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The Last Duesenberg

One can barely wrap the mind around the concept of the last of any marque. Is there somewhere squirreled away the final DeSoto, the final Austin? Did anyone care to keep them around in carefully managed condition, warding off the meddling hands of restorers — and if they did, does the story of the final car cast a shadow of awesome grandeur fit to honor its makers history? There are likely many automobiles which represent the final stroke of the transfer presses, the last report of an impact hammer, the final time the lights were turned on over the smooth, ordered assembly floor. But we doubt any of them have a story to match the 1937 Duesenberg Model SJ, number 397, the last Duesenberg.

Fate is a funny thing sometimes. It has a certain sense of humor not witnessed often, and it can twist a storyline to the point of impossibility. Such is the story of SJ-397. Both Rudolf Bauer and the Duesenberg brothers were likely not aware of each other as they rose from obscurity by force of will and creativity to the heights of wealth and privilege, then saw it all slip away through forces outside their control.

Duesenberg began as most early automakers did, a racing habit which turned into a car-building business. German born brothers Fred and August Duesenberg incorporated the Duesenberg Automobile & Motors Company in 1913 and proceeded to build some of the most advanced vehicles of the time. Their cars were well known as Indianapolis 500 race winners, and the first from American shores to win at Le Mans. After great success in racing, the brothers set out to take on the mass market with their Model A. And it was that choice which began the series of events ultimately leading to ruin as the Model A was a terrible failure in the face of the competition from Ford, selling only 667 copies. In 1922, Duesenberg was bankrupt.

Rudolf Bauer was perhaps one of the most influential abstract artists of the prewar German landscape. Something of a savant, Bauer began painting at an early age and won a place in the emerging German avant-garde scene. It was in this movement where he met Baroness Hilla Rebay von Ehrenweisen, daughter of a Prussian Army aristocrat. Their tumultuous relationship would end when Rebay left to act as art director for Solomon Guggenheim, yes that Guggenheim. Bauer was brooding and arrogant, and painted in an unreflective, empirical style — a style which with the prodding of Rebay, caught the eye and the patronage of Guggenheim. Selling every piece he could complete now that he had an attentive audience, Bauers fame grew with European and American collectors, and so did his wealth. He spent extravagantly on everything from his home to his cars. As the cultural curtain of Nazism descended across Germany, oblivious to the danger he was in, Rudolf decided to commission his greatest work.

After descending into receivership, the Duesenberg name would not be lost to oblivion just yet. Fred Duesenberg, along with a consortium of investors, rescued the company from its creditors. He then brokered a deal in 1925 with Erritt Cord, who purchased Duesenberg in hopes of using its engineering prowess to be operated as a premium brand under the Auburn Automobile Company. The following year the Duesenberg brand introduced the Model J at the New York Car Show. A chassis of leviathan-like proportions, it was a technological tour de force. Measuring in with a nearly 12 foot wheel base and weighing a ton and half on its own, the frame cradled a 420 cubic inch inline eight with aluminum pistons and connection rods, four valves per cylinder and dual overhead cam shafts riding in a detachable cylinder head. In standard form the the engine was capable of 265 HP — so powerful the originally planned four speed was replaced with an unsynchronized three speed. The chassis itself was equipped with a system which automatically lubricated all service points using engine oil pressure. In 1932, a centrifugal supercharger, stronger valve springs and tubular steel connection rods were added, boosting power to an intoxicating 320 HP — nearly triple the output of it's nearest competitor, the 115 HP Pierce Arrow. The new chassis was dubbed the Model SJ, and boasted many feats, chief among them was a breathtaking top speed of a claimed 135 miles per hour.

But the times, they were a-changin'. The Great Depression was souring coffers across the country, competition from international rivals was intense, development money was more urgently needed in the Auburn and Cord divisions and as a result the Duesenberg Motors Company withered on the vine. In addition to funding shortages, Duesenberg suffered a terrible loss when brother Fred died in an automobile accident. His engineering capabilities were necessary to replace the unsynchronized three speed transmission previously installed to harness the power of the mighty engine. In its current form the car was difficult to drive in comparison to the competition. As Erritt Cord's empire collapsed under the weight of economic pressure, there was no choice but to shut down the Indianapolis production line in 1937, forever silencing the original grandeur of the marque — but not before one final sale.

Rudolf Bauer arrived in America in 1937 with the hope of securing a copy of the finest automobile chassis in the world, a Duesenberg SJ. Bauer had drawn up plans with the German coach builder Erdmann & Rossi to build the longest automobile ever to grace German roadways. As Rudolf arrived in Auburn, Indiana to place his order, the Indianapolis plant was beginning the shut down process. In spite of this, under the watchful eye of August, workers gathered the remaining parts to assemble one final car, SJ-376.

Word of Bauer's transaction as well as his purchases of US currency made their way back to Germany, and upon arrival home, Rudolf was seized by the Nazis as a pro-western sympathizer and thrown into prison. When news of Bauer's imprisonment made its way across the Atlantic, the shipment of the Duesy to Germany was put on hold. In New York, work was already beginning to free Bauer. Rebay petitioned Guggenheim to use his resources to free Bauer, and in 1939, Rebay was able to secure Bauers release with the assistance of a briefcase full of cash.

Here the plot thickens. Upon their return to the United States, Rebay persuaded Bauer to sign into an agreement which would pay back the cash exchanged for his release. He would receive a mansion on the New Jersey shore, and hold the phone, endow the Guggenheim foundation with the interest from his trust fund - not only that but all of his future works would go directly to the Guggenheim. Bauer was furious when he found out what had happened (he spoke little or no English, he had made the cardinal mistake of trusting a former lover). With that in mind, he gave a big 'eff you' to the contractual scoundrels and never painted again, but that doesn't mean there wasn't plenty of room for car building.

Rudolf contracted the services of Rollson and Creteur, the finest design and fabrication house in the United States at the time, perhaps even the world. He delivered to them a series of three detailed concept sketches and a list of requirements. In the spring of 1940, Bauer took delivery of his Duesenberg.

Bucking trends of the era, the design emphasizes, rather than downplays is massive heft. There are no pontoon fenders leading to running boards, indeed the car features cycle fenders and is completely without running boards. Both original white-wall spare tires rest in the back, helping to bring the total length to twenty feet and six inches. To this day it wears an unretouched original coat of black paint, with a quirky purple interior which makes it somehow more appropriate than a staid black or brown. The war-time fuel ration stickers still reside on the window and the original luggage still lives in the trunk. The car only has 9,884 original miles on its very capable mechanicals — it practically still has that new car smell.

Every automaker is a distillation of the driving force of men with a will to power. Whether the endeavor began in a garage or a boardroom, visionaries always emerge to push towards a passion for perfection. The Duesenberg Model SJ, number 397 embodies the passions of so many visionaries that is nearly transcends the art of the automobile. It stands as a testament to what can be done when the forces of brilliance and vengeance converge — a $2.8 million dollar Nietzschean metaphor.