ACC Analysis

by Jay Harden

This car, Lot 692, sold for $49,500, including buyer’s premium, at Auctions America’s sale in Fort Lauderdale, FL, on March 27–29, 2015.

I enjoy writing about the many ways that vehicles, classic American cars and trucks in particular, manage to affect me. The Stutz Blackhawk, however, hits a bit below the belt.

What does one say about a Stutz Blackhawk that hasn’t already been said about Wayne Newton? Think about it — a portly American thinly disguised as a lavishly ornamented European who has somehow managed to preserve an air of wealth and prestige in the face of perpetual bankruptcy. Am I right, or am I right?

Sure, the short list of original Stutz owners is dominated by the 1970s’ most prominent male crooners, balladeers, and eccentric Type-As, but what does a muster of wealthy peacocks have to do with a vehicle’s intrinsic value or, for that matter, collectability? That’s a tough question — particularly when I have a difficult time looking at the Stutz Blackhawk without being reminded of the classic children’s tale “The Emperor’s New Clothes.”

Showing off

The world of loud, brash hot rods and muscle cars — the world that I love — is dominated, unsurprisingly, by men. We don’t need to start quoting Freud to assure ourselves that we men are often driven by a primitive, maniacal fascination with dangerous things. Why? Because somewhere along the way we convinced ourselves they are necessary for winning the affection of the opposite sex.

The truth, however, is that, generally speaking, most ladies don’t like loud, dangerous things. They tend to prefer, at least in my experience, soft, luxurious things that accentuate their personal appointments rather than overshadow them completely. And nothing says soft and luxurious quite like the Stutz’s available mink fur carpet. It’s hardly worth mentioning that the ’70s murdered the muscle car and rock ’n’ roll, or that the executioner wore roller skates and crushed velvet, but it is worth noting that even Leroy Brown, the baddest man in the whole damn town, drove a custom Continental. And an Eldorado, too. A muscle car wasn’t even his second choice.

With that being said, buying a new Stutz in the heart of the free-swinging disco era probably made a lot of sense if you lived in a world of money-money-money-monnney-(dramatic pause)-Moan-Ay. Nowadays, maybe not so much.

Expensive then, expensive now?

Although celebrity ownership often has an undue effect on a vehicle’s potential value, there’s nothing here to suggest that this particular car belonged to anyone more prominent than the owner of a long[1]defunct disco. Does that mean it should be valuable simply by the pedigree of the original ownership association? And why should the influence of a group of people who, as a whole, probably couldn’t change their own oil be considered when determining the collectability of a classic automobile? Should the Stutz Blackhawk be valuable today and into the future simply because it was obscenely expensive when new?

In some ways, the architecture of the revived Stutz does make a lot of sense for a boutique auto. Why waste time and effort engineering and manufacturing a chassis and drivetrain that the target consumer couldn’t really care less about anyway? In fact, I think this model would probably be quite successful in today’s luxury consumer market. However, when it comes to resale and collectability, the Stutz lives in such an odd niche — somewhere between kit car and custom — that takers will likely remain few and far between. In fact, I’m willing to bet that there can’t be more than a Stutz or two that live in single-car garages. My guess is that most of these cars are parked in the back corners of sizeable collections — collections that can afford space for the oddball, “just-cuz” kind of ride.