1969 Corvette - Stuff That Dreams (Nightmares) are Made Of

The other night I had a dream that literally shook me awake. It took me a minute or two to realize it was just that—a dream. Somehow, I had "rattle-can" spray-painted my 1977 Corvette in primer, only to watch most of it run down the sides of the car in giant drips. Yes, that's Lake Erie and no, that's not my house. 

If anything, my long-gone, woe-begone '77 was one car that didn't need a paint job. Maybe it was a combination of missing the old girl and stumbling across this 1969 Corvette that desperately needs one that conspired to wake me up in the middle of the night.

My wife actually spotted it out on Lake Road during one of our leisurely cruises in the 1991 Corvette convertible I replaced the '77 with.

"Did you see that red Corvette back there that looked like our old one?" she asked as I zipped past it.

I immediately turned around for a better look.

The front chrome bumper told me everything I needed to know. This was one of the holy grails of third-generation Corvettes—a 1968-1972 chrome-bumper car.

Beginning in 1973, to comply with federal 5-mph front-impact standards, Chevrolet replaced the chrome front bumper with a body-colored urethane nose over an energy-absorbing structure. The rear bumper received similar treatment for 1974.

In my opinion, the literal plastic surgery Chevrolet designers and engineers performed on their Plastic Fantastic was among the best work they did during the 1970s. It was so successful that, back then, some owners of 1968-1972 chrome-bumper cars actually updated them to resemble the newer rubber-bumper models.

Times have certainly changed.

Today, the simple elegance of the chrome-bumper cars has sent their values soaring. Although there's nothing particularly special about this example beyond being a 1969 Corvette, if it were in good-to-great condition, it could easily bring $50,000 or more. Some online valuation guides would even have you believe it's worth considerably more, though those estimates tend to be optimistic.

Which makes the $10,000-or-best-offer asking price dangerously alluring.

Let's roll up our sleeves and see what we'd really be getting ourselves into.

The paint alone could run as much as $25,000 if done to a very high standard. If you're going to do it, do it right. Otherwise, seriously what's the point? Even a cheapie paint job will run you ten-grand. 

Assuming the front and rear suspensions need rebuilding—as my '77 eventually did—you could easily spend around $4,000, depending on whether you tackle the work yourself and whether the differential also needs rebuilding.

If the engine and transmission both require overhauls, figure another $6,000 to $10,000, depending on what's actually wrong and, as the old saying goes, "How fast do you want to spend?"

Then there's another $2,000 or so for period-correct wheels and tires.

The frame is soft just ahead of the rear wheels, too. Repairing that with welded reinforcement brackets could add another $1,500 to $2,500. That's the sort of repair that does resale value and buyer appeal no favors.

The good news? The interior appears to be in respectable shape. I didn't open the car to take a sniff inside it; you know cameras and all. 

I'd also budget for electrical work. C3 Corvettes are notorious for electrical gremlins. If the wiring harness ultimately needs replacing, you could spend anywhere from $3,500 to $5,000. Personally, I'd want the body off the frame before tackling a job like that. Otherwise, you're just asking for headaches.

So, assuming you negotiate the purchase price down to around $8,500, you're looking at well over $60,000 invested by the time the dust settles. And after all that, there's no guarantee you'd recover your money if you decided to sell it.

Talk about a nightmare.

1960 Dodge Dart Seneca - Estate Sale Dreams

What car enthusiast doesn't see a lawn sign advertising an estate sale and immediately hope there's an old car tucked away in the garage or barn just waiting to be bought for pennies on the dollar and flipped for a tidy profit? Reality, of course, usually has other plans.

Such is the case with this 1960 Dodge Dart Seneca, purchased at an estate sale last year.

The young woman who bought it thought she'd scored the deal of a lifetime when the seller accepted a paltry $1,500. What she didn't realize was that getting the car roadworthy would cost more than $5,000. The bill for parts accounting for less than half of that; the rest disappeared into labor. As anyone who's restored an old car can tell you, labor is where projects like this can really drain your wallet. 

She doesn't mention whether these non-matching, retina-searing seat covers were part of the refurbishment. 

If you're of a certain vintage, you probably associate the name "Dodge Dart" with compact cars. However, when Dodge introduced the Dart for 1960, it was anything but compact. The original Dart was a full-size automobile. This particular example recently popped up on Facebook Marketplace in Lodi, Ohio, about an hour's drive from the Triple Wide.

