From the beginning of time humans have created tools and implements to make their lives easier by relieving them of burdensome tasks or to accomplish a task more efficiently.  They have also been driven to communicate their emotions, thoughts and observations through artistic expression of all forms.  Once in a great while there is a culmination of the utilitarian and art, thereby serving humankind by both effectively handling a particular task, and appealing to it's sense of beauty and proportion, evoking intense emotion or passion.  Two such instances are the internal combustion engines powering the 1930 Cadillac V-16, and the 1975 Ferrari Daytona V-12.  It is a classic comparison between the beauty and the beast, the sacred and the profane.

The Cadillac V-16 was born of a vision of designers, stylists and engineers at General Motors.  The goals and criteria were uncompromisingly clear:  Produce the finest, smoothest, quietest, most powerful and elegant motorcar in the world, or, as the marketing people would later state it, "The engine of engines, to power the car of cars."

The idea of building a sixteen-cylinder vehicle one year after the onset of the depression was considered by many to be an irresponsible extravagance that would drive a wedge between the elite and the struggling worker.  Competition in the luxury market, however, was fierce at this time due to the dwindling number of extremely wealthy patrons, and Cadillac felt it necessary to make the proper psychological statement of power, dignity and elegance to lure those buyers away from Packard, Pierce Arrow and Lincoln.  They succeeded most admirably in making that statement.

After a long and arduous design and testing phase during which the first true V-16 in automotive history was created, the project was turned over to the styling department.  This was the first time an engine was to be styled, the object being to make a power plant that was elegant, uncluttered, and pleasing to the eye; something that didn't look mechanical, but rather a sculpted form that was integral and complimentary with the beautiful coachwork that was to surround it. 

This dynamo was massive in size, a full four feet long, but because of the attention to detail, the lack of superfluous machinery, wires and tubes, and the proportioning with the huge vehicle it powered, it did not appear overwhelming.  The engine castings were of the highest quality, with no jagged edges, no roughness.  The block and heads were flawlessly painted in a high gloss olive green.  The simple intake and exhaust manifolds were mounted outboard of the heads, and fired in a deep, glossy, black porcelain.  The valve covers were simple aluminum castings painted in gloss black, secured in place by chromed machine bolts, with polished aluminum ribs on top running fore to aft, broken up in the center by a large, round, chrome oil filler cap.  In the "V" between the heads where the manifolds normally resided was an embossed steel shield which covered all sixteen sparkplugs, painted a high gloss black, and secured with two chromed knobs, each adorned by a cloisonné Cadillac crest.  The spark plug wires rose out of the distributor cap as if being gently sprayed from a fountain, twisting gracefully together and descending like a waterfall flowing into an underground stream beneath the cover in the "V."  The fuel lines and throttle control rods were chromed for each of the two polished aluminum carburetors.

Nestled in an engine compartment finished as flawlessly as the outside of the car and covered by a hood almost seven feet long, it was a work of art that was a stunning combination of beauty and function.  A work brought to life by the love and passion of those who conceived, nurtured, and groomed it.  Beaming with pride much as loving parents would for their progeny at a finishing school graduation, Cadillac presented it's child clothed in magnificent, hand crafted coach work.  The passenger compartments were exquisite, being finished in rich, wool broadcloth, dense, cut-pile Wilton wool carpet, with tasteful use of rare exotic woods inlaid with mother-of pearl, and silver or gold plated, sculpted handles and accessories.  An added convenience was the discreet bar containing Waterford crystal glasses and decanter for your Napoleon brandy (seltzer, of course, during prohibition).  The wheelbase was two to three feet longer than modern-day Cadillacs, and these elegant conveyances weighed over three tons. 

