The Mercedes-Benz 300sl Gullwing. Even the name itself evokes images of speed, luxury, and timeless design. For many, owning one remains a dream, a symbol of automotive perfection. For a fortunate few, like myself, that dream has twice become reality, albeit with a healthy dose of youthful misadventure and eventual regret. My journey with the iconic benz 300sl is not just one story, but two, each a chapter in a long love affair with this legendary machine.
My first encounter with the 300SL was through the nostalgic lens of Greenfield Village’s car show, a curated glimpse into early 20th-century Americana. Amidst the classic Fords and vintage Americana, a vibrant red Gullwing with a white interior and gleaming chrome wheels stood out. It might not have been factory-spec, but its beauty was undeniable, sparking a desire that would linger for years.
Fast forward to my high school days cruising Woodward Avenue in the mid-60s. Woodward was then a pulsating artery of Detroit car culture. Amidst the muscle cars and chrome-laden cruisers, there it was – a benz 300sl sitting forlornly on a car lot, bumpers missing, exposed to the elements, and priced at a seemingly attainable $4,000. In retrospect, passing on that opportunity is a testament to the naivete of youth.
Years later, armed with a copywriter’s paycheck, the dream of owning a benz 300sl resurfaced. A visit to Dan Hosler, a GM stylist with a half-restored Gullwing, only intensified the desire. Frustration mounting, I pressed Hosler for leads, leading to a serendipitous connection to Alistair, a former art school acquaintance of Hosler’s. Alistair, it turned out, owned a Gullwing, as had his father. A cold lead from years past turned unexpectedly warm.
A transatlantic phone call later, a deal was struck for $4,000. The fact that I was then a Private First Class in the military added a layer of comical complexity to the transaction. A promised down payment of $2,000 and a payment plan of $40 a month sealed the deal. I journeyed to Toronto, not to the land of 300SL enthusiasts I imagined in the US, but to claim my prize. Alistair’s benz 300sl, the surviving sibling of two, awaited. The story of its twin remained unspoken.
My newly acquired benz 300sl was a subdued silver with a practical cloth interior, accented with a tartan pattern, a surprising Scottish touch in a German masterpiece. Despite its non-running condition, it was mine. Loaded onto a trailer, we headed for the Bluewater Bridge, crossing from Windsor, Canada, to Detroit. My plan to downplay its value at customs nearly backfired when an astute customs officer, a Road & Track reader, recognized the iconic lines of the Gullwing. Saved by the New Year’s Day chaos of Michiganders importing Canadian whiskey, I, and my benz 300sl, slipped through.
Adding to the comedy of errors, Alistair had mistakenly given me the title to his father’s benz 300sl. Remarkably, the serial numbers were sequential, and the customs officials, perhaps weary from the holiday, waved it through as a clerical error. Whether the Gullwing registry ever reconciled this title mix-up remains a mystery.
Arriving in Detroit, I strategically parked the ailing benz 300sl in front of a Mercedes dealership, feigning a breakdown. The mechanics, initially skeptical of the “breakdown” claim given the engine’s cobwebs, eventually coaxed it back to life. Starting remained a laborious process, a prolonged grinding affair that seemed to necessitate frequent oil changes due to fuel dilution of the engine’s generous oil capacity – 12, or perhaps even 18 quarts. Driving around town, the benz 300sl garnered appreciation only from fellow Road & Track readers, its significance lost on the general public. On occasion, I cruised with the signature gullwing doors open, a flamboyant display lost on most.
Memorable moments included a date with a Brazilian exchange student, who remained unimpressed by my inability to operate the heater. Another incident involved a removable window ejecting itself at speed, thankfully without shattering. And then there was the aluminum belly pan, which detached itself during a spirited drive down a country road, a piece of now-priceless originality left by the wayside.
The most comical episode unfolded at Vinsetta Garage, then a humble gas station, now a hot rod landmark. In an era of $10 fill-ups and full-service attendants, the benz 300sl’s prodigious 32-gallon tank baffled the attendant. The pump maxed out at $10, leaving him bewildered and unable to calculate the true cost of filling this automotive leviathan.
