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Confessions from the Petersen
Gone in 60 Seconds
(Getting lost in a ’69 Shelby GT 350)
Part 1

By Mike Daly


There I am at the pole position on southbound La Cienega at Rodeo, waiting at the red light in a blue 1969 Shelby Mustang GT 350. The car doesn’t belong to me and it isn’t even registered. There are lots of people following me and death is on everyone’s mind. Sound familiar?

The light turns green and with no one in front of me, I fulfill the helpless urge to floor it and see what this baby can really do. After all, there’s nothing but 5 miles or so of gently curving, hilled, open freeway between me and the next stoplight. The 351 Windsor under the hood rumbles happily as my RPMs increase and shows no duress at the onset of the hill. I’m pushing 50 mph, the indicated speed limit for the road. A glance in the rearview shows my pursuers are falling behind…they don’t seem inclined to catch up and this could be my only chance to lose them. With a grin on my face that many readers know, I shift into fourth and rocket into the 60 mph realm. The cars fade into miniature behind me, and I find myself finally alone, cruising in Carroll Shelby’s mighty iteration of Ford’s seminal pony car.

When I finally hit the next traffic signal, I’m almost laughing from the joy of opening this cloistered automotive relic up. Another look in the rearview reveals none of my pursuers…I’ve lost them!

Moments later, I fall back to earth and reality sets in. Despite the appearances, I’m not Nicholas Cage’s Memphis Rains in “Gone in 60 Seconds.” Nor am I that other guy (H.B. Halicki) that played the Rains character (this time called Maindrian Pace) in the 1974 original. The details are drastically different, but in many ways, no less remarkable.

It is late March 2007, and I am an associate of the Petersen Automotive Museum. Robert E. Petersen, known to acquaintances as Bob, and to friends as “Pete,” has recently died. After a long and secret battle with neuroendocrine cancer, the octagenarian and self-made millionaire has finally been overcome by the forces of nature and gone to that great auto junkyard in the sky. During his life, Petersen built a magazine publishing empire initiated with Hot Rod magazine that eventually encompassed all his hobbies. Four Wheel and Off Road, Guns & Ammo, Bowhunting and Tiger Beat were but a few of the many magazines published by the multifaceted Pete. By the 1990s, I guess he had earned the right to indulge his hobbies in a solely recreational fashion, and thusly sold his Petersen Publishing empire to private investors for $450 million. A decade or so later, his net worth had roughly doubled. Along the way, he became the benefactor of the world’s leading car museum and amassed a collection of 200 or so classic cars, most of which are stored in the museum’s eyes-only basement storage facility known as “The Vault.”

As an associate of the museum, I had made countless trips inside The Vault and over time had grown to take for granted a collection that initially made my eyes pop out. Interestingly, Petersen’s collection is defined as much by what it lacks as what it has. He was a big fan of pre-war classics and had 3 Duesenbergs, 2 Packards, 2 Cords, a Lasalle, and a Studebaker. He also had an impressive collection of Ferraris. And obviously, as a hot rod guy, he had no lack of chopped and channeled Fords, ranging from 1923 to 1934. (coincidentally, his ’34 coupe was once owned by Nicholas Cage.)

Muscle cars were not his thing, though, and that category represented one of the fundamental shortcomings of his collection. The notable exceptions to this lack were a Hemi Coronet, two extremely customized Camaros, and best of all, the ’69 Shelby GT 350. When I first saw the blue Shelby, actually Acapulco Blue according to the Shelby paint chart, I don’t think it had moved in months, as is the case with many of the denizens of The Vault. Several months later, I assisted in loading it onto a flatbed to take it to a specialist on the Westside who for the next few months tuned her up and got her in good working order.

1969 was actually not the best year for Shelby Mustangs. Though Shelbys were sold in the 1970 model year, 1969 was actually the last year the cars were produced. (1970 cars are merely renumbered and cosmetically updated 1969 cars.) The Shelby Mustang, which originally had been a lightweight racecar version of Ford’s bestseller, had been increasingly neutered with each ensuing model year. Created in 1965, the first version of the famed fastback had no rear seats and its battery was located in the trunk for better weight distribution. With its tuned engine, the lightweight ’65 could really fly, and was a true milestone in Carroll Shelby’s seemingly endless resume of triumphs.

