From Porsche magazine, April 1971.

Interesting comparison, from Adventures of a Vintage Car Collector by
Alan L. Radcliff.

>>Life settled down again after this mixed event. One day early in
1969, while driving down LeJeune Road in Miami, a '39 Cadillac
Fleetwood caught my eye in a gas station, the red and white "For
Sale" sign prominently displayed in the rear window. Mildly curious,
I stopped to look. A few feet away I then noticed a faded maroon '67
Lamborghini 400 GT 2+2. Inquiring of the attendant, I learned that it
too was for sale. To my surprise in checking it over, I found that
this rare car was apparently in perfect condition. Only the paint was
faulty. The interior fawn colored leather was in almost new
condition, the engine was immaculate. This was indeed a mystery. Why
was this exquisite automobile here of all places, and for sale? I was
advised to inquire across the street at the C.I.T. office, where I
learned that it had been repossessed from the owner. The paint
deterioration was explained as having resulted from exposure to sun,
salt-spray, and wind at the owner's beach house. Here was a prize
indeed. The next day, almost compulsively, I returned with a sports
car mechanic, satisfied myself that it was in perfect condition, and
made my bid. The deal was consummated rapidly, as the loan company
recognized the difficulty of quickly disposing of this rare,
extraordinary machine. This was now the third departure for me from
the vintage car boundaries, but certainly the "Lamb" was a vintage
car in its own right, as were the previous Jaguar and the big, blond
Mercedes Benz.

Within a week, the Lamborghini was in the reliable commercial paint
shop that worked over the Aston. We selected a very special
iridescent emerald green lacquer, the perfect foil for the natural
colored leather interior. It was a marvelous paint job, and was
further offset by an inspired covering of the hardtop roof with a
creamy tan, padded vinyl top, installed by our favorite upholsterer
in South Miami. When a renowned, international artist friend of mine,
Frank Kleinholz, saw it for the first time, he exclaimed, "It's pure
poetic sculpture!"

We now had moved up to a total of eight cars; 6 antique classics, a
Buick Riviera, and a newly acquired Buick Electra convertible. The
party in the courtyard was getting bigger all the time. It was
decided, therefore, to sell the BMW posthaste to take the load off
our parking facilities, and this was accomplished easily in a few
days, without too much sentiment, via an ad in the Miami Herald.

The Lamborghini became our major plaything. It was also instrumental
in making a warm friendship with a local resident, George Shelley, a
true sports car fan. One day while swooping down our street around
the big curve, I almost came nose-to-nose with a brilliant red 400 GT
Lamborghini heading uphill in the opposite direction. We both slammed
on the brakes, and exchanged animated "hello's." It seems George had
heard there was now another Lamb in the area, and had come looking
for it. We signalled him to make a "U" turn, and he followed us back
to our house. Then and there we had the first Lamborghini rally in
the Miami area! The two, still-panting, exotic speed demons were
placed side by side (George called them Kissin' Cousins) and a series
of photos was snapped with great pleasure.

This was the beginning of my tangential sports car compulsion.
Several months later I heard about a perfect Silver/red leather 1968
Ferrari 330 GTC, and the virulent fever of the great Italian sports
cars caught me in its grip for the second time. I brought it home on
my wife's birthday as medicine and cure for a mild case of bronchial
pneumonia she was battling at the time. We were now back to the
apparently inescapable number of 8! The almost new Ferrari, which had
belonged to a former racing car driver, was in immaculate condition,
and needed only a good waxing and some leather softening treatment.
With both great Italian cars to choose between, my problem of
conspicuous consumption became as challenging as deciding what color
of tie to wear in the morning. To tell the truth, I did feel too
opulent with both, and when the maintenance and repair problems
began, I learned why there were so few of them around. As great as
these cars are known to be, they are also as sensitive and skittish
as thoroughbred racehorses. One standard problem in semi-tropical
climates is the pulsing engine heat-buildup. It doesn't take very
long for the needle to creep up past the "safe" line, while you're
hung up in traffic in 90 degree weather. This in turn begets other
difficulties such as plug and valve fouling and ignition burnout.
It's routinely necessary to roar up the expressways heading nowhere
in particular, and blow out the carbon, watching in the rear view
mirror for a State Trooper. Even though only a minute may be required
to pop the cork, try to explain 120 mph for half a mile to the
guardians of our highways. In Europe there are no speed limits-so
it's a lot easier to stay on top of this absolute requirement.

The subjective difference between the Lamb and the Ferrari, driving
them alternately, was quite exhilarating. The Ferrari GTC, famous for
its transaxle, available only in this 330 GTC model, is a flyaway
thundering machine, growling and roaring at the slightest
acceleration of the gas pedal. It's a wild, "for kicks" car, and
everyone admits that the fuss-and-feathers is deliberately built in
for the owner's gratification. It also has the obvious danger in city
traffic of engendering a heady bravura, an aural rapture that can
spell trouble to the uninitiated driver and to adjacent automobiles!
My eventual opinion, after more than a year of exercising prodigious
self-control on the streets and expressways, was that this noisy
roustabout is best suited to the Autostradas of Italy, and to their
own citizens' fiery and debonair natures. What a perfect pair, they
make.

By contrast, the Lamborghini is a superb understatement of silken,
silent power. Exhaust noises are refined and sophisticated-a smooth,
harmonious tune, almost musical to the senses. Its thrust and getaway
parallel that of the Ferrari without the frightening roar and
fireworks; one feels a sense of security and pleasure that is a
decided psychological safety factor. The utter perfection of this V-
12, with its six Weber carburetors hissing whisper-soft, is one of
the greatest feelings I have ever known behind the wheel of any
motorcar. No wonder dual V-12 Lambs are installed in speed-record
racing hull boats. Some have been wound up to over 200 miles per hour
on the water.

After the eventual sale of this spiritually enriching automobile
about a year later, I felt a strange regret and nostalgia, but
conversely, memories of the GTC Ferrari are filled with delight and &
sort of laughter-who-needs-it feeling. It was a great experimental
period for me. Bobbie sort of watched with patient understanding and,
I'm sure, much personal concern, until I had had my fill of both of
these demanding objects d'heart, and finally disposed of them as a
tribute to my life insurance policies.
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