadillac, you purchased the chassis and engine. Then, you were given a choice of 10 body styles, and dealers had an additional 30 design sketches that buyers could choose. Colors were to the buyer's tastes. Today, the Cadillac/LaSalle club estimates there were over 70 different body configurations that buyers could choose!

The first two years saw a production of nearly 3,000 cars, then production dropped off sharply. In 1935 and 1936, only 50 cars each year were built. From 1930-1937, the V16 was an overhead valve, 452ci behemoth, and looks much like two straight-eights side by side. By 1938, Cadillac went to a smaller 431 engine, which had a wider V to the cylinders, along with a flathead-style cylinder head design (and dual everything). All of which made for a smoother engine that still put out the same power as the previous one.

Bob's 1931 is an All-Weather sedan, which means it is a four-door convertible. There is even a glass divider window between the front and rear seats. It is a late Fleetwood body, which is easily recognizable by it's v-shaped split windshield (Fisher-bodied cars have a flat, one-piece window). It weighs nearly three tons, and is larger than most Ryder trucks. But it is loaded up with chrome, and is a polarizingly beautiful automobile. I say "automobile", because calling it a "car" would be an insult to such a fine machine!

So several weeks ago, I got a call from Bob. He'd been invited to bring the Cadillac to a private car show, and asked if I wanted to ride along. I said "yes" instantaneously, figuring whatever else might be on the calendar could be blown off.

Early on a Saturday morning, his Corvette rumbled up my driveway in the darkness, and we sped off into the dawn sunrise towards the car's storage facility.

Upon arrival, we parked the 'Vette, and stood there in the chilly pre-dawn light staring at a white garage door. The door rolled open, and there sat the Cadillac. In the darkness of the garage, I could only make out the chrome details which sparkled like the jewelry it was intended to be. Bob got behind the wheel, and the slowest starter I'd ever heard turned over the massive crankshaft. The engine came to life, and 16 cylinders of power forced their exhaust gasses into the morning with authority.

As the car backed out of the garage, I stood there staring at it nearly breathless. The car was stunning in it's dark blue and silver paint, wide white wall tires and perfect chrome details. By today's standards, it's an antique. I can only imagine how it looked to a young car enthusiast when it was new in 1931. Eighty years later, it'll still melts the heart of nearly anyone who lays an eye upon it.

I opened the suicide-style front door and climbed in over the chrome and polished wood running boards. Once inside, you sit on a springy bench seat covered in silvery leather. The dash board is a gorgeous piece of machine-turned metal, which houses eight gauges done in art-deco font. You'd be happy to hang it on your wall as art. A little to the left is a massive ivory steering wheel with levers to adjust fuel, idle and choke. And if you can pry your eyes away from the beauty of the interior, you can look down the long hood and see the hood ornament on the radiator cap - a graceful, chromed swan standing nearly 10" from feet to upraised wing tips.

The transmission is a three-speed manual. The first two gears are straight-cut, so the gear whine is tremendously loud, and your initial comparison is that this fine machine sounds much like a mundane school bus. But it's not until you change to third gear that the gear noise vanishes, the engine's song comes through the firewall, and the car moves down the road in all its majesty. Out on the highway, it's been said these cars will cruise at 80+ miles per hour.

For 1930s technology, the leaf spring suspension (along with the tall tire sidewalls) rides quite nice for a 6,000lb vehicle. You wouldn't want to test the handling capabilities, however, as the steering and brakes are both manual (power for both came along much later in the production run). This makes for interesting travel, as the co-pilot tends to be the one who's monitoring the road at much further distances than the driver. All maneuvers are planned far in advance, and you realize quickly that modern traffic patterns don't work for this car. The massive steering wheel mentioned earlier isn't just there for looks - it's there for leverage, too.

But treat it right, and the car brings it in spades. People wave and honk. Pedestrians stop in their tracks. Kids point with huge smiles on their faces. And that's what this car was made for. It's in its element on the road, making a lasting impression on all that see it.

It's why I'm thrilled that a car like this is owned by someone like Bob. His appreciation for such a fine automobile, and his willingness to share it with others makes him a relative rarity among car collectors. To him, it's not an investment - it's something he owns because he enjoys it.

And I feel honored that, on this day, he chose to enjoy it with me.

XJS - the un-loved Jaguar

Driving around town the other day, I came across a lovely dark silver 1989 Jaguar XJS V12 for sale. Unfortunately, my personal wealth status doesn't allow me the luxury of purchasing cars on a whim, but having been a fan of these cars for some time, I had to stop and get a closer look.

The body panels fit well. The paint matched. The interior was in good shape. I even liked the color! Unfortunately, it had those awful motorized seatbelts. That was the deal breaker for me.

So between the seatbelts and, well, the lack of $6900 burning a hole in my pocket, it won't end up in my driveway. Which is really unfortunate, since my admiration for these cars goes back a few years.

