The recent commentary by the Man in the Maze prompted me to review his evaluation. His allegiance and devotion to the Airstream brand is legendary. And why not..?….he edits and publishes the pre-eminent lifestyle magazine in the RV industry.

In the early 1960s, Airstream featured their coquettish Bambi, towed by a 190SL, in advertising as seen below:

From the Stella Byam collection, 1961

The Mercedes Benz 190 SL had extraordinary build quality as a touring roadster, but also an anemic four cylinder engine of less than 2 liters displacement. Think Volkswagenish whine. Pulling a Bambi would have taxed the limits of the 190 SL, even though the sporty roadster commanded a whopping $ 4000+ window sticker.

During that same advertising campaign, this less than dynamic duo was also featured adjacent to a longer Land Yacht being towed by a 1961 slab-sided 4-door, eight cylinder Lincoln hardtop. Note: I can’t find that photo in my archive.

Fast forward 40 years, Scottsdale, AZ, the Man in the Maze and this writer, Insightout attended the January auction of RM Motorcars at the legendary Arizona Biltmore Hotel.

Note lot # 212, a Mercedes Benz 190 SL roadster which sold for a whopping $ 93,500 and was obviously well maintained and restored to a high standard. You might ask, however, a 2300% increase over a period of 48 years at what cost ?

Insightoutalso is fortunate to have a 1960 190SL in his small stable of cars. Purchased in 1992 in below average condition for $1800, it was finished in a non-factory color, a flamboyant metallic Lincoln diamond blue. Mechanically very sound, but the flashy paint covered plenty of inferior bondo rust repairs. Imagine an older trailer with rotted floors, rusty frame, and the pervasive aroma of mouse droppings; the parallels to vintage car ownership are easy to visualize and smell. Over a period of years, the car was restored in stages (as finances permitted) at a cost of ~~$ 40,000, always licensed, insured, and driven cross country more than 35,000 miles in the eighteen years (car conventions, vacations, parades, Sunday afternoons with the top down). Never trailered, always stored during the salty winters, it was driven to Lancaster, PA, Minneapolis, MN, Athens, GA, Niagara,NY, points beyond and to many Cub games.

In repose at the Indiana farm

The rump of the Excella and the old barn form a scenic backdrop

Oddly, the color, graphite grey (Daimler Benz 190 G) is the same as the roadster offered in Scottsdale. The key point for either the cars or the trailers remains the same. Routine maintenance and regular use = long term appreciation and continuous pleasure. It comes as no surprise then that well maintained Bambis or the more desirable Caravels in the late 50s to late 60s now command prices in the mid-five $ figure range. Think about it: you can invest, own, and enjoy for many years (vehicles and/or the trailers), add up all the receipts and then sell out at the end and make a handsome profit. It’s almost criminal.

The success is contingent upon strong club support, whether it is the Tin Can Tourists, Vintage Airstream, or with the venerable 190 SL International Club where you meet and make friends, find parts, reliable restorers and vendors, and members willing to help one another. In an otherwise chaotic world, this is one of the simplest and rewarding of pleasures.

Now, for the Man in the Maze, his purchase of a brand new 2010 SUV was perhaps 17 years too soon. He might have waited until 2027 and bought a well maintained, low mileage, one-owner GL 320 after the depreciation bottomed out and began the inevitable upward climb. Personally, I feel he made a prudent, thoughtful decision since he sorely needed a tow vehicle and 1961 Lincolns are hard-to-find. Although both brands, Airstream and Mercedes-Benz, are worthwhile vintage investments, MB is still the trump card, unless the editor plans to launch a Mercedes Life magazine.

Minus the ear and the nose, for the moment, let’s confine our examination to throats.  Yes, those throats; tongue, tonsil, thorax, esophagus, and points south that are even more difficult to spell.Although a non-believer in horoscopes, astrology, reiki, tai-chi, chai-tea, homeopathy, naturopathy and the Shining Path, several weeks ago I had a rare “twilight zone” moment.

Pictured below, the preamble;

The Kar-Mi, Limit of the Marvelous

The background: Arriving in Tucson at the home of a prominent magazine editor, I was introduced to a house guest, Alex Kensington. An amiable fellow and Airstream dweller, he revealed that in his professional life he was a sword swallower. His female companion, Charon, in addition to sword swallowing, is an accomplished tattoo artist as well, and both can be seen at their website practicing their crafts.

Alex, treating iron deficiency anemia, by gargling something warm

Interesting, I thought briefly, then the editor and I headed north to Scottsdale for three days of classic and antique cars, auctions, elbowing people with too much money to spend. Though fun, enlightening, and good ‘guy’ time, neither of us considered the experience blog-worthy.

