Dave & Neil

Our auto enthusiast community has become smaller and a bit worse for where these days because of the loss of two friends, Dave and Neil.

I called him Doctor Dave.? But he wasn’t a doctor . . . he was a dentist.? I know.? Semantics.

I also called him Drill Sergeant.? That’s because he fought in Viet Nam.

His real name is David Wilhelm and I him met through another car friend, Dave Robertson.? We lost Robertson to cancer a few years back, but Robertson’s irascible love affair with all things automotive allowed him to help organize the annual Art Center College of Design car show at the Pasadena campus.? And to seamlessly move to the other end of the automotive spectrum to twist the arms of the organizers of the Dana Point Concours d’Elegance for a special class for mid-1990s Detroit full-size station wagons for which Dave had a particular affection (affliction), which he passed on to Doctor Dave.

Victoria, Doctor Dave’s wife, hated their fake-wood-trimmed Buick wagon with a passion.? But under the hood lurked a Corvette-derived LT1 small-block V8!? And that Buick wagon would haul ass from a stop light or cruise down the highway in supreme comfort for hours on end . . . or until it was time for a fuel stop.

The other side of Doctor Dave was Ferrari.? He frequently had one or two. ? But he and Victoria also like Astons and the occasional Jaguar.? And as a change of pace, Doctor Dave had a hot rodded Chevy pickup sitting in his driveway.

I knowingly put my teeth in Doctor Dave’s competent hands.? He had a way of putting his patients at ease.? I grew up in Queens, NY with a dentist who, I swear, drilled kids’ teeth just to see them in pain. I liken him to Dr. Christian Szell in the movie Marathon Man starring Dustin Hoffman and Sir Laurence Olivier as the gud doktor Szell.

Doctor Dave loved boats and flying . . . he was a pilot.

He also loved baseball, my favorite sport.? One of Dave’s relatives pitched for the Angels.? I grew up in Yankee Stadium (long story) so I prefer the Bronx Bombers.? Let’s just say that, occasionally, we had coastal differences.

.Devote Christians, Dave and his wife Victoria represent all that is best about America but is sadly, too frequently, missing today: A work ethic and a belief in God.

Doctor Dave passed away recently at his office. Typically, he was there early and suffered a massive heart attack and died instantly.

He will be missed by all of us who knew and loved him, not just for our common interest in things automotive, but for being, Doctor Dave, a friend.

Neil would be Neil Stebbins, a name that is indelibly etched in moguls all around the world.? Neil made his Stenmark writing about skiing for Powder magazine, part of Surfer Publications in Dana Point, Calif.? But Neil was equally adept at making waves in the polar opposite sport of surfing.

How I came to know Neil and to later work with him is more than a bit convoluted.? When I first came to California to work for Car Life magazine, the sister pub to Road & Track, I could not afford to live in Newport Beach where R&T was located.? So my wife and I drove further and further south until we came to a town where we found an affordable apartment.? That would be Dana Point. Living in DP, I knew of Surfer Pubs, but I didn’t know anyone who worked there and never visited their offices.? But a few years later when we moved to Laguna Niguel, a woman named Pat rented the house in Dana Point where we had been living and she worked with Neil and that’s how the intro was made.

For several years Neil was a publishing side bar to me because I was immersed in cars and Neil travelled a totally different world.? But we had a connection via “words” . . .? punishment. Neil enjoyed puns as much as I do.? ?

And I discovered that we had an interest in cars I was totally unaware of.? One day Neil asked me, “What’s your favorite car?”

I quickly responded one word: Dino.

Neil’s expression assumed a somewhat quizzical look and I added:

“Ferrari Dino.? But it was never called a Ferrari because it didn’t have a 12-cylinder motor.? It’s a bambino Ferrari and many of the ones you see in America have had a Ferrari badge added because the owner has an ego problem!”

“Oh,” Neil responded, “I‘ve got a doctor friend up in Santa Barbara who has a Fly Yellow Dino . . . and it’s for sale.? Are you interested?”

The following weekend my wife and I travelled up to Santa Barbara to look at the car.? We visited the Dino at a car show where it was on display, but the doctor was no where to be found.

For me, it was love at first sight.? I’m sure everyone has their “perfect car.”? I fell in love with the Dino the first time I saw a photo of one, and my first R&T road test just reinforced all my feelings:? The Dino just fit me!? Every control “fell right to hand.”

We never found the doctor that day, and Neil didn’t know the asking price, but he said he’d find out.

Two days later I got a call. It was Neil. “The doctor’s looking for around $50K.? The car’s perfect.”

I replied, “Let me think about it.”

That was a mistake.? I let logic overwhelm lust.? A wife, a kid, another on the way . . .

$50K was a reasonable price . . . if you had the money . . .

So the Dino disappeared from my dreams, but I learned a bit about Neil: His love for things automotive.

Years later, I hired Neil to work at R&T.? His common-man approach to writing about cars was in sharp contrast to the typical R&T story.? But his stories resonated with readers the same way Peter Egan’s stories did.

A decade after leaving R&T I helped create Driving Media. My mission was to develop one of the first automotive websites, not an “enthusiast magazine” website, but rather a B to B.

One of my first hires was Neil because of his common sense way with words and cars.

During one of our first discussions I said to Neil, “I gotta find someone who can shoot cars!” And then I added, “And that ain’t easy because most photographers have no sense for how to shoot a car.? They want to park it on grass—cars don’t drive on grass—or they use backgrounds that make no sense. ? I need the next Jeff Zwart."? (Jeff, if you aren’t aware, started his innovative photography and video career shooting for R&T, thanks to the incredible vision of Bill Motta, R&T’s art director.)

Neil uttered two words: “Bruce Benedict.”

“Who?” I responded.? “I don’t know the name.”

“Shoots for Surfer Pubs.? He’s got an eye.” Neil responded.

“Skiing and surfing?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Neil.? “But Bruce can shoot anything.? He’s great.”

“Cars are different,” I replied.? “I’m skeptical, but give him a call and we’ll talk.”

Two days later Bruce walked into our Redhill Ave offices.? I handed him the keys to one of our test cars and gave him the following precise directions: Just shoot what you think the reader would want to see if he or she owned that car.”

“Okay,” Bruce responded, and off he went.? When he returned a few hours later, I asked, “How’d it go?”

“I think I got what you wanted,” Bruce said matter-of-factly.? “But let me get the film developed and then we can chat.”

Two days later Bruce was back at our offices with a couple of boxes of slides.

“Have a look and let me know what you think,” Bruce said.

I was stunned.? The location, the wall, the angles, the details . . . It was as if Bruce had been shooting cars all his life.? I thought to myself, “He doesn’t know it, but he’s the second coming of Jeff Zwart.”? And I hired him on the spot.

That was Neil!

Sadly, we recently lost Neil to cancer.? Bruce organized a farewell luncheon in Dana Point for friends, relatives and editorial irritants like me.? Neil is gone, but his words will live on . . .

If you haven’t read anything written by Neil, you should.