About 10 years ago, I lived in an old apartment complex. There were a lot of really lackluster cars there, mostly owned by the elderly residents that inhabited the neighborhood. You can imagine how well a race-ready red Miata and a purple Civic coupe went over in that area, parked among the many Cutlasses, Cadillacs and the occasional Corolla. I actually remember myself laughing at the fact that the older gentleman across the street still drove a Dodge Aries K. It wasn't until after I moved in that I learned that the man hadn't been legally licensed for the previous eight years, and the car hadn't moved since then.

A few days after moving in and assuming my place in this automotive wasteland, I noticed a Jaguar XJS would start sneaking in late at night. It would reside in a parking spot for a few days, disappear for a few more, then magically reappear. It was a lovely, deep red with tan leather interior and wire wheels, and the chrome was still in decent shape.

It took several months, but I finally tracked down the owner. As it turned out, Tom was as quirky as the car he drove. He was friendly enough, but I always got the impression he didn't really believe that I knew much about cars, or that I was a Japanese car snob. As a result, the conversations were usually pretty brief.

One day, I returned home to find him buffing the car with carnuba wax. He'd been at it for hours, and after a few beers, he'd convinced himself that it was time for a repaint. I looked at the can of wax, and tried to explain that he was using the wrong product to bring the shine back. But still the Doubting Thomas, he rolled his eyes a bit when I told him I had something inside the house that would bring back the shine.

Back outside, terry cloth towel and bottle of Eagle 1 in hand, I ask where he'd like me to start. Sixty seconds later, and the c-pillar gleamed like the paint was brand-new. He was stunned, and overcome with joy at the same time. As it turned out, this was the turning point in our instantly-budding friendship.

Within an hour, the car was restored to its former glory. He reached into his pocket, and handed me the keys. "You deserve it." I was stunned. "Go take it for a drive - I'll be insulted if you come back within a half-hour."

I opened up the long door, and surveyed the interior. After a couple of attempts getting my long legs to work (and bumping my head a few times), I took my spot behind the wheel and shut the door. Once inside, the car fit me like a glove. A turn of the key actuated the noisy starter, which was soon overcome by the gentle sound of the 5.3 liter V12. I revved the motor, expecting it to bark to life like most other V12s I'd heard, but it maintained it's civility. I put my left hand on the thin, spindly wood steering wheel, and my right hand fell on the automatic shifter. I slipped the car into "Drive", and that's what it did.

At the first traffic light, I put my foot to the carpet. The minivan next to me turned into a blur as it quickly out-paced the big Jag.

Instead, the Jaguar lumbered along on it's cushy suspension to the next traffic light. While waiting, I notice a guy in a wicked, black custom GTI who's eyeing me up from the next lane. The light turns green and he chirps his tires on his way to redline. The Jaguar continues to lumber along, but since this is a long stretch of road in a 50mph zone, the engine's torque starts coming into play. The car reaches its stride around 40mph, and suddenly it becomes a lithe, Grand Touring car. The steering becomes comfortable, the power abundant. I actually feel like British royalty on my way to Kensington Palace. "No stopping for tea - I've got a Jag to drive!"

The road starts to curve sharply, and the tuned GTI slows. Much to my surprise, and despite the cushy suspension and massive tire sidewalls, the Jaguar settles into the corner, and with no drama from the car or the tires, it cruises past the GTI in the outside lane. He tries to catch up on the short straight, but again, the composed Jaguar leaves the GTI clawing for grip at the next curve. 

I turn onto a back road for some touring time, and that's when I get scared. On narrow back roads, the Jaguar's width becomes quickly apparent. It's suspension will soak up bumps to the point of them being almost imperceptible. It's V12 and high curb weight keeps the momentum going. The part that scares me is the oncoming traffic, and combination of guard rails and trees to my right. When I see a box truck appear, I visibly flinch.

But once the road widens and traffic thins, the car drives with authority. To this day, I'll still proclaiim that engine to be the smoothest I've ever driven. Unfortunately, the GM TH400 automatic transmission means that it's not always in the proper gear, and you find yourself looking for a clutch pedal when you should really be looking for the brake pedal. The brakes are competent, but need a heavy foot to slow the equally heavy car. If this were my car, a manual transmission swap and a brake upgrade (assuming one exists that's not off a TWR Jaguar) would be mandatories. Not to mention the electrical system, which I would imagine is also very British in it's operation.

Nonetheless, the XJS is a fine automobile. Its styling may not appeal to everyone, but then again, it's hard to top the loveliness of it's famous predecessor, the Jaguar XKE. It's like Andy Warhol trying to out-do The Mona Lisa. Or Ripple trying to create their own version of Dom Perignon. Following up a masterpiece is tricky business.

So the silver Jaguar continues to sit, it's neon-orange "For Sale" signs calling to me as I pass by. I'm sure it'll end up in somone else's garage, and I hope they appreciate that car as much as I do.

And I hope they do something about those awful motorized seatbelts.