As car enthusiasts we revel in the beauty, the performance and the perfection of the vehicles we love. We also recognize that for the vast majority of us the skills required to properly maintain the 4-wheeled objects of our affection exceed our level of expertise. The responsibility for preserving our classic automobiles at a high level rests on the shoulders of a shrinking body of skilled artisans. As these gifted craftsmen age out of the community we find ourselves painfully aware of their critical value in preserving the health of our classic car hobby. Once plentiful, this, now, dwindling breed features men who rank as savants in their respective fields. None more so than Steve Ellis.

Rebuild it and they will come –

The life of Carburetor Steve

Steve Ellis with custom tri-power for a Chevy small block

Sitting on Steve’s work bench, the three Weber carburetors belong to a 1964 Ferrari Lusso. Steve, in the process of explaining his complete rebuild of the, now, perfect threesome, gets interrupted by a guy who bursts through the door announcing his entry with a warning. “This box stinks! Careful when you open it.” Within the stinking box resides the carburetor for a 1948 Dodge sedan afflicted with vintage gas from before Hess sold toy trucks. As Steve says, “Welcome to my world.”

1948 Dodge 1-barrel and 1964 Ferrari Lusso Weber tri-power

Better known and revered as Carburetor Steve, Steve Ellis has displayed his total mastery of everything “carburetor” for 41 years with the last 37 years spent in his own business, Steve’s Carburetor Shop in Lyndhurst, New Jersey. Totally at home and at ease amidst a thoughtfully organized chaos of carburetor innards and completed foreign and domestic setups, his shop features completed examples of vintage carburetion ranging from the mundane to the exotic.

Since Steve began, profound changes driven by emissions requirements, computers and performance demands have morphed the nature of carburetor rebuilding. Over the last 40 years Steve’s business has pivoted from an emphasis on supporting a vast population of primarily generic travel appliances to providing life support for the vehicles owned by automobile enthusiasts dedicated to enjoying the landmark cars that brought the 20^th century’s golden age of the automobile to life.

Steve says, “When I started, my business was purely wholesale supplying gas stations. I had three guys and a driver working here. I used to do a lot of Hondas, Toyotas and Nissans but that’s all gone. Now it’s shrunk down to where it’s just me and a part-time guy.” However, for Steve the enormous community of vintage car enthusiasts in New Jersey and across the nation keeps him busy. Steve says, “Almost all of those vintage cars have carburetors which need service every couple of years. I am doing carburetors over now that I did ten or fifteen years ago.”

Shortly after the stinky 1948 Dodge carburetor made its appearance, a kind of “Back to the Future” Doc Brown personality enters and introduces his vintage project. “It’s off a ’57 Buick,” Says Doc Brown. Not unlike presenting a vintage time piece to the expert on Antiques Road Show, Steve displays a comprehensive knowledge of the 60-year-old Carter AFB as evidenced by the probing and nuanced questions he asks. Doc Brown simply says, “do it.”

When asked specifics about Doc Brown, Steve, with a shrug, acknowledges he has never seen him before. That says it all about reputation. Clearly word of mouth had brought that 1957 Carter AFB to Steve’s. “That’s pretty much how it works, people with vintage jobs just show up.” says Steve. He adds, “You know like in the movie Field of Dreams  ‘build it and they will come,’ well in my business it is rebuild it right and they will come.” And they do.

Steve in the process of confirming that my 1961 Corvette’s dual quads need help

When asked about competition, Steve recalls that when he first started just about every other town had a shop specializing in rebuilding carburetors, generators and starters. Today in the whole state of New Jersey less than a handful, maybe three or four at most, can do what Steve can do. And just what can Steve do?

Regardless of its pedigree every carburetor rebuilt by Steve enjoys the same comprehensive overhaul. It starts with a full teardown and cleaning. Steel parts go to an industrial plater. Castings are subjected to ultrasonic washing followed by glass beading and then a second ultrasonic wash. Steve says, “it not only makes a difference functionally but aesthetically as well. Aesthetics can be a big deal if the car is being shown.” With all old material and grime removed new gaskets and worn parts are replaced. With a jeweler’s eye for perfection, Steve reassembles the carburetor to the point where it is ready for final tuning after being returned to the engine.