For 1960, the Dart served as Dodge's entry-level full-size series in what was, dare I say, a needlessly complicated three-tier lineup. Above it sat the one-year-only Matador, while the Polara occupied the top rung. As if that weren't confusing enough, each series was offered in three trim levels. Dart buyers could choose the entry-level Seneca, the mid-range Pioneer, or the top-of-the-line Phoenix. Our Marketplace find happens to be a Seneca.

Compared with the Matador and Polara, the Dart rode on a wheelbase three inches shorter, making it slightly smaller overall. Less sheet metal meant a lower sticker price.

Power comes from Chrysler Corporation's all-new-for-1960 overhead-valve inline six, better known as the legendary "Slant Six." The engine was tilted 30 degrees to allow for a lower hood line, a design that made it possible to fit beneath the compact Valiant's sleek profile while also lowering the engine's center of gravity. The Slant Six would go on to earn a reputation as one of the most durable engines Detroit ever built.

For the $5,000 asking price—which is reportedly below market value, although it still strikes me as optimistic given this car's overall condition—you get a 66-year-old sedan with a column-shifted three-speed manual transmission, no power steering, no power brakes, and no air conditioning. In 1960, air conditioning wasn't even available on the Dart Seneca.

I wish her luck selling it. I think we've all looked at an old car and imagined striking automotive gold. Most of us never act on those fantasies. She did, and she's learning the hard way that buying the car is often the cheapest part of the adventure.

Bunnie Xo Rolls Royce - Cullinan Series II

The ink is barely dry on the divorce papers of Jason DeFord, better known as Jelly Roll, and Alisa DeFord, known professionally as Bunnie XO, and the former Mrs. DeFord has reportedly celebrated her newfound independence with a brand-new Rolls-Royce Cullinan Series II valued at roughly $500,000. 

According to reports, Jelly Roll agreed to make a one-time lump-sum payment to Bunnie as part of their divorce settlement, in addition to the division of various assets. While the amount of that payment remains confidential, it appears Bunnie was in no mood to pinch pennies when it came time to shop for a new ride. 

The Cullinan, named after the Cullinan Diamond, the largest gem-quality rough diamond ever discovered, sits near the top of the Rolls-Royce lineup. With a starting price well north of $300,000 and seemingly endless customization options, it's easy to see how a buyer can push the price toward the half-million-dollar mark. 

Of course, we're not here to criticize how anyone spends their money. Everyone knows people with modest means who spend like millionaires, and others who come into serious money only to watch it disappear as quickly as it arrived. Whether Bunnie's purchase was a smart financial decision or simply a well-deserved reward is ultimately her business.

Rolls-Royce positions the Cullinan above the Ghost in its model range and below the flagship Phantom. Since its introduction, the ultra-luxury SUV has become one of the brand's most successful modern products, attracting buyers looking for the craftsmanship and prestige of a Rolls-Royce in a more practical package.

At an estimated $500,000, Bunnie's Cullinan appears to feature a healthy dose of personalization. Rolls-Royce is renowned for its bespoke customization program, allowing buyers to specify everything from unique paint colors and leather combinations to one-of-a-kind trim materials and personalized interior details. It's rare to find two Cullinans built exactly alike.

There has been no indication whether Bunnie paid cash, financed the purchase, or leased the vehicle. While I'm generally not a fan of leasing, an argument can be made for it when dealing with exotic luxury vehicles. Even premium brands experience depreciation, and ownership costs can be significant once warranties expire.

A quick back-of-the-napkin calculation suggests that if a $500,000 vehicle lost roughly 20 percent of its value over three years, the depreciation alone would amount to about $100,000. That works out to more than $2,700 per month before factoring in financing costs, insurance, taxes, or maintenance. Suddenly, those eye-popping lease payments don't seem quite as outrageous.

Then again, if you're driving a half-million-dollar Rolls-Royce, you're probably not worried about stretching every last dollar.

Let's not make this all about money, though. Bunnie is free to spend her money however she sees fit, and whether her financial decisions make sense to the rest of us is beside the point.

Born Alisa Andrea DeFord (née Carter) on January 22, 1980, in Houston, Texas, Bunnie built a large following through her podcasting, social media presence, and entertainment career before marrying Jelly Roll. She and the singer met in Las Vegas and married in 2016, later renewing their vows in 2023. 

