Selling a classic car is difficult. Not just advertising it, dealing with the great unwashed, or worse, unscrupulous antique car flippers, though those can make you pull your hair out. No, for me it was the actual decision to part with it that was the most painful.

Selling a classic car is an emotional come-to-Jesus determination, especially if you’ve owned it a long time.

Making the decision to part with a car you’ve owned for over three decades is difficult. (This and top photo by Geoff Stunkard)

In my recent case, I sold my 1965 Dodge Coronet 500. It was a big-block car, with a 330-hp 383 four-barrel under the hood when I bought it in January 1992. It was packing a 431-inch B-engine stroker (383 block, cut-down 440 crank) with ported Edelbrock heads since 2008, a mill that made enough steam to go 11.72/115, yet was docile enough to drive anywhere.

It was not that I didn’t love it anymore, but after 33 years my priorities shifted. I bought a ’22 Mustang GT for a daily driver, and frankly, I enjoyed driving it a lot more than the old Mopar. No, it isn’t as quick in a quarter-mile, but it stops, steers and sticks in the corners about a million times better. And before you say it, the Coyote-powered Mustang has plenty of soul and personality.

There are several modes, including Track and Drag modes, which I like. No, there is no “Crowd Crash” mode in the menu. I have checked.

Should It Stay Or Go?

Other great cars have made their way in and out of my life over that period, including a ’72 LT-1 Corvette, a heavily modified SVT Mustang Cobra, and a Nova SS with a Dart-built 509-inch big-block street cruiser that went 10.46/130 on 93 octane unleaded.

Somehow, the ‘65 Dodge remained a staple in the garage.

I believe there are four basic types of car nuts: The builders, the middle-of-the-road enthusiasts who keep their vehicles until something better comes along, the serious collectors, and those like me, who enter into long-term relationships with their street muscle.

Type A: I have a friend who builds some pretty cool hot rods. He’ll buy a car, fix it up, paint it, modify the engine, etc., and sooner rather than later, put it up for sale. He was not a flipper, per se. To him, the build is the fun part. After that, he quickly loses interest.

He’ll typically drive them for a little bit after completion, but during the entire project, he is thinking of his next build. He usually makes good money off them, but that’s not the goal. His aim is simply to turn an ordinary car into something special, then move on to the next idea stuck in his head.

Type B: Folks have a certain idea of the cars they want to own, from a ’55 Chevy to an E-body Mopar to Mercury Cougar, etc. Most (not all) are brand loyal.

It’s not vintage or a classic, but it does have 450 SAE net horsepower, air conditioning, and heated and cooled seats. It’s the muscle car convertible I always wanted. (Photo by Jim Campisano)

I think the majority of car folks fall into this category. They buy a car, keep it for a few years, then sell it and buy something else. Of course, some people take this to extremes. I spoke to one guy who told me he’s owned some 75 cars in his life. (He had about 20 at the time.)

A former co-worker of mine had more than that, but never more than a handful at any one time. This included daily drivers, street rods and muscle cars, plus a handful of race cars. Guess he had no problem selling a classic car.

Type C: I’ve known a few very serious car collectors in my life, guys who have the means to buy what they want, when they want, without having to sell anything to finance the purchases. Having a lot of money does not make them less of an enthusiast. Guys like Jay Leno are in this category, though I know a very successful businessman who, at present owns 350 amazing muscle cars. Good for him, I say.

Type D: Me and other nuts who pretty much get married to a car. Twelve years with one, 17 with another, and 33 with the subject of this article. Why? Why not!  A lot of it is that I hate dealing with people who want to buy them. I’d make a lousy salesman.

The Muscle Car Boom

With the introduction of the Pontiac GTO in 1964, the muscle car era was in full swing. At the time, Dodge automobiles were known for their outstanding engineering, powerful engines and unusual styling. The 413 and 426 Max Wedge engines were virtually unbeatable in drag racing, but Dodge did not have a streetable answer for a car like the GTO.

For ’65, the midsize Dodge Coronet was restyled with a clean, purposeful look. The Coronet 500 was a late introduction, and was designed to compete in the muscle car arena. Bucket seats and a console/floor shifter were standard, and it was advertised as a direct competitor to the GTO. Despite a late introduction, production was solid, with roughly 33,300 produced in the first year. Optional engines included the 383 (330 horsepower) and the 426 street wedge (365 horsepower). It had the goods.