Moonkist

A recent arrival to Steve’s work bench stands out among the many custom setups from landmark vintage cars entrusted to Steve’s skilled hands. Awaiting Steve’s attention are a trio of Edelbrock 500 carburetors from “Moonkist,” a legendary T-bucket hotrod from the 1970s. Inspired by the brilliantly wicked early 1970s Randy Bianchi designed T-bucket “Sunkist,” Moonkist, built in the late 1970s featured the joint vision and skill of Bianchi and the late Willy Donato.

Admittedly, Steve had suffered from being victimized by his own obsession for perfection. For a period he would build custom tri-power systems for clients. A gifted machinist, Steve, working with stainless steel, tailored fuel logs in a variety of shapes from hex to square to round. He fabricated custom fuel lines and linkages and brackets from stainless all with a jewelry finish.

However, work for a custom client named “Mr. Skate” put the stainless steel nail in the custom tri-power coffin.

Mr. Skate approached Steve expressing a desperate desire for a custom tri-power set-up. Steve explained that he created custom systems during slow times at the shop. Skate agreed. Steve says, “It was like he hadn’t left my shop yet and he was asking when it would be done.” Skate began calling repeatedly. He would make demands saying that he needed the tri-power right away. Steve says, “I would see him at cruise nights. He would harass me with comments like ‘I’m a customer too. I want my tri-power.” Steve had had enough. Steve, to satisfy Mr. Skate, would come back to the shop at night to finish all the finely detailed custom stainless work. He delivered the system. Steve recalls, “With the system completed, Mr. Skate now had a problem with the price.” And, thus, Skate earned his name. As Steve says, “Mr. Skate was excessively frugal.”

In looking back Steve says, “I’d make all these little pieces on the lathe and Bridgeport. They’re all stainless. I polished the heads of all the bolts and they’re all stainless. The process proved enormously time consuming. I wound up losing money. I had to stop.”

As a kind of “carburetor whisperer” Steve offers insights into the proper care and feeding of vintage carburetion. With systems like dual quads and especially tri-power Steve advises, “Every time you take the car out you have to put your foot into it. You have to open up the end carburetor(s). Steve tells the story of a guy who wanted tri-power for his Mopar though he believed that they would be a pain in the neck and a nightmare to set up. “Not true,” says Steve, “Just set them up right. It’s always one of two things. Either the linkage is out of whack or the end carburetors don’t get used and they gum up.”

To make his point Steve returns to his “favorite” customer the excessively frugal Mr. Skate with his tri-power. Steve says, “He came in and wanted me to show him how far down he could push the gas pedal before the end carbs kicked in. He didn’t want to waste gas.”

In walking around Steve’s shop a respectable pile of old carburetors fills a corner. When called to his attention Steve just laughs and opens a door to his back lot. Outside a shipping container roughly nine feet high and 55 ft. in length fills a side of his parking lot. Unlocking an access door reveals shelves lining the full length on both sides filled with old carburetors. But wait there’s more! Having exhausted all shelf capacity, a thigh-high snow drift of old carbs cover the floor for the length of the container. Steve utters a self-deprecating laugh as he explains the calls he gets from the children of deceased mechanics or downsizing hobbyists with boxes of old carburetors looking for a new home. “I never say no,” says Steve. Reflecting on his past misjudgment, Steve recalls his total confidence in knowing that when he bought the container he could never exceed its cavernous capacity.

When asked about the future of carburetor repair Steve says that even if someone has the desire to learn it, so much can no longer be picked up in everyday work experience. He laughs saying that he has float levels for generations of carburetors committed to memory.

Steve also makes a point of acknowledging the help he received along the way. He gives great credit to an older friend he recalls as being a big brother when he needed one. His friend, Charlie, generously shared his extensive technical knowledge and commitment to excellence in welding, painting and engine work. Turning serious for a moment, Steve slows to give emphasis to his words, “Everything I do and how well I do it has its foundation in everything Charlie taught me.”

When asked about his future Steve says, “I am going to continue doing antique carburetor work. Maybe someday I’ll retire but not now.

Time spent with a remaining artisan like Carburetor Steve triggers recollections of an earlier era when appreciation and respect was rightfully accorded the honest labor, commitment to excellence and pride associated with the mastery of a craft. As well, it reminds us how good we feel when in the presence of such mastery.

