As many of you know, the title of my weekly column here at FJY.com was also slated to be the title of a recurring show on the old CJTV site. We got one episode out before the end came. There was a second on in the can. It was a visit with Bruce Cliché, the owner of the massive collection of cars we featured in our Video of the Week blog item last week.
Bruce has 800-1,000 cars on his property in East Calais, Vermont, and they are all (aside from literally 5-10) vintage, desirable, American performance cars. He’s been acquiring stuff since the late ’60s, and although he claims to sell parts, he certainly comes across as more of a buyer.
We shot something like six hours of tape during our visit with Bruce and came away from it feeling extremely conflicted. For starters, the gearhead side of us still reels to this day, months after seeing the property. There are stacks, yes, stacks of first-gen Camaros. Chevelles, Mustangs—you name it, he has it, in multiples. There are Novas and flatfender Jeeps parked on top of old school buses, and in many places the cars are positioned so tightly together that the only way to get around is to walk across their roofs.
Perhaps even more impressive are the dozens of old school buses that are filled with parts. There are trim buses, and buses full of motors and transmissions, and one specifically for Muncie four-speeds.
The trouble for the human side of me came when we entered Bruce’s house. It’s an ancient Vermont farm house, the house he grew up in, and it is, in all honesty, a disaster. The basement is full of parts as one would expect, but the same goes for all of the living quarters. Up in the attic we found a room with consoles and grill parts. Curiously, the room also had a window that faces the entry gate to Bruce’s property. Positioned near that window as a scoped rifle. Sneaking in is not a good idea.
As is turns out, Bruce’s collection cost him his wife, and by his own admission his sons want very little to do with the collection and he has limited contact with them. When he began bringing cars back, his wife saw where this situation was heading and told him that it was either going to be more cars or her. That was about 750 cars ago.
One of the more intriguing things about the place is that many of the cars are rigged to run. They can’t move, and some, like a particular early Nova that we saw, were literally ready to break in half due to rust, but damn it if they didn’t fire right up with a rubber hose in a red fuel can and a starter button hot-wired on the dash. He lit off a big-block Chevy that was sitting on an old tire on the ground. The whole scene was beyond surreal. We’d be looking at cars that seemed to be seconds away from turning to dust, and he’s tell us how good they ran. Hearing it once would have been humorous but hearing it 100 times had us questioning the guy’s sanity.
Bruce has the whole shebang up for sale. He’s looking for something like $1.5 million. Anyway you cut it, it’s a deal—and that’s from a guy who has seen the place in person. Even without the cars, the parts alone are worth that amount.
The funny thing is, as many times as Bruce told us he wished someone would buy the place, I’m 100 percent certain that he doesn’t really want to sell it. Other than his pack of chunky German Shepards, these cars have been the most important thing in his life. He has a story for each and every single one and I can’t imagine what his life would be without the cars.
I went to Bruce Cliché’s place expecting to see some sights that would blow my mind and in that respect I was not disappointed. There are very few places in the world that contain this type of automobilia.
I left Bruce Cliché’s place not knowing how to feel about the collection because frankly, it’s very hollow to have that much stuff and no one to share it with. As bizarre as it may seem in our gearhead world, I feel bad for Bruce. To a large degree, all those cars own him.
