Car Lust

I'm out on vacation until Tuesday morning, so here's the open thread for the holiday weekend. The usual rules apply.

Possible topic for July 4:

What car would George Washington drive? Thomas Jefferson? John Adams? Benedict Arnold?

--Chris H.

The 1955-57 "Tri-Five" or "shoebox" Chevrolets are among the most recognizable of all classic cars. The 1957 iteration, with its tail-finned rear quarter panels and available powerful small-block V-8, is probably the single best-known and loved American car of all time. 

Go to any old-car show or cruise-in anywhere on the North American continent this summer and I guarantee there will be at least one '57 Chevy on display--probably two or three. Whether meticulously restored to car-show perfection, or tricked out with side pipes and slotted mags and a jacked-up rear end, any '57 you see in these circumstances will be an obvious source of joy for its owner and an object of affection and wonder to those who gather around it. Even non-pistonheads love the '57 Chevy. My wife, who is as far from a "car person" as one can be and still have a driver's license, remembers kissing her father's red hardtop goodbye when he traded it in.

How beloved are these cars? There is an urban legend that claims that after the newly-styled '58 Chevrolets were introduced, a renegade group of GM employees continued building unauthorized copies of the '57s in a secret factory for another ten years out of sheer unadulterated car lust. That didn't really happen, at least not the way legend has it, but if you want a new 1957-design Chevrolet Bel Air with all zeroes on the odometer, you can get one--there is enough demand for them that exact replicas are being manufactured today, some using NOS parts for that extra measure of authenticity.

Personally, I just don't get what all the fuss is about.

Before you form a mob and drag me off to be burned at the stake for heresy, let me say in my defense that I don't dislike '57 Chevys. I have nothing against them or their fans, but I just don't feel the love myself. I've never cared for the styling of most cars from this period--the typical mid-to-late-1950s flat front end makes the car look like a loaf of bread with headlights (examples here, here, here, here, and here) and I don't like the overstated chrome gewgaws (including the his-and-hers hood ornaments) that were so hot and trendy back then. That doesn't make the '57 Chevy an object of car disgust, it just means that it's not my cup of motor oil--and I fully realize that makes me an outlier among car fans.

1957 Chevrolets came in three models--but what they called "models" in 1957 were what we would think of today as trim levels. The "One Fifty" was the base version; it had a relatively restrained chrome trim piece on the rear quarters. One step up from that was the "Two Ten", which can be recognized by a chrome "sweepspear" that begins at the headlights and arcs down to the rear bumper, paired with a second chrome piece that branches off the first just a little forward of the rear wheel well and follows the upper line of the tailfin. The triangular area between the two chrome strips could be painted a contrasting color.

The top-of-the-line version was the "Bel Air," which has an aluminum "beauty panel" in that triangular space on the rear fender between the chrome strips, and more chrome on the top of the tail fin, and also has some of its bright metal trim gold-anodized.  Most '57s that you see at cruise-ins and car shows are Bel Airs--including more than a few which were originally built as one of the lesser versions, but have been retrofitted with Bel Air trim.

All three models were available as two- or four-door sedans and hardtops. There were also two- and four-door station wagons, a One Fifty "utility sedan" with no back seat, and a convertible version of the Bel Air. It seems (from my own admittedly unscientific observations at local car shows, at least) that the two-door hardtop is the most common variant among the survivors.

All '57 Chevys rode on a 115-inch wheelbase chassis of dead conventional design for the time, with an independent front suspension and a leaf-spring live axle in the rear. Transmission options were a plain-Jane three-speed manual, a three-speed with overdrive, and two automatics: the sophisticated but cantankerous three-speed Turboglide or the two-speed Powerglide.

The 136-horsepower "Blue Flame" straight six was the base engine, but any model could be ordered with a "Generation I" small-block V-8 of either 265 or 283 cubic inches. The 265 produced 162 horsepower in its base version, 180 horsepower in the "Power Pack" version with a four-barrel carb and a dual exhaust (just like the legendary "Hot Rod Lincoln!") The 283, which was a bored-out 265, could produce between 160 and 220 horsepower in conventional form, depending upon the carb setup. The fire-breathing fuel-injected "Ramjet" version put out 283 horsepower--an honest 1 horsepower per cubic inch. That's gross horsepower, and the engine would be rated about a third lower using the more modern "SAE net" method, but that's still very good specific output for 1957.

Ramjet "fuelies" were, of course, relatively rare. Even with one of the more pedestrian engines, a V-8 Chevy had rather respectable straight-line performance in bone-stock showroom condition. The basic design of Chevy's small-block V-8 was only two years old, and there was plenty of room for growth. As the hot-rodders were soon to discover--and as GM's engineers had undoubtedly planned from the start--this engine could be bored, stroked, polished, ported, four-barrelled, supercharged, and otherwise hotted-up into an absolute screaming monster.

