Silbergrau Reunion – Hidden Histories and Timeless Bonds

A short story about reuniting, rediscovery, and the fortuitous protection provided by a layer of golden yellow barn paint on the 1957 Mercedes-Benz 300SL Roadster chassis no. 198042-7500348

Written by Ken McGavin | © Copyright 2024

“The accelerator isn’t made of porcelain you know.”

At 76 years old Nora’s aging voice has a slight quiver to it, but her wit is as sharp as a chef’s knife. She prods at her daughter Carol Ann. “If you want to get there before dark you can’t drive like an old lady.”

Carol Ann is driving her 76-year-old mother Nora the two and a half hours from Seattle to Wenatchee, The Apple Capital of the World, to bring her back to their family’s old apple orchard so that she can be interviewed about the 1957 Mercedes-Benz 300SL Roadster that she learned to drive in as a young teenager in the 1960s.

A couple of hours later, their headlights hit the gravel driveway of their family’s orchard. The tires crunch on the gravel driveway as the headlights sweep past rows of gnarled apple trees.

Pulling up to the main house, there’s a long- enclosed car-hauler parked on the side of the driveway with the logo of a vintage Mercedes-Benz that reads “Scott Grundfor Co.”

As they begin to get out of the SUV, Drew Grundfor walks down from the porch to greet them. Trailing behind him is Erik, dressed smartly in British style with a Barbour coat and corduroy pants, and Erik’s 15-year-old daughter Emma, who’s equally as stylish but in a purposefully ‘I don’t care to conform’ kind of way.

Drew extends his hand to Nora. “You must be Mrs. Taylor?” Nora comes back to him in an unamused tone. “And you must be the young Mr. Grundfor, who wants to take a photo of two old ladies together?”

Drew politely smiles. “Well, I appreciate you opening up your home to us like this.

”Carol Ann, who’s coordinated all of this with Drew, steps in to introduce herself. “Us?— Please, you’re the one that’s come all the way from California. Sorry we’re late getting here though.”

“No problem, it gave us time to get everything set up in the barn and think through the interview.” Drew is trying to be affable, but Nora has already made Carol Ann cancel two other arranged meetups over the past two months, and truth be told, Drew was beginning to think tonight was going to be a repeat.

“All this endless thinking, it’s overrated if you ask me. I blame the pandemic. Before 2020, nobody thought much about anything.” Nora seems to have a retort for everything.

Nora’s tone is thick with sarcasm, but 15-year-old Emma likes it; despite their six-decade age difference, Emma feels like they’re simpatico.

Drew introduces his prospective client Erik and his daughter Emma, who have flown out from Connecticut to see this rare reunion of the 1957 300SL Roadster with its original owner.

Emma is typically quite polite and respectful, bordering on precocious, but she had no interest in her father’s car trip, and tonight her tone comes across as combative. “What’s so special about this car?” Her father sharply shoots her a disapproving furrowing of the brow. “I mean other than it was Mrs. Taylor’s of course.”

“This is an apple orchard dear, no need to churn butter here. And enough with this Mrs. Taylor business, you can call me Nora!” Nora likes Emma. Something about her reminds Nora of her younger self.

Drew looks at Carol Ann for a little support, who seemed enthralled at the prospect of reuniting her mom with the family’s old 300SL Roadster. “What has your mother told you about the car?”

Carol Ann excitedly replies, “She hasn’t really told me much at all—”

“Well that’s easily done.” Nora says under her breath.

Drew lets out a kind of huff laugh. “That’s ok.” He’s beginning to like Nora, despite the roadblocks she’d previously put up on scheduling this photoshoot and interview.

Drew continues. “It’s an extremely rare and special 1957 Mercedes-Benz 300SL Roadster, in DB 180 Silbergrau, a variation of Silver Grey Metallic, with 1079 Red leather interior, sealed beam headlights, a Becker Mexico radio, a set of Hepco luggage, and desirable factory-installed original Rudge knock-off wheels, to be exact.” Drew beams with expertise and enthusiasm. He says it more for his client Erik’s benefit, but Emma’s face is blank without amusement.

