Wired On Cars

Automotive Obsessions. It’s about car culture. The focus here is on car shows, car museums, and car design. But all things automotive are fair game for this blog. Automobiles are influential reference points that define our past, present, and future. They change in content and form often enough that within your lifespan you will probably live through three or four unique automotive eras. As an auto enthusiast you’ve probably been “Wired On Cars” since birth.

[greg-olotka]

Muscle Cars to Malaise Era - Part 10

The transition years, 1969-1974

It's time for the first front-wheel-drive entrant in this Muscle Cars to Malaise Era series. As you can probably guess, we won't be talking about Toyotas.

1968-1970 Oldsmobile Toronado

The first generation 1966 Toronado was a breakthrough design back when GM was fearless and had plenty of resources to get radical.

1966 Oldsmobile Toronado | Credit: oldcarbrochures.com

While I fawned over the original Riviera, it was mechanically conventional beneath that pretty skin. The Toronado was born with front wheel drive because Oldsmobile needed a personal luxury car to compete with the Thunderbird, and there were some key proponents of FWD propulsion in the Rocket Division. Engineering Chief Andrew Watt had been experimenting with front drive since 1957. He passed his drive for front driven wheels on to John Beltz, then assistant chief engineer, who was promoted to Olds General Manager by 1969. Beltz was a big champion of the Toronado, even though it failed to achieve commercial success until much later in life. Sadly, Beltz died far too young at age 46 from cancer in May 1972. But his Toronado lived on for many more years. So why all this talk about the driven wheels, when we are supposed to be talking tumblehome and fixating on fastbacks? Because for all the effort that went into making the Toronado front wheel drive, it didn't have the proportions we expect today in a modern transverse engined 4-cylinder Corolla. Instead, a 425-cubic inch V8 torque monster coupled with a Turbo-Hydramatic 425 (basically a TH400) to form the so-called Unitized Power Package. This required a sporting dash-to-axle ratio and the designers stuck on plenty of thrusting front overhang for good measure. There are many excellent technical treatises out there about this innovative powertrain, I won't go into the details here.

However, in a 1970 Motor Trend interview, Beltz pointed out that the driven wheels were not emphasized in Oldsmobile marketing. According to Car And Driver, even the owners manual never mentioned which end of the car provided propulsion. Other than better wet weather traction, the similar Buick Riviera outperformed the Toronado in handling and braking. The Buick was lighter and less expensive to boot. To standardize the designs and drive down unit costs, both cars shared the windshield, A-pillar, door side glass, roof panel and backlight. When introduced in 1967, the mechanically similar but more expensive Eldorado, (by some $2000), outsold the Toronado. And since the Toronado did not look related to the rest of the Olds lineup, the halo effect was dubious. They could have learned a lesson from Ford, who drew obvious connections between the T-Bird and its more pedestrian siblings. Not the most subtle marketing strategy, but it was effective.

Ok, but what about the design already? The origins of the Toronado's shape came from a design painting by stylist David North, known as the "Flame Red Car". Is it a coincidence that some early marketing collateral (see above) featured a red Toronado with a similar red background?

Flame Red Oldsmobile Toronado Concept Sketch | Credit: General Motors

If you want to learn the obscure yet important details about a particular car design, Google is your friend. Check out this behind the scenes story by Dick Ruzzin, who was a Jr. Creative Designer at Olds. According to Mr. Ruzzin, one Don Logerquist deserves the greatest design credit. He originated the theme that led to the red rendering and ultimately the actual car. You had the slatted grill up front, paying homage to the last American FWD car, the Cord 810. (Talk about an extravagant dash-to-axle ratio, but that's for another discussion.) The popup headlights lent an aerodynamic tilt to the nose, similar to the Corvette.

The strongly flared wheel arches served two purposes - to emphasize the powerful V8 within and to visually relieve the tall front fender line, which was necessitated by that Unitized Power Package. The tops of those tall front fenders dropped down to form a jutting undercut that blended right into the front bumper and framed up the grill. On the side, your eye was drawn to the dramatic bodyside sculpting which seemed to encircle the lower quarter of the car, humping up over the giant, radiused wheel wells which were connected by a very strong character line that didn't quit until it joined the neatly integrated rear bumper. The effect is at once powerful, clean, and exciting.

No discussion of Toronado design would be complete without mentioning the extreme tumblehome of the greenhouse and c-pillar that blended the roof into the trunk in a nearly unbroken line. This styling treatment really gave the big coupe a distinctive shape that I can't recall seeing before or since. However, the personal luxury market was all agog for formal, vinyl encrusted rooflines, landau bars, and sequential turn signals. (Yes, we're looking at you, Thunderbird.)

Sadly, you could sum up the original Toronado as an excellent answer to the question nobody had asked. It was a car guy's car, a darling of the automotive press, and it though it gathered a lot of public attention, when it came time to crack out the checkbook, prospective customers couldn't pull the trigger. Olds product planners were already retooling for the transition years.

Toronados were similar through 1970, and they don't really split into different generations as I have delineated them here. But I feel like they changed enough for '68, in response to the sales drubbing they were getting from the Thunderbird.

1968 & 1969 Oldsmobile Toronado | Credit: oldcarbrochures.com

So clearly the answer was give the public what they wanted. Vinyl roofs made an appearance in '69, like your Uncle Louie's bad hairpiece. Also, more formal rear fender contours were grafted on to make the Toronado look like, well, a Delta 88 from the rear. Chief Stylist Stan Wilen was instructed to make future iterations look more like the rest of the Olds line. And presumably the Thunderbird, Eldorado, and Riviera.

This doesn't explain the front end, which could never be mistaken for a Ninety-Eight or Delmont. The hidden headlights now sulked behind a massive, split nose, honeycomb grill, flanked by two big wraparound parking lamps/turn signals. I think the new nose was very discordant with the rest of the car. The original face was so cool. Aggressive yet not loud, and absolutely unique. The new one looked like it was giving up, and letting the Riviera take the design lead.

The most frustrating thing about the Toronado, is the less attractive and distinctive it became, the better it sold.

1978 Oldsmobile Toronado XS | Credit: That Hartford Guy on Flickr

I know what some of you are thinking, "you said the '71-'73 Riviera was a transition mobile, and here you are laying the malaise label on its cousin, the '71 Toronado!" Let me explain myself. My concept of peak - transition - malaise must be considered within the context of the individual car. In the Riviera's case, it just broke out that way, and remember they radically restyled the Riv for '74. The Toronado's body shell lasted for eight years, in full-figured E-body form. The watchword for the design team may have been, "since we never got around to making it look much like an Oldsmobile, just make it look like the Eldorado." I think the front end of the '71 looks like one of those safety study test mule cars that they would ram into concrete barriers at 50 mph to see if the dummies died.

Hardtop styling, such as it was with the formal roof and tiny rear windows, gave way to opera windows by '75. The kindest thing you can say about the '78 XS pictured here is at least it didn't have opera windows. The body got fussier over the years, with character lines running to no place in particular, just sort of wandering around that giant body looking for a place to die. Each year both front and rear got busier and busier, until by '78 it had achieved full-on pimp status. I will conceed that riding in the back of an XS must have been at least interesting, with the bent-wire glass ultra-wraparound backlight letting you experience life as a goldfish.

It's ironic, because the execs rejected front-wheel-drive for use in a smaller, compact car back in the early 60s. Seeing the utterly conventional Falcon just take the Corvair out behind the woodshed and lay a sales spankin' on it year after year made them realize that the economy car buyer was nervous about newfangled technology. So they reasoned that the wealthier customer in the market for a personal luxury car would be a more willing early adopter of unconventional advanced engineering. Never mind that the mechanically conventional T-Bird sold like hotcakes all through the 60s, unless Ford made it look tasteful and clean by accident like the '61-'63 Bullet Birds. So what did Olds do? They built a radically engineered, radically yet tastefully designed personal luxury car. And everyone nodded, agreed it was amazing, and wrote checks for everything else.