All one had to do to awaken this giant was turn the key, press the starter button, listen for the muffled sound of the starter motor for one or two seconds, then hear nothing.  There was only the whisper of an exhaust note, no mechanical sounds, not a hint of vibration.  The only evidence it was running was to see the polished aluminum, six-bladed fan serenely spinning behind the huge radiator.  To get underway, all that was necessary was to leave the transmission in high gear, release the clutch, gently depress the throttle, and let the locomotive-like torque effortlessly pull to whatever speed was required.  Changing gears was rarely required.  Aesthetically and physically comforted, the occupants were transported in isolated, heavenly silence, gliding on gossamer wings to their grand destination.  It was a crowning achievement for Cadillac, and the ultimate in civilized transport for people who were as rich as Croesus to make a stately arrival at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

The Ferrari Daytona, the antithesis of the Cadillac in personality and style, was a "child" of Enzo Ferrari, the strong-willed, and iron-fisted icon of the legendary company that bears his name.  The Daytona was forged into being as a hairy chested, macho, snarling animal of a car; it's proud lineage being traced back almost three decades, overflowing with illustrious Ferrari racing victories throughout the world.  This car was meant to go very fast and respond immediately to the driver's desires.

The Daytona V-12 engine was a somewhat refined version of earlier Ferrari racing engines that had conquered Le Mans, the Nurburgring, Sebring and Daytona, thereby making it relatively civilized for use on the street by mere mortals.  Ferrari was a man devout in his belief that function was the only thing that mattered.  There would be no frills or fluff to any of his creations. 

Religiously adhering to that philosophy, the engine was cast and the pistons and connecting rods forged in aluminum, the crankshaft and all four camshafts were machined from solid billets of the strongest steel, the valves precision ground from stainless, and the whole assembly balanced to within less than half a gram.  It was endowed with six; two-barrel Weber carburetors perched upon twelve stubby manifold tubes and topped off with twelve trumpet- mouthed velocity stacks of polished aluminum.  To rid the engine of spent exhaust gasses, six, thin-wall steel tubing headers per side were fabricated, smoothly snaking their way down to the collectors for the dual exhaust pipes.  The only paint on the engine was on the four cam covers, a wrinkle-finish black, that was applied more to set off the Ferrari logo prominently emblazoned across them than to provide any aesthetic appeal.  If the Cadillac V-16 was Olivia DeHavilland: refined, sophisticated, and genteel, the Daytona V-12 was Steve McQueen: raw, explosive, intense, yet cool…very cool. 

The engine was caged within a tubular frame supported by race-bred suspension, and the frame covered by a sensuously alluring, wind-cheating, aluminum skin.  Once securely strapped into the thinly padded bucket seat the key was pushed in and turned clockwise. There was a high-pitched whir of the starter motor and the beast sprang to life.  The idle was "lumpy", the exhaust sound a low, burbling rumble, and you became aware of many, wonderful, mechanical sounds.  You pushed in the clutch, clicked the gear shift lever into first, massaged the throttle to bring the engine up to seven-thousand rpm, side-stepped the clutch and "pushed the pedal to the metal".... the animal was unleashed!  The first sensation was like being hit in your back with a giant hammer as the car lunged forward, the tires screaming in protest as they clawed the asphalt for traction.  The rapid acceleration forced your body hard into the seat, and as you watched the needle swiftly climb on the tachometer you became hypnotized by an onslaught of sensory input.  The carburetors, gulping for air, sounded like twelve Gregorian voices on the same note rising in pitch to a crescendo, while the valve train emitted the sound of a hive of angry, metallic hornets.  The intoxicating exhaust note, always a Ferrari trademark, gave definition to the term "tuned exhaust", for it was a perfectly pitched, harmonic frequency, which was becoming seductively rhapsodic as the engine, now in full, glorious song, was rapidly approaching the 7,500 rpm shift-point.  All this happened in the course of three seconds, and it was time to grab second gear and experience it all again.  After rowing through the remaining gears, arriving at "red-line" in fifth gear, approximately 25 seconds had elapsed and the Daytona was covering ground at the rate of one hundred-eighty miles per hour.  The taut, sensitive suspension, telegraphing every ripple and stone through the three-spoke, mahogany-rimmed steering wheel and the seat of your pants, invited you to change direction with the surefootedness of a tiger going after it's prey.  This was one heck of a visceral, emotional, and sensory experience, not for the faint of heart!

Two engines with diametrically opposed

personalities, sharing the common purpose of transporting people from Point A to Point B; conceived by men with vision, single-minded determination, uncompromising standards, and forged into form from raw, molten metal, and given life's breath by dedicated artisans.  Both fulfilling a specific function, pleasing the eye and satisfying the psyche.  What a rare, wonderful combination.

Article courtesy of Oregon CCCA Hood Release