Drew motions for them to follow him. As they begin to walk past the main house, the cider barn comes into view just a little farther up the hill. The large barn doors are open and the glow from the spotlights that Drew’s photographer has set up is pouring out from the barn and illuminating the night orchard.

“That’s ok, it’s hard to explain why these cars are so special if you haven’t been around one. Perhaps it’s better for you to see her, rather than me just talking about her,” Drew says.

“Her?!” Emma’s teenage contempt is thick and unapologetic, “You call the car a her?!” She looks to her dad and then to Nora for some kind of retort, but Nora’s mouth is now turned up in a smirk. Emma is grasping at straws in some kind of counter-offensive. “And why’d we have to come all the way here?”

“To hear her story.” Drew leans forward from the group to look across the rest of them and smiles at Nora.

Emma’s contempt continues. “Her story? You mean Nora’s or the car’s?”

Drew’s tone is respectful but has an undercurrent of victory over the teenager’s contempt. “Well … both.”

As they round the large open barn doors, it’s impossible to deny the reverence of the car. Sitting in the middle of the barn is the 1957 Silver Grey Metallic 300SL Roadster with red leather interior. Perfectly lit, with bushels of red apples staged around the car, the silver metallic paint is glinting in the light, and the glow from the red leather interior matches perfectly with the ripe red apples, giving the whole setting a touch of indulgence.

The large cider barn is glowing too; with its heavy wood posts and beams, little strings of bistro lights span the rafters, giving the wood interior a warm heavenly glow. Used more for weddings and events these days, rather than apple harvesting, the cider barn is the perfect rustic backdrop for this sleek and gorgeous ragtop W198 Mercedes.

Everyone is speechless. Emma turns towards the older woman. Nora’s mouth is agape, her eyes immediately welling up with tears.

“Mom, are you ok?” Carol Ann has been helping Nora up the short hill, but now she feels the full weight of her 76-year-old mother against her.

Nora covers her mouth, but she can’t keep the words back. “Hello Goldie.”

Drew smiles, this is exactly what he was hoping for, a rare reunion between a car and its original owner. It’s moving even for him. Drew looks at Erik and they share an affirming smile.Drew gives a reassuring touch on Nora’s shoulder. “Let me go grab the guys now that you’re here, we can take a few photos and talk about tomorrow’s interview.”

“Mom, are you ok? Do you need to sit down?” Carol Ann’s voice is peppered with concern. “Can I get you some water?”

Completely disarmed with all of her wit striped away, Nora’s voice is soft and grateful. “That would be great, thank you dear.” She taps her daughter’s arm letting her know it’s ok to let go now.

“Actually, it’s a little cold out here, a cup of hot cider sounds good right now.”

Nora turns to Emma. “See what being around all these apples will do to you Emma?” Nora winks.

Carol Ann hands her mom a tartan shawl wrap to keep warm and then puts her arm around Emma in a friendly embrace. “Come on Emma, I’ll show you the house and we’ll make some cider for everyone.”

With everyone making their way back to the main house, Nora stands there in silence. The late September air is crisp and cool, carrying the faint, sweet scent of ripening apples mixed with an earthiness from the fallen leaves and damp soil. The rows of trees stand silently in the darkness, but their branches, heavy with the apples, are rustling from a light breeze that whispers past Nora. The soft chirping of crickets in the orchard is layered with the soothing rhythm of a barn owl’s hoot, creating a hypnotic symphony.

Nora begins to feel a deep connection with her old orchard that she hasn’t felt in decades. She takes a deep breath as she looks at the car perfectly poised in the barn. She’s not sure about the car now and second guesses her instinct. This can’t be her family’s old 300SL Roadster. Their Roadster was yellow.

Nora remembers now that their 300SL actually was a Silver Grey Metallic when her father bought it brand new, but they’d painted it yellow not too long after.

As Nora steps across the threshold of the barn, she’s swept up by a wave of warmth and familiarity. She instantly feels a remarkable sense of joy just by looking at the 300SL Roadster.

She walks closer to the car, reaches out to run her hand along the arch of its front fender. As her hand meets the cold steel body, she closes her eyes.