There was a psychological factor with the 1960s personal luxury car buyer that Oldsmobile didn't understand. Suburban driveway envy. Something about the Eldorado, Thunderbird, Mark III, Grand Prix and Riviera, cultivated that little green monster in everyone else not ensconced in their naugahyde and vinyl seats, cruising to the Bamboo Lounge for mai tais and dinner. And that's exactly what the buyer was looking for. He didn't care that the Toro (or Eldo for that matter) could climb Pike's Peak in a blinding snowstorm. Nice, but so what? Mr. Suburbia just wanted to roll his 4000 lbs of long hood, short deck glitzmobile past his pesky neighbor who thought he was the big man for getting a new John Deer riding mower. In the end, the original Toronado was a sales failure because it failed to pander to people's worst instincts. It also may have marked a transition of another kind. GM's transition from a leading, risk-taking company interested in testing new engineering solutions to a cynical sales obsessed organism with an eye only for the bottom line.

The final entry in this Muscle Cars To Malaise Era series will be an examination of the Ford Galaxie / LTD. Look for it in a few days, I need to recover after the Toronado trials.

[greg-olotka]

Muscle Cars to Malaise Era - Part 9

The transition years, 1969-1974

After putting so many American cars through the transition trial, I think it's time to examine that British sports car icon, the Jaguar E-Type. Yes, the symptoms of Malaise were not limited to our native brands, nor to muscle cars and personal luxury cars. While European and Japanese automakers found their stride in the 70s building sales on the newfound demand for lighter, fuel-efficient autos, all car companies were subject to the same economic, social, and environmental challenges.

1971-1975 Jaguar E-Type Series 3

The original 1961 E-Type Series 1 was a revolution in sports car design. The shape was elegant, lithe, and exotic.

1961 Jaguar E-Type | Credit: oldcarbrochures.com

With half the car's slinky overall length devoted to the bonnet, it was hardly a paragon of space efficiency, but that wasn't the point. The shape was a direct descendant of the C and D-Type race cars. An extravagant dash to axle ratio housed the 3.8 liter six-cylinder carried over from the XK 150, but otherwise it was a clean sheet design. The XK models had been highly competitive throughout the 1950s, but it was time for a refresh.

The performance stats were superb for the day, but this discussion is about styling. If the E-Type isn't in your top five most beautiful cars of all time, you might need to see your optometrist. Consider the lovely details, from the glass covered headlights, (later stupidly outlawed by new US regulations), to the delicate yet fierce grill, to the perfectly rounded rump. The chrome bumpers hugged the beautiful body as though they were in love. And who could blame them? The thin roof pillars are sweet, and isn't it refreshing to see a nearly vertical windscreen? This was how it used to be done. Consider the windshields of these 1960s era sports cars - MG, Corvette, Cobra, Porsche 911, and Ferrari 275. When you have a more upright windshield, it allows you to devote more space to the hood without making the overall length excessive. Nearly every modern car today, from economy cars to hyper-exotics, sports a windshield angle more laid back than an Evergreen College freshman. This is fine, it is an obvious styling cue that conveys speed. But now that everyone is doing it it's no longer a standout design attribute, and I find myself noticing the cars with a more upright greenhouse.

The man largely responsible for the design, Malcolm Sayer, languished in obscurity. Perhaps this was because Britain didn't celebrate its designers the way Italy and America did in the 50s and 60s. Sayer was an excellent mathematician and aerodynamic expert who had worked in the aircraft industry. But according to this BBC article, his technical sensibilities may have rendered him difficult to understand. Perhaps with better PR, he would have been as well known as Bill Mitchell or Sergio Pininfarina. But lest you think him a cold, analytical fish, he was also an amateur musician, cartoonist and watercolor painter, and could be very witty.

In Sayer's mind, the beauty of his cars was a product of a strictly rational and scientific design process. However, Sir William Lyons also lent his refining hand to the E-Type. He slightly altered the basic contours to make the light line fall in an unbroken stream across those sexy curves. This is one of the most emotional and evocative shapes ever, automotive or otherwise, and I suspect Lyons finishing touch and eye for detail had a lot to do with it. If you have an hour to kill, do watch this excellent History Channel documentary about the E-Type.

Sayer's goal was to create a visual representation of aerodynamic science at its most pure. So how exactly was this achieved in the days before wind tunnels and computer aided design? According to the BBC article, "The prototypes were given a special road test which involved large tufts of wool being taped to the body and Sayer would then drive alongside and monitor how the wool was affected by the airflow over the chassis." And when Lyons's touch was applied, Sayer was there to make sure none of the alterations harmed the aerodynamic purity.

As the 70's dawned, Jaguar had to make some major updates to the E-Type in order to keep it in compliance with the new emissions control and safety standards.

1974 Jaguar E-Type | Credit: Hemmings.com

I skipped over a detailed breakdown of the unofficial Series 1 1/2 and the Series 2 of 1969-1971. Although at least two deleterious design changes happened in with the Series 2 - the loss of the beautiful headlight covers and the tail lights hanging below the bumper, this isn't enough to warrant transition status. It was an accumulation of design changes on the Series 3 that make that one the "T-Generation". The new 5.3 V-12 was the big news up front, accompanied by a larger grill and tacked-on scoop to feed it more air. In fact, "more" sums up the Series 3's evolution. The shorter 96" wheelbase was dropped and both coupe and convertible ran with the 105" length. The coupe was now only available in 2+2 layout, as the E-Type graduated to be more of a grand touring machine than pure sports car. Even though the new E was tiny compared to nearly every other contemporary American car, it did grow about 600 lbs fatter sprouted those unfortunate giant rubber bumper over-riders, front and rear by '74. But consider the bumpers on a '74 Camaro - it could have been a lot worse.

Still, it wasn't all bad news. The V-12 restored performance lost with the Series 2, and it was smoother and more refined, if not to say broughamy. The track was wider, which one could consider a beneficial performance car attribute, while the suspension, steering, tires, and brakes were all improved. As this was now essentially a ten-year old design, Jaguar had time to tweak the inherent flaws present in the Series 1 and 2 cars. Unfortunately, by relying exclusively on the V-12 they also introduced new problems, like having no fuel efficient alternative to deal with the '73 oil embargo. The first E-Type was quite light, under 3000 lbs, and could get over 20 MPG.

Sadly, the world had moved on, baby. And as we all know, the 1970s presented formidable obstacles to cars whose engineering bones were built years before. Some important enthusiast cars did get their start in the 1970s, like the BMW 2002, the Datsun 240Z (ironically a brilliant Japanese version of the E-Type), and the Mazda RX-7. But they were designed from the inside out to meet that dark decade's safety, environmental, and economic challenges. I can't think of a performance car from the 1960 that survived without having its character substantially altered. Yes, hallowed marques like the Corvette, 911, and Firebird continued to offer something for the performance minded buyer. But they all had to go through significant changes through the years, and in fairness benefitted from vastly greater engineering resources. Jaguar simply wasn't a modern company, the 1968 British Leyland merger made a hash of operations, and when Sir William Lyons retired in 1972, there was no one left to protect the delicate kitty. The E-Type became too obsolete to adapt, and so was quietly euthanized by 1975, to usher in the next phase in British luxury motoring.

Did Jaguar truly enter the Malaise Era in '75 with the XJ-S?

1984 Jaguar XJ-S | Credit: oldcarbrochures.com

That plucky, British spirit may have been bowed, but was not broken by the bumbling British Leyland bunch. The XJ-S was controversial upon launch, owing to the E-Type purists who were wishing for a reincarnation of the original classic. If Datsun was building a two-seat inline six cylinder sports car, a veritable copy of the original E-Type, why couldn't Jaguar? They even managed to make the Z reliable and practical. Without analyzing Jaguar's product planning strategy in the 70s, I would guess that they felt as a luxury brand they had to follow the market. Their target customer was now older, richer, and while they may have had fond memories of racing E-Types at their local tracks in the 60s, they weren't the ones buying all those 240Zs. Time to move on, and up.