General Motors sold a little over 1.5 million of these cars in the 1957 model year--outselling everything except the full-size 1957 Fords. As a fan of Studebakers, Hudsons, Frazers, and other oddball makes and models, who counts as precious every one of the 4,647 Avantis produced at South Bend in 1962-63, the idea of one and a half million of any model being produced in a single year in those long-ago days is a little hard for me to get my head wrapped around.

Why was the '57 Chevy so successful? An article by Paul Niedermeyer at The Truth About Cars suggests several reasons. The '57 Chevy was just the right size for a family car--very close in overall dimensions and interior space to mid-size 2009 models such as the Camry, Accord, and Malibu. (These cars have a 3-5" shorter wheelbase and are 6-10" shorter in overall length, probably due to the better space efficiency of their FWD powertrains.) The drivetrain was quite good for its day, and since the "shoebox" platform (as we might call it) was in its third year of production, the bugs had been worked out and the build quality was better than the competition. (Yes, you read that correctly: GM once had an advantage in build quality.)

Even with all that, why did the '57 Chevy become such a cultural icon and not, say, the competing '57 Ford? Niedermeyer attributes it to the basic "rightness" of the car, and that undoubtedly is a large part of the explanation. I suspect a few other factors may have contributed.

Automotive styling went through rapid changes in this period. Circa 1955, most Detroit iron had the squared-up, flat-faced look of the "shoebox" body--which itself was shared by four GM divisions. Chrysler introduced Virgil Exner's "Forward Look" that year, and suddenly the race was on in Detroit.  In the matter of two or three years, cars became, as the saying goes, longer, lower, and wider--with an unfortunate tendency to accompany this with increasingly garish styling and ornamentation. Sales fell precipitously in the 1958 recession, and Detroit belatedly realized that perhaps its stylists had gotten out of step with public tastes. Designs evolved through frantic annual restylings in 1959 and 1960 and 1961 in the direction of cleaner, sharper lines and much-reduced ornamentation. The basic look of American cars went through such a rapid evolution that by the time a '57 Bel Air was four years old, it looked rather dated next to the newest models. I've not had the time or the facilities to do the research, but I suspect that meant that these cars depreciated rather rapidly, and a good used '57 could be picked up pretty cheap in about 1961 or 1962.

This would have been right about when the musclecar era was coming into full flower. For a hot-rodder on a tight budget, a '57 Chevy likely would have made a very cost-effective project car. You could hop up the existing small block engine, or swap in a more modern Chevy V-8, without too much trouble. Upgrading to a four-speed or a Turbo-Hydramatic would also have been relatively easy as such things go. This, I suspect, led to a relatively high percentage of V-8 '57 Chevys surviving beyond their normal lifespan.

Finally, there was the emergence of 1950s nostalgia among "Baby Boomers" in the early 1970s. For a "Boomer" looking for a car that looked like the cars of his childhood, the '57 Chevy would be a natural choice--its styling was closer to 1955 than to 1959.

Whatever the reason, the 1957 Chevrolet truly is an icon, an indispensable element of pop culture's mental picture of the late 1950s. Having learned quite a lot about them in the course of writing this essay, I will cheerfully admit that they are very interesting and lust-worthy cars. When I see a nice one at the cruise-in, I can appreciate the love and craftsmanship that has gone into it, and if the owner is nearby I'll make a point of saying that out loud.

Emotionally, I'm still not there. The '57 Chevy is an object of car lust, but not for me.

That said, if I were running GM, I'd have someone working on a crash project to design the 2010 Bel Air Classic. It would probably best be built on the Impala platform--the current-generation Impala's length and width is almost exactly the same as the '57's. (The fact that it's FWD may offend the purists, but employing a modern drivetrain didn't hurt the New Beetle.) Give it styling that picks up all the major visual cues of its illustrious predecessor, including a retro interior with a CD/MP3 player and an iPod adapter cleverly hidden in what looks like a tube radio. Offer it in vivid two-tone colors, and make the upper trim level a "Cruiser" version with a V-8 and side pipes, accessory fuzzy dice and available "flame job" appearance package.

The 2010 Bel Air Classic would have a distinctive, all-American personality combined with competent modern engineering. It would be interesting in a way that far too many contemporary cars are not. So what if it's not quite the "little green car" that all the experts in D.C. are promising us? Build a version with a plug-in hybrid drive train (in exclusive "Ecology Green" two-tone paint with "Rainforest" organic cloth upholstery!) if that's what it takes to placate the tree-huggers and the politicians. 

Go for it, GM. You'll sell a million of 'em. Maybe even a million and a half.

I was inspired to write this article by the commercial above, which I found in a blog entry by one of my favorite writers, James Lileks. The vintage print ads came from the archive at John's Old Car & Truck Pictures.

--Cookie the Dog's Owner

I'm not sure if you're aware of this, because it's gone under-reported by the news media, but we lost both Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett yesterday. While their families, fans, and the rest of the entertainment world will miss Jackson and Fawcett, we won't be dwelling on their lives or their influence in this space beyond offering our condolences--no doubt a disappointment to those who come to Car Lust for comprehensive hard-news and entertainment coverage. No, we'll be doing something almost as important--focusing on their impact on the world of vehicle advertising.

