George Whittell Jr. was exactly the sort of customer Duesenberg had in mind when it created the Model J. He inherited an enormous California fortune, developed a taste for airplanes, boats, exotic animals and extraordinarily expensive automobiles, and reportedly vowed never to work for a living. His menagerie eventually included a pet lion named Bill, while his garage contained no fewer than six new Duesenberg Model Js. Five received bodies from California coachbuilder Walter M. Murphy Company.
The most extraordinary may have been his final Murphy commission. Completed in 1931, chassis 2478 with engine J-460 was built on Duesenberg’s expensive long-wheelbase chassis but configured as a strict two-passenger coupe. Young designer Franklin Q. Hershey gave it an impossibly long hood, low windshield and sweeping fenders, while Whittell specified unusual details including an exhaust cutout, second taillamp and a rare freewheeling device. Its fixed roof was made from brushed aluminum but cleverly shaped to resemble a folding fabric convertible top. Inside, Murphy even installed fake top bows and folding hardware to continue the illusion.
The price was as outrageous as the car. Contemporary documentation puts its cost at roughly $17,000 to $17,500—at a time when a new Ford could be bought for a few hundred dollars. Chrome covered the wheels, spare-tire covers, toolboxes and even the fuel tank. Patent-leather seats, Bakelite interior panels and a Philco radio completed a car intended less as transportation than as a rolling demonstration of what could be built when price barely mattered.
Then Whittell Broke It and Walked Away
For all his enthusiasm for automobiles, Whittell apparently had very little patience when one disappointed him. According to his longtime mechanic Francis Kuboski, Whittell took the new coupe out on one of his first drives without fully understanding how to operate its unusual freewheeling clutch. He burned the mechanism up, pulled the Duesenberg to the side of the road—and left it there.
Not overnight. Not until the next morning.
According to Kuboski’s account, the one-off Duesenberg remained beside the road for 60 days. Whittell eventually had the car recovered, but he reportedly never drove it again. The story sounds almost impossible today, when a unique Model J is treated more like a museum artifact than an automobile. To Whittell, however, it was simply one spectacular machine among many. His collection included multiple Duesenbergs, yachts and aircraft, and he was wealthy enough to treat an automotive masterpiece almost as disposable when it irritated him.
Whittell’s eccentricities became inseparable from the car’s mythology. He was an honorary California fire marshal and equipped some of his automobiles with sirens and red-and-green lights. Stories even place his pet lion Bill aboard the coupe. Yet the Duesenberg itself was remarkably well preserved. Whittell kept it for nearly two decades, before it passed to a new owner.
The Abandoned Duesenberg Became a $10 Million Car
Whittell’s coupe survived with its unique body, chassis and engine intact and passed through only a handful of owners, accumulating just 12,500 miles. Unlike many great prewar automobiles, it was never re-bodied or dramatically altered. A later restoration returned it to its original appearance, and the car earned a class victory at the Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance. Its combination of original components, documented provenance, extraordinary coachwork and association with one of Duesenberg’s most famous customers eventually made it one of the most valuable American automobiles in existence.
That became clear at Pebble Beach in August 2011. Gooding & Company offered the Whittell Coupe at auction, where bidding climbed to $9.4 million before fees and $10.34 million including the buyer’s premium. At the time, it established auction records both for a Duesenberg and for an American automobile. It more than doubled the previous public-auction record for the marque.
The number is remarkable, but the car’s story may be even better. A young Franklin Hershey designed a one-off body for an eccentric millionaire who owned six Duesenbergs, traveled with a pet lion and wanted his fixed roof disguised as a convertible top. Then, after misunderstanding one unusual mechanical feature, that millionaire reportedly left his brand-new custom Duesenberg sitting beside the road for two months and refused to drive it again. Eighty years later, someone paid $10.34 million for it.