The symphony of the orchard abruptly halts, the barn is dead silent; not even the floor boards creak as she steps alongside the car, but she suddenly feels a warmth in her hand.

“Hello Nora!”

Nora gasps, “Oh my God … Goldie, it is you!” Her voice trembling with excitement.

She instantly feels the overwhelming elation of her youth come flooding back. “I can’t believe it! How is this possible? Where have you been?” Her exuberance comes flooding out in the form of rapid fire questions. “When Carol Ann said that somebody had found daddy’s old Mercedes and was trying to research it, I didn’t believe it.”

“Who’s Carol Ann?” The Silver Roadster confusingly asks.

“Oh …” The realization of time and the life that she’s lived since she last saw her beloved 300SL swings back into her mind. “My Daughter— Carol Ann is my Daughter.”

“You have a daughter?! Well, of course you do. Why wouldn’t you, so much time has passed … sorry.” The Silver Roadster’s voice trails off with a tinge of awkwardness. She picks up again. “I hope she’s given you hell like you did your parents!” The Roadster’s voice refills with exuberance, just the way Nora remembers her.

Nora feels the strange familiarity of her own teenage exuberance returning.

“Who me?” Nora steps back touching both hands to her chest feigning offense. The pair laugh as six decades melt away.

Nora notices her own laugh is somehow different in this moment, like it was when she was younger. She catches her breath and takes a step back to look at her old friend. She notices the way the silver paint catches the light and seems to flow effortlessly over her curves. “Look at you, back to silver huh?”

“Ya, I wore that yellow paint you picked out for me for a long time!”“Well, that was supposed to be Golden Delicious Apple Yellow if you recall, that’s why I called you Goldie. Sorry, that yellow was all daddy had on the orchard— I can’t believe he painted you just because I asked.” Nora grimaces.

“Well, you did love your Golden Delicious Apples, and as I recall, you pretty much got anything you wanted!”

“Are you calling me spoiled?” Nora says thickly with a small turn of her head. She’s beaming with joy now as the memories roll through her mind.

“Well …” With a long drawn out emphasis, the Silver Roadster comes back to her with heavy sarcasm, “maybe not now.”

Nora senses an implication about her age. “Excuse me?“ Nora puts her hands on her hips and tilts her head up like a Parisian runway model. “I’m in the prime of my life!”

The thought of how much time has passed since her father sold Goldie creeps back into Nora’s mind. She asks softly. “Where have you been all these years?”

“Here, there … nowhere for a while. After I left the orchard, I was in Vancouver for a while, with this guy Merle. He was a bit of a thrill seeking maverick. He loved speed, and not just with cars. He was a hydroplane racer, which is pretty cool, if you don’t like asphalt I guess. I didn’t laugh with him the way I did with you though, but he also didn’t grind my gears the way you did either at 15!”

Nora quickly comes back as the memories are flooding her mind. “Oh my God, remember the time I almost crashed you into the front gate?! I nearly peed myself.” Nora shows a clenched smile.

Goldie adds on. “From nearly crashing or from laughing so hard? Because I remember laughing hysterically after the dust settled and we realized how close we were to the gate post!”

The pair are laughing again like it’s 1963.

Nora moves closer to Goldie. Resting her hands on the top of her driver’s side door and looking at her red leather interior, Nora notices that her leather is in incredible condition. “So, Merle treated you well then huh?”

“Oh yeah, he was great, a natural driver too. I remember this one trip we took to Reno where Merle decided he’d had enough of the boring freeway and instead took a detour over the Siskiyou Mountains on this small backroad. He was absolutely pinning it, pedal to the metal, and we were doing well over 100 mph along parts of this curving mountain road. Well wouldn’t you know it, we come out of this long sweeping right hander where I’m just singing along, when whoops, there’s a cop on the side of the road! Merle, bless his heart – and foot – didn’t even lift. If the cop was asleep, he wasn’t anymore. I could actually see the force of the air jostle the officer’s car as we ripped by.”

The Roadster continues her tale. “That mountain pass road dumped us into this small little town off Highway 96 called Happy Camp, where Merle pulled over to fuel me up. It took the cop a while to finally catch up with us, and there was Merle, cool as Steve McQueen, leaning against me as the cop just slowly rolled by with his window down gawking at us.” Goldie is beaming with pride as she recounts her high speed tale.