Merry Christmas, Joyous Holidays and a happy and healthy New Year

Drivin’ News will return in the first week of 2021. The adventure continues…

Last week my F100 pickup required a flatbed. Upon calling AAA I discovered that while a flatbed would be sent for my truck, I could not accompany my vehicle, AAA’s Covid policy. It would be up to me to get personal transportation.

AAA only tells you this when you call for assistance. Questions relating to proper delivery of the vehicle and disposition of the vehicle key remained unanswered. Be warned.

Luckily in my case, a friend nearby came to my rescue. We accompanied the flatbed to the repair shop.

In a classic lemons to lemonade story, while visiting the repair shop the following day, owner and good friend Bob Tasman shared a great story as retold below.

Confessions of a demolition derby survivor

High Anxiety

Bob Tasman epitomizes the hard core automobile driving enthusiast who grew up in the mid-twentieth century’s golden age of the automobile.

As a Drivin’ News reader, Bob while looking at my truck tossed out an offhand comment about a recent Drivin’ News story that described a teenager’s passion for driving in demolition derbies (“Crash course for an underage driver”).

Though a big time dirt track racer for many years, Bob said, “Reading that story gave me an instant flashback to my first involvement in demolition derbies.”

Since the 1970s Bob had been competing in dirt track racing, often at the Orange County, NY Fairgrounds. Like dirt track racing, demolition derby enjoyed a great following at the Fairgrounds with a highlight being the demolition derby held at the annual fair.

OUCH!

1982 saw Bob and a number of dirt track racing buddies decide demolition  derby looked like fun. To a man “Let’s all do it” rang out as the dirt track racers’ battle cry.

When asked if he had any trepidations about entering his first demolition derby and a very serious one at that, Bob says, “I was a race car driver. I pretty much figured I wouldn’t be seeing anything I hadn’t seen before. I mean I’ve crashed. I’ve been on fire.” Bob understood the prevailing mindset for anyone entering this land yacht battering ram version of a steel cage wrestling match saying, ”I think probably the best asset anybody can have in a situation like this would be the killer instinct.”

Clearly Bob knew it would not be for the faint of heart. It promised two-ton behemoths colliding at high speeds generating tremendous crashes. Saying, “It was exciting to me,” displays Bob’s eager attitude towards participating in the motor mayhem.

With the July demolition derby date fast approaching, job one demanded finding the right car. Basic vehicle specs for demolition derby survival consisted of massive four-door Detroit Iron with a big torquey V8.

Four-doors rated above two-doors because of their greater length. Additional length offered a larger cushion for withstanding damage before something terminal could happen.

1964 Chrysler Imperial before High Anxiety makeover

Right out of the gate, for the less than princely sum of $75, Bob scored the perfect car, a four-door 1964 Chrysler Imperial.

Bob’s Imperial measured an impressive 19 feet in length with long overhangs measuring a robust impact withstanding 6 1/2 feet wide. It weighed in at roughly 2.5 tons with a 0-60 time of 7.7 seconds courtesy of a 413 cu. in. Chrysler V8 delivering 470 lb.-ft. of torque at around 2500 rpm. But wait there’s more. Imperials of that year had welds not bolts anchor the front fenders to a beefy chassis for a quieter ride of little interest for demolition derbies. However, welded front fenders also translated into greater strength for surviving brutal impacts.

Interestingly, mid-60s Chrysler Imperials enjoyed such a reputation for being notoriously tough that they frequently suffered banishment from the derby circuit.

It is interesting to note that this sturdy unyielding construction effectively reduced the damage to the car resulting from a collision. Unlike modern cars it transferred the energy of the impact to the occupants inside. Modern cars enjoy impact absorbing crumple zones that dissipate and redirect the energy of a collision away from the occupants. Thus, modern car designs are bad for demolition derbies but good for modern drivers.

Not satisfied with having acquired an Imperial that would gain a feared reputation as the Cleopatra’s barge of demolition derby destruction, Bob set out to upgrade its defenses.

A first step not so much to add lightness in the spirit of Colin Chapman but to increase driver safety required removing all glass and ripping out all interior components except the front seat.

Welding trunk of High Anxiety

Bob as a racer, an innovator and a fabricator had only just begun.

Cutting off the exhaust system eliminated the threat of it wrapping around the axel or drive shaft.

Removal of the radiator, an easy target for knocking a car out of competition followed. By running the upper and lower radiator hoses through a small pressure tank, Bob could simply remove the radiator and eliminate a major liability.

