In the April 17, 1961 issue of
Sports Illustrated there appears a one-page advertisement entitled
“One-man Brand” for the 300G. After saying the G might
be a “handful” to some, those clever ad execs qualified
the remark by saying that after some time behind the wheel “…
you’ll know who’s the boss. And which is the devoted
servant.” I know what they meant then, but as far as today,
I’m not so sure if it’s the same.
As I sit down to write this, I have
literally just stepped out of my G after a 200-mile run. I don’t
think there are any better ways to truly appreciate a letter car then
experiencing the way it can run at a relaxed 80 MPH, quiet but with
an obvious engine presence. Eight years ago, I bought my G as a
running car and it has been pretty dependable. Once I finally
figured out how to tune it, I pull a consistent 15 MPG at a steady
70-80 MPH cruising speed, up from 10 MPG for the first couple of
years. Anyway, here’s the story of how I acquired my G.
When I was 15, I suddenly decided it
would be fun to buy an old car and bought a ’61 Windsor coupe
for $175. It was rough, but not rusty and it ran great. I had
wanted to fix it up and drive it to school. It was pure fluke that I
bought that particular car, but the styling really grew on me and as
I began to research the history of the car, I discovered the 300G.
Wow I thought, the same design, but two four barrels and a leather
interior. Needless to say, I had to have one.
Shortly thereafter, I drove the
Windsor to a car show in St. Pete, Florida, where I was living, and
there across the street from the park where the show was being held
I beheld my first real 300G. It was a black coupe, owned by a
friendly couple from Alabama. They pleasantly indulged my relentless
questioning for the rest of the day. I was helplessly hooked. Now I
just needed to find a car.
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I think it was the summer of ’85
when the white G that was eventually to be mine rolled into St.
Pete. A friend of mine, who knew about my fixation with the 300G,
found it first. He described the owner as in his late 40s and “kind
of a bum” and said there were beer cans on the floor of the
car. The guy claimed that he had bought it from the original owner
in California and had just driven it into town. When I first saw
the G myself, it was on the other side of a divided highway. It had
the black California plates. I never met the man however, because
for some reason which eludes me to this day, I never followed up on
the phone number that my friend had coaxed out of him.
Anyway, after a couple more
sightings, I finally found the G standing still, in front of a
transmission shop, in the winter of ’85. It showed 52,000 on
the odometer, which I thought was possible considering the good
original condition of the car. The shop wouldn’t tell me who
owned the car, so I left the owner an unanswered note, tactfully
saying I had some parts, (which was true).
I eventually traced it to a used car
lot in the spring of ’86. The owner, Mike claimed it was not
really for sale, but he would sell it. Around that time, I went to
work for a friend of mine, Bob in auto parts. Mike came into the
shop at least once a week, driving the G. We went back and forth,
each time and he would say “Make me an offer.”, so I
would. He’d refuse and I would say “Give me a price.”
And then he’d say “Give me an offer” and so on.
Meanwhile, I watched him give the G a shoddy cosmetic restoration.
When he told me, he was going to replace the leather because one seat
had a couple of cracks, I begged him to sell me the car before he
spent the money, but to no avail.
At one point, I hadn’t seen
Mike for a while and another car salesman told me Mike’s wife
left him for another man and absconded with their life savings. Not
one to miss an opportunity, I thought that if I relieved him of the
G, at this time he could use the extra cash. I made the move, but
the car was sold.
I was crushed. The next day at
work, Bob told me that he had done some detective work. He
recognized a ’57 Ford that had just appeared on Mike’s
used car lot and when he drove by the house where he had remembered
seeing it, there was the G. Still shellshocked over the whole thing,
I sat there in awe and listened to Bob as he called Mike to try and
coax the new owner’s name and number out of him. He then
called the new owner, Dick and said to him “I realize that you
just bought the car; but when you want to sell the car, whenever that
is, please call us.”
