The Corvette. I’m gonna switch from the “royal we” that I usually use to convey the general opinion and position of Hemmings to the “lowly subject me” for a minute. Because I’m gonna use my own thoughts on the Corvette to get an idea across. Hold on and here goes…
There’s absolutely no doubt that the Corvette has cemented its rightful place in history. The earliest ’53s command crazy numbers at auction and it’s nearly impossible to beat the cubic-dollar value of the brand-new, mid-engine, plastic-fantastic coupe. But they bore me. If I had enough money to buy a ‘Vette of just about any vintage, I’d buy something else.
Why? Because of what the market has done to the Corvette. It’s ubiquitous. Omnipresent. It’s got its own museum. It’s own Prince song. It’s adherents invented the factory grease pencil restoration. It’s become the muscle car every other muscle car is measured by. There’s no mystery to the Corvette. There’s nothing left to discover. There’s no part of the Corvette legacy for me to find on my own. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with the Corvette. And that’s the problem I have with it.
So, when I stumble across vintage snapshots like this one, it makes me reconsider my position on the Corvette. This thing has a past. A colorful history. There may even be some shady stories wrapped around it. Mighta been implicated in some slightly-nefarious dealings. “Woods Wild Wheels?” C’mon, man. That door, alone, rules! Let’s just say that’s not factory paint. Let’s also assume it sounded like a nest of angry hyenas on nitromethane under load. And I can only imagine what the owner(s) and driver and crew looked like.
I intentionally didn’t research this thing because I wanted to save it and put it in front of you, Hemmings Nation. I wanted to hear what you thought, think and/or know about this particular car. Because this is the first one I’ve seen in a long time that makes me reconsider my own personal position on the Corvette.