They had only released the V-12 a few years prior, and it was already acknowledged as a fine GT motor. Given the tremendous bonnet on the XJ-S, it is safe to say this one was designed around the engine. All dimensions increased, but it was still a low, low, 49.6" tall. Typically, the British auto press gave it rave reviews, while others were disappointed that it was larger and heavier than the Series 3. But this was clearly not a replacement for the E-Type, it was a grand touring machine in the European tradition. Although with a curb weight pushing 4000 lbs, could one say it was a sort of British Monte Carlo? And I'm not referring to the city or the race.

Still, with the V-12 it was one of the fastest cars in a straight line for 1975, faint praise though that may be. Americanized cars did 0-60 in about 8 seconds, nothing to brag about in 2015, but back then a Corvette was lucky to hit that on a good day. Of course it drank oil fields whole, but this is supposed to be a discussion about styling. What was the rationale for the shape? Apparently, Malcom Sayer had started penning the XJ-S in the 1960s, but died suddenly in 1970. Perhaps his original vision wasn't realized in the final production model, similar to what happened at Chrysler when Virgil Exner suffered his heart attack with all the full-size models still in clays. Chaos reigned at Jaguar then, with scant resources due to the parent company British Leyland seeming to wish that Jaguar would just die already. Perhaps they felt the company's efforts should have been directed towards further development of the Austin Princess.

The flying buttress roof is undoubtedly the most controversial design feature, although I rather like it. It lacks ultimate harmony with the rest of the shapes, but certainly is distinctive when considered in isolation. The biggest problem is relationship with the rear quarter windows and large blank filler panel. It looks like Sayer had some other vision that wasn't realized, and they finally had to finish the damn thing because as usual, Jaguar was a few years behind schedule. The revised side windows that appeared in 1992 present a cleaner, more finished approach, but it was well clear of the Malaise era by that point.

Moving around to the front end, this is one of those European imports that looked much better with the composite halogen headlamps, rather than the dual quad units foisted upon the US market. But that was hardly Jaguar's fault, and they did as good a job with the conversion as Mercedes did with the SL or BMW with the E24 coupe. I do think that Porsche's popup headlight design for the 928 was more innovative and they didn't have to waste resources coming up with 2 different solutions.

Looking back on all the cars I've analyzed so far, the E-Type / XJ-S really does shine in comparison. Even though it was clearly a victim of the times, who wasn't? And suppose for a moment that the XJ-S was judged on its own merits, rather than by wistful memories for a car who's time had come and gone. Were people actually pining for the E-Type or a bygone era that was simpler and more fun? Compared with the Mercedes SL, Porsche 928, BMW 635CSi and in a stretch the Corvette, it had bags of character and British charm. But the XJ-S lasted almost 21 years. All the competing cars had relatively long lives, due to their high development costs and low volume. The respective companies had to wring the most out of their respective halo car platforms to help amortize the tooling. But while the 928 had 18 continuous production (1977-1995), the Jag evolved and improved, (albeit with substantial re-engineering), from 1975-1996. If one must hang the Malaise label on it, I think it applies only to the early years. It was and is a fantastically interesting and distinctive motorcar.

[greg-olotka]

Muscle Cars to Malaise Era - Part 8

The transition years, 1969-1974

In the eighth installment of this series, I'm headed back MOPAR country where I began with an analysis of the Dodge Charger. Today, I'm looking at the Plymouth Satellite, with a focus on the GTX and Road Runner muscle models. Read on to find out which generation I have dubbed "the transition years" and why.

1971-1974 Plymouth Satellite

The Satellite's story naturally parallels its Dodge Charger stablemate. While not as dramatic as the '68-'70 Charger, the closely related Satellite attained peak design at the same time.

1970 Plymouth GTX | Credit: myclassicgarage.com

If you like your cars styled with a t-square and a triangle, you may prefer the '65-'67 Belvedere/Satellite to all other generations. Not an unattractive body by any means, especially compared the horror show early 1960s cars. That story has been told a thousand times, so here's the shorthand version. Virgil Exner suffered a heart attack, William C. Newberg, newly named President of Chrysler mistakenly overheard a cocktail party rumor that Chevy was going to downsize the Impala, and hilarity ensued in the Chrysler design studio. By 1965 all the weirdness had been washed out, courtesy of Elwood Engel, and by 1968 Chrysler was coke-bottling it up, GM style. It was ok to copy to GM, as long as you weren't taking your design direction from wild rumors. But to my eyes, the hardtop Satellite, in Road Runner or GTX guise, was more attractive than the '68-'69 Chevelle SS, Cutlass 442, or Skylark Gran Sport. The GTO beat them all, every year.

For this generation, my favorite flavor is the '70, with its predictive snarling face that warned us about the full loop bumper coming for '71. Note that the bare bones Road Runner handily outsold the luxo GTX every year. This was the go-fast, low-cost, big-engine, lightweight setup that the Age Of Aquarius lead foots wanted from Plymouth. After all, it was the value brand, and every time Plymouth tried to go a little upscale with cars like the GTX or the VIP Fury, customers voted with their pocketbooks and bought Road Runners, Valiants, and a lot of Dusters. Chrysler's $50 grand payment to Warner Bros. for the rights to use the Road Runner cartoon character paid off handsomely. Scoops, stripes, decals, and the "beep beep" horn all added up to one of the most iconic muscle cars of the decade.

In 1971, the Satellite fell into step with the current corporate design language and declared "fuselage was the future".

1971 Plymouth Road Runner | Credit: oldcarbrochures.com

More specifically, designer John Herlitz was assigned to create a more aggressive, contemporary look to take on the GM and Ford intermediates, according to Hemmings.com. Herlitz stated, "I came from a design education where form and curvature to metal is a desirable, if not essential, objective. The 1968-'70 Road Runner suffered from Chrysler's mid-'60s devotion to linear design; the value of the metal was limited to connecting the various flat surfaces--lots of sharp character lines. This delineation of separate hood and fender surfaces creates unnecessary visual distractions."

Whether you agree with Herlitz's philosophy or not, it was clear that curves were in. Like Bill Shenk at Ford, Herlitz was inspired by aircraft, specifically the McDonnell Douglas F-4 Phantom. In hindsight, it seems ludicrous to apply the design principles of a twin-seat, Mach 2 fighter jet to a mid-sized family car. Wouldn't honest, utilitarian functionality better serve the occupants? Well sir, if your tastes are that pedestrian, we have a fine selection of forest green Valiants and Dusters.

1972 Plymouth Road Runner | Credit: ozautobuilders.forum-motion.com

But c'mon, would Daisy Duke have looked cool doing power slides in a Valiant? Speaking of curves, I've always thought that the squareish wheel cutouts were a bit discordant with the rest of the round, organic theme. Why make the wheel wells, which house the most naturally round objects on a car, square? I think it looks particularly odd in the side view and especially heavy at the rear. There is a lot of sheet metal between the top of the rear wheel cutout and the c-pillar. The Torino SportBacks all suffered from this phenomenon as well. Perhaps this is what happens when the car designer really wanted to make a jet airplane.

Herlitz explains his decisions here. "I wanted the body surfaces to have more homogeneity in order to focus the eye on the wheel and wheel cutouts. This was accomplished by flowing the fender shape from plan view (directly above) and side view to the wheel cutouts," Herlitz explained in the same interview, adding that, "The flares drove the modelers crazy. The surface had to be just right or the reflections went to hell. Finally, [studio boss] Dick Macadam told me I had one last chance. Fortunately, it was enough." (Source: Hemmings.com.)

There was new, more formal sheet metal for '73-'74, which substantially changed the Satellite's look. The '71-'74 Charger didn't receive a similar restyle, and was able to keep the cool loop bumpers until '74. So was the Satellite restyle was about sales, (which did increase 40% for '73) or safety? When you see what transpired for '75, it seems like the former may have been true.