Since it is best to keep a car from squatting down when hitting someone, the shock absorbers were removed. A piece of angle iron was cut to match the distance between the upper and lower shock mounts when fully extended. Welding it in place ensured that the Imperial aligned with other vehicles to do maximum damage.

Anticipating brutal collisions that would surely break the motor mounts. This called for the engine to be chained to the chassis so it would remain in place and not jamb the throttle.

Batteries would be repositioned in a milk crate on the passenger side front seat. Tire pressure pumped up to 60 psi significantly reduced flexibility and susceptibility to puncture.

Two inspired finishing touches dealt with a second major vulnerability, the gas tank. Bob cut a hole in the floor of the trunk and another through the top of the gas tank, He filled the tank with wet sand.

For a replacement tank impervious to destruction, a bulk head added behind the back seat area concealed a much smaller but adequate gas tank from a Volkswagen. To make the whole rear-end assembly one piece simply required welding the trunk shut and the bumper to the chassis.

Killer instinct in action

Finally the finishing touch of chaining the front and rear doors together made everything ready for paint. A brush would do. Christened High Anxiety, the ’64 Imperial had its game face on when it lined up for the heat.

Unlike readying the cars, driver preparation called for little more than a helmet and a lap belt. Other than that, jeans and a t-shirt met with full approval.

Bob admits to a little apprehension as the two dozen competitors divided into two rows and positioned facing the opposing line back end to back end separated by about 200 feet. Bob says, “I saw all these cars and I knew they were all there for one reason.” However, once the flag dropped, for Bob, the fun just started.

Even in reverse, speeds of the rearward charging Detroit Iron battering rams easily reached 40 mph. Bob says, Your head had to be on a constant swivel. If you see it coming you can prepare yourself.

So how did Bob make out. He says, “It came down to me and one other car.” Bob was confident. High Anxiety continued to run strong though a fuel line had started leaking. Bob positioned himself secure in his ability to close out the last competitor. He does point out that there was the issue of the fire.

Bob says, “Granted the front of High Anxiety was on fire, flames leaped out from around the hood and fanned out through the front wheel wells. But my adrenaline was pumping. I thought, hey, the car’s running. I’m still going and I’m after this guy.” Bob recalls thinking that he was a race car driver and had been through all sorts of situations and didn’t feel unsafe. Derby officials did not agree. Bob got the signal to shut it down. Figuratively he was toast.

In the minds of the officials, that was literally what they wanted to avoid.

Bob Tasman with the last remaining piece of High Anxiety, the hood ornament

Featuring expensive suits, slicked back hair, martinis and land yacht lifestyles; HBO’s “Mad Men” portrayed the man’s world of  Madison Avenue with a decidedly mid-20^th century Gentleman’s Quarterly persona.

Far afield of HBO’s take on advertising’s Mad Men resided an accomplished, respected and loosely affiliated band of Madison Avenue road warriors. Self-assured, self-deprecating and self-named they were the “Sons of Danger.”

Sons of Danger – Mad Men on wheels

Sons Of Danger enroute to Laconia, NH Motorcycle Week 1984

“Sons of Danger” as a group could only have been born in the halcyon days of the later 20^th century when automobile accounts pumped excitement and money into advertising agencies and magazines. Populated with automobile and motorcycle racing champions, automotive industry leaders, creative minds from advertising and publishing and gifted free spirits, the “Sons of Danger” roster boasted a selective coast to coast who’s who of fun loving motorheads. Those who belonged included cultural icons such as Malcolm Forbes; Paul Newman; Olympian Bart Conner; writers Brock Yates, P. J. O’Rourke and David E. Davis; champion drivers Dan Gurney, Kenny Bernstein, Don Garlits, Tom Sneva, Sam Hanks and Steve “Yogi” Behr; and Corvette designer Larry Shinoda. The list goes on. Membership could not be requested. It could only be offered.

Milt Gravatt on a Malcolm Forbes ride

A mid-1970s brainchild that sprang from the fertile minds of Volvo Advertising Manager Milt Gravatt, Petersen Publishing Account Executive Charlie Alexander and Chuck Riley of Young & Rubicam, “Sons of Danger” was envisioned as a loose affiliation of men of similar character sharing a common interest in all motorized vehicles that moved fast. It also afforded a relatively anonymous and spirited way to bleed off the stress accompanying the demands of leadership, creativity on demand and/or celebrity.

