Before Ferrari dreamed in V12s, Packard built one for the world's elite -- a machine that purred when all others rattled. At a time when most roads were gravel and most cars chugged along with four cylinders and 20 horsepower, Packard's Twin Six roared into history with twelve pistons firing in serene unison. Ninety horsepower in 1920 didn't just mean performance -- it meant supremacy.

It's not often that Lou Costabile, host of My Car Story, calls a car "the supercar of its day." But the 1920 Packard Twin Six Runabout filmed in Chicago's suburbs wears that title effortlessly. Owned by Tim Haywood, this emerald artifact represents the precise moment America learned that speed could be silent and power could be polite.

The Supercar of the Jazz AgeWhen Packard unveiled the Twin Six in 1915, it wasn't simply building a faster car. It was redefining what luxury could sound like -- or rather, what it shouldn't sound like. The aluminum crankcase and twin cast-iron blocks formed a 424-cubic-inch (6.9-liter) V12 so smooth it seemed to levitate at idle.

Compared to a Ford Model T's $500 four-banger, the Packard's $5,000 price tag bordered on audacious. Yet that was the point. The Twin Six wasn't built for the masses; it was for America's industrial nobility -- men who owned railroads, shipping fleets, and occasionally, airfields.

In 1920, most American luxury cars still made do with eights or sixes. Cadillac's refined V8 produced a respectable 70 horsepower, and the mighty Pierce-Arrow and Stutz peaked in the 75-to-80 range. Then came Packard's twelve-cylinder colossus -- 424 cubic inches and 90 horsepower of silken thrust.

It was the most powerful mass-produced American engine of its time, and by a comfortable margin. When others strained to reach sixty miles per hour, the Twin Six cruised there effortlessly, its V12 breathing through refinement rather than roar.

Across the Atlantic, Europe's aristocrats still swore by their Silver Ghosts and Hispano-Suizas, but by 1920, Packard's V12 made them sound archaic. Rolls-Royce offered 70 hp, Hispano-Suiza barely built a handful of 135-hp H6s, and Bentley's first 3-Litre wasn't even in production yet. Only Italy's new Isotta Fraschini Tipo 8 came close, and even then, Packard had been perfecting the formula since 1915. In that rare window of history, Detroit -- not Europe -- held the world's horsepower crown.

The brochure from 1920, Facts About the Twin Six, called it "a motor without perceptible vibration up to sixty miles per hour," boasting that it could "open up from three miles per hour in high gear without effort." It was a rolling sermon on mechanical grace, equal parts power and refinement.

An Engine with WingsPackard wasn't just a carmaker; it was an engine company to its bones. The same engineers behind the Twin Six designed the Liberty L-12 aircraft engine that powered Allied planes during World War I. That's why the car's radiator cap bears a tiny airplane -- a symbol of Packard's mechanical dominion over land, air, and sea.

The company's advertising slogan, "Ask the Man Who Owns One," wasn't mere bravado. It was an invitation to join an elite fraternity of drivers who didn't need to shout. Their cars already whispered perfection.

From Barn Find to Pebble BeachAcross its 1916-1923 lifespan, Packard built just over 35,000 Twin Sixes, the lion's share spread across touring, phaeton, and formal bodies that suited its luxury clientele. Within the later Series 3-35 (1918-1923), factory reference tallies list 14,176 built in total, and period compendiums place 1920 production at roughly 5,193 units across both wheelbases and all body styles.

Exact body-by-body splits for 1920 aren't published in surviving factory summaries -- especially with many chassis going to outside coachbuilders -- but contemporary offerings confirm the Runabout sat at the rarer end of the spectrum, which tracks with how few survive today.

The Twin Six Runabout featured in Lou's video began life in 1920 as a bespoke two-seat roadster with a rumble seat, designed for drivers who preferred taking the wheel themselves rather than being chauffeured. It was acquired by the Haywood family in 2013 after spending more than six decades slumbering in a Michigan barn.

Its resurrection was an odyssey. Restoration began in 2014 and, in fits and starts, lasted until 2021 -- just in time for the car's debut at the Pebble Beach Concours d'Elegance. The result? A mirror-smooth symphony of brass, steel, and leather, reborn exactly as Packard intended.

Under the hood lies the Twin Six's mechanical masterpiece: a single aluminum crankcase topped by two mirrored cast-iron cylinder banks. Each block can, in theory, run independently -- twin hearts sharing one pulse. The car's "Fuelizer" device, a vaporizing pre-heater, compensated for the poor gasoline of its era by warming the intake mixture, ensuring clean combustion even on cold mornings.

A 12-Cylinder Whisper on WheelsWhen Lou and Tim fired it up, the Packard's 12-cylinder rhythm didn't so much rumble as breathe. The firing sequence -- every 30 degrees of crank rotation -- erased any hint of vibration. It's not a roar, but a hush, as if the engine were suppressing its own applause.

Driving it demands ceremony. The pressurized fuel system must be hand-pumped before ignition, a separate air compressor maintains pressure once running, and spark advance and throttle are adjusted manually from the steering column. The transmission, a three-speed straight-cut box, whines like a mechanical violin -- the signature soundtrack of the era.

The Twin Six can pull smoothly from walking pace in top gear, its torque spread as wide as the Michigan plains. But it stops like it's thinking about it. With only two rear wheel brakes taming over 5,000 pounds of brass-trimmed steel, the driver must plan every stop like a chess move.

The Smooth Beast That Inspired EnzoIn the words of automotive historian Jesse Vincent -- the very man who designed the Twin Six -- "we wanted a motor that would make power invisible." And it did. The V12's seamless delivery astonished the industry and reportedly caught the attention of a young Enzo Ferrari, whose later V12 designs echoed Packard's 60-degree layout and firing logic.

Contemporary trade journals like Motor Age praised the Twin Six as "the first application of high-speed motor principles to a large touring car engine." In modern terms, it was the Bugatti Chiron of its time -- a grand statement of what human craftsmanship could achieve without compromise.

Luxury, Then and NowThe 1920 Twin Six wasn't a racer, but it was no slouch. Period records mention test runs over 70 mph (113 kph) and anecdotal accounts of 100 mph demonstrations at Sheepshead Bay Speedway. What truly mattered, though, wasn't top speed -- it was the sensation of limitless smoothness.

In its day, Packard produced about 35,000 Twin Sixes across eight years, with only a handful built as Runabouts. Today, surviving examples like Haywood's are valued between $250,000 and $400,000, depending on provenance and restoration quality. Yet no number captures what this car represents: the moment American engineering stopped imitating Europe and started defining excellence for itself.

The 1920 Packard Twin Six Runabout isn't just a survivor -- it's the blueprint for every luxury performance car that followed. It bridged the gap between the brass era and the modern age, between noise and nuance.

Because when Packard spoke, the world listened.

And when the Twin Six whispered, the future purred back in agreement.

The Original V12 Legend: The Packard 1920 Twin Six Was Enzo Ferrari's Inspiration