Of course, their impact in the world of car commercials was vanishingly small compared to a car commercial regular like Ricardo Montalban, but I did find a few commercials to share.

Okay, so this isn't really a car commercial, but it's fantastic anyway. A Japanese-market Suzuki scooter is among the last things I'd expect Michael Jackson to endorse, but after some typically deft dance moves, he sold me on it. I love the fact that they're basically just dancing around the stationary scooter, and we learn nothing at all about the product itself. My favorite part of this highly enjoyable commercial is the way the anonymous dancing woman sits on the scooter and basically bounces up and down for several seconds. I think that's mean to be dancing, but it doesn't really matter. This was at the height of Michael Jackson's popularity, and he carries the commercial on the sheer power of his personality.

Farrah's commercial has a little more content and a dramatically different feel; where Jackson's commercial was very 1980s, Fawcett's commercial is thoroughly infused with 1970s mojo. That includes, among other things, extensive footage of a real cougar. Why don't today's commercials feature shots of live cougars prowling, rubbing up against tires and lounging on car roofs? Well, probably because it's difficult to image a live cougar really caring that much about its Mercury namesake.

This commercial was pushing the 1975 Mercury Cougar, which, like the Chrysler Cordoba, was a great, lumbering leviathan of the personal luxury market. "Personal luxury" at the time meant small-car coupe accommodations in a large car footprint, with distinctive styling touches that remind today's consumer of Huggy Bear on Starsky & Hutch. Ah, I love these cars--especially in the context of today's ultra-serious cars.

Some great moments in this commercial:

0:15 - "Just as unique in its on class as (Lincoln) Continental Mk. IV." Huh. It takes a lot of parsing to figure out if that's meant to be a good thing or not.

0:19 - "... the rich feel of glove-soft vinyl ..." The rich feel of vinyl? Vinyl? I'm convinced that one of the biggest automotive improvements we've seen over the last three decades has been binning vinyl seats.

0:27 - Aren't cougars primarily woodland creatures? Why is this cougar running up a sand dune?

0:37 - "Poised opera window!"

0:49 - This scene confuses me. The setting is meant to be at night--notice the artificially dark black sky, and the pure white moon that we glimpsed through the moonroof--so why is everything in the foreground lit up with warm sunset light? My boss also made a good point that somebody on-set probably had to guide Farrah on how to run in this scene with arms flying sideways so it would look more like a frolic than an athletic run. I'm guessing he's right; I wish I had been there for that moment to hear the in-depth running instructions.

RIP, Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett.

--Chris H.

Every so often, an automaker has a special run in which it can seemingly do nothing wrong; great car follows great car, and seemingly every product it touches turns to gold. I would argue that GM had a run like that in the 1960s, followed by Mercedes-Benz in the 1970s, Honda in the 1980s, BMW in the 1990s, and Toyota in this decade. These are the stretches in which a run of great cars builds the brand's reputation and a core of loyal customers that continue to buy over the following decades; in other words, the exact opposite of what GM did from 1975-1985.

Besides the great cars, I find these runs of success so compelling because they illustrate just how deceptively simple making great cars can be. These manufacturers didn't succeed because of fancy new technologies, splashy styling, or unnecessary gimmicks; they succeeded because they delivered original, attractive, cars that last and are fun to drive. Honda is the ultimate example here; once just a respected small automaker, Honda became a global powerhouse by executing the fundamentals flawlessly in the 1980s.

There's something special, just innately right about Honda cars in the mid-to-late 1980s; a purity of styling and engineering that took simple, unpretentious cars and lifted them into genius. I'm focusing on the Accord here, and Cookie the Dog's Owner previously waxed eloquent about his 1985 Honda CRX, and Rob the SVX Guy has done the same for his 1989 Honda Prelude Si, but much of what made these cars great go for the entire 1980s Honda lineup--the Civic, Prelude, Accord, and even the first Acura Integra and Legend.

Like other Hondas of the time, the strengths of the 1986-1989 Accord were simple and fundamental. For one thing, the Accord was a cheerful car; its look was attractive but devoid of pretentious artifice. The Accord's interior was straightforward, with informative gauges, firm seats covered in nicely nibbed cloth, and a low beltline, offering expansive, glassy views of the outside world. The inside of the Accord was a pleasant, purposeful place to be, freed from the clutter of today's cars--no bluetooth iDrives, heated seat bolsters, heads-up Onstar, or leather-upholstered satnav here. The Accord's interior provided a comfortable seat, a pleasing steering wheel, and fantastic light and visibility.