The nickname "Bunnie" dates back to her younger years, while "XO" has become part of her public persona and brand identity.

Jelly Roll, a Nashville native, has been active in the music industry since the early 2000s. Blending hip-hop, rock, country, and Southern rap influences, he achieved mainstream success with hits such as "Son of a Sinner" and "Need a Favor," helping establish him as one of the most recognizable crossover artists in modern country music.

As for Jelly Roll's daily driver, reports have long indicated that he favors a customized matte-black Ram 1500 that Bunnie gifted him for Father's Day in 2020, proving that even successful musicians don't always feel the need to travel in a Rolls-Royce.

In the end, a divorce, a new beginning, and a $500,000 Rolls-Royce make for quite a headline. Whether it's a symbol of independence, a reward for surviving a difficult chapter, or simply a luxury purchase by someone who can afford it, Bunnie XO is clearly moving forward in style.

Animal House "Death Mobile" - 1964 Lincoln Continental

National Lampoon's Animal House was on Netflix recently and, naturally, I had to watch it again—for what had to be the zillionth time. Every time I see it, and it's probably been a good ten years since I last watched it from beginning to end, I come away with a different perspective.

Sometimes I'm fourteen or fifteen years old again, sneaking into the long-gone movie theater around the corner from the house I grew up in on Long Island to watch what might as well have been an X-rated movie.

Other times it feels like I'm getting together with a group of old friends—loud, obnoxious, politically incorrect, but endlessly entertaining. Friends I haven't seen in years, yet we somehow pick up right where we left off.

There are times I see it for what it was: a low-budget, boundary-pushing comedy starring John Belushi, who, thanks to Saturday Night Live, was arguably the biggest television star in America in the late 1970s.

Made for about $3 million, Animal House went on to gross more than $140 million worldwide, making it one of the most profitable comedies ever produced.

Viewed strictly on its own merits today, the film is not only sorely dated, but also misogynistic, racist and homophobic. Many "jokes" don't land the way they once did, and the story is admittedly threadbare; familiarity has a way of smoothing over any faults the film had. Before Animal House, there simply hadn't been anything quite like it. Countless films have tried to imitate it since, but few have captured the same lightning in a bottle.

Granted, over the last forty-eight years there have been funnier movies—much funnier, in fact—but Animal House was the original. Every college comedy that followed had to live in the shadow of its toga party.

There are two cars featured prominently in Animal House: a 1959 Chevrolet Corvette driven by Tim Matheson's character, Eric "Otter" Stratton, and a 1964 Lincoln Continental borrowed by Kent "Flounder" Dorfman from his older brother, Fred.

Now, you'd think I'd devote this piece to Otter's Corvette, maybe someday, but the Corvette is really just another prop, as much a part of Otter's image as Boon's letterman sweater or Babs' towering beehive hairdo. Besides, does the internet need another blog about any Corvette? 

Instead, let's dive into a swimming pool that's only an inch deep but nearly 79 inches wide—and weighs well over 5,000 pounds. That 1964 Lincoln Continental.

The casting of the gigantic Lincoln was an interesting choice. Its formal, almost presidential elegance provides the perfect visual contrast to the complete chaos surrounding the Delta house.

President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in a 1961 Continental so perhaps the casting of the car was intentional as an anti-establishment metaphor. 

Curiously, though, Fred's Lincoln is a 1964 model even though the movie takes place during the fall semester of 1962. 

Most viewers would never notice the difference, but it's the kind of continuity error that would be far less likely to slip through a major Hollywood production today.

The common explanation is that when the movie was filmed in 1977, it was simply easier to find a decent 1964 Continental than a period-correct 1961 or 1962 model. Maybe. Then again, 1964 wasn't exactly a banner sales year for Lincoln, with production only modestly higher than in 1962. More likely, the filmmakers found a clean Continental that fit the part, and on a shoestring budget, that was good enough.

To all but the most obsessive car spotters, it passes without a second glance.

Sharp-eyed enthusiasts know the 1962 Continental wore a distinctive floating-rectangle grille and bullet-style front fender ornaments, while the 1964 adopted a flatter, cleaner grille and revised front lighting. The '64 also rode on a slightly longer wheelbase, adding a couple of inches of rear-seat legroom—no doubt making Otter's romantic dalliances just a little more comfortable.