Fast forward a week later, in scenic, remote Patagonia, AZ, our home for winters. While walking my dog, Jack, down a quiet side street, Pennsylvania Avenue, we approach the home of a good friend and fellow library volunteer, Janet Winans. A published poet of considerable skill, Janet has, parked in her driveway, a sixteen foot Casita that I had not seen before.

A handsome young man exits the house and approaches the fiberglass womb, as Jack and I stroll by and wish him ‘good morning’. He interrupts his duties to come over and introduce himself and explain that the Casita belongs to him, he is visiting Mrs. Winans, his mother-in-law, and is traveling through en route to the Tucson Renaissance Faire. His real name is Geoffrey Cobb.

And if you haven’t guessed by now, as a performance artist, Thom Sellectomy, world traveler, sword swallower, and comedian.

Who, among other acts, utilizes a small sledgehammer to drive a railroad spike into his nasal septum.

Well, I was amused. Not so much by the insanity of these two ‘normal’ guys, but by the unlikelihood that I would encounter not one, but two parallel carnies within totally unrelated environments inside one week.

Really, what are the odds ?

Rod Serling, are you listening ? I can hear, faintly, that aggravating twilight zone theme ringing in my ears. Dee, de, de, de, de, de, dee….dee, de, de

Recognizing an omen when I hear it, I’m headed to the closest Seven-Eleven C-Store to buy a lottery ticket.

And some Chloraseptic lozenges for my ‘sword’ throat.

From a writer’s notebook:  Latent = Talent 

The anagram above demonstrates rather dramatically the age-related awakening that many people discover after a normal professional career has ended. This is the story of one such person, whose identity, because of client confidentiality, cannot be revealed.  So we will refer to him simply as Raymond J. Smigla, because that is the name on his driver’s license.  

Now retired, living in Durham, NC, Raymond had an outstanding career as a pharmacist, both as an owner and hospital manager, and is a renowned family man.  Loyal to his fraternity, a diligent sorority houseboy, a singer of note, he was noted for his delivery of a one-line call to arms, “Plunk your magic twanger, frogEE !” He often repeated the phrase while under the influence of a cold refreshment.  

Fifty years passes quickly, fast forward to Branson, MO, this month, and the very same fellow is selected, from the audience, at random, to play the role of Scrooge on stage in front of an audience of thousands.  An ambitious papparazzi, most likely a freelancer for the National Enquirer, was able to secure a single photo, low-res, taken surreptitiously from the 20th row, concealed behind two elderly silver-haired women.

 “Scrooge”, in a bed, with a nightcap on, attended to by a shapely elf.  

At the conclusion of the performance he received a standing ovation.  Scrooge, not the photographer.I was devastated.  Envy and jealousy are such vulnerable weaknesses, however I have to admit to being greener than Kermit, that other Frog. 

Kermie in perpetuity at the Smithsonian, courtesy of the artist, Matthew Bisanz

This episode prompted me to expose a character flaw I’ve sheltered since I retired from active practice twelve years ago.  So here goes…..I’d like to be The Pope.  

Yes, that Pope, the same fellow protected by the Swiss Beafeater guards, living in a walled complex of baronial splendor, adored by millions.

Before taking away my Zyprexa, consider the following qualifications: 

I took three years of Latin in high school, averaging C+

I think I look good dressed in white

Often quiet, reflective, and enjoy Italian food

Love the year round Mediterranean climate

I’ve always lusted to drive the Mercedes Benz Popemobile

So last Saturday morning, accompanied by my friend and barber of 40 years, I took the first step.  Our normal haunt, The South Bend Farmer’s Market, an institution that began in 1924, was the venue chosen.  Armed with foil wrapped chocolates to pass to our flock (customers, patrons, vendors, and unsuspecting children) we began our crusade at 7 AM.

Father Charles & Father Patrick 

By 8:30 AM, my hopes and dreams had been shattered by an adoring public that somehow ignored our reverential blessings (but accepted our chocolate goodies) by informing me that:

you have to be a Catholic

you have to work on Easter, Christmas, and every Sunday

you can’t be married

Haven’t these people heard of the ACLU ?

The EEOC ?

The Right to Work statutes ?  

Really, during an economic meltdown and a decline in church attendance, they can’t overlook a few minor deficiencies in a resume ? Well, X qqqq Me. Find someone else to listen to your confessions.

I’ll leave you with a favorite Latin passage, “sic transit gloria mundi” which reminds us literally, “thus passes the glory of the world”.

Or in English, “Bah, humbug”

Merry Christmas everyone.