Photography by Florian Schmucker
600. Nothing more and nothing less.
There have been models from Fiat, Nash and Dodge called the 600 and even a Rover 600 series, but the 600 is and always will be a Mercedes-Benz.
Growing up in the 600’s motherland, the “Große Mercedes” was always an elusive mystery to me. I had seen it on TV carrying foreign dignitaries and, on occasion, our president, but I had never seen one in real life. It wasn’t until the late 1970s, when I started reading about Mercedes in Werner Oswald’s fabulous “bible,” “Deutsche Autos 1945-1975,” that I learned more about the majestic nature of the largest Mercedes on offer.
The 600–to me–looked like a relic of the 1960s. It took me many years to understand why it was considered the best Germany had to offer for driving around the queen and other royalty on official state visits.
There even was an official sales brochure that I still have, which had the wonderful line in it: “It only takes a few seconds to show a sportscar who’s the boss.” I misunderstood, thinking they were talking about the sports car underneath the body of the 600, but I now think they meant putting other cars in their place.
But I wasn’t so wrong after all, as development started in the late 1950s after Mercedes-Benz had withdrawn from all motorsport activities following the disastrous 1955 accident at Le Mans.
With motorsport no longer shining its halo onto the production cars and a large team of exceptionally gifted and trained mechanics and engineers looking for a project, Mercedes-Benz chief engineer Fritz Nallinger was recorded as having made the first mention of the need for a “large representative touring car.”
While technologically advanced for its time, the design cues of the ’50s-era Mercedes-Benz 300 harkened back to prewar times with pronounced fenders and a rounded design language. Mercedes-Benz needed a new vehicle to make a new statement.
At home and abroad, U.S. importer Max Hoffman was getting Americans interested in the 300 SL Gullwing and 190 SL roadsters. However, cars like America’s Cadillac and Britain’s Rolls-Royce were the choice of status-minded Americans in search of a luxury saloon, and Mercedes needed something to put it on the map.
The new car was to serve as a platform for a whole host of new technologies and a display of the Stuttgart brand’s engineering might. Despite its heft, a monocoque layout was considered, along with a V8 engine to compete with the Americans and Brits, and a whole host of goodies that Americans and the wealthy around the world had developed a taste for in the late 1950s: power steering, automatic transmission, air suspension.
Mercedes hadn’t offered a V8 since before the war, so this was to be an all-new construction. First drawings considered an all-aluminium 5-liter powerplant with about 300 horsepower. Early versions were rejected for their simplicity and rather rough running qualities.
Displacement gradually increased to 6 and later 6.3 liters, with 250 horsepower coming in at a leisurely 4000 rpm. More importantly, the immense torque of 369 lb.-ft. arrived at 2800 rpm.
While body, suspension and braking systems were constructed and tested, the new powerplant and gearbox weren’t ready yet, so it is curious to learn that in the early phase of vehicle testing, Rudolf Uhlenhaut’s team installed a number of American V8s, from Chevrolet and Cadillac, in the prototypes along with American-made automatic gearboxes. While they were originally acquired directly in the U.S., Mercedes records a later cooperation with German GM arm Adam Opel AG in sourcing engines and gearboxes for the testing mules.
During the design phase, Karl Wilfert’s styling team–which included Paul Bracq, famed for penning the Pagoda roadster among various coupes and sedans, both Benz and BMW–aimed for “restrained elegance” as a counterpoint to American opulence, emphasizing ornate details and British old-world charm.
Fit for a king with the expected details and comforts to match. Oddly, front headrests initially were an option.
The new car was called the 600, despite the final engine displacement being set at 6.3 liters. The board decided on 600, as it appeared more pleasing and in fact more powerful with its double 0. It was also twice everything that a 300 was. While Bracq experimented with a number of front-end designs and headlight configurations, the final version carried on with the upright, single-headlamp design introduced in the 300 SL Roadster in 1961.
A large glasshouse, low ground clearance–which could be increased by up to 2 inches from inside the car–and clever use of horizontal elements emphasized the length of the car and made its height less obvious.