Everything changed for '75. The upright grill, dual opera windows, and even the name - as Satellite begat Fury.

1978 Plymouth Fury | Credit: oldcarbrochures.com

In 2-door hardtop form, this model was positioned as your cheapest ticket to ride on the personal luxury train. An analog to the Road Runner, which had cultivated a strong image as the bargain, no-frills muscle car. But frills were needed if you hoped to compete against Monte Carlos and Ford Elites. You could say Plymouth switched from Cheap Thrills to Cheap Frills. By '77, they adopted dual stacked headlights, that neoclassic late Malaise Era styling gimmick. The dual opera window treatment was either an option or part of some arcane sub-model dreamt up by the marketing guys looking to catch a little cut-rate Cordoba magic. I frankly became too bored to research that detail. The only thing I'll give this generation credit for is for keeping a hardtop model into the '70s and marginally better 5-mph bumper integration than its competition at Ford or Chevy.

My remaining candidates for transition cars are the '69-'72 Ford Galaxie / LTD, the '68-'70 Oldsmobile Toronado, and the '71-'75 Jaguar XKE Series III. Which one would you like to see next?

[greg-olotka]

Muscle Cars to Malaise Era - Part 7

The transition years, 1969-1974

As one of the longest running nameplates in automotive history, the Chevy Camaro had its highs and lows. Today, I am looking at the early Seventies transition era.

1970-1973 Chevrolet Camaro

The '69 design is generally acknowledged as "peak Camaro." This is reflected in both the prices a first- generation car will bring, and in the current model's heritage design, which slavishly pays homage to that one-year-only body. And yes, I'm giving the Firebird a "Get Out of Malaise Free" card, but more on that later.

1969 Chevy Camaro Z/28 | Credit: wallpapertags

While Ford may have gotten the muscle car / pony car ball rolling with the Mustang, Chevy perfected the look with the '69 Camaro. Chevy clearly avoided any attempt to copy the wildly successful Mustang's design, no doubt reflecting that famous GM hubris. But they also couldn't afford to ignore the market any longer after watching Mustangs sell like ice cream in August for three years. There was one lesson they learned from Ford, which was platform sharing with an economy model. As the Falcon begat the Mustang, the upcoming '68 Nova shared many bones with the new Camaro.

I find the '69 to be a crisp, aggressive design that looked tight and right from any angle. Those character lines over the wheel wells might have seemed contrived on a lesser car, but on the Camaro they convey a genuine sense of speed. I do like the Rally Sport package with its hidden headlights, but perhaps people who went the Z/28 route preferred to spend their money on performance options like the cowl-induction hood or Positraction rear end. Also, as I searched for images of the peak years, all the sales literature I could find showed the RS package with vinyl roofs. Which kind of destroys my whole peak premise.

This is the first generation where I'm declaring the transition to malaise takes place within the same basic body design.

1970 Chevy Camaro Z/28 | Credit: boldride.com

The '70 model was a dramatic departure from the prior year, with a clean, fuselage-shaped core that introduced a high degree of tumblehome to the greenhouse and said goodbye to the convertible. The rear-quarter windows and corresponding hardtop styling were gone. In fact, they wouldn't show up again until the 2010 homage- mobile, albeit with a fixed B-pillar. Fractionally longer, lower, and wider than the '69, the wheelbase stayed the same and weight bumped up about 100 lbs. Along with the hardtop styling, the windshield wipers disappeared. I've noticed this is a characteristic of all the transition cars so far. And it's a design element nearly ubiquitous on all modern cars. I can't think of a new vehicle whose hood doesn't stretch clear up to the cowl, to at least partially tuck away the wipers.

The strong horizontal crease along the sides accentuated the pronounced lower body tuck-under, which was common on '70s cars. This set off the wheels and tires nicely, supporting that aggressive stance so key to the Camaro's presence. Unfortunately, much of this effect was lost in its final years as a winged warrior when the Camaro sprouted all manner of spoilers, air dams and side scoops. Back to the sweet stuff - the split front bumper of the '70 is by far my favorite feature. It could have come from Ferrari, or maybe Jaguar, but it flows with seamless form into a distinctly American hood of heroic proportions. Yes, many Jags and Ferraris have long hoods too, but the Camaro could be purchased by anyone with a job at Jiffy Lube. And herein lies the sales story, which wasn't good for the first four years or so. In fact, it's astonishing to think that this body style, which ultimately ran for an unprecedented 12 seasons and became an integral part of the American automotive landscape, was up for cancellation early in life.

Which brings us to 1974, the Camaro’s malaise debut.

1976 Chevy Camaro LT | Credit: oldcarbrochures.com

A victim of middle-age spread, the Camaro’s weight increased 300 lbs., length was up over seven inches, and the most horsepower you could buy was 245. Larded up with safety and luxury equipment, it was sort of frustrating to car guys that production cleared 150,000 units for the first time. Wasn’t this the car GM had halfway to the guillotine just a couple of years before? Perhaps there was a backroom arrangement with the boys at Pontiac, who were making a concerted effort to keep the Firebird flames alive with smog-friendly 455 SD motors. We’ll let them worry about the gearheads, we’re selling plenty of Type LTs with color-coordinated vinyl roofs to the golf pros and secretaries. And as long as we’re comparing the Camaro to the Firebird, why on earth was Pontiac able to make decent looking bumpers all through the ‘70s while the Camaro cowcatchers were stricken with the same park bench disease that afflicted every other Malaisemobile? It just seemed like Chevy wasn’t trying very hard, although by ’77, they had developed a more integrated looking design.

By 1975, the Z/28 was cancelled out of embarrassment over the 155 hp LM-1 V8, though it did reappear in ’77. But with less than 200 hp, it was more cynical marketing tactic than an honest attempt at a performance car. It was clear people weren't buying these Camaros for a fast rip down the drag strip.

Firebird Footnote

The Firebird is off the hook in my book, as Pontiac consistently handled the 5-mph bumper challenge with a deftness of design not seen anywhere else, with the possible exception of the Corvette. If anyone can think of other cars that had acceptable solutions, please comment below. Even more admirable was Pontiac's ability to field a high performance V8 of some sort, while Chevy just transplanted a 155 hp 350 chuffer from some leftover Biscayne.

If you enjoyed this analysis of transition cars, be sure to look out for future posts. I plan to put the 1969-1972 Ford LTD, 1968-1970 Oldsmobile Toronado, 1971-1974 Plymouth Satellite, and 1971-1975 Jaguar XKE Series 3 through the same design lens. Now that you know the context and criteria, which cars make your transition list?

[greg-olotka]

Muscle Cars to Malaise Era - Part 6

The transition years, 1969-1974

In this multi-part series, I have loosely defined the transition era as 1969-1974. While not all the models will slot precisely into that six-year timeframe, it provides structure for the discussion. Another convention – I limited my design analysis to the two-door models in the lineup, ignoring any convertible, sedan or wagon stable mates. The specialty hardtops had the most interesting styling as the designers were given a bit more freedom to stretch, with swoopy fastbacks and trick rear window shapes that were not possible on the workaday models.

The Ford Mustang and Mercury Cougar were adorned with some of the swoopiest shapes, but morphed into very different cars in this period.

1971-1973 Ford Mustang / Mercury Cougar

I'll bet tens of millions of words have been written about the original Mustang, so I'm not even going to try to top what the best automotive journalists have expertly depicted for the last 50 years.

1967 Mercury Cougar | 1966 Ford Mustang Fastback | Credit: oldcarbrochures.com

The '64-'66 was not only peak Mustang, it is could be considered peak muscle / pony car, period. And its elegant Cougar cousin was proof that if a company really tried, they could achieve significant styling differentiation while platform sharing. Personally, I have always loved the original '67-'68 Cougar, and even owned a '70 many years ago. If there were ever a car that gave Mercury a genuine identity, it was the Cougar. Sadly, they frittered away that individuality in the Malaise Era, as we'll see in a few paragraphs.

