In piano player Lang Lang’s autobiography, he recalled that when he first arrived at the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia, the other students on campus, upon hearing that he played classical music, simply replied, “Dead people’s music!”.
This suggests how eager the young people at Curtis were to create. Perhaps it also suggests that the importance of revisiting the legacies of those who have passed away was being underestimated. What it made me think about is: cars from an earlier era are just like classical music. The people who created them will leave along with their era, and then perhaps fewer and fewer people will remember the correct way to demonstrate them. By then, they will be called “dead people’s cars.”
In the first week of September 2026, after feeling reassured by my children’s first two days in primary school, I set off for Shanghai. A few weeks earlier, I had let Tong, a friend I had not seen for a long time, know about my visit. One day afterward, she sent me some photos she had just taken. “Are you coming to Shanghai for this?” I saw several three-pointed stars vehicles on display indoors. On an orange floor stood a yellow C111-1, a dark gray 300 SL Gullwing, and an SLR Stirling Moss. These are expensive and prestigious collectibles from Mercedes-Benz Museum.
“Of course not.” I had never heard that these cars would be exhibited in Shanghai, but I was not surprised either. In recent years, Mercedes has become very active in reminding people of its glorious history, even coming to China, where such efforts would have little effect. My sole purpose in going to Shanghai was to meet my Russian friend Seit, who is, in practice, the guardian of my Beatrice. Because of the import ban, I have never been able to bring Beatrice home, and Seit and his shop have been looking after her since 2017. We had not seen each other since COVID, and then came the Russia–Ukraine war. Although Shanghai is not close to me, this was his first visit to China, I had to welcome him as a gesture of respect.
Seit had come to Shanghai to visit the most important leather industry exhibition in China. He owns LeTech, a leading company in automotive leather restoration business in Russia. While he was still busy with business meetings, I first met Tong once my plane landed—the lady who had reminded me of the presence of those used Mercedes in Shanghai. After one lunch and two coffees, we still had some time. “Do you want to go and check your Mercedes?” I hesitated. I was about to say no, but instead I said, “Sure, why not?” In this enormous metropolis where I felt little sense of belonging, a few used cars bearing the three-pointed star might be the things that made me feel least alone.
If your friends understand you and are willing to do things with you that do not particularly interest them, you should be grateful, and return the favor when you have the opportunity. But Tong and I were already past the stage of flattering each other. Instead, hearing “your Mercedes” from her made me feel almost offended. I had thought she would understand me a little better. So before we arrived, we began a debate about stereotypes. Those Mercedes were, of course, not “mine,” either physically or psychologically. Just as Tong loves coffee but turns her nose up at “my” Starbucks.
The words “Mercedes-Benz” are like “coffee” in its broadest sense. Such drink has been developing for 140 years. When people talk about “Mercedes,” there are clearly as many schools of thought as there are with coffee, and I belong to just one of its churches. The other places are certainly good, and I once had the ambition to visit every sanctuary. It is simply that this little church already holds too many fascinating mysteries that I still do not understand. Before I believe I have reached the end, I would rather settle down in this little church and be an obscure teacher. I am quite certain that not only do I need this place, but this place also needs me.
The exhibition was housed in a beautiful, freestanding glass building in downtown Shanghai. The new surroundings brought our metaphysical debate to a pause. Upon entering, the first things presented without preamble were two new cars. I forgot to photograph them, but I remember them being a GLC and a SL. To borrow a Chinese saying, they were the vinegar for which this plate of dumplings had been made. Think of them as the souvenir shop on the unavoidable route through an amusement park. You can choose to ignore them, but you should realize that they are the reason this place still exists. Incidentally, many people complain about the design of new Mercedes, but I think the latest C and GLC are fine. By comparison, the earlier CLA mocks everyone who paid for one.
A few steps farther in, hidden behind the first wall, is the C111-1, against a matching orange background. As it happened, this is the car in the building that interested me most—not because of any physiological response. I believe very few men could be sexually aroused by the C111’s styling or performance. Before this, I had never seen any C111 in person, had not been particularly interested in it, and did not know how many had been built. But I noticed that this was not the same car Simon Kidston had photographed at the Peterson Museum one week ago. This one has black side mirrors and windshield wipers pointing in the opposite direction. I then did a little searching and learned that as many as six C111-1s had been made.
