IN THE NEWS
A home for chrome Published Saturday April 27, 1996 By RON HARTUNG, Tallahassee Democrat Devoe 'free enterprise' moore unveils his collection of the auto kingdom's best and brightest. Before you get to the one-of-a-kind roadster built for Henry Ford's brother, to the horse-drawn hearse reported to have carried the body of Abraham Lincoln, to the '57 Chevy that earned 998 out of 1,000 points in national competition, to the bright red Kaiser Darrin whose doors slide forward into the fenders, to the breathtaking '31 Duesenberg reportedly appraised at more than $1 million - before you get to any of those, you encounter the credo of DeVoe Moore. It is not about cars. Called "A Tribute to an Era Gone By," it states: "(This) collection has been made possible by an individual living and working under a democratic government that allowed and encouraged a 'Free Enterprise' System . . . who started with nothing, received nothing, and worked his way through Florida State University as a (blacksmith). . . . "Unfortunately, the 1990s ushered in the era of the political bureaucrat, 'an official who works by fixed routine without exercising intelligent judgment.' . . ." Welcome to the Tallahassee Antique Car Museum. Cars in the west wing; a sprinkling of antique furniture, stained glass and other items so far in the east wing; knives, toys and other collectibles in the lobby; a soft-spoken but passionate lecture on the Comprehensive Plan never far away. Clearly, though, the main attraction is the automobile. When he was in his 30s, probably starting with a '31 Ford like the one he used to drive, Moore began collecting. Slowly, watching for estate sales, keeping plugged in, making deals, he picked up car after car. If you've lived here awhile, you might have seen some of them in parades or on display at the old Northwood Mall. But Tallahassee had never seen them all together. These 34 cars (five more are on the way), bedded down in a strikingly mirrored room, are gorgeous. "I've been in museums all over, public and private," said Bob Justus of ELW Automotive Specialists in Chatsworth, Ga., where he restores classic cars. "He has probably some of the finest cars that I've seen in the country. "His enthusiasm is what really impressed me. . . . I think the potential of that museum is unlimited." "I never get tired of walking through here," Moore says as he begins another lap around his showroom. He loves to tell the stories: "Look at that axle," he says admiringly, pointing at his 1913 Car-Nation Tourer, one of only three known to exist. Then his tone sours: "Now look at the axle on that Buick - and Buick was a rich man's car. You stop to think of how they built a car like (the Car-Nation) in 1913. Such craftsmanship." The '56 Thunderbird "was owned by an old, eccentric man who would not take the car out of the garage if it looked like it was going to rain. This T-Bird has 21,000 actual miles and it's all original - even the paint." This is probably his favorite. Why did that '57 Chevy fall two points short of perfection in the '94 Chevrolet Meet in Nashville? "A spring punched a little hole in the front seat," he says. "And maybe the harbor blue is a shade or two darker than the original." (He has three other national first-place winners, too.) The wild '54 Kaiser Darrin has a fiberglass body, a three-position convertible top and doors that slide forward. And that grille: It's a chrome-plated cross between luscious lips and abstract teeth. Imagine having a '78 Corvette and never, ever driving it. No one has driven it since it was bought from Bill McKemie Chevrolet with only 15 miles on it. It's not a car, it's an adventure Finally, there's the Duesenberg. Clark Gable drove one. Howard Hughes drove one. God probably drives one. "That's a piece of art," says Bob Justus, the classic-car restorer, who was here about five weeks ago. The Model J is called the longest production car ever made in this country. Its wheelbase was 153.3 inches. To compare, trot down to the other end of the showroom and measure the '57 Chevy: 115 inches. To call this merely a luxury car is to insult it. The base price just for the chassis - remember this was 1931, when Model A's were selling for less than $500 - was $9,500. For the rest, add at least $20,000. His Duesy, he says, was appraised at $1.25 million. "I'd like to clarify that," he adds dryly. "I don't have anywhere near that. (The people who sold it) were asleep; I was alert." He has had plenty of offers. "I had a guy offer me right at three times what I paid for it," he says, politely declining to get more specific. "I know where five more are, but I don't have the money." Finally, a reason to come to Tallahassee He tells this story about one of his first visitors: "The day after Christmas, this 85-year-old man - I didn't know then how old he was - was wandering around outside. I went out and asked, 'Sir, can I help you?' First thing he said was, 'I'm 85 years old and I'm from Missouri. I hear there's a car collection around here.' " He was ushered inside. Later, beaming, he gushed to his host: "I just want to shake your hand. I've been here two weeks staying with my granddaughter, and I've been bored to death." Until now. From blacksmith to builder to collector DeVoe Moore really did start out as a traveling blacksmith. In fact, after the Democrat wrote about this enterprising 25-year-old FSU student who made $7.50 an hour shoeing horses out of the back of his pickup truck, the story spread around the country. He was majoring in criminology, "but I didn't get my degree - because I went into business." His first business was Tallahassee Clutch and Brake. That expanded into Fleet Supply. In 1972, Airport Industrial Park launched him as a builder. Now he has not only a car collection but a building collection: three Fort Knox Executive Office Buildings, four Fort Knox storage facilities and more. (Are you a millionaire, sir? Pause. "I don't think about net worth. I seem like an ordinary guy to you, don't I?") In the late '80s, when the city and county started tightening up regulations on builders, he ran smack into "bureaucrats." He says the car museum was permitted back in '89 - "and we're not even finished with it yet." His voice is soft, but his impatience is unmistakable. He feels unappreciated for the ways in which he's trying to improve Tallahassee's vaunted "quality of life." Charles Wright admits it: He's a bureaucrat. He even sounds like one: "(The museum) is going to be a major addition to the Tallahassee tourism product line." As head of the Leon County Tourist Development Council, he sells Tallahassee to the world. He has seen the car museum in Detroit, and "Let me just say this: There is nothing in the Ford museum that is any better than what (Moore) has."