Lost Muscle Cars. Wes Eisenschenk

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      DEDICATION

      To the thousands of enthusiasts pursuing information on a classic car. It’s the enthusiasts with whom I share this hobby and have led me to compile a number of these stories into a singular publication.

       ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      Thanks to my wife, Michelle, and my two children, Elliott and Bailee. Their love and support has continued to allow me the opportunities to submerge myself in this hobby. One of my greatest joys in life is sharing it with them through car shows and cruises.

      Thanks to my grandpas, Virgil Rettig and Maurice Eisenschenk. Without them the seed would never have been planted that old cars are cool. Thanks to my dad, Wally Eisenschenk. Burying the speedometer on his 1985 El Camino was a transitional period in my life. And finding the history on his 1969 Impala SS 427 convertible was one of the key components in confirming that these searches can be successful.

      Thanks to my mom, Diane (1973 Javelin); brother, Keith (1969 Corvette;, and sister, Mary (1966 Mustang). The hobby runs deep in my family.

      I have to thank CarTech for granting me the outlet to tell these stories. It’s an honor and a privilege to call CarTech my place of employment.

      And finally, I have to individually thank all of the contributors to this book. It would be foolish for me to think I’m the expert on every car in these upcoming pages. They are the ones more closely associated with these muscle cars, and their expertise, helpfulness, and graciousness have allowed these pages to be filled with some of the most bitchin’ stories I’ve ever heard or read.

      Those individuals are Corey Owens, Gary Emord-Netzley, Jim Cecil, John Foster Jr., Danny Reed, Dollie Cole, Mike Satterfield, Pat Smith, Kenny Gregrich, Daniel Fehn, Bret Mattison, Matt Hardigree, “Papa John” Schnatter, Richard Padovini, Dennis Manner, Richard Lasseter, Lance Marlette, Kevin Martin, Walt and Todd Trapnell, Peter Discher, Pierre and Patrice Moinet, Chuck Miller, Walt Czarnecki, Bradley Broemmer, Mike Galewski, Bill Cook, Chris Collard, Ron Johnson, Edward Ludtke, Rick Kopec, J. D. Feigelson, Geoff Stunkard, Lynn Wineland, Darryl Klassen, Allen and Hubert Platt, Ryan Brutt, Steve Reyes, Joel Naprstek, Chuck Conway, Doug Boyce, Richard Welch, Rusty Gilles, Scott Hollenbeck, Bobby Schlegel, Bernard Durham, Ron Gusack, Thomas Benvie, Mike and Sharon Craig, Carl Ruprecht, Les Welch, Jon Mello, Michael Booth, Tommy Erwin, Bob Snyder, Charlie Morris, Richard McKinstry, Dennis Kincaid, Mark Meekins, Jeff Helm, Leon Dixon, Dana Hurt, Rick Nelson, Todd Werts, Roger Day, Ryan Weaver, George Kanavaros, Wade Ogle, Ola Nilsson, Scott and Joe Oldham, Jim Dunne, Kevin Marti, Andy Hack, Bob Snyder, Charlie Gilchrist, Jerry Hinton, Donald Surrett, Mike Dolence, John Emmi, Paul Hutchins, Barbara Hernandez, Marvin T. Smith, Carl and Char Hirst, Ken Stowe, Don Johnson, and Jay Sabol.

       INTRODUCTION

      Fifteen years ago I was conversing with a co-worker about the history of his 1966 Formula S Barracuda over a pile of base and casing at my father’s stain shop. While restoring his car in 1988, he came across a gas receipt with a name on it. I asked him to bring it in so I could have a look at it. Eight years later I handed him the home address of the individual who purchased the Barracuda new.

      We all remember Geraldo Rivera standing in front of Al Capone’s long-lost vault with our eyes glued to our 24-inch Zenith televisions. Palms sweaty and mouths dry, we awaited the greatest discovery of the twentieth century. Surely gold bars, tommy guns, and dead bodies littering the floor would be found. Capone wouldn’t have it any other way. Finally, after a continued buildup, a series of preset charges blasted dust and debris into the Chicago night. After the concrete chips and flying particles settled, there it was . . . nothing.

      What Geraldo went through on that chilly April evening in 1986 is something that almost every muscle car hunter has gone through at least once, a crushing and emphatic automotive archeological defeat.

      However, unlike Geraldo’s vault, the dead end for a muscle car sleuth is just a wrong turn. Sure, that empty garage staring back at you feels like failure, but you can always find another source to talk to and another photo archive to thumb through. If Rivera were a car guy, he’d be back talking to the guy before the guy who led him to the dead end. And like a true enthusiast he’d be off and running toward the next unopened Capone vault.

      To become an avid car sleuth, you have to be armed with a variety of talents, tools, and skills. The first skill is the ability to comprehend that patience is the key ingredient in any hunt. Dead ends are simply turnaround points, and long breaks without any news are simply just dramatic pauses in the grand scheme of things.

      The tools for a muscle car hunter are not too different than those of a crime scene investigator. Thorough interviews need to be conducted and ample rehashing is to be performed over bits and pieces of information that may seem minute and trivial, but invaluable to connecting the dots. Photographs are examined like a hawk peering over a field for the movements of a rabbit with the researcher intent on finding that subtle tell that could release the floodwaters. Letters are mailed to the state DMV in hopes that historical ownership could lead to a promising new clue. Any and all paper trails are backtracked as far as humanly and digitally possible. And finally, the talents are in developing relationships with people that halt just before the threshold of annoyance is reached. An enthusiast has no shortage of avenues to go through to “solve” the case.

      The abundance of truly spectacular lost muscle cars possibly still in existence is astounding. The list of legendary cars unaccounted for sounds like the roster at the Muscle СКАЧАТЬ