Ford’s basic model had become more muscular over the years, however, and 1969 saw the debut of the Mach 1, the Boss 302 and the Boss 429 Mustangs, all seminal muscle cars in their own right. Shelby’s car meanwhile had become heavier, with more sluggish performance as a consequence, and had begun to increasingly offer luxury-type features like wood grain dashboard and in-dash air conditioning as well as components borrowed from more mediocre relatives like the Mercury Cougar (dash console and shift knob) and the 1965 Thunderbird (rear taillights). The high performance distinction between Shelby’s car and the new Ford models had evaporated. At the end, the Shelby Mustang was a supercar in name only. Car and Driver senior editor Brock Yates at the time referred to the ’69 Shelby as “a garter snake in Cobra skin.”

Nevertheless, by today’s standards, the ’69 Shelby GT 350 I was driving certainly had its charms. The slightly re-designed body had more scoops (including five vents on the hood and one on each fender) and a more defined front grille. The then-new 351 ci Windsor V-8, which produced 290 bhp, was comparably muscular to the Boss engines, and the car’s attractive rear end was highlighted by a custom aluminum dual exhaust centered beneath the license plate housing (under which lay the gas tank filler cap). This combo location of the exhaust and fuel cap apparently sometimes caused fires in GT 500s when the car backfired, but no such problems ever occurred in the GT 350. When new in 1969, the Shelby GT 350 Mustang retailed at $4,434. Today at auction they bring roughly 20 times that. All in all, still a pretty bad-ass car.

Coming up in Part 2:
Why was the author driving Robert E. Petersen’s 1969 Shelby Mustang GT 350 and what did the millionaire’s death have to do with the circumstances?

Disclaimer: The views and accounts expressed herein are based largely in fact and the specifics of the cars in question are verified by and attributable to published experts on the material. The above account, however, in no way represents the views and official position of the Petersen Automotive Museum.

Wallace Wyss is the author of SHELBY: The Man The Cars The Legend


Available form Iconografix,
800-289-3504

MILLION DOLLAR MUSTANGS
By Wallace Wyss
One of the most interesting Mustangs ever made is missing.
When I say “Missing” I mean I, as a historian, can’t account for its whereabouts.


It could be in a museum, somewhere, gathering dust, its historical significance lost to whoever owns it.
Anyway here’s the scoop. Way back in 1964, L. Scott Bailey, publisher and founder of Automobile Quarterly a sort of hardbound magazine, decided to promote his magazine by making a deal with Carrozzeria Bertone, a famous coachbuilder, to design and build a Mustang for him.
Not an easy task considering the stock Mustang had a unibody. So it wasn’t like a car with a separate frame that they could design a body for, then plop it onto the frame as they did a year earlier for the 1963 Corvette Rondine.


Nevertheless Giorgetto Giguario, then a young mop—haired beginner at Bertone, designed a car that had all the grace of a European GT car. And Giugiaro should know what that means for at the same time he as designing Alfa Romeos, Ferraris and Maseratis.


In 1968 he left Bertone to start his own design firm, Ital Design and now is the world’s most recognized car designer. In fact Ital Design recently designed a concept Mustang for Ford, which kind of returned Giugiaro to one of his earliest American involvements.


Let’s go back to the Bertone Mustang.
The nose had hidden headlights and horizontal grille bars, and strongly resembles the Mazda RX-2. This was no accident for, despite telling the world that Bertone wouldn’t help the Japanese carmakers (Italians were worried the Japanese cars would outsell theirs) Nuccio Bertone was secretly designing cars for Mazda, among them the Capella that became the RX-2.


The Bertone Mustang was also a fastback with a side profile similar to the 1965 Plymouth Barracuda and also the later RX-4 Mazda Luce two door coupe.


It was finished in a light turquoise and had an exquisite tan leather of that color
Italians call “goose beak.? If there’s any doubt Giugiaro designed the car, look at the side vents—the same ones he used on a Maserati 5000GT and several other cars. It was his trademark at the time.