That steering wheel connected to some pretty pleasing machinery as well. The Accord was offered in a variety of four-cylinder flavors; none of them offered an embarrassment of power (Car & Driver tested a 1986 Accord LXi at a 9.3-second 0-60 run), but like all Honda four-cylinders, the Accord's powerplants loved to play with smoothness and enthusiasm out of proportion with their modest horsepower. Likewise, the Accord's handling was sneakily impressive. This Accord came with double wishbone suspension at the front and rear; an advanced but expensive suspension type that gave the Accord outstanding sports-car agility unmatched by its family-sedan peers.

That sneaky, subtle sportiness showed up in the Accord's styling. The Audi 5000 and Ford Taurus were rightly lauded for bringing aerodynamics to the sedan world at around this time, but Accord was just as smooth--and it had hidden headlights. Just to repeat, it was a family sedan with hidden headlights--how cool is that? The Accord was unpretentious and clean, but it was sleek. It was even available in--ooh, la la--svelte three-door hatchback trim.

During my great used-car search several years ago, in which I ultimately purchased my 1983 Chevrolet Malibu Wagon, I seriously considered buying an Accord of this vintage. In fact, there was at the time an entrepreneur who specialized in only Accords of this vintage; he purchased them, fixed them up, and resold them at eye-watering prices. I drove a few of his cars and was impressed, but ultimately I couldn't justify spending large amounts of money on 250,000-mile cars, innate, baked-in goodness or not.

I know Rob the SVX Guy has had to make that decision as well; he owned and possibly still owns an Accord of this vintage, and despite his dedication to the car, its extreme age and wear has been presenting him with some difficult decisions. These Accords are the kinds of car that get their hooks into your heart.

Though there have been other great Accords*, I think this model was the high mark for the line--and I say this as the happy owner of a 2003 Accord. Other Accords have been bigger and more powerful, but this Accord just got it right in a way that I miss as Hondas get bigger, heavier, darker, and more self-consciously overstyled.

* I feel that Honda Accords, like Star Trek movies, tend to alternate between interesting and uninteresting. The third, fifth, and seventh-generation Accords were relatively sleek and interesting; the fourth, sixth, and eighth are relatively blocky and uninteresting.

All three pictures here come from How Stuff Works' informative 1986-1989 Honda Accord page; Honda is the original copyright holder.

Update: Some of the commenters are making the excellent point that Hondas of the early 1990s were similarly brilliant, and they're absolutely right. It's easy shorthand to refer to the 1980s as Honda's magic time, but in fact Honda's do-no-wrong period was something more like 1985-1995. Most of the Honda products during that period, including Mochi Mochi's 1991 Honda Civic, my 1994 Acura Integra, the second-generation Acura Legend, and the 1990 Acura NSX, were inspired and compelling in the same way these Accords were compelling--they offered simple, clean interiors; unpretentious, sleek styling; sweet, rev-happy engines; surprisingly sharp and incisive handling; and great visibility offered by a low beltline. Most importantly, these cars were so much fun to own and drive that their owners became dedicated Honda buyers for the next several decades.

--Chris H.

A reader sent me an e-mail this morning asking if I would be interested in buying his Saab 900 SPG, which is enough impetus to trigger my "buy! buy! buy!" impulse. As I usually do when I'm the throes of heavy temptation, I then proceeded to splash gasoline all over the open flame.

I generally try to avoid the Saab Network's excellent classified section, simply because after about five minutes there I find myself ready to sell my internal organs to buy all of the tasty late-model Saabs on offer there. My venturing into the TSN classifieds is like a gambling addict breezing into Las Vegas with a full wallet and the intention just to watch a poker tournament or two.

Lo and behold, on the Saab 900 convertible page, I found a listing for the 1986 Saab 900 Turbo convertible shown here, for $5,000, with only 100,000 miles, and with the following description:

An opportunity to own a part of SAAB history. 1986 was the first year that Saab produced the convertible and this is one of the original 400. Car was bought from a friend 10 years ago, who had purchased it new. The car has been serviced by the same Saab car specialist for its entire life, has been garage kept and is in excellent mechanical condition. The paint is original and is still looking good. It is a real beauty and I will miss it when it is gone.

As the listing states, these cars are very special. These were the very first Saab convertibles, and only a handful came into the U.S. in 1986. As far as I am aware, all were silver, and these were the only 900 convertibles with the classic, pre-1987 grille. These were among the first Saabs that I loved, and I would dearly love to have one. And, of course, it's exactly the wrong time for my family to take on another car.

You know the face a greedy five-year-old makes in the toy store aisle, a millisecond before the whine begins? That's the face I'm making right now.

--Chris H.

As always, this is your thread to do with as you will--within reason, of course!

Here are a few things on my mind that aren't really worthy of a full post but might spark some conversation:

- SaabsUnited.com continues to offer analysis of the Saab/Koenigsegg deal in stunning quantity and quality. I have the deepest respect for the traditional newsmedia, but the depth of coverage SaabsUnited is offering is powerful testimony to what the new media is capable of--frankly, because nobody at Autoweek or Motor Trend would care quite this much about the Saab deal.

