In 2012, I sold a 1968 Chevy C10 pickup truck and had a pocketful of cash, so I started looking for something unusual. Just about everything I had previously owned was a hot rod, and I wanted something closer to stock.
I found my ’41 Plymouth P12 Special Deluxe coupe online, listed for sale in Ontario, New York. The old coupe looked really interesting, so I called the owner. We talked about the car for about a half-hour, and I liked what he had to say. We spoke a couple more times that week, and I told him I was interested enough that my wife and I would travel from Columbus to Ontario to inspect the car in person. If everything checked out, I’d drive it home.
During that call, however, the seller walked around the Plymouth and took some photos of what he considered the car’s imperfections, then texted them to me. We discussed them all, and by that point, I trusted him enough that I bought the car sight unseen.
I hired a shipper and had the Plymouth delivered a week later. It was everything the seller claimed it was. And though he hadn’t done the restoration and knew little about it, the work had held up. From about 10 feet away, it looked like a new car. The heater was in a cardboard box, so I had my mechanic repair and reinstall it, along with newly manufactured vents and cables, but that was the extent of its pressing needs.
Overall, it’s a terrific driver with a near-perfect interior and a solid 201-cubic-inch straight-six, and I take it around town every week—even in the winter if there is no salt on the roads. It runs great and moves down the road nicely at about 50 mph. When I take my red Corvette out, no one notices me. In the Plymouth, I get thumbs up wherever I go.
This article was first published in the July/August issue of Hagerty Drivers Club magazine.