The dashboard looks much more like a European car with the gauges all clustered in a hooded binnacle, and a center console. The steering wheel of course is aluminum spoked with a wood rim.
The car was shown at the NY Auto Show and various venues in the US and we are sure.
Mr. L. Scott Bailey got his use of it, though one wonders if he ever really owned it, as this writer once saw it parked at Ford Motor Co.


At any rate, the car disappeared from the show circuit and the only two rumors the author has heard concerning its wherabouts is that a Greek ship captain bought it and that somehow later a fake journalist showed up at a Monte Carlo auto showroom and saw it on display and asked if he could take it out to “photograph it for a magazine.” Neither the car nor he was ever seen again. If you find this ploy unlikely your author once used the same ploy to borrow a Lancia race car from an Italian showroom. But I returned it intact.


I predict that, given the mania for one off special Mustangs, that this car would fetch up to $1 million in an auction like the Barrett—Jackson Scottsdale event, if properly promoted in advance. Maybe they could fly in ol’ Giugiaro, now grey-haired and venerable, to pump up the car like they have Carroll Shelby pump up some of his rarer cars that have rolled across their auction block of late.


So there is is, Mustang fans. You know what it looks like. You have the names of two countries where it was last seen. A very cold trail, admittedly, but a trail nonetheless.


Good hunting….

Wallace Wyss is the author of SHELBY: The Man The Cars The Legend



Available form Iconografix,
800-289-3504

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Classic Mustang
By A. Gattani
“Hurry up Stan!” Mabel stands on the pointed tips of her three-inch red stilettos, staring at the open front door of the villa. “We’re getting late.” She always dresses to co-ordinate with her date. Now, running her palm along the cayenne red chassis, inhaling the smooth, gloss finish of metal Mustang with the memory of Stan’s muscles from last night rippling beneath her touch, she hollers, “Don’t forget my things.”


He emerges, her suitcases in each hand, tripping over the doorstep and lunging forward like a popped-open cork. “Do you know how heavy these two are?”
Of course. Mabel shrugs. She packed them herself only yesterday. “Just a few things.” She swings open the driver’s door and glides behind the black steering wheel with silver spokes. Her sandals can’t help but naturally glide along the red carpet. Her thighs automatically press against firm, red, leather seats, horizontal grooves running parallel with the seam of her tight jeans skirt, just shielding a cayenne-red Victoria Secret beneath, with the rest of today’s plans.


Stan ambles forward, struggling to balance while she swivels the key in the ignition and brings the gentle purring to life. Sweat oozes down the red polka-dot tank top, so Mabel pushes on one of the many sleek buttons along the panel then watches as gauges and controls blink, light and spring to life. The hood from the cockpit retreats, folding back into a ‘Z’ with the wrinkles contorting Stan’s face.


“Don’t know why you need all this when you hardly wear anything half the time, anyway.” He swings one suitcase over in the back, then the other. “Just a weekend. A holiday for Christ’s sake.”


A holiday. Mabel runs bright red cayenne nails through her hair. A holiday from you, forever. She keeps her expression blank behind Guccis lest she reveal anything, like Stan’s photos with blondes and brunettes tucked in the bureau, she found quite by accident this morning.


“And just where will all my stuff fit in?” His skin, all six-foot five of him, bronzes under the California sun. “You’ve taken up all the space.”
“My tennis racquet. Surfboard. Deckchair…” Mabel drones out a list with the steady hum of V8 engines.


“I thought you couldn’t play tennis.” Two hundred and ten pounds of muscle-mocha Stan stands in protest to the two hundred and ten horsepower engine at Mabel’s fingertips. “You hurt your knee yesterday afternoon while running.” He reminds her.
While trying to slide the bureau drawer shut, actually. Mabel wants to correct him but doesn’t. There is no need to. Stan doesn’t need to know anything beyond what he believes. Stan loves all those women, especially the one with him in a tux and some blonde in a white wedding dress, dated three years ago. He lied. He also loves his Mustang with its signature long hood, short deck and classic design. Who wouldn’t? So Mabel’s going to hurt him with what he loves most. “It’s a sprain. Nothing much.” She watches him trudge back for the remainder.