- Yesterday I saw the movie Dazed and Confused for the first time, making me likely the last person of my generation to see this now-16-year-old movie. I knew it was a portrayal of high-school life in the 1970s, but all of the storylines concerning hazing, relationships, and drug use faded into the background for me. Why? Because the movie was packed with gorgeous cars.

I was gobsmacked to discover that this coming-of-age movie prominently featured such Car Lust favorites as the 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS, Pontiac GTO Judge, 1974 Pontiac Trans Am SD-455, Chevy El Camino, Plymouth Duster, Ford Maverick, and various gorgeous Chevy and GMC trucks, all in absolutely pristine condition. I seriously doubt high-schoolers and assorted small-town losers could afford some of the finest muscle cars ever made, even in 1976, but my hat is off to Dazed and Confused's car wrangler for bringing together such a delicious collection of sheetmetal.

--Chris H.

One might reasonably argue that we here at Car Lust do not really write about cars as much as we write about ourselves; the cars are simply a vehicle (pun intended) allowing us to tell a story of how we view ourselves, our friends and family, and society generally. We're mostly average folks with an interest in offbeat automobiles, much like the readers who come here to read our missives to cars gone by. Hardly anyone will ever drive a Lamborghini, but everyone and his brother either had a Ford Pinto or knew someone who did. As Chris put it so aptly regarding the Ford Pinto:

Somewhere, three decades ago, a designer proudly unveiled it to the bosses at Ford; workers spent their waking hours building it. Young families bought Pintos, showed Pintos off to their friends, washed Pintos in their driveways, drove their babies home from the hospital in Pintos. Some of you drove Pintos; some of your parents or grandparents drove Pintos. Pintos were on TV, in movies, in magazines and newspapers. The Pinto is part of the fabric of our history.

Since the child is father (or mother) to the man (or woman), it makes sense for us to look back at our formative years to examine where our attitudes, likes, and dislikes for particular cars comes from.  Setting aside the debate over the accuracy of the stereotype, fathers tend to be associated with the family car far more than mothers are. Most of us have fond (or otherwise) memories of going down to the car dealers with dad to get a new car for the family, driving it home, and then watching as it is shown off to all the other dads in the neighborhood, usually with the hood up and everyone making comments about horsepower, transmission ratios, etc., whether they know what any of it means or not.

Some of the most endearing posts and comments I've read on this blog are memories of dads and cars. And so we have convened another Car Lust Round Table™ to share. Included are reminiscences by Car Lust bloggers as well as links and quotes to some of our favorite posts and comments, all in honor of Dad for this Father's Day.

First, a couple from the archives:

-- Making good on a father's wish to restore a 1974 AMC "Oleg Casini" Matador: 

"It was Feb. 19, 1999 in Abbotsford, B.C., and my Dad, Edwin Alberta Thoreson, became the proud owner of a 1974 Oleg Cassini Matador. . . . Although Dad received many offers to sell the car, he worked on it whenever he could and had visions of someday restoring the car. In 2003 Dad's legs weakened from age, making it very hard to get around, and after a serious fall the family decided to move him to a home where he could be taken care of. We brought him back to the house numerous times to check on the house, and his first concern was always checking on his old Matador. . . On Jan. 10 2005, Dad passed away peacefully, after joking with a nurse about where she was planning to put a flu shot. As the oldest son, and having seen the hidden beauty in the Matador that my Dad had seen, I decided to have the car moved to Calgary to try to make my Dad's dream come true. . .After two years of hard work, Dad's dream had become a reality. We commemorated the moment by putting on a special front plate that states "BEWARE THE MATADOR--This one's for you, Dad."

-- Reader TAFKA on living with an old car:

"When I was coming up my dad insisted on owning Studebakers. He also had only daughters, so guess who had to help work on these beautiful, but totally unreliable cars over the weekend? And I remember very few weekends that we weren't tinkering with cars. My girlhood was blighted by never knowing of a morning whether one or the other of the two Studebakers (the Commander was worse, but the Avanti later got that way) was going to start up, or whether there would be fraught moments before taking off for work or school, of my dad having to go under the hood to dick around with the carburetor, snarling at us kids just because we were there. . ."

Cookie the Dog's Owner

I've written postings about a few of the cars my father had when I was growing up: the 1949 "Oldredford," the '64 Plymouth Belvedere wagon , and the '76 LTD that got us through the Great Blizzard. Dad had grown up in the Great Depression and learned to drive on big Detroit predreadnoughts with three-on-the-tree manuals. He had no particular interest in acceleration, handling, futuristic looks, or technical sophistication, but he loved his creature comforts. Give him a big land barge with a soft ride and an automatic transmission, and he was happy as could be.

In later years, Dad flirted with becoming a collector and bought a 1952 Chevrolet, which he had for a couple years before selling it to a friend of his. He wasn't particularly a car guy, and had no business
picking up a screwdriver or even opening the hood to check the oil. (I learned a great deal about auto repair and maintenance when i was growing up, but I learned all that from Mom.)

