TULSA, Okla. – A concrete vault encasing a 1957 Plymouth Belvedere buried a half-century ago may have been built to withstand a nuclear attack, but it couldn’t beat back the natural onslaught of moisture.
At a Friday ceremony complete with a couple of drum rolls, crews removed a multilayered protective wrapping caked with red mud, revealing a vintage vehicle that was covered in rust and wouldn’t crank.
There were a few bright spots, literally: shiny chrome was still visible around the doors and front fender, and workers were able to put air in the tires.
But the unveiling in front of thousands of people at the Tulsa Convention Center confirmed fears that the past 50 years had not been the kindest to Miss Belvedere.
“I’ll tell you what, she’s a mess. Look at her,” said legendary hot rod builder Boyd Coddington, who was unable to start the thing up as planned.
Event organizer Sharon King Davis, a fourth-generation Tulsan whose grandfather helped bury the Plymouth, joked that the car needed a little Oil of Olay to help it out.
In the trunk, workers meticulously pulled out some of the objects buried with the two-door hardtop to celebrate Oklahoma’s 50 years of statehood – a 5-gallon can of leaded gasoline, which went for 24 cents a gallon in those days, and rusted cans of Schlitz beer.
The contents of a “typical” woman’s handbag, including 14 bobby pins, lipstick and a bottle of tranquilizers, were supposed to be in the glove box, but all that was found looked like a lump of rotted leather.
Workers also searched for a spool of microfilm that recorded the entries of a contest to determine who would win the car: the person who guessed the closest of what Tulsa’s population would be in 2007 – 382,457 – would win.
That person, or his or her heirs, will get the car within a week, along with a $100 savings account, worth about $1,200 today with interest.
The elements could not penetrate a time capsule buried with the car. Its top was sawed off and organizers unfolded an American flag – still bright red, white and blue – sending a rousing cheer through the crowd.
Thousands of people had watched as the car was placed on a flatbed truck about noon CDT and driven to the Tulsa Convention Center for the evening event. Some had arrived downtown before 6 a.m. and endured torrential rain just to get a glimpse of the car.
The suspense was what Pittsburgh car enthusiast Dave Stragand came for.
“It’s our King Tut’s tomb,” Stragand said. “It’s like a fairy tale.”
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