Sometime after that, Bob more or
less fired me under questionable circumstances, so I was surprised
when I received a message in February of ’87, that he wanted to
see me. When I did, he excitedly told me that Dick had called him
and the G was for sale! Of course, Bob had given him the business
phone number when he talked to him less than a year before. The bad
news? I was out of work for a month due to an operation connected
with an earlier motor car accident and I was penniless. Still, I
wasn’t going to let it slip away this time. Armed with my
fledgling 300G literature collection, I went to meet Dick. He
proposed a fair market price for the car. I didn’t argue. He
saw my genuine interest in the car and agreed to give me some time to
get the money together. I hit up all of my relatives and sold a
record collection and somehow managed to secure a loan from my credit
union. Nearly a month later, I arrived at Dick’s with a
cashier’s check. His wife promptly walked me over to the
kitchen table, picked up an envelope, addressed to Hemming’ and
threw it into the trash. It was an ad for the G, ready to go if
they didn’t here from me. Almost in tears, I thanked Dick for
giving me the extra time. He knew from the day that he met me that I
was the one for the car and didn’t mind waiting; not to mention
the fact he knew how serious I was, since I had called him the day
after he bought the car.
There I was, a letter car owner at
age eighteen. He gave me the keys and I started the G for the first
time. I had never even test driven it. Of course, I had stood in
front of it drooling, numerous times and had photographed it from
every angle and had faith that lurking under that refrigerator white
paint job, there lurked a fairly intact 300G. I was lucky, because
at the time I knew enough to check the VIN, but the engine could have
been any big block for all I knew. As it turned out, the engine is
correct, as are the carbs. The rams are intact. I drove the G every
day for months and even to Chicago and back that first summer. I
eventually sold the ’61 Windsor when both cars needed brakes
and I only had money to buy parts for one.
My G was a new discovery for the
club, when I finally joined in 1988. Gill’s microfilm
interpretation showed few factory options and the car had some dealer
accessories such as mirrors, power antenna and air. He confirmed
that the car was from a defunct dealer in southern California and
eventually found out that it was sold from Tower Motors in San Diego.
I visited San Diego on a recent trip out west and tracked down the
location of the former Tower Motors. The building, apparently still
owned by the same people, now houses a Volvo dealership. The
proprietor agreed to pass a note along to them, asking if they might
still have records on my car; but I never heard back from them. I
should really try again. I also inquired to California DMV for
information on previous owners, but to no avail. Incidentally
regarding the black plates that I saw on the G: Dick, the guy I
bought it from said he never received them and Mike, the used car guy,
said he gave them to Dick. So, the G’s past remains somewhat
mysterious.
I’ve logged over 20,000 miles
on the G so far. How much more, I’m not sure. The speedo
cable self destructed and I didn’t get another for a couple of
years. Not only that, when I bought the car it was showing 36,000
miles (remember when I first saw it was showing 52,000 miles). I
then remembered that Mike’s “specialized in low mileage
cars” and there was a speedometer shop right across the street
from his lot! I asked Dick about it and being an experienced old car
buff, he said that he just assumed the mileage was wrong. Then he
remembered that Mike, was trying to fence his old ’57 Ford off
as a 60,000-mile car, which it wasn’t. In other words, the
total mileage on my G will always remain a mystery.
Despite the
“restoration” it went through and the heinous crime of
replacing the not-so-bad leather seat covers perpetrated on it, I
like to think that the G still has a lot of its original integrity.
That may sound like a contradiction in terms, but it’s true.
My guess is that the car has been functional the majority of its life
and has between 80,000 and 100,000 miles on it and never experienced
excessive exposure to the elements. Some cars are survivors, some
are not. Some cars consistently fight to break down and others most
always get you home. My G is one of the survivors. Hence, aside
from gradually “correcting” it, I have been following a
philosophy of doing as little as possible. In other words, making
repairs as needed in order to preserve as much of the original feel
of the car as I can. This is also a fancy way of saying that, as a
perennial student, I haven’t exactly been rolling in cash.
Anyway, the car is fairly solid with
the only major rust in the rockers and the trunk lip and trunk floor
(nothing like a couple of design flaws to keep things interesting).