The inside was spacious enough for passengers to enter wearing their hats. Rear legroom in the 600 was generous enough that some cars had a separation installed for those business negotiations that allowed for no listeners.
To make clear whose money Mercedes was after, rear headrests were standard when the car was launched to the public in late 1963, while front headrests (for the chauffeur) were originally optional. Make of that what you will.
For even more space, the new car was available with a longer wheelbase, too. Instead of just 10.5 feet for the standard five- or six-passenger car, a nearly 13-foot-long wheelbase was an option for the long-wheelbase 600, which later acquired the name Pullman. That additional interior space resulted in an overall length of nearly 20 and a half feet for the stretched model. While the standard car was aimed at “owner drivers,” meaning they were often but not exclusively chauffeur driven, the Pullman’s customers sat in the back.
Manufactured almost entirely by hand in Hall 32 in Mercedes’ Sindelfingen plant, management originally played around with lofty sales numbers totalling close to 30,000 examples over the projected run. However, price and complexity limited its appeal, leading to only 2677 units–both long- and short-wheelbase–produced over its impressive 17-year run from 1964 to 1981. In all, 743 cars were sold new in the U.S., with a further 37 going to Canada.
Whether you’re tall or short, the 600 has the space–and the matching presence on the road. Could this be the finest cruiser ever offered?
While these are all important facts, nothing prepares you for seeing a 600 in real life. The presence. The confidence. The sheer majesty of this car is something I have never forgotten since I first saw one.
I was once even close to buying one but was well advised that the price of entry was nothing compared to the price of maintenance. The complex hydraulic system operating the power windows (!), the sliding roof and–on early cars–even the assisted door close was an engineering marvel but a mechanic’s nightmare.
This meant I had never ridden in one, let alone driven one, when I went to see Mercedes-Benz Heritage GmbH for a look around the premises and an interview with some of its top management.
As we venture into the extensive classic car workshop, there’s a 904 Midnight Blue 1972 Mercedes-Benz 600 in one of the bays, one of 210 produced that year. Master mechanic Matthias Chwal has been assigned to accompany me.
Behind the large wheel, I feel at home immediately, having owned a 280 SE 3.5 in exactly the same color combination. As I adjust the steering wheel rake by unscrewing the horn pad, Matthias nods and recognizes he may have an easy day with me.
The handbrake in the 600 is operated for the first time with a little pedal on the left side, just like in a Citroën DS. Upon selecting a gear, the hand brake releases itself.
I maneuver the 6-and-a-half-foot-wide 600 slowly but confidently through the narrow gate outside the workshop. It doesn’t take long for me to settle into a comfortable seating position overlooking the long hood, where even the three-pointed star is larger than on other models. The generously proportioned front seats are wide and comfortable.
The 6.3-liter V8 is barely audible as we roll along the Swabian countryside. The automatic gearbox is surprisingly smooth despite being of Mercedes’ hydraulic multi-plate design–but with six planetary gears instead of the usual three.
On the open road, I push the throttle hard, the nose lifts slightly, and the engine roars more audibly without ever becoming loud. Brakes are impressive for a 60-year-old design.
As we do the panning shots with our photographer, Florian, standing in a field, I come to a T-crossing where I have to give way to the main road. Despite that, traffic stops and waves me in. I do a somewhat illegal U-turn around a little traffic island and go for another run.
As I return to the same island a few minutes later, the same thing happens again. This time, a bus slows down and waits for me. Sixty-something years after its inception, the 600 still has such a presence that traffic happily gives the Große Mercedes its built-in right of way.
As we finish the shots, Florian photographs me driving up and down a windy road. Once we’re done, I “miss my exit” and go all the way down to the village before racing up the hill in anger with the throttle wide open and the tires ever so slightly squealing. The 600 takes tight turns like it’s on rails, the body leans very little, and the light steering helps me point the massive 2.8-ton car exactly where I want it.
Catching up with Florian, I apologise for taking the long way round. He didn’t seem surprised.
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