“Help me out then.” His tone is coarse with grit beneath the G-8’s wheels.
But Mabel is going to ride past all this with ease. “When I’m better.” She hollers, watching the bulge on his right jeans pocket swing with his gait. A solitaire. A half-carat diamond solitaire she accidentally flipped open this morning too. It has her name inscribed along the inner gold band with the anticipation harping on everyone’s lips for the last two months. The parents will be thrilled because Stan and Mabel are perfect for each other in every way. Mabel pushes on the accelerator while the gear is on ‘P’. All eight cylinders growl in unison.


“Quit it Mabel!” He screams. “I’m doing my best.”
His worst. She revs the engine till the Mustang shrieks a full-throated throttle of suppressed anger and minutes later he is downstairs armed with racquets, surfboards and beach accessories. Mabel swings an arm round, catching a hint of frustration as she orders him to fit her things in first.


“And me?” He pumps both arms against the coconut-palm Hawain-T, patched with sweat. “Exactly where is all my stuff going to fit in?”
“There’s plenty of space.” She lies. There isn’t. There isn’t meant to be. Mustangs are not meant for luggage. They’re meant for luxury. “You should have brought yours down before.” Mabel shrugs matter-of-factly and watches Stan stomp off again. And just when the seam of his white shirt and khaki shorts disappear in the doorway, Mabel revs the accelerator, slides the gear-shift and careens out the driveway with the wind tousling her silky, blonde strands.


“Hey!”
She turns behind to see him lunge out, his arms flailing in the air. “Mable! Mable!”


She smiles, smacking cayenne-painted lips together, then looks to the road ahead with the real man of muscle in her grip: a Ford GT Mustang Convertible. She has everything she needs right here, at her fingertips.


Now, which chauvinist said diamonds are a girl’s best friend?

* E N D *

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My First Mustang
By “Dave Parts”

I was just a kid in the third grade, I rode my bike to school and as I approached one day, I noticed a crowd of adults gathered around in the parking lot. Being suspicious of adults that caught my attention right off but they were looking at a car, an orange car. I had never seen an orange car before so I moved a little closer to get a better look. The first thing that caught my attention were the lines, it was low and sleek. The roofline went all the way back sloping down to the triple taillights.

I was born in the generation of tailfins, mudflaps and curb feelers, of rounded bulbous taillights, and gaudy chrome monster hood ornaments. I was just a kid in the third grade but I learned something that day, something the whole world came to learn, that cars could be… what’s the word I’m looking for? Cool! Yeah, that’s cars could be cool. Of course there had always been cool cars just that regular people didn’t get to drive them. Movie stars got killed in fancy exotics and then there were the Rolls Royce’s from the movies.

Then there was Mustang, the first really cool car. A car that a schoolteacher could afford and movie stars wanted to be seen in. Soon James Bond and Steve McQueen would drive themselves into history in a car that started out in life as a glorified Ford Falcon. The 50’s roundness was hammered flat, the overstuffed upholstery was replaced by the bucket seat, it was modeled to look like a sports car. It’s success made it become a sports car. Lee Ioccoa saw the first prototype Mustang Fastback and approved it for production on the spot.

My dad, God bless him was a man of his times, he drove a 1959 Chrysler Imperial and thought it was cool car. A car that set the standard for ugly even by 1960’s standards but dad loved ugly cars the same way some people love ugly dogs. Dad loved them both and in 1965 he traded in the 2 ton Imperial sled on a brand-new 1965 Buick duce and a quarter. While crowds were deluging Ford dealerships and fistfights were breaking out over the purchase of new Mustangs Dad quietly bought his Buick in quiet GM dealership, no lines, no crowds, no fist fights.

But if you didn’t live through it you couldn’t imagine the earthquake created by the Mustang. People were surrounded in parking lots being peppered with questions. An International House of pancakes had a sign that read, were selling them like Mustangs. Songs were sung about them and my Trix cereal box advertised, “Hey Kids! Free toy Mustang car inside!” No one sang to the lonely Chrysler Imperial and no cereal boxes ever offered. “Hey Kids! Free toy Buick Electra 225 inside!!”