Other than unscheduled, informal and randomly attended gatherings at Brews, an East Side NYC pub, now long gone, members solely assembled when personally drawn by the magnetic pull of a motoring event of interest. Events spanned a wide spectrum from the down and dirty to the simply splendid.

Malcolm Forbes ride participants at Forbes Building

As a billionaire, “good guy” and “Sons of Danger” member, Malcolm Forbes would stage an annual motorcycle ride. “Sons of Danger” members and others would be invited to Forbes’ New Jersey estate. There, over 40 or more immaculate and gassed-up motorcycles, mostly Harleys, sat in a stable ready for anyone without a ride to use. Along the way to NYC and the Forbes Building the group of maybe 70 riders would stop for lunch and to refuel with Forbes picking up the whole tab. Accompanying the riders, Forbes’ man in charge of motorcycles would pay the Holland Tunnel toll in advance for everyone. Aside from basic driving safety only one rule held sway at a Forbes event. If you used it as an opportunity to pitch a business deal you were never invited back.

Motorcycle events always exerted a powerful draw with Laconia Motorcycle Week being a favorite. With the “Sons of Danger” ranks brimming with accomplished riders, the spectacle and competition of the Laconia races proved irresistible. Laconia rides also afforded a possible window into the underlying wisdom of creating the “Sons of Danger” as a personal bonding vehicle for members of companies, agencies and publications with significant and interrelated budgets.

One member recalls a specific event when the flood of bikes enroute to Laconia stopped for a lunchtime refueling. A white panel truck that had been trailing the riders pulled up and set up tables just like the lunchtime craft services trucks that feed the crew on a movie set. “Want a soda, a beer, a tasty sandwich,” the caterer inquired? Great, thought the hungry and thankful rider. Curious, he asked one of those arranging the ride, “Who’s paying for this?” A response, both succinct and blunt shot back, “That’s a question you never ask. Never ask where did this come from or who’s paying for this. Got it?” Just eat up and shut up.”

Early on, one of the ride leaders had researched a newly built condominium near downtown Laconia overlooking Lake Winnipesaukee. It would become ground zero for the “Sons of Danger” on all subsequent Laconia trips. Returning from town for supper, riders found a steak fry and corn roast sponsored by Petersen Publishing. Word got out and Petersen’s fed a group ranging from Hell’s Angels to the cops patrolling the town. A tradition was born.

Lime Rock Park also drew “Sons of Danger” members in significant numbers. Contributing to its drawing power was having the manager of Lime Rock a member of the group. So, in addition to offering a great motorsports venue, Lime Rock had a beautiful chateau right at the top of the hill by Big Bend. Funded by Petersen Publishing it catered to the group. On any race day one might find Paul Newman, a great driver, and wife Joanne Woodward resting peacefully and undisturbed on the grassy hill. Inside would be any number and array of “Sons of Danger” members either watching or taking a break from racing.

Motoball in action

When it came to down and dirty, nothing surpassed the Motoball competition hosted by the Muddy Boot Gang of Orange County, NY in the 1980s. Conceived and run by Peter Hewitt a respected automotive industry technical expert, it called for playing soccer with dirt bikes. “Sons of Danger” and Muddy Boot Gang member Galen Royer, the National Technical Training Manager for Volvo, had no trouble finding riders to put a “Sons of Danger” stamp on the event. While some outsiders may view Motoball as a cry for help, participants to a man considered it enormous fun.

As the new millennium approached, the “Sons of Danger” as an active body began to leak vigor and steadily dissipated into gone-ness. Charlie Alexander passed away around 1999. Milt had retired from Volvo years back. People no longer attended events. Guys who had been boaters went back to their boats. Lingering members awoke to the strains of an Allman Brothers song, “Nobody left to run with anymore.”

Mitch Duncan with Sons of Danger members Galen Royer and Gary Mahannah on road to Laconia Motorcycle Week

Though gone, for some, “Sons of Danger” clearly was not forgotten. Around 2017 Mitch Duncan a retired Volvo lifer and a serious car guy and competitive motorcycle rider was dying of cancer. He knew his time fast approached. In speaking with his wife Diane he confessed that in his life he had but one regret. Though he had often ridden with the “Sons of Danger,” he had never been inducted as a member. While the ranks of living members had dwindled, Diane reached out to “Sons of Danger” member and still active rider Galen Royer. Was it possible, she asked, for Galen to do anything to address her husband’s sole regret? Galen could not believe such a deserving candidate had been overlooked.

