It might elicit a chuckle from purists, the sight of a 1965 Mercedes-Benz 220S sporting genuine wire wheels. In the realm of German automotive sensibilities, this is akin to adorning a Jaguar E-Type with hubcaps – a cultural eyebrow-raiser. Yet, when viewed through a broader lens, this particular, cherished 1965 Mercedes 220S becomes a potent symbol. It embodies the burgeoning American fascination with the three-pointed star during that era. And as with many passionate romances, this automotive affair wasn’t always dictated by pure logic.
When the W111 series debuted in 1959, it was undeniably a marvel of engineering. Pioneering crumple zones in a production vehicle, coupled with disc brakes, independent suspension, overhead camshaft engines, fuel injection, and exceptional high-speed stability, it rightfully claimed its title as potentially the “best or most advanced sedan in the world,” and certainly one of the safest. However, true to the prevailing German design ethos of the time, its engineering was primarily, if not exclusively, tailored for German roads and driving conditions. Ironically, the most overt nod to contemporary American styling trends were the tail fins – a feature that proved to be quite divisive.
Mercedes-Benz, in their official nomenclature, preferred to call these fins “Peilstege,” or “marker bars,” suggesting they were intended to aid in parking maneuvers. While Chief Designer Karl Wilfert later conceded they were “In Rufweit der Mode” – “within shouting distance of fashion” – this was a somewhat contentious stylistic compromise. It was a fleeting flirtation with automotive fashion that wouldn’t be repeated for decades. Regardless, these fins were unlikely a calculated attempt to specifically court American buyers, who, in 1959, represented a relatively small market segment for Mercedes-Benz.
Several factors contributed to this limited initial appeal. The 1965 Mercedes 220S, part of the W111 series, was dimensionally a compact car, its length placing it between the American Ford Falcon and Fairlane of the early 1960s. Its 2.2-liter inline-six engine, while sophisticated, produced a modest 110 horsepower, achieved at a rather high 6,000 rpm, accompanied by a noticeable engine note. This engine, characterized by its buzzy and somewhat strained nature, lacked the low-end torque expected in American sedans and felt more at home in a spirited sports car. The optional four-speed automatic transmission further emphasized this characteristic, shifting frequently and audibly as it worked to manage the car’s substantial weight – a consequence of Mercedes-Benz’s robust structural engineering.
During the 1950s and 60s, even with a favorable fixed exchange rate between the US dollar and the German Mark, Mercedes-Benz vehicles were already positioned as premium-priced automobiles. A mid-range 220S or 220SE model carried a price tag comparable to a Cadillac, a brand still synonymous with American luxury and prestige at the time. In a direct comparison, the Cadillac dwarfed the Mercedes in size, boasted significantly more horsepower (often three times as much), offered superior drivetrain smoothness, and prioritized comfort features favored by American drivers. For the typical American motorist and driving conditions, the Cadillac presented itself as the more logical and appealing choice.
The appeal of Mercedes-Benz sedans in those early decades was largely confined to a specific segment of American buyers: those who appreciated and could afford the subtle refinements, inherent quality, and dynamic driving experience they offered. This demographic often included engineers, driving enthusiasts, and German expatriates – many of whom were a combination of these categories. While the higher-priced Mercedes-Benz coupes, convertibles, and SL roadsters enjoyed a dedicated following among the affluent and celebrity circles, the sedans had yet to establish a significant presence in the mainstream American premium sedan market.
Ironically, the turning point for Mercedes-Benz in the American market coincided with a substantial price surge. This increase was triggered by the devaluation of the US dollar after the fixed exchange rates were abolished in 1971. Consider the 280S model: in 1970, it was priced at $6,273. By 1975, the same model, now badged as the 280S, commanded a price of $15,057 – a staggering two and a half times increase, and double the price of a comparable Cadillac. Counterintuitively, this dramatic price hike seemed to act as an elixir for Mercedes-Benz sales, which experienced robust growth throughout the 1970s, far exceeding the dollar’s devaluation. Mercedes-Benz recognized an opportunity and strategically leveraged it to their financial advantage.
What market dynamics did Mercedes-Benz discern? Several key developments were at play. Between 1963 and 1988, the top federal marginal tax rate in the United States experienced a significant reduction, plummeting from 91% to 28%. This period directly coincided with Mercedes-Benz’s most substantial growth in the American market. Furthermore, the ever-shifting preferences of affluent consumers were also evolving. Packard had been the pre-war symbol of automotive prestige, followed by Cadillac in the immediate post-war decades. Now, the mantle of automotive aspiration was passing to Mercedes-Benz. The perceived decline in Cadillac’s exclusivity, particularly from 1971 onwards, played perfectly into Mercedes-Benz’s strategy. The rapidly escalating prices of a Mercedes-Benz, rather than deterring buyers, paradoxically amplified its prestige and desirability. Luxury goods manufacturers across various sectors have long understood this formula: higher price equates to heightened exclusivity and prestige, even if the product in question is, at its core, a relatively modest 45-horsepower diesel sedan.
