I grew up in a Ferrari household, my father having obtained his Series II 500 Mondial about two and a half years before I was born. Needless to say, I have always been a student of all things Ferrari, especially those made before 1974. Since I had nearly worn out my father's copies of Prunet's The Road Cars and Batchelor's first edition Buyer's Guide, I had known for years what models I would look at as my "entry-level" Ferrari; 250 PF Coupes after s/n 1493 (give me the disc brakes), 365 GT 2+2s, and the 246 GT Dinos. The Dino may be the sexiest shape to ever be on 4 wheels, but the Ferrari elitist in me wanted the front-engine V-12. I sought counsel from my father's friend and long-time Ferrari aficionado/legend, Richard Merritt - having dealt with so many significant Ferraris over the years, Richard is very dispassionate and practical in matters regarding Ferrari production cars of that era. Comparing the 365 and the 250, I recall Richard's quote being, "for goodness sake, you're a family man! You should have air conditioning and four seats! Get the 365!" My and my father's skills (not to mention the facilities/tools at my father's garage) could take on just about any mechanical issues - however, we lack the skills and facilities for remedying
body/paint/interior coachwork problems. Since I could not afford the "best of the best," I decided to look for a car that was in good cosmetic condition even if it had mechanical isues.
I looked at several Queen Mothers - Chuck Wray of Grand Touring in Laurel, Md. was nice enough to let me look at several clients' Queens while on the lift and generally point out the troublesome spots typical for those cars. He also put me in touch with a gentleman in Philadelphia looking to unload his 365, s/n 11199. I drove to Philly, armed with 11199's sales history (courtesy of Gerald Roush), and met with the seller at his persian carpet sales warehouse. I sat there going through all the records he had on the car (and thankfully, there was a lot of history), surrounded by stacks and stacks of expensive persian carpets. We then drove out to the seller's house to see the car. I knew the second the garage door went up that the car was in a lot better shape cosmetically than I thought it was going to be. A couple laps in and around the car, along with the proof of the mechanical work I had just sifted through, told me that the car should bring a lot more than I was prepared to offer. At the risk of great marital sanction, I offered 2 grand more than I told my wife I would. The seller politely declined. He and I agreed that he shouldn't take less than my offer plus about another 7 grand. He had a broker coming from somewhere west that I was sure would make the right offer. I drove back to D.C. severely depressed, certain that I would never drive anything
greater than my 1974 MGBGT.
Three weeks later, the seller called me out of the blue to see if I still wanted the car. I was momentarily gripped with fear because I knew my negotiation skills were nothing next to his and I simply could not raise my offer. My fears were unfounded, however - the broker must have really
ticked him off because the seller said 'I want you to have the car - was $X your offer?' I said 'yes' and he replied that the car was mine. I had become a Ferrari owner in a 20 second exchange. Whew! All has not been perfect - we have spent the last year chasing myriad electrical issues in
the engine and chassis. But we won a Gold at Reading 2001 and I take it out and drive it way too fast on dry weekends. Que bella machina!