My E-Type

My E-Type

from Hemmings Sports & Exotic Car

March, 2011 - Richard Lentinello

There are certain significant events that take place throughout our lifetimes that will forever be branded in our brain cells. If you were alive back in 1963, then you can't forget where you were when JFK got shot. I was sitting in my second-grade classroom that afternoon; yet way more momentous for me was my first sighting of a Jaguar E-type. Although I still recall with great clarity the first time I saw a 1963 Sting Ray, a 1968 AMX, a Cheetah, and an XKSS (which has always been my number one dream car of all time), seeing the long, curvy shape of that first E-type just blew me away.

It was sometime in the early Sixties, and it suddenly appeared as we drove by, shining ever so brightly like the welcoming beacon of a lighthouse on a foggy night. And it stood apart from every car around it, which, truth be told, wasn't too difficult, considering the streets then were filled with big Detroit iron, many still from the Forties and early Fifties.

It was a warm autumn night, on Kings Highway in Brooklyn--the E-type was parked at the curb in front of Dubrow's restaurant on 16th street, right under the el. It was a coupe, bright red, with the shiniest chrome wire wheels. My father quickly parked the car so my two brothers and I could get a closer look. Having never seen such an incredible-looking sports car before, I was amazed at its sleek shape and how the covered headlamps flowed into the body. That red Jag was the talk at our lunchroom table the next day, as we pushed our Aurora slot cars around our sandwiches, hoping all the while that the nuns wouldn't catch us.

Then, just a few months later, we kids struck gold. Under our Christmas tree was a Strombecker racing set. There were two slot cars, a red Ferrari GTO and a black Jaguar E-type coupe. At last, we had an E-type of our very own, albeit in 1/32nd scale. The Ferrari was nice, but after seeing an E-type in person, we always fought over who would get to race the Jaguar.

Then, in 1979, I bought an E-type. It wasn't the Series One 3.8 coupe that I'd always lusted after; instead, it was a much more affordable 2+2 model, which is why I was able to buy it for $3,000. That was all the money in the world for me, yet every second behind the wheel made me feel like a millionaire.

It was a late Series One model built in the early part of 1967, so it still had the covered headlamps. The not-so-highly strung 4.2 engine was under the hood, complete with its trio of SU HD.8 carbs, their chromed dashpots dazzling the eyes every time the big bonnet was tilted forward. But the odd thing about this car was that it had a maroon exterior with, believe it or not, velvety green seat upholstery with matching green vinyl trim and carpets. Yes, it was the original factory-interior, as was the rich-looking wine body. It sounds worse than it actually looked, yet that misguided color combination quickly faded away as soon as I turned the ignition key, pushed in the little black starter button and heard the mechanical whine of the flywheel spin as it started that silky-smooth straight-six powerplant. It was always an exhilarating experience every time that engine fired up, taking just two tries on each attempt.

But that incredible engine only came to life if I remembered to disconnect the battery the night before. And therein lay the car's main problem. No one, including the professionals at the diagnostic shop nearby, could figure out why the battery kept draining. I can't tell you how many days I spent under the hood checking every wire and tightening every terminal lead, all to no avail. That's when I learned a hard lesson about owning exotic cars: Just because you can afford to buy one, doesn't mean you can afford to maintain it. Especially not when you're only 24 years old, as I was at the time.

I sold the old E-type in late 1980, without regret. I had my fun driving it, and it never let me down. Even when smoke billowed from the center gauge panel while driving on the Belt Parkway near Coney Island, it didn't leave me stranded. A quick spin of the two knurled nuts and the instrument panel dropped down--not a melted wire in sight. So I popped up the panel and went on my merry way, never seeing smoke rise again.

If there is one car that every sports car enthusiast should own, the E-type is the one. The view out the windshield is spectacular. The way the curves of the long, expansive hood rise and fall, the multiple rows of louvers set in between, are intoxicating. And with the thin wood wheel in hand, steering a captivating machine that never fails to turn heads wherever it goes just can't be beat.

Thirty years have passed since I sold that Jag and bought a 1967 Triumph GT6 instead. Yet an early E-type remains on my top ten list of must-own cars. Only my next one will be a 3.8 coupe in navy blue with black leather interior, its wire wheels painted not so bright silver. I can't wait.



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