Comments & Curiosities -- Peter Buffa

Ask me how much fun it was. Go ahead, ask. More fun than anyone deserves,

that’s how much. Bungee-jumping? Skydiving? Swimming with the great

whales? Please. Nothing so pedestrian.

It all started with a world-class company called Robert Bein, William

Frost & Associates, which is celebrating its 55th anniversary. RBF

started out in 1944, in a small office behind Pink’s drugstore on Newport

Boulevard.

Half a century later, as you cruise the highways and byways of

Newport-Mesa, you can’t turn a corner without seeing RBF’s engineering,

surveying, or planning handiwork -- the Bluffs, Harbor View, Promontory

Point, Spyglass, Linda Isle, and most of north Costa Mesa. Oh, they also

did that “Happiest Place on Earth” thing in Anaheim.

Anyway, RBF threw a major rager last week for their 55th, complete with a

10-piece swing band and swing dancers in period dress. For a few hours,

it was 1944 at the Rendezvous Ballroom.

I suggested a period car to dress the place up, which led me to a good

friend who also happens to be the grandmaster of the Orange County

Marketplace -- Bob Teller.

Generous as always, Bob agreed to let me borrow one of the automotive

jewels in his collection of classic cars (more on that later). The car

was something straight out of a dream. In fact, to call it “a car” is to

call the Queen Elizabeth II “a boat.”

It’s a 1937 Cadillac Fleetwood V-12 convertible with a fishtail body --

one of three in existence today. It is burgundy and silver and gorgeous,

a traffic-stopping, eye-popping, jaw-dropping beauty. If there is such a

thing as reincarnation, the only person qualified to come back as this

car is Sophia Loren. (Get it? “Re-in-CAR-nation.” It’s like a joke, sort

of.)

If you look up “panache” in the dictionary, there is a picture of this

car beside it. The fishtail body is what gives it that wonderful 1930s

“streamlined” look, along with huge, bullet headlamps, running boards,

gangster white walls and golden “V-12” insignia in front of each door.

Did I say “running boards?” These aren’t running boards. They’re

sideyards. You could set up a small chair and a cafe table beside each

door. The interior glows with rosewood and red leather, and it does

indeed have a rumble seat, which produces a smile on every face that sees

it.

But it isn’t just what the car looks like. It’s what it does to you. In

the time it takes to hit the starter button and ease in the choke, you

are transformed. I try hard to avoid people with enlarged egos, but I

swear, it’s impossible not to feel superior in a car like this.

First of all, it’s huge. Whether you’re driving or stopped at a light,

you are looking down, literally, on everything else on the road except

for moving vans. The steering wheel is the size of a hula hoop and the

car has the same turning radius as the Exxon Valdez.

Just sitting in it makes you feel like Clark Gable, even if, as in this

case, you look more like Dom DeLuise. I’d bet anything that when Carole

Lombard said, “James, bring the car up, please. Mr. Gable and I are going

out for the evening,” this is the sled that Jimbo brought to the door.

And thus, on a bright December afternoon, the moment of truth arrived. I

actually got to drive this masterwork from the Fairgrounds to the Irvine

Spectrum. I did some lazy circles around the Fairgrounds parking lot to

get the feel of it, then aimed it toward Arlington and points south.

Let me tell you, when you drive around in a 1937 Fleetwood V-12

convertible, it is very hard to keep a low profile. There were shouts and

whistles and thumbs up from every direction, especially from kids. Two

school kids on Fairview sprinted beside me for almost a block, waving

their arms and shouting, “Wait, wait! That is so cool!”

Every stoplight triggered a flurry of shouted questions and comments.

“What is it?”

“That’s a beauty.”

“Wow!”

Some people wanted to know if it was mine. I didn’t want to lie, so I

just smiled and nodded “yes.”

Part of the thrill was driving something that really is a genuine, 100%

American car. Of course, in 1937, “American car” meant something totally

different than it does today. In those days, “American car” meant a car

that was actually made in America.

What a concept. Today, “American car” means the company that bought the

parts from Singapore, Korea and Venezuela so the car could be assembled

in Canada has at least one of its six international offices in the United

States. Always “buy American.” Uncle Sam and Sri Lanka are counting on

you.

Later that night, I picked the quietest, most deserted route I could

think of for the return trip to Costa Mesa. The only contact I had was

with an Irvine cop at the corner of Culver and Alton. He rolled down his

window and gave me a thumbs up.

“Nice,” he said. “... yours?”

I didn’t want to lie to a police officer, so I just smiled and nodded

“yes.”

I had a dream that night, but I don’t remember the details. William

Powell was there. So was Myrna Loy. Asta was doing something in the

rumble seat, but I was afraid to look.

So that’s the story of the Caddy and me. If you want to see it for

yourself, along with a bevy of other dream cars that cruised everything

from the Lincoln Highway to the Sunset Strip, the grand opening of Bob

Teller’s “Automotive Road of Dreams” is just weeks away.

With the typical Teller touch, Marketplace visitors will take “Route 66”

-- straight to the Road of Dreams. Don’t miss it.

I gotta go.

* PETER BUFFA is a former mayor of Costa Mesa. His column runs Fridays.

He can be reached via e-mail at o7 PtrB4@AOL.com.f7