He was also adamantly opposed to owning a foreign car, like a lot of people his age--though that was in part because he was active in politics. When I went to get my Honda CRX, though, he helped me negotiate the purchase, and insisted on driving it around for a few blocks. It wasn't his kind of car at all, but he understood that it was what I wanted.

Virgil Exner, Jr.

We were loafing along at about 80 mph, no speedo, just the big 4 1/2" tach showing 2400 RPM. Our black lacquered beauty was purring on all 8 through the chromed 3" straight pipe, on an even straighter stretch of smooth concrete. There was hardly any traffic. We were eastbound for the SCCA’s (Sports Car Club of America's) summer event of the year at Thompson, Conn. A fuel stop was due at Somerset and we were nursing it a bit, as there was no gauge to go by. No fenders, either, just pure automobile!

I noticed that Dad started to pay more attention to his cowl-side rear view mirror a ways after Laurel Hill. I ‘scootched’ up in my seat and took a quick look back over the tail. One had to be careful or the wind could blow your goggles off. “It’s a ‘41 Packard, Dad,” I said. He nodded. I looked again. It was gaining. Dad applied a little more throttle. There was no speed limit in 1948 on the Pennsylvania Turnpike.

I looked again. The big black 180 four door was moving into the passing lane, and I noticed that the two gents appeared to be sitting bolt upright and were wearing black Homburg hats. We were now doing close to 90. The straining Packard inched on by, the gents’ heads unturned with their noses lifted higher. They stretched the distance until returning to our lane. Dad lifted a little, fell back to 2300 RPM, then, bang!, bang! he double de-clutched, shifting down into second, and put his foot in it! The 7.00 by 18" rears cheeped, then bit, and the revs soared rapidly as engine and gears screamed. He switched to the passing lane, and we pulled quickly alongside the brute. Cockpit to front door, at 100, pow!, pow!, dad put her back in high! Again the Firestones burned and we streaked ahead. I looked back. The gents’ mouths were agape! Dad wound it up to 4100, close to 137 mph (the rev limit was 4500) and held her there until we got to the Somerset exit sign.

We parked, climbed out, removed our cloth helmets, and were taking off our kidney belts and WWII summer flying suits when the Packard pulled in next to us. As usual, a few onlookers were gathering. We were hot and hungry for lunch. So was she. The men got out, rushed over, and doffed their hats. One asked, "what is it, what’ll she do?" Dad said "Virgil..?" He always left it to me. I had it down pat.

“Be careful, the exhaust pipe is awfully hot!" I said. "It’s a 1932 Studebaker, two man Indianapolis race car. It has a 336 cubic inch straight eight engine with four Stromberg carburetors and 237 horsepower. It was one of Studebaker’s five-car racing team in the ‘30s, was driven to third place in ‘32 and 11th in ‘33 by Cliff Bergere, then to 10th in ‘37 by Louie Tomei. My dad has had her up to 148 mph, and she comes off the quarter mile in 12.97 seconds at just about a hundred!” The reaction was always the same:
Really? ... Wow!"

That fifth annual trek went on without a hitch. No fouled plugs, no blowouts, no overheating (no fan, for that matter), not even a tail dent. We stomped 'em in the trials on the Thompson half-mile and got the usual, "well, it’s a race car and not a true sports car" reaction from the foreign sporty ca’ lovers. Heck, we’d only just driven nearly 900 miles from South Bend through sun and rain to attend their snobby meet. If our mount didn’t qualify as a true sports car, nothing did! Besides, Dad probably knew more about their own cars than most of them. At least, members like Briggs Cunningham and Russ Sceli really appreciated our endeavor. Father was, after all, almost a founding member (1943) and the club’s first member west of Pittsburgh.

However, to me, the biggest thrill of the trip was that Dad actually let me drive 'our special' on the track. I was 15 and Mom had taught me to drive in our '41 Stude President when I was 13. It was about time! I already had over 8,000 miles in the 'riding mechanic's seat, but, that loud pedal was more sensitive than I had ever imagined. Dad had to hang on for dear life, for a change!

Chuck Lynch

My father was a conservative Democrat; he believed in the working man but held traditions very tight. He was also Irish--he had a fighting temper and the first dime he ever made. And he only drank a beer or two a day to "calm his nerves" since he was an air traffic controller.

He never bought new spark plugs. After all, there was no reason to, since the old ones would always clean up just fine. He also had well-developed arm muscles from pull-starting the 2-cycle boat motor he reinserted those old spark plugs into so many times.
 
He only bought two brand new cars in his lifetime. The first was a late-1950s Volkswagen, the third ever sold in Nashville. The second was a new white 1965 Beetle, loaded, with whitewall tires, AM radio, sunroof, and a trailer hitch. Yes, a trailer hitch.

About three years later, he bought a two-stall horse trailer to cart my sister's mares around for The Pony Club. To get the thing home, he used the VW, since he had driven it to work at the control tower that day. The folks at Wallace Trailers said he'd never get it home, and in typical Irish fashion, he said, "watch me."