Look at those 215/70 R15 minivan tyres that my six-year-old son would turn his head back. Compared with the styling or stance, which has a rather powerful libido-suppressing effect, what I most wanted to see is the genuine roughness of an early development vehicle such as the C111. If, like me, you have a passion for various kinds of prototypes, this is one of the very few opportunities to encounter a real example, because almost all prototypes of cars that subsequently entered production were destroyed. My first concern is the paintwork and bodywork. If they had been uneven from the beginning and covered in the scars of merciless use, that would have been wonderful. They would bear witness to the pioneering spirit and courage of these cars, and indeed of that era.
But I should already have recognized from the earlier photos that this car had been completely repainted, because the paint looked immaculate in the pictures. Fortunately, its gullwing doors, one of its few styling highlights, were open, offering a few more clues. The downward-facing, concealed area around the door latch, which had not been particularly important during the restoration, was exposed by the opening of the gullwing door. This area had not been properly preserved. The new paint along the edge had already cracked, revealing the color of the old paint underneath, which appeared to be a darker orange.
This must mean something. As test vehicles, these cars’ original Weißherbst Orange Metallic should have been rough and aged, rather than the remarkably silky, brand-new light metallic orange seen today. Look at those fine metallic particles. It looks more like the paint on a modern production car. A thought suddenly occurred to me: the Vision One-Eleven concept car presented by Gorden Wagner in 2023. That car was a tribute to the C111. I guessed that they had refreshed the old C111’s paint to match the new concept car. After all, not everyone appreciates a tired old coating.
I found this disappointing. But a moment later, my eyes, afflicted by an occupational habit, picked up something of interest. As your gaze moves across these apparently flawless layers of clearcoat, the spots of light produced by the ceiling spotlights occasionally illuminate one dark point after another. This means there are small craters in the paint. In the painting trade, these little spots are known as fisheyes. The causes of fisheyes can be quite elusive, and they are difficult to completely avoid in my works too. But one thing I am certain of is that every car I have completed has far fewer fisheyes than this one. Because its passanger side and rear were inaccessible, and the doors were open, I could actually inspect only its hood. And there were four fisheyes in just the small area I videod.
Probably out of boredom, Tong was quietly photographing me from a distance. I decided to make myself a little useful that day, so I called her over to test her eye and have her look for problems in the paintwork. This might be the moment when a mechanic can best demonstrate his expertise. There were no visible dust nibs in the current paintwork. That was certainly a strong point, indicating a clean working environment. But there was no orange peel either. They must have cut the clearcoat heavily, either to remove dust nibs or simply to achieve an abusolute mirror finish. However, the clearcoat did not look particularly thick. Considering that this is a car full of curves, heavy cutting risked going through the clearcoat, so this is state of the art.
But there were also some problems. The ceiling lights exposed the sanding marks on the curves along the sides beyond any doubt. These resulted from insufficiently thorough sanding, because you could see the individual tracks left by the sandpaper moving along the contours. In fact, with this color, the problem could still have been spotted and corrected after the basecoat had been sprayed and before the clearcoat was applied.
In addition, along the edges of the black stripes at the rear of the body, you could see the hard boundaries left by the masking tape: both the straight lines and sharp corners at the bends, and the step between the black edge and the orange paint. There were also scattered white spots that seemed to extend from within the paint to its surface. It looked as though water had splashed onto the paint before it had cured. I had never dealt with this situation before.
Oh, and apart from some unnecessary economies and imperfections in the details, such as the damaged hub caps that had been repainted, I had forgotten to emphasize another of its obvious strengths. The metallic particles in this metallic orange were not easy to handle, but I saw no signs of mottling. Even if there were imperfections, the strong ceiling lights must have subdued them. Mottling is easier to detect under diffuse light. In any case, I could see that the facilities and materials used to restore this car were up to the task, but the spirit of those involved was a weak point. By then, Tong was becoming impatient with what she was hearing. “You car smith are really annoying,” she said.
An attractive young lady, who’s also a member of the staff, must have noticed that I had lingered longer than the average visitor, and decided to come over and offer me a little service within the scope of her duties. She began introducing the car to me, and out of politeness, I tried to perform that I did not know much about it—which, indeed, I did not. I was then kindly reminded that I could not touch the car—literly the cracks—and the distinctive engine she had described in a charming way could not be shown to me. To reassure me that everyone was treated equally, she openly admitted that the car had been pushed into the exhibition hall rather than driven in. Judging by the heavy oxidation on the brake discs, I trust her. This car had not applied its own brakes for a long time.