“My goodness that does sound like an adventure. Sounds like the kind of guy I would have run off with too in my younger years.” Nora flutters her eyebrows up and down.

Goldie recalls that Nora always liked guys with fast cars. “Is your husband into cars?”

“Oh, ya, well … he’s passed now, but yes, he loved cars; he loved going fast too, I suppose that’s why he loved me. But he was afraid of mileage.”

Goldie doesn’t even know how to process that remark. “Mileage?”

“Oh ya, the idea of a car with too many miles on it would give him an ulcer.”

Goldie snorts with laughter, unable to hold it back. “Sorry, afraid of mileage? How can somebody love cars but be afraid of mileage?” “Oh, believe me, he could spend hours going on about the engineering of this Porsche or the engine of that Ferrari. That’s what he really loved, the engineering and mechanics of cars, but he only wanted—“Nora puts on her gruffest impersonation, and sways back and forth as she tries to mimic her husband’s serious tone, “a no stories car with low, or better yet, delivery mileage!”

Goldie can’t believe it, she’s even slightly offended. “Delivery mileage? No stories car? Please … have you ever met a ‘no stories’ car? It’s like talking to a wet soap dish, zero personality, no character, no good stories to tell!”

Goldie’s irreverence is now bordering on soapboxing. “Merle would always say ‘Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming, Wow! What a Ride!’”

“Fan of Hunter S. Thompson huh?” Nora quickly realizes that Goldie doesn’t know that the quote isn’t Merle’s. Nora loves Goldie’s passion for being driven though, so she lets the reference go. “So how long were you in Vancouver with Merle?”

“Oh for decades. But, after about 10 years he didn’t drive me much and I just kind of sat around waiting in his barn.”

Nora empathetically frowns. “Waiting? That sounds sad … I’m sorry.”

“Oh don’t be, he came out to the barn pretty frequently to tinker and talk to me. And when he wasn’t there I had the squirrels.” Goldie is trying to sound nonchalant.

“The squirrels? You don’t actually mean squirrels, do you?” Nora wants to laugh but she’s not sure if Goldie is joking.

“Oh ya. They were hilarious to watch, too. Except they started to store their acorns in my exhaust.”

Nora can’t refrain and lets out a snort of laughter.

Goldie pauses. “Oh it gets better; they eventually packed my exhaust so full that when Merle’s son tried to start me up years later, I wouldn’t turn over. Those cute little bastards had packed my exhaust so full that I was stuffed right up to my manifold. But once I did finally start up, it was like a machine gun shooting nuts 20 feet out my tail pipe!” She finishes with a machine gun sound affect.

Laughing, Nora says, “Well, nobody could accuse you of being a no stories car could they?!”

The pair of them erupt in laughter.

Goldie can’t believe how much she’s missed her good friend. She tries to move the conversation back to Nora to hear more about her life and family. “So, were you happily married?”

“What can I tell you about marriage? It’s more of a novel than a short story.”

Nora instantly feels like she’s being unkind and overly dramatic, she backs out of the quip. “He was wonderful. A great husband and a wonderful father. When our daughter came along, it was like he wanted to roll out the red carpet wherever we took her.”

Goldie is beaming listening to Nora talk about her family. “I’ll bet she’s as cute as apple pie!”

Nora laughs. “You’ve been back around these apples too long. Has a squirrel stuffed one up your …” Nora nods her head towards the rear-end of Goldie, “you know where?!”

Goldie lets out a honk of a laugh.

“Carol Ann is all grown now, but yes, she was adorable. Sweet and kind hearted; not like me at 15, I was maybe more of an apple tart than apple pie!” Nora plays into their apple jokes.

Goldie says excitedly, “We should take her around the orchard tomorrow, like the old days – fast!”

Goldie thinks back on some of their drives together, “Remember that time you snuck me off the orchard to go see that boy in town?” “That’s right … I’d forgotten all about that!” Nora’s eyebrows involuntarily rise. “And how you died on me! We were listening to The Chiffons or something like that when your radio started blinking and then you just completely died. I thought your battery was dead. I was in a panic when I thought I was going to have to call my dad from some phone in town.”