Surprisingly, all went well. He had to get a good running start to climb Yeargin's Hill, and luckily he didn't have to stop quickly that afternoon. But he finally pulled into the driveway safe and sound, trailer in tow, with a satisfied look on his face that seemed to say, "See, I told you so!"

Since I wasn't paying attention when my parents both told me not to marry young, I'm a divorced dad myself. Taking a page out of my dad's playbook, I take my eldest son on road trips whenever I get the chance, visiting random ghost towns or just driving wherever the road may take me. I don't know if he'll ever think about my old Dakota or my current Kia Rio with the same level of fondness that I hold for that old Colt, but if he does, I'll understand why.

David Drucker

You might think that someone who grew up in Brooklyn wouldn’t have a whole lot of car-related memories to contribute to a Father’s Day compendium. But the Brooklyn of my kidhood (which began in mid-1949) was not the Brooklyn of today, and it especially wasn’t the Brooklyn from which my parents fled at the end of the turbulent ‘70s. In our Brooklyn it was possible to park a convertible on the street, and that’swhat my dad did for quite a while. My own particular automotive goofgeist was informed to a large extent by the cars dad owned while I was growing up. When he was relatively young, his choices were relatively interesting. As he got older, he bought more with his head than his heart. As I look at my own list of cars, which now approaches 50 entries, it becomes clear that I followed the same path.

The earliest family car I can remember (albeit vaguely) is a blue ‘49 Dodge Wayfarer Roadster, which had no back seat and, in the interest of keeping the price down, had removable side curtains instead of roll-down windows. The Wayfarer was replaced rather suddenly by a two-tone blue 1953 Dodge Meadowbrook sedan, but we only had that for a few months. It went away in favor of a ‘53 Dodge Coronet convertible that boasted Chrysler’s semi-automatic fluid drive transmission, wire wheels (replaced with steel wheels by the time the picture was taken), and a continental kit. We kept that car for quite a while, abandoning it only when it became clear that the carpeting was the only barrier between my back seat feet and the pavement below.

I take full credit for finding the Coronet’s replacement. Cruising the Sunday Times classifieds – as was my habit even at age 11--I came upon a ‘56 Chrysler Windsor 225 convertible whose equipment list included ... a record player! I pointed it out to dad, who replied, "it couldn’t hurt to look," so look we did. The Chrysler was white, with a white top and a red-and-white leather interior. I don’t recall whether any pleading on my part played a part in the decision, but a deal was struck and the Chrysler, complete with a small library of 16-2/3 RPM records, was ours within a couple of days.

My particular strain of the Car Lust disease was passed to me by three prominent figures in my life--my father, my maternal uncle, and my maternal grandfather. The photo at right was taken during a visit to the Black Hills Speedway in South Dakota a few years ago; neither my uncle (left) or father (right) appear too pleased at the photographic interruption.

"My first ride in a hot rod was in the back seat of a brand new 1966 Chevy II with the 350hp 327 engine. A friend of my sister had just purchased the car and was anxious to show it off. I was 15 years old at the time and the hottest car I had ever ridden in was a 1959 Chevy wagon.

"The new owner took it to redline in each gear, much to my delight. I will never forget the sound of that 327 screaming, the new-car smell of vinyl and carpet and the incredible accleration. I still love the look of the car ... (and) those memories of a time 42+ years ago. I will never forget (it)."

"... he coped with the impossibly slow 55-mph speed limit and a four-cylinder Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera company car. Strapping a performance guy like my dad into a 90-horsepower Cutlass Ciera for forced marches across Kansas at 55 mph was as cruel a punishment as forcing Carl Lewis to wear wooden clogs."

  Car Lust in the post-2008 format no longer has a keynote photo, but my uncle's model collection and slot-car racing enthusiasm continue to influence several of my unhealthy hobby obsessions today. Someday, someday, I'll regularly race slot cars like he does and have as impressive a die-cast model car collection as his--I know, because I've been working slowly towards those goals since I was eight years old.

Speaking of Wagoneers,  I have mentioned before in this space that my grandfather was famously loyal to the Jeep Wagoneer, a ruggedly capable truck that mirrored many of his admirable qualities. Grandpa wasn't a car guy per se in the mold of either his son or his son-in-law; he didn't obsess over the latest cars' performance figures or go out of his way to see a race. But he did have a deep appreciation for good automotive equipment.

Now, of course, I'm fortunate enough to have a consuming passion for cars and car racing, which has helped ensure that I don't need to worry about the perils of high-paid employment as a doctor or a lawyer. A side benefit is a significant spousal slow burn in the form of my six large bookshelves packed with car magazines--filled in part with the assistance of my dad and my uncle.

Writing Car Lust posts is a privilege, especially when they bring back memories of vehicles I have either personally owned or that have been in the family. Such is the case of a 1973 terracotta-colored MGB that my sister had for a few years until her family outgrew the car, which didn't take a lot of outgrowing to do.