Rumors have circulated for years that the famous "Death Mobile" used during the parade sequence was actually a 1966 Continental. I've never found any credible evidence to support that. Everything I've seen suggests the same 1964 Lincoln was modified for the finale.

The 1964 Continental belonged to the generation produced from 1961 through 1969 that arguably saved Lincoln. Before the clean-sheet redesign introduced for 1961, Lincoln had been steadily losing ground to Cadillac and, to a lesser extent, Chrysler's Imperial.

The Continental's rear-hinged rear doors—popularly known as "suicide doors"—became one of the car's defining features. The nickname stemmed from the potential danger if a rear-hinged door accidentally opened while the vehicle was moving. Beyond their dramatic appearance, the doors also made getting into and out of the rear seat remarkably easy.

With its crisp slab-sided styling and restrained elegance, the Continental became an icon of mid-century American design. It couldn't have been more different from the chrome-laden, fin-covered Lincolns that came before it.

As for the Animal House Lincoln—better known as the Death Mobile—its fate remains something of a mystery. Some stories claim it was stolen after filming wrapped before eventually being destroyed. Others suggest it simply disappeared into the used-car market. Whatever the truth, its whereabouts remain unknown, adding one final bit of mythology to one of the most memorable cars in movie history.

1986 Dodge Omni - Die Like a Yankee

Funny how you can look at certain cars and instantly be reminded of a particular person.

My late buddy Phil had a white 1978 Dodge Omni when we attended Nassau Community College and worked together at the campus radio station in the early 1980s. This one, which recently popped up on Facebook Marketplace, is a 1986 model with an asking price of $1,300.

Phil and I became close friends, although we couldn't have been more different. Phil was leather-jacket-wearing cool and seemingly streetwise. He could have passed for George Michael's doppelgänger and worked at the radio station because he genuinely loved music—all kinds of music. If we had anything in common, it was that we were both rabid New York Yankees fans.

I had stumbled into radio after a professor teaching a radio and television production course I took on a whim to fill out my schedule thought I had, in his words, "a broadcast-quality voice" and recommended I join the radio station. I had a passing interest in music, like most people I guess, and was about as cool as Ralph Malph from Happy Days, whereas Phil was more like Fonzie.

Our taste in cars underscored just how different we were. When we met, I was driving my oafish 1975 Chrysler Cordoba while Phil was behind the wheel of his zippy little Omni, a car that seemed to contradict his motorcycle-biker aura. As it turned out, Phil wasn't really a motorcycle guy at all. He had simply grown up around those types and, through osmosis, looked the part.

Unpretentious as he was, Phil's Omni suited him perfectly. While my Chrysler Cordoba wasn't exactly the sort of car a dyed-in-the-wool car enthusiast would be drive, for someone who wanted for literally everything growing up, it was the most wonderful thing in the world. I also found it hard to believe anyone would actually want to drive a Dodge Omni.

Oh, how wrong I was.

The handful of times I drove Phil's car, I came away impressed by its ride, handling, and surprisingly peppy performance. Phil also loved to point out that it got around 30 miles per gallon. My Cordoba, by comparison, was none of those things and was, subjectively at least, only the better-looking car. As practical transportation for a college student, Phil's Omni was clearly the smarter choice.

The Dodge Omni and its Plymouth sibling, the Horizon, were Chrysler's first mass-produced front-wheel-drive cars in the compact/subcompact segment and the first such cars offered by one of Detroit's Big Three automakers. Developed from Chrysler Europe's Simca Horizon, they were very much in the mold of the Volkswagen Rabbit and helped usher Chrysler into the front-wheel-drive era. Built through 1990, Chrysler sold well over two million Omnis and Horizons combined.

The engineering philosophy behind these cars—and much of their front-wheel-drive technology—also helped pave the way for the Chrysler K-cars, which debuted in 1981 and, depending on your point of view, either saved the Chrysler Corporation or marked the beginning of an era of relentlessly ordinary transportation.

Our Marketplace gem appears to need a fair amount of work before it could cruise the roads around Nassau Community College again. The fact that a head gasket is included in the proverbial box o' parts accompanying the sale is more than a little disconcerting. The seller also notes that the buyer will need to tow it home.

Sadly, we lost Phil in January 1997 to ALS, better known as Lou Gehrig's disease. When he told me about his diagnosis roughly a year and a half before he died, he said with unmistakable pride, "Well, I get to die like a Yankee."