I'm cheating a bit here, and sneaking in the '69-'70 models because I couldn't bring myself to put them into either the peak or transition category.

1969 Mercury Cougar XR-7 | 1970 Ford Boss Mustang | Credit: oldcarbrochures.com

I chose my favorite example of each: a '69 Cougar XR-7 and a '70 Boss 302 Mustang. Yes, they were bigger then their predecessors, but I already made up my mind that the '71-'73 models were the transition targets. I received more compliments on my ’70 Cougar than anything I've driven since. But back to the '69. With its hidden headlights, delicate chrome grin of a bumper, and well-defined body tuck-under, these sat very nicely on the street. The C-pillar flows gracefully into the short trunk, especially from the front 3/4 angle. Not too formal, not too fast. With all four windows down, it cuts a clean hardtop profile. And how can you not love the gimmicky sequential turn signals? When people malign this generation of Cougar for being a fat cat, it is only in comparison with the ultra-crisp '67-'68 cars. True, the coke bottle hips and Buick-esque side spear that blossomed for '69 could be interpreted as cribbing yet again from the GM design playbook, but I think they work rather well here.

As for the '70 Mustang, it cut a mean fastback profile that when accentuated with the bold stripe package defined what muscle meant in 1970. I personally prefer the '70 front end with its large dual headlights over the '69's staggered quad arrangement. Magnum 500 wheels are a must on these cars, and really on all the Fords of this era. They give that extra bit of depth and definition that just makes the body styles pop.

But for '71-'73, things got longer, lower, wider, and weirder.

1971 Mercury Cougar XR-7 | 1971 Ford Mach 1 Mustang | Credit: oldcarbrochures.com

This generation was designed during the Bunkie years at Ford, and as discussed in part 1, Bunkie liked big. The hood length reached cartoonish proportions, the "flatback" SportsRoof on the Mustang provided a nearly horizontal sliver of glass for you not to look out of, all topped off with a steeply raked windscreen. Outward visibility must have been Job None at Ford in the early 70s. But it was the nearly 3" increase in width over the prior design the really put people off. Admittedly, they had a functional engineering rationale. Bunkie wanted to fit the 429 engine under the hood without all the custom work required for the old Boss 429, but with so few produced it all seemed moot.

If you look at the '70 and '71 Mustang together in profile, you can definitely see the relation. But it's as though they just took the ’69 design and turned all the styling cues up to 11 without any particular consideration of the outcome. It was clear that the larger Mustang was an evolutionary dead-end, reflected in the plummeting sales. The 429 only lasted one year, a victim of higher insurance premiums, recession, and the looming energy crisis. The Mustang was a fish out of water, or more accurately, a high-compression 429 CJ out of Sunoco 360. I was even as kind as possible, by not showing a "Grande" model replete with whitewall tires and vinyl roof. Still, I have to admit that a '71 SportsRoof Mach 1 with a dual-Ram Air induction 429 SCJ on Magnum 500 wheels had undeniable curb presence. It represented the absolute last gasp of the original muscle car revolution at Ford. I just don't think I'd enjoy driving it much.

The Cougar of this era actually continued its journey down the path to excess, and I feel the '71-'73 models were a clear harbinger of the opera-windowed mini Mark that we got for '74. What's most unfortunate about the '71 is that the lithe, elegant feline of '67-'70 appeared to have gotten into a Costco sized bag of Meow Mix. Did they have to make the grill so huge? The body so bloated? Where did my disappearing headlights disappear to? And where did that flying buttress roof come from? Surprisingly, while the Cougar gained an inch in wheelbase to 112", it lost a little weight compared to the '70 model. It just didn't look that way.

Finally, Ford got in tune with the times, and let its Malaise flag fly for '74 with both the Mustang and the Cougar, but in very different ways.

1974 Mercury Cougar XR-7 | 1978 Ford Mustang King Cobra | Credit: oldcarbrochures.com

Ford took a lot of heat at the time for bloating its sweet little pony car into a lumbering Clydesdale. I uncovered some clay models intended to be extensions of the '71-'73 platform. I'm not sure who would have been fired if those had made it to market. Speaking of firing, if Henry II didn't have enough reasons to terminate Bunkie in September of '69, the sales failure of the '71 Mustang would have been just cause. But now Lee Iacocca was back in charge of the next generation Mustang, and he wasn't looking back. Or maybe he was...to the original formula that worked so well ten years prior. Take one pedestrian economy car chassis, make the trunk smaller, the hood longer, build a youth image around it all and watch them fly off the showroom floor. He liked proven formulas for success, and turning a Falcon into a Mustang was a stroke of genius. So why not turn a Pinto into the Mustang II?

What makes this a Malaise Mustang isn't its size, which was radically reduced from the prior year to a close approximation of the original pony. No, the 'Stang II suffered from underpowered engines, typically terrible bumper integration, vinyl roofs, and silly decals on the King Cobra and Cobra II models. Also, I'm assigning T-tops the Mark of Malaise, as seen in my photo example. I shot that one myself at Caffeine and Octane here in Atlanta. I have to give the owner credit, he was not the least bit ashamed to show his '78 King Cobra alongside the usual pristine '69 Boss 302s and Z/28 Camaros. And while I would never buy one, then or now, you can't argue with the sales numbers, which topped 385,000 for the first year.

The Cougar chose not to try the Pinto diet for '74. Not everyone was worried about the oil embargo - precisely the 91,670 people who bought the newer, larger cat. It was substantial uptick from the 60,628 units moved in '73. If they couldn't get enough fuel to wet the bottom of the Cougar's 26-gallon gas tank, they'd just walk to the disco. Although the Cougar seemed to have lost its way in the past few years, it was actually crouched, ready to pounce upon the burgeoning personal luxury market. This kitty has it all--hood ornament, stand-up grille, opera window and enough vinyl to side a subdivision. Really nothing more than a Torino in drag, it pushed potential buyers' buttons, despite a rather awkward C-pillar compromised by Ford's insistence on clinging to those exaggerated coke-bottle hips. Compared with the wildly popular Monte Carlo / Grand Prix Colonnade designs, it's hard to see today why someone would have chosen the Cougar. But I believe it successfully marked its territory as a mini Mark IV. As long as the front could fool your neighbors into thinkin' you were rollin' in a Lincoln, perhaps no one was paying attention by the time their eyes wandered their way back to the lumpy trunk and fussy tail lamp detailing. Who knows. Fussy detailing was a Mercury hallmark, especially in the '70s. For me, the only mark it carries is the Mark of Malaise.

Tomorrow, I’ll take a look at the 1970-1973 Chevrolet Camaro’s place in transitional history.

[greg-olotka]

Muscle Cars to Malaise Era - Part 5

The transition years, 1969-1974

Over the past four days, I've been looking at the cars that moved us from the Smokin' Sixties to the Somnambulant Seventies. These are the transition cars, the ones whose styling got a bit convoluted compared with the simple purity of the "peak" generation before it. They didn't all have opera windows and vinyl roofs but such frippery became more frequent, under the guise of "broadening market appeal". Transition cars warmed us up for the Malaise Era, and reflected (or perhaps reacted to) the massive cultural changes that our country was experiencing.

1970-1971 Ford Torino / Mercury Montego

When I lined up three generations of Tornios, as seen in the header graphic, I really felt the malaise ooze off the screen, as I scanned from left to right.

1968 Mercury Montego | 1968 Mercury Cyclone | 1968 Ford Torino | 1968 Ford Torino GT | Credit: oldcarbrochures.com

The '68-'69 design was clean and honest, if not a beauty contest winner. After all, it was up against the sexy new GM A-Body coupes. Although Ford went to the trouble of producing a fastback (aka SportsRoof) and hardtop, the Chevelle still outsold it by about 93,000 units [source ChevelleStuff.net & Hemmings.com], across the board with an all-new-for-'68 design. Still, this was Ford's best effort to date in the growing intermediate market, with a big increase in sales from the '66-'67 models.