If I had concentrated my efforts solely on the G all these years,
instead of the other cars that have come and gone, it might look a
little better because, as it is, deterioration is occurring a little
faster than my minimalist restoration philosophy can keep up with.
Never fear, I have been making some
serious improvements lately including a club cam and a George Riehl
transmission rebuild. Both of these are really making it feel like a
G should. You don’t notice things disintegrating as much when
it happens gradually over a period of years. I hope to get into the
bottom end of the engine this summer. I really need to get onto the
body work soon too. Then, aside from the dozens of smaller projects,
I anxiously await a leather interior from the club. I actually
wouldn’t mind finding a decent used set of seat covers since I
drive my car so much and have never had it judged, anyway. If I did
get a new leather interior, I would probably have to clean the coffee
stains off the console to make it look proper.
Since I moved back to Chicago in
1991. I have been attending club meets regularly with the G. I have
become much more involved with the club then I had ever imagined. If
you haven’t picked up the impression already, I like to drive
my G and what better excuse then to take it on a trip, not to mention
the invaluable friendships that I have made. I have also been
judging at the concours meets for the last four years in order to
learn more about all the letter cars.
I also started a collection of
promotional and technical literature on the 300G and other ’61
Chrysler models before I even had the G. The collection has become
quite extensive and I even had the opportunity to display it to the
public last summer in a Chicago bar that features different art
exhibits and other curiosities every month.
For the future, I would eventually
like to get into another letter car, but I am so heavily into the Gs
that the idea of another year, (except maybe an F or H), is a little
frightening. I naturally would like a G convertible someday to
complete the set. I also fantasize about a G with special order
paint or interior. I guess even though I am fortunate to own a rare
and extremely desirable car, I have met so many people in the club
now that have them (especially white ones), that they are becoming
commonplace in my life.
It’s strange, I occasionally
get chastised for driving the G around the way I do. One story that
comes to mind is having my G in a multi-make car show about five
years ago and being approached by a fellow that hauled cars around in
an enclosed trailer. He said he knew that letter cars were becoming
more and more expensive and I should consider using his service. I
told him that I liked to drive my car and he proceeded to tell me
some horror stories he had ready just for such an answer. I heard
about blowouts that caused fender damage and all sorts of horrible
accidents” On the way to a show”. I happened to be
driving my G daily during the next couple of weeks, since I was
swapping the engine in my pickup. I was working part-time in a small
machine shop and when my co-worker’s brand X broke down one
day, I roped towed him home with the G. (I don’t normally do
things like this with the G, but I couldn’t leave my friend
stranded!), who do you think pulled up next to me at the light? The
car hauler guy, in his company truck. I couldn’t see his
expression, through the tinted windows, but I can imagine it. It
took him a few seconds to notice when the light turned green!
Around the same time, a guy who had
a little hot rod shop across the way told me that one of his
customers saw my car parked at work and said, “Everybody in the
world is looking for one of these cars and this guy’s got one
sitting out in the rain!” (Don’t worry, I have always
kept the G garaged, when not in motion.)
Because I am a relatively young guy,
I’ve had some people automatically think I’m going to
wreck the car. I’ve found that really offensive, but now that
I have had the G for eight years, people generally don’t think
that way about me anymore. As a matter of fact, I drive like an old
lady, much of the time. But then, there was that time, at the St.
Louis meet when my G and a certain yellow F saw 105 on the interstate
around town…
I’ve always been accused that
my interest can not be equal to someone who remembers the 300s when
they were new, (Heck, I wasn’t even born yet!) On the
contrary, I think that is why I like them so much. When I’m in
the G and listening to the Golden Tone radio, when I’m not
fawning over the car itself, I get lost imagining what it would have
been like back then. It seems that things were much simpler back
then, unparalleled prosperity, lots of gasoline, no terrorism or
AIDS. In 1960, whoever was looking through the tinted Solex glass of
the new white 300G coupe must have seen a really bright future
because somehow 1995 always looks a little better to me through that
same blue green tinge.
