|
THERE ARE TWENTY good reasons why the average car nut shouldn't
even look at a Ferrari. On the other hand, there
is one good reason why anyone interested in cars should
do everything short of going to jail to get one. What reason?
A Ferrari is a Ferrari is a Ferrari. Everybody knows Ferraris are expensive. What they may not
know is, aside from having money to buy one and maybe pay
some pretty fancy repair bills, any Sam Jones contem- plating
one of Enzo's machines should: (a) Have as much patience
as Italians have temperament; (b) Understand that Ferrari coachwork, instruments, and accessories are no bet- ter than other cars that sell for half the price; and
(c) Get rid of
firearms he owns, to preclude committing murder or suicide.
A strong heart to battle daily anxiety that something may
happen to your precious bomb is another essential. My experience with Ferrari began three years ago. For the handsome
price, I thought, of $8500 I bought a beautiful dog of a
1961 long-wheelbase 250 GT roadster. The speedometer read a
questionable 13,000 miles. It was gorgeous. And it made
the most soul-warming glub-glub sounds I'd ever
heard. It smoked a little. ("They all do that.") Okay, it smoked a
lot. Furthermore: (a) Some instruments didn't work, (b) The clock was
inoperative; (c) Cigarette lighter was ditto; (d) The en- gine leaked like a tennis racquet; (e) Several spokes in
the right-rear
wheel were broken; (f) The spare wheel was bent and
eaten by salt; (g) Bottom of the trunk compartment was rusted
through; (h) Heater and defroster had quit; (i)
Driver's door
panel got soaked in a drizzle, and (j) Rag top leaked, etc. And I was disgusted. So, after a year, I decided if I was going
to own a Ferrari, it had to be a new one. Handing over a
certified check for the price of two Cadillacs, I
left the showroom
in a new 1964 Berlinetta Lusso. How can a poor man drive two Ferraris a total of 50,000 miles
without starving? Well, I'll tell you. (1) I've been lucky, and (2)
I know Joe. If I didn't know Joe, I'd be as broke as a VW
driveshaft in a Chaparral. But, friend, my heart has taken a
beating. Ferrari reliability is a fact. The belief that "Ferraris never have trouble" is fiction. This revelation
was not
helped any by the fact that my Lusso was delivered
with- out any
guarantee whatsoever. I got a handbook for a 2+2 and a
fancy diploma-like document that swears in Italian and |
|
the
name of SEFAC that the chassis was manufactured by Automobili Ferrari, in Modena. It was also equipped with a cheap
tool kit, a spare set of keys, and a quart of paint. None of
which seems a good substitute for some sort of guarantee. In keeping with the Italian way, delivery was exciting. The spare keys belonged to a car that had been shipped to" California. My car is a light cream, the spare quart of paint was
red, etc. . . It was 5 P.M. on a Wednesday. Rush hour. And
it was rain- ing hard through a heavy fog. With $13,200 worth of new Ferrari, a quarter-tank of free gas, proud, stupid, and scared to
death, I maneuvered through traffic to the Lincoln tunnel. In such weather, the Lusso's zillion
unlabeled black knobs on the
dash panel made my presence in commuter traffic a guessing
game . . . whether I could make it home in one piece.
And I didn't. A hundred yards inside the tunnel, a truck driver shouted, "Flat tire!" and he meant me. Heavenly
Father. My beauti- ful aluminum rims. Where does an emergency truck hook-on to a Lusso?
Be- sides,
who-the-hell ever heard of a Ferrari holding up traffic. I decided to inch along with the pack. Outside the tunnel sans raincoat
and while answering the stupid questions of a Port Authority cop, I put on the spare. And 20 miles later, I was a happy
boy when I steered into my own garage. Next morning, on my way to have the Pirelli patched, the right-rear
tire let down. Three local service stations refused to
touch the car, and I was pretty despondent when a pioneer- ing spirit from a Flying "A" establishment
agreed to give me a hand.