Typically, the Mercury twin didn't have much in the way of differentiation except for a fussier nose and more conservative tail end treatment. Small reason to pay extra for an allegedly upscale nameplate. But in retrospect, I'd take a '69 Torino GT SportsRoof or Cyclone CJ with a 360 hp R-code Ram Air 428 over the contemporary Chevelle.

If you thought Ford wasn't trying hard enough in '68, just two years later the '70 Torino / Montego swooped onto the scene.

1970 Mercury Cyclone | 1970 Ford Torino GT | 1971 Ford Torino | Credit: oldcarbrochures.com

It was the proverbial lower, longer, wider, heavier design, driven in part by a desire to win the NASCAR aero wars. Now sporting a 117" wheelbase and 206.2"-209.9" overall length, they began to stretch the size boundaries for mid-sized automobiles. Lead stylist Bill Shenk was influenced by supersonic aircraft. I recommend reading this fascinating piece about the design process for the '70 models. The takeaway from Mr. Shenk was this. "…back in those styling days anything went, so long as it could be built and looked different." It sounds like designers had a lot of fun right before the days of malaise, which ushered in worries about 5-mph bumpers, roll-over standards, and development budgets getting sapped by engineers struggling to meet new emission regulations with early 1970s tech.

Ford stuck with the SportsRoof/Hardtop split, although even the "regular" hardtop was so sleek one wonders why they bothered. That said, the Torino GT and Cobra SportsRoof was a dramatic design, and foreshadowed the flatback '71 Mustang waiting in the wings. In case you suffered from Scopophobia,  (an anxiety disorder characterized by a morbid fear of being seen or stared at by others), Ford thoughtfully provided window louvers (Sports Slats, in marketingese) on the Cobra and GT, thus eliminating the already small chance that anyone could see in or out of the steeply angled backlight.

For 1970, the Montego had only the 2-door hardtop roofline, settling for that famous Cyclone GT gunsight nose to stand out. Also note that in '70-'71 the Montego had the greatest styling differentiation from the Torino than at any other time in its long and relatively anonymous career. Personally, I like the Torino much better. The Montego is more bulbous and unresolved, as though they were still trying to justify the higher price without investing too much in new tooling. If it speaks to me all it says, "I’m worth an extra $783 for my oddly hewed front clip, because I kinda look like a '67 Olds 88". Ironically, even though far more people bought Torinos than Montegos (as was always the case at FoMoCo), I think the Montego styling predicted what was to come for the Malaise generation that followed.

As one of the earlier Malaise mobiles, it appeared that Ford was out in front of GM by releasing their all-new intermediates for '72, a year ahead of the Colonnade crew.

1972 Mercury Montego GT | 1975 Mercury Montego MX | 1972 Ford Gran Torino | 1976 Ford Gran Torino | Credit: oldcarbrochures.com

In reality, this was due to a strike that ended up delaying production of the GM A-bodies rather than genius product planning from Dearborn. Still, consider that FoMoCo intermediates body styles had been significantly revamped every 2-3 years since the 1962 introduction. (Yes, I'm counting the unfortunate looking '65 model as revamped.) You just don't see that much visual change anymore from year-to-year. Also note that Ford had taken unit construction about as far as it could go, and in the quest to achieve LTD style smoothness and silence, they switched to body-on-frame for '72.

While some argue that the relatively slim-bumpered '72s don't deserve the Malaise label slapped on them, particularly in SportsRoof form (which oddly returned to the Montego again), they lasted only one year before being saddled with some of the most poorly integrated battering rams this side of the Matador Coupe. The '72 SportsRoof grew a touch longer, with a 3-inch shorter wheelbase, while width ballooned from a hardly svelte 76.8" wide to a fulsome 79.3". Those are Malaise-style stats in my book: more overhang front, back and side-to-side, mixed with a cream puff ride. And that's before the 5-mph bumper was tacked on for '73 with a new nose to match, extending the length to 212 inches. The nail in the muscle car coffin was the 429 V8's plunge in horsepower from 370 gross in '71 to 208 net, along with a corresponding increase in 0-60 times from the six-second range to a sad 9.3 seconds in '72. [Source: automobile-catalog.com]. Even the new name, Gran Torino, was a Malaise moniker if there ever was one--pretentious, overblown, and disappointing.

As you can see from the photo section, the Torino/Montego brought us to Broughamsville, with a plethora of opera windows, vinyl roofs, and even fender spats. The bumpers are so poorly integrated that they look bent in the side profile of view of the '75 Montego. These bloated bodies were less space efficient than the prior generation. Huge on the outside, relatively small on the inside, sporting 100 inches of front and rear overhang by '74.

Ford may have gotten a year's lead time over GM in the intermediate market, but they didn't seem to learn any lessons when it came time to redesign the Torino for '77. Witness the LTD II, Thunderbird, and Cougar bodies, which were woefully out of step with the times, and clearly just a mild rehash of a platform that was obsolete back in '72. In the meantime, GM went small in a big way with their radically downsized '78 A-body platform. Ford no doubt sold quite a few more monster mid-sizers to customers in love with length, as both company and customer clung to a culture that reveled in the gloriously inefficient Malaise Era. But we have the General to thank for leading American cars out of one of the darkest decades in recent memory.

Tune in tomorrow for an analysis of the 1971-1973 Ford Mustang / Mercury Cougar.

[greg-olotka]

Muscle Cars to Malaise Era - Part 4

The transition years, 1969-1974

In Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 of this series, I took a look at the 1971-1974 Dodge Charger, the 1967 - 1971 Ford Thunderbird, and the 1971-1973 Buick Riviera. To make the transition list, the candidate car needed to meet the following criteria.

Have an attractive, direct ancestor from the sixties

Have a monstrous, direct descendent in the seventies

Be larger, heavier, and have more convoluted styling than the ancestor cars

But not be definitively ugly like the malaise cars that followed

Now to examine AMC's plucky little muscle car that morphed into a different flavor of brougham.

1971-1974 AMC Javelin

The first generation Javelin of 1968-1970 jumped late into the muscle car market with a clean, deft style penned by Dick Teague.

1968 AMC Javelin | Credit: oldcarbrochures.com

Arguably better looking than the contemporary Mustang, it was all the more impressive when you consider AMC's limited budget for new models. But the interesting story behind the Javelin was not its sales, which never came close to the Mustang, Camaro, or Challenger. It was the halo car effect which helped drive younger people into the AMC showrooms, presumably selling thousands more Hornets and Gremlins. There's a fascinating and thorough design analysis at Hemmings of not only the first Javelin, but of all the related concept car models like the AMX III Sport Wagon. It's a must read.

For 1971, they whipped up something longer, lower, and wider.

1971 AMC Javelin | Credit: oldcarbrochures.com

As befitting a transition design, the '71 Javelin wasn't ugly, but it was bigger, heavier and more extravagant. And more polarizing, along the lines of the boat tail Riviera. It was a love-it-or-hate-it proposition. Less glass, more ass, might be another way to sum up the swoops, bulges, and steeply raked fastback that ended in a giant spoiler on the AMX version. Gone was the airy, almost delicate look of the first generation design. But soon enough, gone was any pretense of muscle for AMC, as the Javelin wasn't replaced with a new Javelin, but AMC's answer to the Monte Carlo.  

Yes, even the ever-independent American Motors Company was forced to abandon its muscle car aspirations and field an entry in the personal luxury market just like the Big Three. Hence the 1974 - 1978 Matador Coupe.

1978 AMC Matador Barcelona | Credit: oldcarbrochures.com

What's interesting about this malaise mobile is the way it shunned the personal luxury formula for success by eschewing stand up grills and formal roof lines. There was not an opera light to be found on the Coupe, and Car and Driver magazine even named it the "Best Styled Car of 1974". Not sure if this says more about the other offerings in '74 or the Matador itself, but nonetheless it was an honest exercise in aerodynamics that wore its fastback with pride. However, no model was immune to the malaise of giant 5-MPH bumpers, which looked particularly ill-fitting on the radical body tuckunder inherent in the Coupe's design. And befitting a malaise mobile, it was larger and heavier than the Javelin.

