Brand-New Plymouth Belvedere Was Buried in 1957 and Rescued in 2007. It Was Transformed

Miss Belvedere. That is how they called it. That is how they tried to make this tale as sinister as possible. But those who know the reality behind the tale know that it is not.

Miss Belvedere is a 1957 Plymouth Belvedere that was buried on the grounds of the Tulsa city courthouse on June 15, 1957. The authorities were planning to rescue it 50 years later. They were hoping that the two-tone sports coupe, with only 4 miles (6.4 kilometers) on the clock at the time of its burial, would come out half a century later looking just like it did that day: shiny and new.

The model had been donated by Plymouth Motors and a group of dealers from the Tulsa area. Plymouth chairman at the time, Lewis Roberts Sr., explained that the Belvedere was selected because it represented the American industrial ingenuity "with the kind of lasting appeal that will still be in style in 50 years from now."

The burial of the Belvedere marked Oklahoma's 50th year of statehood during Tulsa's Tulsarama Golden Jubilee festivities. It was, after all, a sealed vault, made of concrete and sprayed with pneumatically applied gunite, capable of withstanding a nuclear attack, measuring 12 feet (3.7 meters) by 20 feet (6.1 meters).

The 1957 Plymouth Belvedere was placed placed on a steel skid with its wheels in the air to have its tires and suspension protected. To make sure the media got just the right photos, the Belvedere was lowered into the vault several times.

To protect the vehicle from potential moisture, it was coated in a cosmoline-like substance and wrapped in layers of sealed plastic. And wait, there is more to it! Concrete beams were set on top of the vault as a lid, and gunite spraying sealed it for the following 50 years.

The local cemetery donated a bronze marker to mark the spot where Miss Belvedere was buried. Everything seemed properly planned. What could go wrong?

Several items, placed in the trunk and glove box of Miss Belvedere, were buried with the car. They were meant to help future generations to get a glimpse of how life really was in the 1950s.

A five-gallon container of gasoline, a case of motor oil, and a case of Schlitz beer were on board in June 1957. So were a bottle of tranquilizers, an unpaid parking ticket, a tube of lipstick, a pack of chewing gum, and $2.73 in bills and coins. You know, the kind of stuff people keep in their cars.

Placed at the back of the Plymouth, there was a sealed steel capsule, painted white and welded shut, containing a 48-star American flag, letters written by various state and city officials, but also documentation for a savings account valued at $100 and entry postcards for the contest that would be completed in 2007.

Anticipation skyrocketed as the moment of opening Miss Belvedere's tomb was inching closer. Various organizations volunteered to help to get the automobile out. At the time, there were people who were sure that the car would look just like it did 50 years before, while others had doubts about it being perfectly protected from the underground humidity.

The vault was, indeed, breached. Water intruded and the vehicle was submerged, having its entire structure seriously affected. The car was intended to be offered as a prize to the citizen who came nearest to guessing Tulsa's population in 2007. But how would a flooded car be an appropriate gift to the winner?

The closest to guessing the population of Tulsa had been Raymond Humbertson, who indicated 384,743 people would be living in the town in 2007. The actual figure was 382,457. But the winner had died in 1979, and his wife had passed away in 1988. The couple had no children, so Humbertson's closest relatives, his sister and nephew, eventually got the Plymouth. They were completely shocked. Raymond had never even lived in Tulsa.

The local authorities wanted to give Miss Belvedere its lost glory and then, when completed, place it in a museum. After being lifted from its tomb, the car was shipped to the Tulsa Convention Center and publicly unveiled a day later, before being temporarily displayed at a local car dealership. It looked bad. It looked eaten out by water and time. Everything was corroded.

The unearthing event got international media coverage. Experts from all over the world offered to give a helping hand. The car had been sitting in nearly 2,000 gallons of water, which was 4 feet (1.2 meters) high, proof that the vault was not airtight as expected. Experts evaluated the damage and found that the key, still in the ignition, was corroded. There was no way that it was going to turn. There was no way that flooded engine, with everything consumed by rust, was going to run.

In November 2007, the winner's family decided to send the car to Ultra One, a restoration firm specializing in restoring rusted vehicles. They estimated it would take six months to make it look brand-new again. They were hoping that soon, the Plymouth would get rid of the rust and would dry off the water that it had sunk into. But rust kept its ground. Its internals were only partially fixed with parts from a 1957 Plymouth Savoy donor car. The restoration came to a halt after an investment of $15,000. It was becoming too expensive to be worth it.

Stored for ten years at the Ultra One storage site, the automobile was finally accepted by the Historic Auto Attractions Museum in Roscoe, Illinois. The Tulsa authorities sent it there in June 2017, 60 years after its burial and after declining offers from several museums. The car is still there today, telling a tale with a scary title. But Miss Belvedere is not a young lady but a car.