| Issue #28, October 6, 2006 |
Road Rally
1. 1955 MG TF 2. 1955 Mercedes 190sl 3. 1962 Porsche 356
By Dan Rattiner
There are few people in the world who are obsessed about something more than antique car buffs are obsessed about their old cars. They get together, as they did on the grounds of the BridgeHampton Historical Society last weekend, and you hear a conversation like this. The two individuals involved are facing side by side white sedans built by the French car manufacturer Citroen Maserati in 1972. Actually, they are not COMPLETELY identical, one was built in 1973. (This model of Citroen was only built for three years. There are maybe a hundred of them still on the road today.)
“Look at the headlights.”
“I see what you’re saying. They’re different.”
To an ordinary person, they are not different. But they are.
“My headlights turn slightly as you go around a corner so you can see what’s there better. They have a cable that attaches to the steering wheel. You turn the wheel, the lights turn like eyeballs.”
“They didn’t have that in 1972,” the second person says glumly. “Any other advances?”
“I think that’s it.”
“Can I try the eyeballs?”
“Sure.” The two open the doors and are about to get in, when still a THIRD 1972 Citroen Maserati SM comes onto the lawn. It rumbles over.
“Who the hell is that?”
The fact is that about ninety antique cars descended upon Bridgehampton from all over the country on Friday afternoon and began to array themselves on the big front lawn of the BridgeHampton Historical Society. You might have seen these cars there on Friday, and then their owners later in the evening as they shared stories, drinks and food by lantern light under the big white tent that was set up on the side lawn of the Historical Society grounds.
On Saturday morning, you would have seen old 1933 Bentleys, 1953 Austin Healeys, 1957 MGs, 1932 Model A Fords, 1955 Porsches, 1954 Corvettes and 1961 Cadillac convertibles, and even a 1952 Lazzarini, a one of a kind racing car built in Argentina by a coach maker who used the car to defend the honor of his country from a bunch of North American racers and their Ferraris who had come to town to race the locals. All these cars here in Bridgehampton were lined up in neat little rows so their owners could show them off and work on them to prepare for the upcoming Bridgehampton Grand Prix tour to begin at 10 a.m.
Beginning at that hour, one car and crew went off every five minutes for the next two hours, the cars each bearing a driver and navigator attempting to follow a not so complicated 130 mile route through the eastern end of Long Island. It would take five hours to complete this tour and the crew and car making the tour in the time closest to a preset time allowance would win first prize. So stopwatches were in the hands of all the navigators as they went off.
The route took all the cars off the lawn of the Historical Society, down Main Street to Ocean Road, and then on one big loop on some country roads in Bridgehampton and Sagaponack where races were actually held — in excess of 150 miles an hour — for several years in the 1930s. After completing the tour of this circuit (Sagaponack Road, Sagg Main, Bridge Lane and Ocean Road), the route went to Southampton, Westhampton and Riverhead, then out to Orient, then back to Riverhead — with a stop for lunch at the Meeting House Creek in Aquebogue, then back all the way to Bridgehampton. One hundred thirty miles in all.
Along the way there were flat tires, overheated radiators, batteries that got fidgety and stops for oil changes, but except for a few, all of the 43 racers that started made it back in their tour against the stopwatch. Another 18 drivers went on the tour, but without the demands of the stopwatch. Presumably their cars were not reliable enough to be counted upon to complete the course successfully, but they wanted to go, anyway. In any case, they dotted the roads of the East End, and the fact that motorists coming the other way had no idea why they were seeing so many half century old automobiles as they drove along was just part of the game.
First place in the Bridgehampton Grand Prix was Richard Weintraub (driver) and Gerard Jeffrey (Navigator) in a 1955 MG TF. Second place went to Alain Baume and Jack Libaire in a 1955 Mercedes 190sl, third went to James Thorp and Steven Jury in a 1962 Porsche 356 and fourth went to Richard Lisman and Clive Doyhle in a 1936 Lagonda Rapid.
Sunday, after a breakfast under the tent, the cars were driven onto the property and lined up for an inspection and judging, which would include blue, red or white ribbons in a wide variety of categories such as Best Under the Hood, Best Hot Rod, Best European Sports Car, Best Paint Job and Best Interior. Also Best in Show.
I was asked to judge Best Paint Job, and I walked around looking for scratches and rust, and at one point had a conversation with a young woman dressed in an original Corriege mini-length dress from 1971. Her name was Claire Beirhorst, and she had her thick black hair piled high on her head, black eyeliner and lipstick and little strings of wooden beads for earrings. She was dressed to match the very year that the Volvo 1800E she came with was made. I had my picture taken with her and the car.
I also got to meet, standing by their Lazzarino, so named for the man who designed and built it in Argentina in the 1950s, Jonathan and Jake Auerbach, the driver and navigator, who are father and son in real life and who most recently competed in a cross country rally called The Great Race. This was a 4,200-mile journey that crisscrossed the country from Philadelphia to San Francisco, recreating a famous race that had taken place in 1908. The rules of that race were that cars had to be at least 45 years old. And that was the only rule. The cars left Philadelphia in early June, and it took the entrants about two weeks to complete the journey. One hundred and two started. Eighty-four finished.
“We got such wonderful welcomes along the way,” said Jonathan Auerbach. “We just loved all the small towns. We were the biggest thing that happened to them all year.”
“Best adventure?” I asked.
“Every day was an adventure. But we made it,” son Jake said.
“What a bonding experience,” I said. “At the end, you either love or hate each other.”
Jonathan works on Wall Street and his son is a senior in high school. They live in Manhattan and Bridgehampton.
“It was really very interesting in one regard,” said Jonathan. “The driver has to go wherever the navigator says he has to. That’s the rule. So I had to follow my son’s direction wherever he sent me.”
At the end of my tour walking around, much of it in the rain, I realized that there were many cars that had good paint jobs, but really only two cars that had equally perfect paint jobs. They were a green 1929 Packard Saloon owned by Sam Guillory, and a bright red hotrod owned and entered by the Auerbachs. How do you give an award for a tie? I asked somebody.
“You have to choose. But the Packard gets dozens of ribbons and is already in as Best in Show, I’ve heard. I’d choose the hot rod.” And so I chose the Auerbach’s bright red 1938 Ford. And the Packard got second.
Further down the line, standing in the rain, a man named Greg Johnston was demonstrating the turning signal, something called a “trafficator,” built into his 1957 Bentley S1 Sedan. Listening were a young family standing by the front passenger door. Umbrellas were out.
“I just press this button and BINGO. Out it pops.”
From the side of the car, just behind the passenger door, a little three inch long bar suddenly flipped out from a spot where it had until that moment lain flush with the trim. It pointed. It had a little red light on the end. Now he could turn.
“Back then, people signaled turns by pointing with their left arm out the driver’s window. Straight out meant you were going left. Arm bent at the elbow and the forearm straight up meant you were turning right. This was a great advance.
“Sure is,” the father said.
“Is there one on the other door?” a ten-year-old asked.
“Of course.”
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