Goldie is laughing so hard, she can barely get the words out. “And that poor boy just ran home because he didn’t want to get caught by your dad!”

It dawns on Nora after all these years, Goldie never had mechanical problems before that night, “Wait, you started right up after he ran off. Was that you?”

Goldie’s tone is a mixture of guilt and pride. “Well, let’s just say I didn’t want to be a co-conspirator.”

Nora gives an acknowledging “Ah, hmm.” She smiles at her old friend. “So other than protecting me from boys, dusting cops with Merle, and machine gunning squirrel nuts with his son, how’d you get back to looking akin to new?” Nora’s voice trails off in admiration as she motions to how beautiful Goldie looks sitting here in the barn.

“Oh, about six years ago Merle’s son, Kurt, sold me to this Swedish car aficionado, Jan, a collector of sports cars. Jan was really particular about his cars though and only wanted cars that had been really well preserved in original form. As luck would have it, your Golden Delicious Apple barn paint was actually what protected and preserved the original paint that Mercedes-Benz finished me with prior to releasing me into the world. After he found out that my original paint was still underneath, Jan sent me to a specialized Mercedes-Benz restoration shop in Germany where they spent more than 1,000 hours meticulously removing the yellow barn paint, by hand! It was like a never-ending manicure, but … Voilà! DB 180 Silver Grey Metallic, or as the Germans say, Silbergrau!”

Nora is impressed. Now revealed from beneath the yellow barn paint, she can’t stop admiring how incredible Goldie looks. “So this is your original silver paint? You weren’t restored or repainted? I’m almost ashamed that I had my dad paint you with that crapy yellow now!”“Ah don’t worry about it, turns out that crapy barn paint of yours adhered to my original silver paint rather poorly, which is what helped save and preserve my original paint.” Goldie’s tone is jovial. “Turns out that’s pretty rare, sporting factory paint; and I’m pretty unusual this way, and desirable too!”

Now seeing Goldie in her original silver tone, Nora can’t help but admire the striking contrast of the paint with her red leather interior.

“I do wear these colors pretty well though don’t you think?!” Goldie says beaming with pride and confidence. Nora is astonished by just how well preserved she is after six decades. “It’s amazing, I can see why there’s such a fuss about you. You look more beautiful now than ever Goldie!”

“Thanks Nora, you always had a way of making me feel quite special.” Goldie’s voice is warm and filled with sincerity.

Goldie continues, “That’s actually kind of a new thing for me though. After my thousand-hour German manicure, I went through an auction, chalked full of multi-million-dollar attention- getters, where it didn’t seem like anybody really noticed me, and if they did, they sure didn’t quite understand me. The guy that brought me here though, Drew, that’s who noticed me and won me at auction. He kept pacing around me on the auction floor in Florida, and a few times, I saw him through the crowds watching to see who would walk near me. I heard him on his phone talking about how nobody had truly realized the rarity and extent of my amalgamation of qualities, that nobody knew the layers and depth of my uniqueness; how I had my ultra-rare original, factory-installed Rudge knock-off wheels in addition to my original paint and leather. He said I was the genuine article, something like the Mona Lisa of 300SL Roadsters given how I was born and how I remain. He seemed astonished by it, but somehow nobody else recognized me for what I am, I guess.”

Looking at Goldie here and now, Nora thinks she must be playing it modestly. “Come on? You can’t tell me there wasn’t some crazy bidding war over you!”

Goldie’s voice comes up an octave. “No, not at all. I heard Drew say afterwards how people missed out, that they didn’t know my story.”

Nora cuts in, “—But how could they?”

A bit bewildered, Goldie comes back. “What do you mean?”

“Well, your story …” Nora pauses, “The yellow apple paint, our fast drives around the orchard listening to Roy Orbison and The Chiffons, outrunning a police car on a high mountain pass with Merle, his son shooting acorns out your rear! Jan discovering your original factory paint under my terrible barn paint …”

Goldie’s laugh gives Nora a small pause as she smiles before continuing, “It’s really our story. Our friendship. You and me Goldie … and Merle, and his son, and Jan … and whomever will have the chance of knowing you and driving you next. Your story, is really about friendship and the memories we’ve all gotten to share with you. And how could somebody that hasn’t known you …” Nora pauses in a warmth of reverence, “know your story.”

