A classic cure for the blues

Don Rohrer fills prescriptions.

Upset about a Zags loss? Try the crimson ‘71 Camaro.

Golf game in the tank? Fill ‘er up with ‘50 Mercury convertible.

Rohrer, proprietor of Rohrer’s Select Cars, says he once cured a woman’s depression by selling her a ‘56 Chevrolet. A counselor told the woman, distraught following the death of her mother, that she should find something that would bring back good memories. That something was a Bel Air like one her mother had owned.

Rohrer’s showroom is packed with 53 four-wheel cures, and walls full of automotive memorabilia besides. Posters, license plates, hubcaps, grilles, even dashboards, cover every surface. Large model airplanes hang overhead.

At the back of the shop are two neon signs, cleverly paired. A large white one says “PRESCRIPTIONS.” Below it, in bright red, “For Fun.”

Rohrer, 71, has been taking his own medicine since he was 15 years old. He swapped a bicycle for a Model T Ford that did not run, which was the only reason his father let him keep it. Rohrer says he soon had it roadworthy, and a lifelong career/hobby began.

He worked for Buchanan Chevrolet until 1964, when he bought Third Avenue Motors. It wasn’t much.

“Fifty cars, and the sign and the gas can for $10,000,” he recalls. “There wasn’t anything worth more than $695 retail.”

The heaps sold fast, often to airmen from Fairchild Air Force Base. So Rohrer would grab an early Sunday edition of The Spokesman-Review, peruse the car ads, and spend the rest of the day wheeling and dealing to get vehicles he could put on the lot the following week.

After a brief hop to Second Avenue, he moved his business to North Division at Bridgeport. He bought and sold vintage vehicles, setting aside a few for his own collection. Sometimes by necessity. For example, buyers laughed at the $2,295 price tag he hung on a ‘55 Corvette (It’s OK to cry here), so he gave it to his wife. When a buyer finally showed up, she refused to give the car up. She still has it.

Rohrer estimates its value today at $60,000, maybe $100,000 with a little restoration.

But Rohrer says he thought he’d had enough of the car business after 13 years on Division. He sold out, and got into commercial real estate. Until 1999, he bought and sold commercial property for James S. Black, then Village Square Realty, again keeping some properties for his own account.

But he could not get cars out of his blood. He built a nine-bay shop at his home, and kept as many a four parked outside. If a bay emptied, he’d find another car to fill it. And when it comes to finding cars, Rohrer is a very patient man. He stalks cars the way some hunters stalk prize game.

Rohrer once hectored the owner of a three-window ‘34 Ford coupe for 12 years before the man walked into the showroom and said, “Today’s your lucky day.”

“I didn’t have the money, but I wrote the check anyway,” Rohrer says. He sold it six months later for $60,000.

Rohrer coveted a ‘40 Ford for four months before the owner finally surrendered. It rolled into the showroom at 11 a.m. He sold it at 1 p.m.

His current personal favorite is a black, ‘34 Ford Roadster with running boards only slightly narrower than a sidewalk. But much as he likes that car, Rohrer will part with it — in return for a $49,999 check.

Stickers at Select Cars start at less than $10,000, then cruise on up to $60,000. Rohrer tries to sell at least one vehicle a week. Some are in and out the door almost before they’re cleaned up. Rohrer says about one-third his buyers are from Spokane, one-third are from Washington and one-third are from out of state. He’s not the only Spokane dealer in vintage cars. He can look right across the street to his main competitor, Gentle Touch Motor Cars, owned by Craig Masteller. Both are surrounded by downtown dealerships selling the latest offerings from the U.S., Japan, Britain, Sweden, and Germany.

Rohrer says customers getting their vehicles serviced at the new-car dealers often stroll into the showroom and gawk at the hardware and history that just does not come with heated seats.

“We advertise a free car show every day,” Rohrer says. “Those who don’t care about cars wouldn’t walk in.”

The walking in is easy. It’s the walking out that’s hard.

There’s a midnight blue, ‘57 Cadillac Fleetwood in there that would cure the migraine of an elephant.