Galen reached out to remaining “Sons of Danger” members Bruce Olds and Ron Morgan. Together they committed to assembling a membership package worthy of the moment. They succeeded. Galen inducted Mitch on his deathbed. Mitch was gone in a week. Diane had Mitch laid out in his Harley clothes and leather vest with his “Sons of Danger” member shirt close by.

In researching this article I met with Galen Royer and his son-in-law Joe Lopane at Galen’s home. Joe Lopane stands as the last active “Sons of Danger” member to be inducted. Joe had brought his two sons over to see my restored 1961 Corvette and to talk with Galen, their grandfather, about cars and dirt biking. Doors shut. Doors open. Old “Sons” fade. New “Sons” are born.

A few years back I had been asked to judge at a local Concours d’Elegance. I envisioned strolling across lovely grounds viewing a field of beautiful cars. What fun! My judging assignment included an aircooled class comprised primarily of Volkswagens. More fun!

Judging criteria for this concours would employ “French Rules.” Compared to the judging at marquee club events (Porsche Club, Corvette Club) where the wrong oil breather cap can hurt your score, French Rules lean more on aesthetics.

With French Rules, visual impact more than technical authenticity holds sway. Additional attributes that merit judgments of worthiness include a car’s condition, authenticity, originality, quality of restoration, rarity, and historical importance. Basically French Rules creates a personal opinion beauty contest with the benefit of a few qualifiers to assist judges in thin slicing degrees of excellence to substantiate the choice of a winning car. I had no idea that I was about to face the challenge of thin slicing with a scalpel.

My partnering judge and I approached our subject cars and immediately recognized the challenge. With late 1950s being the newest model year, a splendid array of highly desirable VW Beetles awaited our scrutiny. It could only be compared to judging a beauty contest with the five finalists being striking identical quintuplets.

Each of the five VW Beetles enjoyed exquisite restorations featuring superb aesthetics clearly executed with an artist’s eye. All five Beetles showcased the craftsmanship of the same man. His name? Chris Vallone.

VW bug restoration is no joke. Ask Jerry Seinfeld

Being an accomplished independent film maker with a background in cartooning and fine art seems an unlikely route to becoming recognized world over for producing mechanically superior and aesthetically refined Volkswagen Beetle restorations.

“I was living my dream,” says Chris Vallone, founder of Classic VW Bugs, Inc. in Congers New York. For ten years after earning his degree, Chris wrote, directed, shot, produced and edited his own independent films. “Action films, horror films, that sort of thing,” says Chris. He achieved a degree of success with one of his films being picked up for distribution internationally. However, recognition does not necessarily equate to financial success.

Chris and father with award winning 1952 split window

In the background during the decade dedicated to advancing his career in film making, Chris enjoyed a hobby defined by maintaining his 1968 Volkswagen. “Honestly, I loved the image of the artist throwing his gear in his VW bug and pursuing his passion,” says Chris.

In life as in a good film, inflection points occur that force a dramatic change in the action. Chris’s life plot took a major turn when the monetary demands of distributing a film exceeded his financial reach. Translation, Chris found himself broke and in debt. “The whole starving artist thing,” says Chris.

“I realized that my Hollywood aspirations should be pushed to a back burner,” Says Chris. Actually Chris pushed the Hollywood idea right off the stove. “As I approached my late 20s, I realized that I needed to get serious about making a decent living to survive,” says Chris. Step one called for eliminating my debts.

Chris’s hobby came to the rescue. He would sell the 1968 VW he had restored. He used his filmmaking skills to showcase the Bug on eBay. This happened way before video became a staple on Bring-a-Trailer.com auctions. It was way before BaT existed.

His VW quickly sold to a buyer from Cincinnati, Ohio. Chris says, “This floored me because I grew up in a world where everything happened locally. What an eye opener for me.” This was around 2003.

AFTER – 1956 Ragtop

BEFORE -1956 Ragtop

Chris’s father, Chris Vallone senior, saw an opportunity saying “We got something here.” And indeed they did. Chris senior had decades as an experienced mechanic. Chris junior possessed an artist’s eye for visual interior and exterior executions. Their blended talents would combine to impart a unique and striking signature look to their future creations.