Next up - Ford's transitional 1970-1971 Torino.

[greg-olotka]

Muscle Cars to Malaise Era - Part 3

The transition years, 1969-1974

In Part 1 and Part 2, I examined that automotive styling period that moved us from the Sixties to the Seventies. To make the transition list, the candidate car needed to meet the following criteria.

Have an attractive, direct ancestor from the sixties

Have a monstrous, direct descendent in the seventies

Be larger, heavier, and have more convoluted styling than the ancestor cars

But not be definitively ugly like the malaise cars that followed

1971-1973 Buick Riviera

1965 Buick Riviera | Credit: oldcarbrochures.com

The first generation was particularly elegant, with that Ferrari-meets-Rolls-Royce-knife-edge-fenders look. You could argue '66-'70 was also a transitional generation, but the '66-'67 cars were just too nice to damn with such a label. Things were already starting to slide by '68, with the uglier front end and proliferation of vinyl roofs. The less said about the one year '70 re-skin, the better.

But the third generation boat tail Riviera is a quintessential transitional car.

1971 Buick Riviera | Credit: americanrides.blogspot.com

Not without redeeming value, the styling was distinctive but controversial. Every old car buff knows the story of how Bill Mitchell intended the design to be used with the smaller, intermediate A-body platform, like a contemporary Skylark. But somewhere along the development journey it was determined that the Riviera would need to share the gargantuan B-body, shell also used by the new LeSabre/Centurion. Of course the first thing you notice is the giant glass backlight, which looked like a '64 Corvette Stingray jumped onto the back of that LeSabre. Then the dramatic, exaggerated "sweepspear" carries your eye forward to the de rigueur gigantic hood. After all the excitement out back, the only thing the rather nondescript front end had going for it was a pronounced forward rake, which did nothing for aerodynamics. But then again, pundits always complain that when designers are slave to the wind tunnel, all cars end up looking the same. You can't say that about the boat tail Riviera.

After all that effort, the transition Riviera didn't sell as well as its predecessor. The high end personal luxury car market was looking for more conservative, traditional trappings.

1974 Buick Riviera | Credit: oldcarbrochures.com

Every dentist from New Rochelle to New Haven was buying Mark IVs and Eldorados. Thus, the 1974-1976 Riviera was a bland rehash of styling cues in a vain effort to pander to the questionable tastes of the personal luxury car buyer. The expected formal "Colonnade" roofline was swathed in vinyl. Opera windows, stand up hood ornaments, and a vertical grill all made an appearance. It was a forgettable ensemble, and the market punished Buick by not buying that one either. Odd how one of the early progenitors of the personal luxury car ended up missing out on the fat city days of the 70s. The Riviera wouldn't make a comeback until the '79 front wheel drive model.

Tune in tomorrow, for an analysis of the 1971-1974 AMC Javelin.

[greg-olotka]

Muscle Cars to Malaise Era - Part 2

The transition years, 1969-1974

In Part 1, I examined that automotive styling period that moved us from the Sixties to the Seventies. To make the transition list, the candidate car needed to meet the following criteria.

Have an attractive, direct ancestor from the sixties

Have a monstrous, direct descendent in the seventies

Be larger, heavier, and have more convoluted styling than the ancestor cars

But not be definitively ugly like the malaise cars that followed

Read on to find out which Ford Thunderbird I believe was a transition machine.

1967 - 1971 Ford Thunderbird

Ford was floundering with this T-Bird, even with '70-'71 re-skin. Of course one would have to look all the way back to the original '55-'57 models for peak Thunderbird styling. But after the overwrought square-birds in '58-'60, they really hit a styling home run with the beautiful bullet-nosed models in 1960-1963.

1961 Ford Thunderbird "the bullet bird" | Credit: NetCarShow.com

Alas, there's no accounting for taste in the personal luxury market, as the better looking the bird, the worse it sold. The 1964-1966 Flair Birds brought a fussier, squared up look, and a rebound in sales. So Ford's better idea was to go bigger in '67, and try to catch some Continental cache by adding a four-door model with suicide doors.

But for this exercise, I'm singling out the '70-'71 "Bunkie Birds" as the transitional generation.

1970 Ford Thunderbird | Credit: oldcarbrochures.com

If you're an aficionado of old American cars, you may be familiar with Ford president Semon “Bunkie” Knudsen who came from Pontiac and brought that prominent proboscis with him. Perhaps his reasoning was if you were going to call it a Thunderbird, it should have a bird-like beak. That beak was a prime example of functionality losing out to form. Check out this vintage Popular Mechanics Owner's Report, where several people reported it nearly impossible to judge just where that aircraft carrier length hood ended, resulting in numerous, expensive parking mishaps. And that swoopy sports-back model with its extremely shallow rear window made backing up just as difficult. At least these birds could fly with a 360 HP Thunderjet 429.

The logical progression was to create an even larger bird for '72, making it one of the earliest examples of a malaise mobile.

1972 Ford Thunderbird | Credit: oldcarbrochures.com

Naturally, a personal luxury barge should lead the way down the path of excess. With the Lincoln Mark IV as a chassis donor, it was a whale of a bird. These overblown and softly sprung rolling bordellos wallowed down the interstate on a 120" wheelbase spanning 216" end to end. This overall length would grow to just over 225" by the time the giant chrome park benches masquerading as bumpers were bolted on for the '74-'76 models. As for styling details, it still had a giant hood and short trunk combined with a shallow greenhouse and rather steeply raked windshield. So you still couldn't see out of it, despite the daylight afforded by the small trapezoidal opera window.

Tomorrow, we'll look at the 1971-1973 Buick Riviera.

[greg-olotka]

Muscle Cars to Malaise Era - Part 1

The transition years, 1969-1974

The title of this post is a bit misleading, in the interest of alliteration. In this multi-part series, I’m examining that period of automotive styling that transitioned us from the zenith of the sixties into the full-blown “Malaise Era” of the seventies. But not all my examples are muscle cars, strictly speaking. Some representatives from the personal luxury class earned a spot on the list. In fact, some of the muscle cars morphed into bloated broughams as auto companies chased market trends. The more I thought about it, the more of these transition designs kept popping into my head.

To make the transition list, the candidate car needed to meet the following criteria.

Have an attractive, direct ancestor from the sixties

Have a monstrous, direct descendent in the seventies

Be larger, heavier, and have more convoluted styling than the ancestor cars

But not be definitively ugly like the Malaise cars that followed

This nascent design trend manifested itself in styling excesses that weren’t universally perceived as ugly at the time. But it did usually result in less utility and pure beauty compared to the ancestral generation. Outward visibility usually suffered at the capricious hand of the designer, perhaps being guided by the malicious mind of the marketing department. With the parameters established, here’s the first candidate.

1971-1974 Dodge Charger

I believe this to be the most clear cut example of a transition era car. Its ancestor was the classic, brilliantly styled 1968 - 1970 Dodge Charger.

1970 Dodge Charger R/T 440 Magnum Six Pack | Credit: musclecarcalendar.com

From the wicked looking concealed headlights at the front to the sculpted fenders flowing back to the flying buttress c-pillar ending in a subtle integrated rear spoiler there wasn't a false line on this one. The integrated chrome bumpers were devoid of excess and any hope of impact protection. So what. They looked sweet, and I'm partial to the front loop bumper found on the 1970 model. Dubbed a "double-diamond coke bottle", this aggressive yet elegant shape was penned by Richard Sias and Harvey J. Winn. Pretty heady stuff for what was a work-a-day Coronet under the skin.

Then in 1971, the new Charger was introduced with even swoopier styling from MOPAR's fuselage school of design.