The pair of them are overcome with emotion, overcome by a friendship that’s picked up right where it left off six decades earlier.

Goldie says what Nora is thinking. “Those years with you on the orchard, those were some of the best years of my life.”

Nora feels her heart pang with love, she can’t believe how much she’s missed her old friend. She feels a welling up of emotion coming. Nora turns to sit on a long wooden bench behind her to try and regain control of her emotions when Goldie says, “I love you Nora.”

Nora looks up, she feels silly for crying here in front of Goldie. She wasn’t prepared for how emotional this reunion would be, but sixty years on she’s reminded of what was and what is; she still loves this car. Nora dabs her tears with the corner of the tartan shawl she’s wearing and lifts her head. “I love you too Goldie, and I’ve missed you …” Nora’s voice trails off with a soft pause. “You know, I think everybody should be so lucky to have a great friendship with a car in their life.” She laughs a little through the tears.

Goldie mirrors her sentiment. “And every car should be so lucky to have one great friendship with an owner in theirs.”

The pair sit in silence when Goldie notices a shadow move across the orchard outside. Emma is coming up the gravel drive with a cup of hot cider for Nora. As she gets within steps of the barn doors, Emma hears Nora talking to herself, so she pauses just before coming into sight; but the sound of Nora crying overwhelms Emma. She doesn’t know what to do and she doesn’t want to embarrass Nora, so Emma scuffs her Converse on the gravel trying to give Nora a subtle hint at her presence. “…’em, Mrs. Taylor, I mean, Nora, I’ve got some cider for you.” Emma slowly edges around the corner giving Nora a moment to gather herself.

Nora’s mind is instantly pulled from the golden reverie of the barn. “Oh, thank you, what a sweetheart.” She stands up from the bench and makes a bit of a fuss with her blouse to give her emotions a few more seconds to clear, she dusts off her long skirt, and then turns toward the large open barn doors a few yards away, where Emma is standing just outside.

Nora grabs the cider as Emma nervously asks her, “Are you ok, I thought I heard you …”

“Oh don’t bother about that.” Nora is watching as the cool night air pulls wisps of steam from the hot cider mug. Her eyes follow the steam up and then she lets her gaze refocus on Goldie. Nora takes the sight in like it’s a long deep breath. “Just catching up with my old friend Goldie.”

Emma furrows her brow in confusion. “Goldie? Why would you call her that, she’s silver?”

Nora stops and smiles at Emma, “Her?! You’re calling the car a her?!” Emma gives a surrender of small laughter.

Nora interlinks her arm with Emma’s. “How about tomorrow morning, we give your father a heart- attack and I teach you how to drive!”

As the pair begin walking down the path towards the main house, Nora realizes that she’s left her shawl wrap on the wooden bench. Emma makes quick work of turning back up the hill to retrieve the tartan for Nora.

As Emma walks into the barn for the first time she notices how quiet the night suddenly got. The barn is warm and soothing. Emma walks to the wooden bench where Nora left her shawl, she grabs the tartan and quickly bundles it under her arm, but as she turns to leave, she’s confronted by the magnificence of the Silver 300SL. Emma slowly steps closer to the gleaming car.

Emma looks inside the roadster’s interior. The distinct smell of the original German Roser red leather wafts to her, and Emma wonders what it would feel like to sit in the driver’s seat. She looks over her shoulder at the barn doors to see if anybody is watching. She fumbles with the ‘push- then-pull’ door-handle mechanism for a moment before figuring it out, but then it releases with a precise click and ease. She swings the door open just enough to feel its perfect balance. She looks up again to check the barn doors; nobody’s there. She gingerly sits down in the driver’s seat, and instinctively turns the radio knobs. She gently places both hands on the steering wheel and then slowly rolls her fingers around the wheel and says, “Hello Goldie.”

A friendly voice echos back, “Hello Emma.”