Dream stash

Dream stash

Feature Article from Hemmings Muscle Machines

March, 2008 - Terry McGean

I've been reading a lot lately about "barn finds," a term that has come to describe those desirable vintage vehicles that are exhumed from their longterm tombs--many of which are not actually barns, but enclosures of some sort that shield them from public view. I'm continually amazed at how many collector cars continue to turn up after decades-long slumber; can there still be sought-after cars lying dormant, waiting to be found?

It blows my mind to think about the highly prized examples of muscle car gold that have managed to duck out for over 30 years now. I just read about a '71 Hemi 'Cuda still owned by the guy who received it new. Clichés be damned, he stashed it in his family's barn sometime around '74 and only recently decided to get it out, just for kicks. Fortunately, a savvy Mopar guy got wind of it and coached the owner along, so he didn't screw up the car by power-washing the engine bay or giving the undercarriage the rattle-can resto treatment.

A couple years back, another Hemi E-body turned up, also a '71, but this time a Challenger. This car was also a one-owner deal that had been carefully stashed in a carpeted garage and, again, there were hardly any miles on the clock, since it had been purchased to race. Fortunately, if memory serves, not all that much racing ever happened with that car, so it, too, was in fantastic original shape.

There are similar stories out there, including some from major metropolitan areas. It seems unthinkable that mega-dollar cars could sit mere feet from busy city boulevards and sidewalks, yet remain undiscovered for decades. The cloaking power held by a few sheets of plywood is something to ponder; imagine the neat old cars Superman might find just cruising back alleys and side streets.

Back when I worked in Los Angeles, I used to look out my office window and wonder what kind of gold was lurking inside the rows or garages I could see. Out there, the biggest threat to garaged cars is black widow spiders, and they don't cause rust or eat upholstery and wiring harnesses.

During my time out West, I witnessed some incredible stuff emerging from suburban garages--hot rod roadsters that had been stashed since the late '40s, land-speed racers retired in the lofts of old repair shops and warehouses since the mid-'50s, and even a genuine late-'50s Indy racer that had been dismantled and tucked into the rafters of a residential two-car garage.

Those finds made my dreams of scoring a simple muscle car seem totally attainable. I'm still confident that there are plenty of examples hidden around southern California, particularly since I met so many veteran rodders in the area who clearly never got rid of anything. Some of these guys have lived in the same homes for a couple generations, and their garages are packed tight with all manner of parts and pieces and, in some cases, whole cars. Unfortunately, most of those guys will have to croak before they'll relinquish their hoards.

Once I came back East, I knew that my chances of scoring quality muscle had slimmed considerably, but like any optimistic gearhead, I kept my hopes up. I thought I had an ace in the hole to help my odds: My mother is a real estate agent in her town, so I keep thinking she'll come across something cool when she goes to check out a new home listing.

You can imagine how these daydreams play out: An elderly woman is finally moving out of the family abode after 40 or 50 years, but she's got this old car in the garage that's got to go. With a tip from my mom, I come along to offer assistance by helping to dispose of the old bomb. I envision myself pouring in some fresh gas, airing up the tires, and dropping in a new battery before wheeling the car, which is naturally a near-mint, low-mile Charger, 'Cuda, Chevelle, or whatever I'm lusting for at that moment, into the light for the first time in years. Naturally, the woman offers it to me for next to nothing as thanks for graciously getting it out of the garage in time for the open house.

Yep, still waiting on that one. In truth, even if my mother did come across a neat old car in one of those houses, she'd likely take steps to make sure I didn't find out about it--she knows my tendency for gathering strays, and I played the "But Mom, don't you understand what this is?!" card too many times in my youth while seeking permission to drag others home.

It didn't work back then either.

Of course, in my dreams, the owners are always perfectly willing to sell, never mind on the cheap. In reality, the reason many of these cars stay hidden is because their owners don't want you bothering them. They know what it is, they know why they have it, and they know why they've been hanging onto it all these years.

You, in turn, know the drill: "Nope. I'm gonna restore that car someday." As someone who has held onto a car for a long time before finally getting around to doing something with it, I try to respect those wishes.

I got my own taste of the other side recently when I pulled my '67 Camaro out of the garage and parked it in the driveway by the street. On the second day outside, some guy stopped and knocked on our door. I was out, but my wife handled the brief exchange.

"Is that Camaro for sale?"


"Is there a chance it might..."

"It will never be for sale."

She knows me so well.


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