Tyres were manufactured in the 42nd week of 2013, while the odometer showed 20853 km, which was quite a lot for a prototype that was not intended to validate its manufacturing potential. I tend to believe that the odometer had not already rolled over once. If so, there would originally have been a good chance of preserving the original paint. I really wish that cars whose original paint can still be preserved could show people what they originally looked like. At least that would be much better than the “perfect” new paint that looks glamorous on the surface but cannot conceal its minor flaws. But perhaps authenticity no longer matters to anyone today, because the 1969 C111-1 is a “dead people’s car.” Most of the people who once worked on this project have grown old and died.
Talking to someone with a strong interest in the exhibits was probably one of that lovely young lady’s duties, but we really had nothing more to say to each other, which might have made her appear negligent. So I started walking toward the next stopping point to make the situation feel more natural. The second exhibit is an SLR Stirling Moss. This was definitely a living people’s car, and it was also my first time seeing one, but I was not particularly interested. Still, to me it looked much better than the usual SLR McLaren. At least its design was more timeless. I knew very little about this car and was simply surprised by how coarse the metallic particles in its silver paint were, like snow on a television screen. Also, the front bumper had definitely been repainted. Its particle size did not match that of the body.
We did not linger beside the young SLR Stirling Moss for long before moving on to the third car, the dark gray 300 SL Gullwing. Its color is beautiful, and I also liked its non-Rudge wheels with the stars. But, unfortunately, there is no information at the venue about this particular car. There was no plaque giving its year or history, only a huge 300 SL relief on the wall and a general introduction to the model series. Perhaps the Germans had long since realized that explaining such things in China was like playing music to a cow. If there was still some room for debate over whether the C111 could be called a dead people’s car, there was no doubt about the 300 SL. Fortunately, because it is a popular collectible, the specialists who study it are still reproducing.
Dingling, dingling! It is hard to believe that I would see a W140 part on a 300 SL, or even anywhere in this building, but there it is! I spotted the little silver object on the edge of the wheel rim almost within the first few seconds. It’s a balance weight and its retaining spring—no shit! But it’s not an ordinary balance weight. It’s a part still used in the W140 era. Apart from the 18-inch 5-Loch wheels, all of the W140’s old-school 16-inch rims have that lip for mounting this type of balance weight. The spring’s part number A1244010728 begins with A124, meaning that it was first used on the W124. As for the balance weight itself, this one should be A1244013694.
In the W124 / W140 era, balance weights were trapezoidal, with a curved top. They looked more deliberately designed. The later replacement parts from R171 were simply bulky rectangles. The one in the photo should weigh 10 gram, because its shape is the smallest size, but its material was zinc alloy rather than the plastic used for the 5 gram —I broke the rules and touched it. I knew nothing about the W198, but judging by the fitment, it probably should not have been installed here. Someone had tried to hammer it into place with a heavy tool, but it still had not seated properly. A little paint on the rim edge had been sacrificed in the process. The lip of this rim appeared to be wider than that of a W124 / W140 rim, so the spring and weight don’t fit the rim.
Never underestimate the shearing force of that little piece of steel as it moves. Every installation or removal of one of these old-school springs can scratch the paint on the rim. My method for dealing with this is a one-time installation. I generally first install a 5g weight in a fixed position as decoration. Of course, installation requires a lubricant and the plastic hammer used for PDR, and this usually does not damage the paint. I then dynamically balance the entire wheel, attaching the non-factory zinc-alloy weights that do the actual work to the inside of the wheel. This both avoids frequent future changes to the external weight and its position, and expresses the car’s authenticity. These little parts are absolutely part of the car.
I was rather excited to ask Tong whether she knew what a black rim fitted with a silver balance weight looked like when wheels spining slowly. It is rather embarrassing, as though a piece of chewing gum has unfortunately become stuck to the tyre’s sidewall! My Persian Kitty is like that. Without the plastic hubcap fitted, this otherwise quite appropriate detail can embarrass the owner. Incidentally, Persian Kitty, with its steel rims, better fit another retaining spring, A1264010828. It is black, matching the black steel rim. The silver spring should be used on silver alloy wheels, so I thought this spring was wrong in any case. But in photos of this car from a few years ago, it already had this balance weight.
When I returned home, I checked ISPPI and found that the correct spring and balance weight for the W198 should be a one-piece component specific to the W198. Its price can no longer be found in the aftersales system, and I could not find any pictures on Google either, so it must have been discontinued a long time ago. Although reproducing parts for the W198 could be a profitable business, they had not paid attention to this little thing, simply using a newer—but still not particularly new—replacement. Because this trapezoidal W124 balance weight has also been discontinued, and I do not have much stock left, the thought that a suitable host for these parts would miss out on one made this a truly extravagant mistake!
