By Peter M. DeLorenzo
Detroit. The above headline was attributed to that famous 1930s Hollywood movie mogul, Samuel Goldwyn, in reference to a protracted negotiation that went bad, although since then it has been debunked that he ever said it. No matter, for today’s column it is extremely appropriate. Traditionally, we’ve come to the time of the year when I write about the greed-fest unfolding in Monterey, California, during “Monterey Car Week.” But, after years of doing that my attitude this year is, why bother? Except that it is unavoidable.
That the so-called collector car “hobby” has been reduced to a pathetic parade of exquisite machines being sentenced to their “moments” on auction stages so that the assembled fat-wallet swells can piss away obscene amounts of money on them has been well documented. It is where we are at this point, unfortunately. That those machines will never turn a wheel beyond being pushed on those stages so that they can be presented before an auctioneer’s bark and gavel, never take a hit from a stray bug, never be driven near their potential, and never elicit the “tick, tick, tick” sounds as they cool from a spirited run is indeed a travesty.
Many members of the collector car “hobby” view me as the enemy (Add them to the long list – WG) because of my stance on their “passion.” Not surprisingly, I don’t care. The very notion of collecting for collecting’s sake is anathema to me, especially if the cars are barely or hardly ever driven. And when I see collections in the double or even triple digits, the whole thing becomes nonsensical. Again, why bother?
If the collectors find my views offensive, the auction houses reserve a particular animus toward me. That’s funny, because I reserve a particular animus toward them. The “industry” that has emerged and been built up by these auction houses is a flat-out disgrace. Cars (and sometimes trucks) are pushed and prodded across stages almost weekly, as the auction houses collect buyers’ and sellers’ commissions. It is a full-fledged racket that is fueled by willing – albeit misguided – participants hoping for a big score. That a fair number of those participants end up walking away disenchanted and/or disgusted is a foregone conclusion.
And the entire year points to the two main events: the several Monterey auctions and the Barrett-Jackson circus in Scottsdale, in January. These events are reserved for the more-money-than-brains crowd, those eager to participate so that they can flaunt their pocketbooks for all to see. It’s nothing more than Swinging Dick-ism on a grand scale.
Another trick by the auction houses is to portray themselves as nothing more than a subservient order of the Little Sisters of the Poor, who are merely conducting their business purely as part of God’s work. This is a particular specialty of the B-J auctions in January, as they attempt to couch everything in terms of their charitable work, while they fleece people right and left who should know better. That the whole thing has a particular stench about it is plain to see… and smell… aided and abetted by national TV coverage, no less.
The manufacturers are willing – and cynical – participants as well. In Monterey they spend probably $100 million collectively, if not more, trying to lure big money swells to spend stupid money on their wares in a series of events in impossibly beautiful settings, complete with incredibly wonderful food and drink and, of course, machines that are tantalizingly unavailable, unless you happen to have the magic number of digits in your bank account. Offering a flotilla of “one-offs” and bespoke commissions, these manufacturers promise an automotive Nirvana just so potential owners can go back to their gated enclaves and private clubs and say, “Yeah, this is one of one.”
Yes, all of the manufacturers who participate are guilty. It’s what this business has become for car companies attempting to lasso as many of the “1-Percenters” that they can get their hands on. The sound of money changing hands all across the Monterey Peninsula this week will be palpable, from the auction houses and The Quail – which has turned into an off-the-charts greed-fest unto itself – to the perfectly groomed 18th fairway at Pebble Beach. If, as a manufacturer’s operative you aren’t bringing your “A” game, you will be left in the dust and having to explain to management back at headquarters why you didn’t get more commitments from the swells. (There is almost an unfathomable degree of “ROI” at work here, as you might imagine.)
I have no illusions about what’s going on in today’s automotive world. The almost incomprehensible cash burn and churn that defines this so-called “hobby” will continue on indefinitely. Why? There’s nothing to stop it. There will always be newly “undiscovered” barn finds, there will always be manufacturers creating “one-offs” or a series of ultra-limited production runs of machines destined to spend their days in garages untouched and unseen until the next time they appear at an auction, and there will always be ultra-monied “swells” who collect for collecting’s sake, just so that they can say “I have one and you don’t.”
Not very good, is it?
Meanwhile, the true enthusiasts who still drive or even race their machines are slowly but surely fading from this mortal coil. I will stand with them for as long as I can.
As for the rest of this ongoing greed-fest?
Include me out.
And that’s the High-Octane Truth for this week.
Editor’s Note: You can access previous issues of AE by clicking on “Next 1 Entries” below. – WG