While I don’t recall any formal sports car races, I do remember outperforming my roommate Alan Cohen’s Suzuki motorcycle in an impromptu street “race,” leaving him, in his words, “doorless.” However, domestic harmony proved elusive. My father’s decree against parking the benz 300sl in our single-car garage, fearing winter’s wrath, led to a difficult decision. Driven by practicality and parental pressure, I drove the benz 300sl to Chicago and sold it to classic car dealer Harry Woodnorth for a mere $2,500.
Gullwing: The Second Act
My second benz 300sl encounter occurred in the 1980s at a Newport Beach auction. Relaxing next to another Gullwing, serendipity struck again. Within minutes, two separate individuals approached, each proclaiming, “I own one of those!” The first was a pilot, grounded for giving a friend free passage, offering a partially restored benz 300sl “as is” for $7,000. The second, presented a complete, white Gullwing for $8,000. Opting for apparent completeness over potential project, I chose the white benz 300sl, a decision I would later question.
Restoration commenced, marked by a superb silver repaint from a budding body shop entrepreneur for a mere $800. However, financial realities intervened. Owing my girlfriend $3,000 for the purchase, I reluctantly drove the benz 300sl to an Oakland auction, selling it for $11,000. A pre-auction viewing brought a chilling realization. A fellow enthusiast, passing by with a friend, remarked, “Look at the Gullwing with the 190SL grille!” A chrome plater’s earlier anecdote about a cheaply repaired Gullwing nose suddenly became my car’s story. My “complete” benz 300sl harbored a secret.
Ownership mirrored the first experience. Starting remained a protracted, fuel-flooding ordeal. Los Angeles heat exacerbated the car’s already warm nature. Even driving with ice packs proved futile against the heat soak. The only trusted mechanic, Walt Pagenstetcher in Poway, San Diego, was a considerable distance away, necessitating elaborate logistics involving friends, chase cars, and contingency plans for breakdowns.
Selling the second benz 300sl now feels like a greater tragedy, coinciding with the Gullwing’s meteoric rise in value. Yet, storage constraints and that persistent $3,000 debt dictated the sale. Today, the missed opportunity haunts me. Just north of Oakland, my family farm boasted vast chicken coops, perfect for clandestine classic car storage. A recurring dream depicts exactly that scenario: the benz 300sl tucked away, starting effortlessly with a turn of the key. Hindsight, as they say, is 20/20.
Decades later, at a Malibu Cars & Coffee event in Trancas, a silver Gullwing with blue tartan seats rolled in. Could it be my old car, reborn? I chose not to investigate, the pang of regret still too sharp. The consolation lies in having owned these magnificent benz 300sl machines in my youth, during the carefree decades of my 20s and 40s, a time when enjoyment outweighed investment potential.
Reflections on a Classic
BRAKING: The brakes were, to put it mildly, inadequate. Hard braking often resulted in unpredictable veering, a characteristic mechanics attributed to the “experimental” wide drum brakes of the era.
ENGINE SWAP TEMPTATION: Michigan upbringing instilled a certain Chevy 327 V8-centric problem-solving approach. Faced with the finicky fuel-injected slant-six, the thought of a Chevy V8 swap arose. However, the Mercedes engine’s slanted installation for a low hoodline presented a challenge. A Chevy V8 would necessitate an unappealing, authenticity-compromising hood scoop. Practicality wrestled with purism, and purism, thankfully, prevailed, albeit at the cost of drivability.
The benz 300sl featured in these images is not the author’s actual car…though his first one did share the silver and tartan upholstery combination. Perhaps it’s best not to dwell on “what ifs” and simply cherish the memories.
Wallace Wyss
THE AUTHOR: Wallace Wyss is available for commissions for oil portraits of car owners with their beloved classics. Contact him at [email protected].