This car appears to have been in the Mercedes Museum’s collection for a long time; the photo above was taken in 1987 as it has file number 87F461. Back then, it had what looked like integrated balance weights specific to the W198, with two on the left rear wheel. The material appears to be dark gray lead, which is closer to the color of the rims. Interestingly, today each wheel on this car has exactly one 10g weight, so was it just for decoration, like mine? I’d rather believe they’re the same car because the paint, interior, and wheels are identical. But if you compare them closely, the display car has an extra driver’s side mirror and a MERCEDES-BENZ badge under the driver’s door (the passenger side doesn’t have one). It would be sad if they added the mirror to make the car more convenient for use at some media events.
This 300 SL is probably already a product of 60 years ago, so however valuable and well preserved it might be, it was understandable that its paint was no longer original. But a dark solid color combined with clearcoat is like a mirror that reveals demons. It will not produce disordered metallic particles, but it will mercilessly expose every inadequacy in the preparation underneath. This car had likewise been heavily cut to a mirror finish, perhaps fulfilling the collective wishes of amateur connoisseurs. Such a mirror finish is even less forgiving of imperfections in the panels. Unfortunately, the grid lights overhead shone as brightly as the sunroof of a Maybach 62, reflecting sanding marks that would otherwise have been difficult to spot in the dark paint. And there was a gentle, broad dent in the trunk lid. Had someone once leaned on it in a less than gentlemanly manner?
There was actually a 540 K nearby as well, which lay far beyond my knowledge. We also found a book about Maybach on the table, and it seemed to have been translated by a friend of mine. I have the 2002 edition of this book, in which the W240 was the main character, so I was looking forward to finding another W140 element under this roof. But there were very few entries for the W240 chapter in the contents, and the 1997 concept car did not appear either. Tong, however, found something that interested her: a bottle of liquor photographed alongside a new Mercedes-Maybach. “Do you know what this is?” she asked. “I don’t, but they are showing people that liquor can elevate that car’s standing.” Tong said it was not the best champagne. She is always trying to brainwash me into believing that Krug is the best.
I often say one thing to people who find fault with my work: people who can identify problems but cannot solve them are the least welcome. Today I was going to become the least welcome person, silently. Tong was the only person who heard any of the things above, and I did not mention on Instagram at all that I had been here. I believe the dark yellow paint beneath the C111’s skirts, the snowflake-like metallic particles on the SLR Stirling Moss, and the balance weight on the W198’s wheel rim all have their own stories, but the answers were not to be found around us. On the surface, no one had done anything wrong, because it was like Mozart neither praising nor criticizing Lang Lang. These cars’ creators, and the audiences, are no longer here.
Would the W140 that I watch over be a dead people’s car? If it were not, we would not be here. The various misunderstandings and false stories about the W140 are truly distressing, making me feel that most of the people who understood it have died. Just as a reminder, even the youngest employees who participated in developing it should be retired by now. If someone had been fortunate enough to join the development of the new S-Klasse immediately after graduating from university in 1990, then at 24 he would have been born in 1966, making him exactly 60 this year. Of course, the people who truly understood this car would be much older. They should already have reached middle management in the 1980s. To echo the title of this article, below is a startling list.
Edzard Reuter 1928-2024
Bruno Sacco 1933-2024
Klaus-Dieter Vöhringer 1941-2024
Werner Breitschwerdt 1927-2021
Jürgen Hubbert 1939-2021
Rudolf Hörnig 1930-2019
Kurt Obländer 1927-2008
Werner Niefer 1928-1993
This kind of exhibition is a newly fashionable phenomenon in Shanghai, called a pop-up. The staff said that this exhibition would continue until December. Hopefully that when the automobile’s age reaches 141, the exhibition will not lose its meaning. There are many exhibitions like this around the world. I hope that while people enthusiastically pose with the exhibits to display their ownership of art, they can also gain some lasting inspiration.
I don’t expect everyone who walks in here to be curious about the paint’s original shade or the balance weight. It is simply that when someone finally becomes interested in these details, there should preferably still be traces to follow, and someone who can answer. New understanding can arise, provided that the original evidence remains recognizable. The old evidence should not be erased. Otherwise, the new understanding that emerges may be water without a source, a tree without roots.
I return to my own little church and continue being an obscure teacher. What I know is incomplete too, so I must keep looking for people who can answer questions, ask the questions that there is still time to ask, and leave behind the answers that can still be preserved. One day, the W140 will also become a “dead people’s car,” and at most we will become a few insignificant names in its history. There is nothing regrettable about that. I simply hope that there will still be people willing to understand it then, and that the work we do today will leave them with a little less to guess about.