Working out of their home’s one-car garage, they would first rebuild a VW Bug to use and then sell it. However, within a year Chris decided to buy a Beetle with the sole intent of restoring and flipping it. Son and father went all in. With the VW Bug completed, Chris created a full blown sales video with music, titles and effects and posted it on eBay.

Incredulously Chris says, “We had people come to our house, knock on the door and ask us to end the auction saying “I want to buy it now.” Time for another inflection point.

In a move of profound significance, Chris redirected his marketing media skills to a new platform, YouTube. He now employed his talents to fully orchestrate traditional and social media platforms. That’s when it happened. People began calling. Interested customers no longer wanted to bid on a VW Bug Chris put up for auction. They wanted Chris to build one just for them. Chris says, “I never ever thought of doing that.”

Classic VW Bugs facility

Chris pivoted his business to embrace the custom Build-a-Bug philosophy. Classic VW Bugs, Inc. was born. Chris had discovered a niche within a niche populated with people in their fifties to seventies possessing the money to have their VW Bug professionally restored with a visual character attuned to their tastes.

Clearly, having outgrown the garage, son and father took a deep breath, swallowed their trepidations and leased a significantly larger commercial space. Game on.

Despite launching Classic VW Bugs at the dawn of the Financial Crisis, Chris has never looked back. Counter intuitively, as the stock market collapsed, his business grew. Chris explains this saying, “People buying our cars were primarily investors or collectors who wanted to add to their collection. They viewed our restored VW Bugs as an appreciating asset.”

While the sweet spot of the buyer demographic presently rests in the fifty to seventy age range, Chris has witnessed a surge of interest by those in their thirties and forties.

Chris sees this trend inspired by a motivation quite different from say the muscle car or resto-mod markets. He says, “To a significant degree it is nostalgia driven.” Chris senior says, “People’s youthful personal experiences wove the Beetle into the fabric of their soul. It remains there today.”

When asked about the pivotal moment when Chris realized that Classic VW Bugs, Inc. had arrived as a presence in the international Beetle restoration community, he did not hesitate. “When Jerry Seinfeld walked through the door,” says Chris.

About seven or eight years ago, Chris answered a call from a guy introducing himself as Jerry Seinfeld. He wanted to discuss a prospective Beetle restoration. Chris’s initial response was, “Yeh right, who is this?” However, as a big Seinfeld fan, Chris recognized the caller’s intonation. Seinfeld brought a 1956 Beetle requiring significant work to Chris’s shop and hung out for a while to discuss the project.

After taking delivery of the completed Beetle, Chris did not hear from Seinfeld again until this past summer when a clearly satisfied Seinfeld brought another Beetle to Chris’s shop. Chris took the opportunity to ask Seinfeld how he found Classic VW Bugs. Chris says, “Sure enough it was YouTube.”

Chris has posted over 600 videos on YouTube. Every one laser focused on Beetle restoration. He gets over a million hits a month. At times Chris senior will ask his son why he works so hard posting on YouTube. Chris says, “Google searching is the key. I truly believe that if I didn’t do the videos, we wouldn’t have the work.” Twenty percent of Classic VW Bugs business is international, the rest comes primarily from the south and west.” Very little is local.

As the interview approached its conclusion, I called attention to a weathered black VW Bug convertible off on the side that appeared more well used than abused. Chris responded with a look of un-reconciled indecision. Clearly this Bug had a story.

Chris explained, ”It is a 1954 one-owner, all original, numbers matching rare gem. No accidents. Everything lines up perfectly.” Roughly 900 new 1954 Beetles were sold in the U.S. market. Only a few were convertibles.

About five years ago Chris got a call from the son of the original owner. He told Chris that he wanted to sell it, but only wanted it to go to a good home. Chris bought it and has wrestled with its fate ever since. Chris says, “I want to restore it and bring it back to its glory.” But then Chris recognizes that it enjoys a glorious patina and is fundamentally sound enough that, with a little structural work, it can be cleaned up and driven as an original. Chris says that he has always wanted a survivor.

What do you think he should do? Should this be the one? Help Chris make up his mind.

Chris will read your comments.

In 2017 I had written a piece for Hemmings.com that celebrated the half century of experiences associated with owning the same 1961 Corvette. It had generated a large number of thoughtful responses. However, none packed the impact of one that would come three years later.