He removed all five tires, placing the Borranis on
his fixture
upside down to make them fit. There were aluminum chips
inside four of the five casings. The dealer had switched tires
at my request and the fixture had peeled off the chips and
dropped them where they'd do the most good. When I picked up my new tires at the dealer's, the chief mechanic
decided to install them himself. Only, instead of turning
the wheels over on the fixture, he decided the fixture had to
be reworked. So, two hours later the operation was at a
standstill, except for a hand waving argument between four mechanics
that would have scared the United Nations. At a high
spot in the dispute, I stuffed my new rubber into the |
|
Berlinetta
and took off for Flying "A." And getting five 185 $95
to $145. That, I thought called for an explana- -15
Pirrelli’s into a Berlinetta ain't easy! tion or an argument. I didn't get the satisfaction
of either. Then for a^couple of weeks things were
great. I waved at You have
to doubt me on this.) Suddenly, nobody spoke friends,
picked up small boys who wanted a ride, promised English. the
guys at the office to let them drive, and modestly an- But,
okay, you say "Look at you. You own a Ferrari.” swered routine questions like: "Wottle
she do?" And, "How Sure. Sure. Sure. I agree. My Lusso,
to me, is about the fast
have you had 'er up to?" And
the real topper, "How ja most heavenly hunk of
transportation ever screwed together. talk
Ferrari into sellin' you one?" Between smiles
and waves, There are good and bad everythings.
Even Ferraris.
I’ve I
had discovered a few items that any Joe Jones who has just driven
a few Ferraris, and I’ve got a good one. Still, I don’t paid
over $13,000 for a car might not expect to find. think I could make it without Joe. Who s Joe? First the standard complaint. The clock didn't work. Joe
leases one end of a 2-pump filling station on Route 17 Ok,
so who needs a clock? Next, the
cigarette lighter blew. in North
Jersey. Three other Ferraris go there,
plus quite a The
horns were on the same circuit, so they went out few
Jags, Healeys, VWs,
etc. Wouldn’t it be great if every with
the lighter. There were aluminum chips
in the dial Ferrari came equipped with
one Joseph Francica in the trunk mechanism
of the speedometer, so the cable wound up and compartment,
instead of a cheap tool kit? Joe claims he used snapped.
There was a porous weld in the filler neck of the gas to work at the
Ferrari factory. As what, I don t know. Or if tank
Gas spilled into the trunk everytime fuel was
added, he did. Or, if he
didn't. Who cares. He seems to know my The
passenger-side window refused to go more than half-way Ferrari like he
designed it. And he approaches it with such down.
And the operating mechanism in the driver's door reverence
I almost cry. periodically froze with the door open. Nobody went any- Last
week, Joe removed my rear shocks, pressed out the I
where until it unstuck. The driver's seat was installed so hard metal-lined attaching bushing
and installed rubber ones. You against
the transmission tunnel that fore and aft movement see, any time the temperature goes below 65 all
Lussos tor I
gouged the leather. And the accelerator scrub plate fell off. the
first ten minutes on the road, sound like they have a load Now how does that compare with a 500-mile inspection of loose lumber in the rear. Both Kom and Ferrari know list
for $3000 worth of Detroit mistakes? Naturally, I never about this, but neither
has offered to do anything but argue told
any of my friends about this stuff. A bunch of Pontiac- about whose fault it is. The
noise is still there, so Joe will put owning
neighbors wouldn't understand. To save dough and the metal ones back. ^ „ honorable
face, I simply closed the garage door and fixed One day the car started to ride like an Army Jeep. On my On
my them myself. (Not the clock. To
hell with that. It's still way
to Joe's, I thought it was going to dislocate
something busted) It
was a thing that would scare a guy like me clean out ot A
real heart stopper occurred one day when my Ferrari his mind. The A-arm bushings up front hadn't
been drilled was
only three months old. I got socked in the rear by an after installation. Joe had been pumping
grease into the fit- MG while waiting in line at a traffic light. It crushed the cen- ting, but none got through.
("Tell me, are those cars really ter section of my bumper and splintered the lens in the
back- put together entirely
by hand?") Joe has also adjusted my up
light. It was a real relief when the agency's parts man valves, tightened the head bolts,
taken-up on the timing chain, told me
over the phone, "No problem." The bumper disassembled and cleaned my Webers, and a dozen other section
would cost me $95. A back-up lens he didn't have. things that could have
cost me a fortune. But
he'd sell me a whole new light for only $34.50. Owning a Ferrari is great. But
it's not all just great. Money So
with "no problem," I scrounged $130 from my wife helps. So does a strong heart and
a weak mind. 1 die twice and
shoved off for New York. Only, during the 45 minutes it every time a fly lights on my
fender; once when he sits down, took me
to get there the price of the bumper went up from and once when I look for the dent he made. SEPTEMBER
1966 49 |