In Junior High School Mr. Strong was my shop teacher, I was proud of that because he was the coolest teacher in the whole school. He had a mustache and played the banjo at Shakey’s Pizza on the weekends but he drove a 1966 Shelby Mustang and to us middle schoolers that was the epitome of cool. A mustache and a Mustang, we would wait for him to come out just to listen to him crank the car and then drive off and if we were lucky, he would bark the tires at the top of the street and we could hear him going through the gears long after he had disappeared from our sight.

Nobody paid any attention to dad in the duce and a quarter and in 1967 dad bought mom a new car. A 1965 Chevrolet Impala station wagon, Ooh, now we’re styling!
For those of you unfamiliar, try to imagine a shoebox on 4 rubber tires with a 6-cylinder engine 2-bench seats and one AM radio. Dad assumed Mother preferred bland over ugly but even bland embellished its plainness, it was the Amishmobile.

In 1968 Steve McQueen drove a fastback with a 4-speed and a big block 390 into movie history with the most famous car chase ever filmed. Counting up the You Tube videos almost a quarter million views on a 50 year old mediocre movie where no one is sure, if its the car make that makes the movie star cool? Or does the movie star make the car look cool? McQueen’s passion for racecar driving made him insist that he drive all the scenes himself and that they all be filmed at full speed. The remake of Gone in Sixty Seconds made with Nicholas Cage the scenes were filmed at half speed and then the film was sped up with zero views on YouTube.

But McQueen’s Bullit sparked its own industry, Ford refused to pony up advertising money (excuse the pun) so McQueen’s Bullit lacked the running horse and corral on the grill. But come on, Bullit was supposed to be a rebel street cop who played by his own rules what other car could he drive? A 65 Buick duce and a quarter? Or a Chevy Impala station wagon? In the years since, Ford has produced another Bullit Mustang and Bullit wheels are the rage and the most popular color for a 1968 fastback, formally known as emerald green is now affectionately known as Bullit green.

Ten minutes of celluloid changed the automotive world forever, in a car that had already changed the automotive world. Watch the bullit chase scene but watch the other cars on the road, look at the cars parked on the streets and in the parking lots.
That Charger was pretty cool but next to that Mustang it looked like something my Dad would buy.

In 1971 James Bond took the Las Vegas police department on a chase through the Vegas strip and with the help of Joey Chitwood showed a Mustang could be cool even on two wheels. Like Bullit the coolness race was run between star and car. I sat in the theater that day soon to get my learners permit and thought, I wish I could have a car like that! But at 15? With paper route wages?

My older sister had sworn me to secrecy; she was 17 and had just attended the secret coven of teenage girls. Apparently, they don’t just accidentally tear up their father’s cars at all. It all part of a well orchestrated plot, by doing damage to dad’s ride the financial prospects of getting their own car are made brighter. But now I have spilled the beans on the fiendishly cleaver conspiracy. Even at the time, I understood and sympathized it’s awfully hard to be 17 and try to look cool driving a two ton duce and a quarter or the Amishmobile.

So then it was agreed, my dad would go to the used car auction and see what he could find in the way of a practical car. Oh God, how my heart fell on that word practical! I loved my dad but he thought cars with tail fins were cool and the absence of any style what so ever meant practical. I would have my driver’s license in 5 months and would probably take my test in what ever he brought home. That one word to me did what that one spark did to the Hindinburg. Likewise my sister knew what that code word “Practical” meant as well.

We begged to be allowed to accompany them to the auction, Dad would hear of it, he would allow no electioneering or campaigning and ordered us to stay home. So we sat there and we waited, “maybe it will be alright” I said, trying to break the tension and trying to be positive. In my own mind it was just a false hope, probably the best thing he could bring home was nothing.

“You’re kidding right?” she answered, “You’ve seen what he buys for himself and for mom what would that lead you to expect that he’d buy for us?”

My mind whirled with visions of rusted Studebakers or Dodge Darts or even an old-rusted 1959 Chrysler Imperial. Dad pulling in to the drive way and getting out smiling to tell us “Now kids, that’s a cool car and practical let me tell you!”