1973 Dodge Charger SE | Credit: wiredoncars.com

The '71 managed to look and feel larger than its predecessor. But it was a few inches shorter in wheelbase and overall length, (arguing against my premise, but bear with me). It was notably a couple inches wider, and had even worse rear visibility, owing to a c-pillar that thoughtfully created a blind spot big enough to hide a semi. But by 1973, this just became a canvas for the triple opera windows inset into a canopy vinyl roof, which looks particularly natty here in white. You could see where things were headed. Still, it was regarded as a very good looking car at the time, as evidenced by this archived Car And Driver article.

But by 1975, malaise had set in. The Charger morphed into a Cordoba clone, replete with a stand up hood ornament, vertical grill, and opera lamps.

1975 Dodge Charger SE | Credit: oldcarbrochures.com

In a way, it was worse than the Cordoba, because Dodge disingenuously slapped the once proud Charger name on the side. At least the Cordoba was honest in its mission to get you to the disco without wrinkling your polyester leisure suit. But what were we to make of a Charger with fake wire wheel covers and whitewalls? At best you got 245 HP from a 400 V8, which wasn't that bad for the time, but you were hauling around another 10" of overall length and about 400 lbs compared to a comparably equipped '74.

Tomorrow, we'll examine the 1967 - 1971 Ford Thunderbird.

[greg-olotka]

Automakers & Social Media

A succinct interview from Autoline on Automakers and Social Media. John McElroy hosts, and gets great insights from industry insiders Mary Henige of GM, Ed Garsten of Chrysler, and Scott Monty, formerly of Ford.

[greg-olotka]

Tom Magliozzi & 1963 Dodge Dart

photo credit: cartalk.com

One week ago today we heard the sad news. RIP Tom Magliozzi, I hope you and your Dart are together again.

[greg-olotka]

Tom Magliozzi Tribute

photo credit: CarTalk.com

On Tuesday, November 4, we all learned that Tom Magliozzi of Car Talk fame had passed away on Monday. Tom and Ray stopped doing the new episodes back in October 2012. I was afraid that was a sign one of them was suffering ill health. They did that show out of love. You don’t stop doing something you love without a damn good reason. To quote Car Talk Executive Producer Doug Berman, “They always said they were going to do it long as it was fun.” After 35 years, apparently it stopped being fun. Berman confirmed on Tuesday’s Fresh Air with Terry Gross that Tommy was feeling the effects of Alzheimer's. Listen to the interview here, you might learn something you didn’t know about the show’s origins. Condolences to Ray, Tom’s family, Doug Berman and everyone else on the Car Talk team.

Ok, now that the grieving is out of the way, let’s consider what Tom would have wanted. Would he want Car Talk fans writing long, morose, essays about the gloom of old age and shuffling off this mortal coil? Hell no! He’d want us to laugh, remember our favorite calls, and use this as an opportunity to crack wise about cars and the people who drive them. Just like he and Ray did for 35 years. People in the business who knew Tom and Ray have covered all the story angles we expect to see when an icon dies, and I have included links to those sources at the bottom of the page. This is a personal perspective from a regular fan.

I’ve been listening to Car Talk since the mid-80s, right before they went national with Doug Berman and NPR. I haven’t been able to find any episodes from that early era. I would love to compare their “polished, official NPR” style with their early rogue days when they operated with the following instructions from WBUR - "You're on your own, have a good time, and try to watch your language."

Tom and Ray’s easy banter gave a car nut like me something in common with my normal family members not afflicted with gearheaditis. Many a drive was made brighter with the boys chortling through the speakers of our Mazda 626. Probably took my parents’ minds off the fact that I was behind the wheel and still in my formative driving years.

The show had broad appeal because it wasn’t really about cars, unlike my other favorite automotive themed shows - Chasing Classic Cars, Wheeler Dealers, Mecum Auto Auctions, and Top Gear. Car Talk was actually about people and relationships - cars were just the vehicle (pun intended) to start conversations. Marriages, mothers, dads, daughters, sons, siblings, boyfriends, girlfriends, just friends, and foes – those were the real topics that most people cared about.  Gear heads like me who actually understood the difference between a tie-rod and a tappet enjoyed it because once a week we had something to talk about with the normal people. Plus we got to showcase our superior automotive knowledge. (And yet, people still let me listen with them.) When it comes to bringing people together with laughter, over any subject, it’s tough to top the Magliozzi brothers.

There was something special about that Saturday morning ritual of washing, waxing, and detailing my machine to the accompaniment of Tommy’s raucous laugh and folksy insights. Back in the prehistoric days before podcasts, I’d have to time it just right to be out there with the hose and bucket at 11 AM to catch those first strain of “Dawggy Mountain Breakdown”, the show’s theme music. As appointment listening became obsolete, I could saunter out to the driveway on my own schedule, bucket and hose in hand, iPhone in my pocket. They were also the perfect backdrop for doing mundane tasks around the house. I recall building Ikea furniture or dusting my car magazine collection while the boys took calls from the likes of Chloe from Portland who had a question about a funny clunking sound coming from her ‘96 Subaru Outback.

In taking calls from around the country, they never let anyone get away without a jab or some commentary on their name and city. They had a keen ear for dialect, local flavor, and the caller’s true motivations.  Like when people would call in looking for advice about which new car to buy, Tom and Ray could cajole them to admit that their current car, while old, was still serviceable and could be driven for many more years with just minor repairs. That was part of a thrifty Yankee spirit they brought to the show, enhanced with their thick accents and Bostonian accents replete with dropped Rs. It is a rare talent to be able to do this on the fly, on the air. You went from zero to best friend in 10 seconds flat, creating so many memorable moments.  Here are some of my favorites.

  The Best Of Car Talk will continue to air the show on Saturday morning “as long as people want to listen to it” according to Berman. With 25 years’ worth of archives and over 12,000 calls to work with, many of them previously unaired, there’s still gas in the tank.

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Articles from friends and colleagues

WBUR mourns Tom Magliozzi

After 35 Years, ‘Car Talk’ Brothers Retiring

Tom Magliozzi: As Warm In Real Life As He Was On The Radio

Tom Magliozzi Remembered - Ira Glass

A brief history of Car Talk: “They’ve changed the way people see public radio in America”

Classic Tom Magliozzi Quotes

“It's only a car.” "Do it while you're young.  You may never have another chance to do anything this stupid again!" "Happiness equals reality minus expectations" “How do you know if you've got a good mechanic? By the size of his boat.” "If money can fix it, it's not a problem." “Our Humility is what makes us great.” “Reality often astonishes theory.” "Life is too short to own a German car.” “Kids: get away from the cell phones, get away from the computers, and mail someone a fish before it’s too late.” “Non Impediti Ratione Cogitationis” - “Unencumbered by the thought process.”  Tom’s self-proclaimed motto. “Never let the facts stand in the way of a good answer” "Some guy I met said it's amazing how we use cars on our show as an excuse to discuss everything in the world—energy, psychology, behavior, love, money, economics and finance. The cars themselves are boring as hell." “It is better to travel in hope than arrive in despair.” "If it falls off, it doesn't matter.” "I like to drive with the windows open. I mean, before you know it, you're going to spend plenty of time sealed up in a box anyway, right?” 

[greg-olotka]

Happy Halloween! 1957 Plymouth Fury

Ghost of Christine, not quite as pristine. Have a fun and safe night Trick-Or-Treating! 

[greg-olotka]

Audi R8 Spyder 

This is about as close as I will ever get to this V10 powered mid-engine dream car. But I was happy to have the chance at the Atlanta Auto Show. 

[greg-olotka]

Toyota Tacoma 4WD on Sandy Neck

This is how four wheel drive was meant to be used.

[greg-olotka]

Le Sabre XP-8 Interior

I've been tumbling, Tweeting, and Instagraming plenty of pictures from the Dream Cars special exhibition at highmuseumofart. But just realized that I don't have any interior shots. These cars were fully designed, inside and out. Want to see more interior shots from this show?