Many of these new Mercedes-Benz owners might have been better served, from a purely practical standpoint, by a large, comfortable Detroit luxury car. Anecdotally, complaints about the firm ride quality of Mercedes-Benz models on American city streets were common. These cars were engineered for high-speed Autobahn cruising, a driving scenario rarely encountered by the majority of American drivers, particularly during the era of the 55 mph national speed limit. Unlike their Japanese counterparts who prioritized ride comfort for the American market, as exemplified by the Lexus LS400’s “pillow-soft” ride, Mercedes-Benz remained steadfast in their suspension tuning philosophy. Americans, however, demonstrably embraced the Lexus approach.
Moreover, until Mercedes-Benz’s more expensive S-Class models finally incorporated V8 engines, criticisms of the overworked six-cylinder engines in their sedans were valid, especially as increasingly stringent smog control regulations began to diminish their top-end performance. One personal experience vividly illustrates this point: driving a 250S in the California foothills with four passengers and the air conditioning running, the car struggled noticeably, feeling underpowered and strained. For a vehicle positioned as a luxury car with a premium price tag, this performance deficit was particularly glaring when juxtaposed with the effortless power delivery of Detroit’s big-engined luxury cars, such as a 340-horsepower Chrysler New Yorker, which retailed for approximately 20% less.
In 1965, cars like the Chrysler New Yorker represented a compelling alternative and arguably the most direct competition to the Mercedes-Benz in the American market. Faced with the choice at the time, which car would you have selected?
The “Flossen” Mercedes, with its distinctive tail fins, made its debut during the author’s childhood in Austria. Even as a young boy, the impact of the W111 was undeniable. It was a major sensation, a significant media event, and everyone eagerly anticipated their first real-world sighting. While Austria was considerably less affluent than Germany at the time, the annual influx of German tourists during the summer of 1960 brought the first glimpses of these new Mercedes-Benz models. The excitement was understandable; the W111 symbolized Germany’s resurgence and Mercedes-Benz’s ability to compete directly with the world’s finest large cars, including the then-revered American marques.
Later, a neighbor in Iowa City owned a black 1965 Mercedes 220S sedan, remarkably similar to the one pictured. In that part of the American Midwest, such cars were still quite uncommon, creating a stark contrast to the author’s family’s more utilitarian 1962 Ford Fairlane. The author was captivated by the Mercedes-Benz, especially its intricate engine bay, a showcase of alloy components and mechanical artistry. While the price disparity was largely lost on a younger observer, it was evident that the Fairlane’s small V8 engine delivered its performance with a more relaxed demeanor. The 220SE engine’s high-pitched, almost operatic engine note might have been perfectly suited to winding Alpine roads, but it seemed somewhat out of place on the long, straight roads of Iowa. Context, indeed, profoundly shapes perception.
In the 1970s, these 1965 Mercedes-Benz models could be acquired relatively affordably on the used car market, provided one was prepared for the potential maintenance responsibilities. The author even considered purchasing one, but a past experience tempered that enthusiasm. Years prior, in the Rocky Mountains, the author had been given a ride in a similar Mercedes-Benz driven by some acquaintances. High on Trail Ridge Road, at an elevation of approximately 11,000 feet and miles from any assistance, the car unexpectedly broke down. Examining the engine compartment, while visually appealing, instilled a sense that repairs might be more complex and costly than average. A few years can significantly alter one’s perspective. Hitchhiking onward, leaving the Mercedes-Benz stranded, solidified the realization that the allure of the Benz extended beyond just affluent Americans, but ownership also came with potential complexities.
Reflecting on the wire wheels adorning this particular 1965 Mercedes 220S, perhaps it isn’t such an anomaly after all. In places like Beverly Hills, or similar enclaves of Mercedes-Benz devotion, such customizations were not unheard of, particularly on models like the R107 SL. While personally, the author admits a certain aesthetic aversion to wire wheels on Mercedes-Benz vehicles, America’s cultural melting pot ethos embraces individual expression. Ultimately, the owners of these cars invested their money in what brought them pleasure, and in the realm of personal taste, perhaps there’s a certain logic to that.