A classic Corvette and a soldier’s old letters connect to a kid brother’s memories

In late July of this year I got an email from friend and Hemmings editor Mark McCourt. He alerted me to a comment that had just been posted to my three-year old story about the 1961 Corvette I had owned since 1967. Normal practice does not have an editor alert a writer about a posted comment.

Reading the comment took my breath away. It’s author was the “kid brother” of a dear friend who had passed away some years ago. The post stated:

“Mr. Hall, my name is John O’Brien. My late brother Maury O’Brien, one of your good friends, used to tell us that you meticulously cared for this car. I’m a car guy and it makes me feel good knowing that a car like that is still being driven and not just a trailer queen! I’d love to see it in person sometime. Feel free to contact me anytime. My cell # is (— ——). Your kind words and funny stories @ Maury’s funeral were very helpful during a difficult time! God bless you and your family!

Maury O’Brien and I had attended high school together. He possessed a wry sense of humor, great athleticism and a gifted eye as a photographer. Our mutual interest in all things photographic would seal our long friendship.

My Corvette made all our road trips a better adventure. With the top down and Wonderbar tube radio doing its best, we made countless trips to the Jersey Shore. On a slow day, we would target anyplace offering a good excuse to run some film through our Nikons.

Maury passed away in 2007 leaving behind a legion of friends and relatives who mourned his passing and celebrated his life. They still do.

John was Maury’s youngest brother, eleven years his junior. When John answered my phone call his voice carried a strong memory of his brother. We talked. We laughed. By the end of the call it was agreed that I would drive my Corvette to his house, certainly doable in an afternoon. He said that we would be joined by Maury’s two other brothers Vince and Gene and John’s 30-year old son, John, who had enjoyed a special relationship with his now departed uncle. They would come from even greater distances. His other brothers had been my friends though not as close as Maury. We had lost touch over the decades.

With John O’Brien

Even for those who have shared their lives together as caring siblings, when one passes, those remaining acquire a ready hunger for details. Somehow new memories in some small way rekindle the freshness of that life as if it still continues to be lived.

Beyond just my car I realized that I needed to bring more. I knew where to look, dusty as it might be. I save old letters.

Personal letters are the messengers of history, possessing great value for loved ones and future generations. I treasure letters. Those I possess include letters authored by a distant relative who wrote on his experiences in “Kansas Bloody Kansas” in the 1850s and the lessons learned during his life prior to and during the Civil War. I have, also, kept Maury’s letters from Vietnam written in the late 1960s.

Each letter provided four or five pages of casual but well composed reports in his voice from the engine room of the southeast Asia war machine. Their content expressed details all at once funny, intensely personal and profound in their worldly perspective.

On a beautiful bright and crisp autumn day, the O’Brien brothers and I gathered at a local restaurant. I immediately recognized old friends viewed through a filter of passing years. We toasted Maury and each in attendance did their best to compress decades of lives well lived into bite size chunks for easy group consumption.

Oldest brother Vince’s effort to recollect sports cars he had owned afforded a perfect segue into introducing Maury’s letters from Vietnam in 1969. In one letter Maury had mentioned Vince’s recent purchase of a 1968 Corvette.

Maury’s letters possessed a signature rhythm and pace. Casual references to friends and events in our hometown and requests for the latest local news would be supplemented with accounts of personal events in his life occurring beneath the tumult of a huge war. He expressed delight at the availability of Nikon camera equipment for roughly half what it would cost back home.

His observations of the world around him in 1969 are worth quoting. He wrote, “I find it hard to believe these people (South Vietnamese) are in a great period of national strife. Life goes on the same for them except the males are donning a uniform and the women work at the army base. They do not appear to know the why and the how of this war. I feel only pity for them. The only hope for a finish to this stupid thing will be an increase in pressure in North Vietnam to bring this thing to an end. At that point and that point only will the peace talks become fruitful.”

Every letter would concludes with an honest expression of need for written contact from home.

The day after meeting with Maury’s brothers I received a note from John. He wrote, “Hey Burton, thanks again for bringing the car up and sharing the letters. If you find any more letters, please let me know. My wife and I got kind of emotional reading the letters again last night. Maury was a Very Special Man! The connection between you, Maury, and that car is forever!

Clearly, both classic cars and personal letters provide vehicles capable of transporting us to good places.