I purchased my car on January 24, 1992, in Tuckerton, New Jersey. I traded $1,500 and a 1968 Plymouth Valiant Signet for it. The Coronet was going to be just another in a series of winter beaters.

Somehow, this survivor B-body Mopar became an ongoing love affair that lasted decades.

On the day I purchased it, the Dodge still wore its original yellow paint and factory hubcaps. In fact, except for the vinyl top and front seat covers, everything except the tires was pretty much how it left the factory. To this day, the car has never been in an accident or even a tiny dust-up.

By the end of that first winter I realized two things: 1. The 383 4-bbl drank premium fuel like it was still 30 cents a gallon (and with 10:1 compression, it needed lead additive to keep from knocking). 2. Nearly rust-free, this was far too nice a car to continue being a daily driver in snowy weather, though that is all it had ever been for the first 27 years of its life.

I made it a cruise night special that also competed in NMCA Pure Stock drag racing. It won its class once, with a couple of runner-up finishes. It was also a class winner and runner-up at numerous Supercar Showdown events at Quaker City Dragway in Ohio. The car was driven hundreds of miles to and from every event and proved bulletproof, never letting me down, despite all the age and abuse.

Eventually, I sent the car to a friend’s shop in West Virginia, where it received an extensive restoration, including rust removal, new paint, new interior, etc.

The 383 received a series of small modifications before being replaced by an RHS 396-inch plant, along with a Level 10 Transmission-built 727 TorquFlite. The car ran a best of 13.02 at 103 mph in this trim. Then came the 431, more racing, a move from New Jersey to Florida, and thousands more trouble-free miles.

So why sell it after over 30 years of blissful motoring? A couple of reasons. First, the rust that was fixed in 1994 was reappearing — and then some. At this stage of my life, I did not have the desire to go through another round of bodywork and paint — or the expense. The money from the sale would also help pay off my Mustang GT.

Speaking of which … From the day I brought that Cyber Orange Metallic ponycar home, I drove the Dodge less and less. I was in love with the Mango Stango (pictured here). I found something else to grab my passion.

The Actual Sales Process

Selling a classic car used to be fairly simple. There were good local auto trader-type print magazines, not to mention national publications like Hemmings Motor News. Then came the Internet, eBay Motors, Racing Junk, Bring A Trailer, and so on. The options are dizzying.

There’s also the manner of getting paid. Cash is great, but you have to make sure the bills are real when you are talking tens of thousands of dollars. Cashiers checks, bank checks, etc., are all good options, but if you do this once every 20 years you feel like you’re going to get taken somehow.

First I tried Facebook Marketplace, which I found worthless. I got a couple of messages from bots and/or morons, then my account was cloned. My advice? Stay away. Far, far away.

Then a salesman from a national classic car flipper chain told me they could get me my price. I didn’t realize they’d put a 40 percent markup on said price. Their for-sale price was so unreasonable that even after they dropped it a bunch, it was still preposterous. Out of this I got seven months of free storage and a dead battery.

If you are selling a classic car through this route, ask more up-front questions than I did.

This is what a combination of $1,500 and a Slant Six ’68 Valiant got you in 1992. It drove like a new ’65 Coronet 500. Gotta love the whitewalls and factory wheel covers.

My car was always going to be a tough sell. Most early B-bodies have been turned into Nostalgia Super Stocks or NHRA drag cars. Mine was neither restored to its original condition nor was it wildly modified. It was just a tastefully done street machine.

You hardly ever saw ’65 Coronet 500s for sale, and the ones I did see were mostly, shall we say, not good. Mine was not Bring A Trailer material, so that was out. Ultimately, I took a shot on Hemmings.com’s Make An Offer.

This worked. Finally, the car was sold with as little fuss as I guess is possible. It’s been gone a couple of months now and everyone asks me how much I miss it.

The answer, honestly, is not at all. I did everything a car nut could possibly do with a vintage muscle Mopar, from car shows, drag racing, and cruising, to dating the woman who would become my wife, adding seat belts in the back so my children could ride in it, and going flat-out on the road course at Pocono Raceway when it still had drum brakes and 14-inch tires. That was fun.

Naturally, now I am asking myself what’s next. Of course. Perhaps a ’69-’72 Corvette roadster, perhaps not.

I still love this car very much, but it is time for someone else to enjoy it. I owned it more than half its life! For me, it is on to the next project, whatever that is.

Selling a classic car is not always easy, but it affords you plenty of options — including enjoying what you have and doing nothing more.

What would you do?