When they got home it was already dark, we saw two sets of headlights pull up the driveway towards the garage in the back yard. With our hearts in our throats we dashed to the back door filled with fear and excitement. With just the one 100 watt back porch yellow light bulb to see by we stared in shocked disbelief. Dad was getting out of a 1968 Maroon Ford Mustang coupe. A 289 V8 with a shift o matic transmission, black interior and an AM radio. No air conditioning with a little front end damage but to me it was the coolest car in the whole world even before we found three 38-caliber bullets in the glove box. Could it get any cooler? Maybe Steve McQueen left them there.

What made dad do it? How could this man, the world’s worst judge of automotive iron, with no perception of cool what so ever buy a car that they wrote songs about. Maybe it was just dumb luck or maybe dad was cooler than he let on, maybe it was a fathers love. Dumb luck? Maybe, father’s love probably, because dad spent the next 40 years of his life in some of the worst GM badges ever made. His last car, his retirement car as he called it, a big square Oldsmobile 98. “Son,” he said, “That’s a nice car.”

Within hours, my sister and I were already fighting over the Mustang, “Mom! That little moron is running all the gas out of it!” I would crank the car and drive from the top of the drive way to the garage in the back yard then do a 3 point turn and repeat the process in reverse. She was right of course because I didn’t have a license that was all I could do and I was a stupid little moron, but I was a cool stupid little moron. I was 15 and had a Mustang to drive even if it was only just in the back yard. I was a backyard Steve McQueen.

“Now Dad, that’s a nice car!”

By DAVE PARTS

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MUSTANGS THE AMERICAN CLASSIC
by
Dane Allman

Round Round – get around – I get around; were the Beach Boy sounds heard over the AM radio when cruising in the early Mustangs. Lee Iacocca and his design team truly hit the mark and raised the bar with the genius advent of this true soon to be classic.



From the simple but bold grill with the flared chrome horse with its eye on the side of the road longing the freedom of the green pasture beyond to the sleek but powerful lines that just screamed “FUN” – this two-seater was the automotive purist’s enthusiastic choice in the mid 60’s.



Straddled in the lightweight chassis and body the hyper little 289 small block V8 had enough ponies to chirp the tires in 2nd and sometimes 3rd gear and was a joy to drive.



This inevitable classic was available early on in the standard straight back or much more aggressive looking fastback and was also available in my personal favorite, the lighter and slimly rear-seated convertible, as well.



On the track or off, stock or modified, this right-on-target, ahead of its time creation was a real head-turner and crowd pleaser.



Girls wanted to ride in or drive them and guys ached to own them and fix them up with the hottest Mags and meats of the day. They adorned the exterior with racing stripes and high gloss lacquer finishes buffed to a mirror finish. Some cut precision holes in the hoods to allow the Air rams to peek ominously through. Most, however, were happy with endless tinkering under the hoods with after market bolt-ons. Race-ready Holly carburetors, and exhaust modifications which drastically increased this magically configured and potent little engine’s breathing capacity turning them into fire-breathing animals were the order off the day.



Obviously there were other engine and transmission packages offered, both smaller and larger, but the 289 C.I. with either the 4 speed or automatic remains somehow my favorite.



With a few minor after market ignition components and possibly replacing the intake and exhaust manifolds, the drivers of the day were set to cruise the local haunts of Anytown, USA.



One of the most popular American manufactured automobiles of all time – the Ford Mustang has endured countless model changes and has well earned new fans in each generation for nearly half a century.

After a not so impressive line in the 90’s the latest models of super cool and well appointed Stangs of the 21st century are truly mind boggling. They have the cleanest and most aerodynamic shapes in the vehicle’s history. The comfortable leather seating and wholly redesigned interiors match the vast increase in stock HP production in the big bores. The finely re-tuned suspension capable of handling both the twisty turns and G’s of the local race tracks and city roads alike, are much improved over prior models and truly add to the car’s comfort, responsiveness and thrill of driving this enduring and masterfully refined American motor car classic.