What attracted us to the MGB was that, as small as it was, the car was larger than a Triumph Spitfire or MG Midget. I wanted a Spitfire at the time, but this wasn't going to be my car. I believe this is the only picture of "our" MG that we have left. That's Snoopy right behind it, and my first car, a 1972 Vega:( .

My favorite MGB eccentricity was its three windshield wipers. The windscreen was low and wide, and two wipers just weren't up to the job. Only American MGBs had three wipers; all others had two. One night I got caught in a thunderstorm in the canvas-roofed car, and those wipers gave their all to let me see. I was minoring in Aerospace Technology at the time, and driving the roadster was not unlike flying a Cessna 150, except that no pilot is stupid enough to fly a 150 in a thunderstorm.

The best memories I have of the car are during the week I got to take it off to college. People actually lined up to get a ride around the block in it, including some attractive ladies. Oh, if I could only go back and do that day again. ...

I'm getting ahead of myself. The MGB Mark I (1962-1967) was very advanced at its introduction. One of the first cars to have crumple zones for crash safety, it was also made from unibody construction to save weight, unlike the Triumph TR6 and Spitfire.

Powered by a 1798cc B-Series I-4 engine with 95 horsepower, it was carried over from the MGA but enlarged. The MGB made a then-respectable 0-60 time of 11 seconds. This 3-bearing engine was upgraded to 5 main bearings in May 1964.

But this roadster was first and foremost known for its great handling. Maybe it's a coincidence, but the MGB's 91-inch wheelbase is virtually identical to a 2009 Miata's. A rare MGB option was a small rear seat for the kids.

The MGB Mark II (1967-1972) got a 4-speed synchromeshed gearbox (an automatic was an option in the UK), a new rear axle, and an alternator, replacing a dynamo, or generator. The floorpan and driveshaft tunnel sheet metal were new, producing a flatter floor. For the US market, a padded dash, nicknamed the "Abingdon pillow", was introduced.

The MGB Mark III (1972-1980) was built with a new fascia and a better heater. At no time during MGB production were any major exterior body panels changed significantly. The addition of rear back-up lights in March 1967, was a welcomed stamping improvement.

I remember that "our" car had two batteries just behind the seats. Each was a 6-volt, connected to make 12 volts, and were placed on each side of the driveshaft tunnel. These helped balance the car. In 1974, MG builders went to a single battery, which produced more amperes, or cranking power.

Most of the MGBs made were sold in the United States. But like the Spitfire and Midget, the 1974 MGB became a victim of US bumper and emissions laws. Same story, different car ... raise the thing, add large "rubber" bumpers, and choke the power in return for cleaner air.

Limited Edition MGBs were built to signify the end of the car's 18-year run. They were all black with silver lower body stripes and tan interiors. Limited Edition equipment included a front air dam, 5-spoke alloy wheels, a 3-spoke leather-covered steering wheel, special MG badges on the wheels and steering wheel, and a Limited Edition plaque on the glove box. A total of 6,668 were made in 1979 and 1980.

Some call the hardtop MGB GT a shooting brake. I can see this. Designed by Pinin Farina, launched in October, 1965, and built until 1980 (though export to the Colonies here stopped in 1974), the car gave you a tiny back seat and a bit more luggage space accessible through its rear hatch.

The engines and driveline were the same as the MGB. But the springs were stiffened, and anti-roll bars were added due to a bit of top-heaviness. The MGB GT was 5 mph faster than its roadster sibling on the top end due to much better aerodynamics. Some folks even thought they handled better than the roadster, as the solid roof provided a stiffer body.

The MGB GT V-8 was a monster. Made from 1973-1976 and only with right-hand drive, they were never brought to America by MG. Using Rover's 3528cc V-8 that was also used in the Buick Special and Oldsmobile F-85, this was the lightest V-8 in mass production. Having all-aluminium block and heads, at 318 pounds, it actually weighed 40 pounds less than the iron MG 4-cylinder.

These cars would do 0-60 in 8 seconds and top out at 125 miles per hour. The press loved the GT V-8, but British Leyland became concerned that the car would overshadow the company's Triumph Stag, and production was halted. A total of 2,591 MGB GT V-8s were made.

In 1967, the MGC was released. It was available as either the open roadster or GT coupe. Sold through 1970, the MGC had a 2912cc straight-6 producing 145 horsepower. A 4-speed manual with overdrive was standard, and a 3-speed automatic was optional.

Changes were made to the engine bay and floorpan for the 209-pound increased weight and engine size. The hood had unique bulges for the relocated radiator and carburetors.

With a top speed of 120 mph and a 0-60 time of 10 seconds, these cars were no slouch for their time. Its handling was iffy at first, caused by the heavy, off-weighted front end. Later, tire and suspension tweaks brought the driving experience up to par.

The last MGB and MGB GT were built on Oct. 22, 1980. They were shipped to British Leyland's Heritage collection at Gaydon, England, now called the Heritage Motor Centre.

And last, but absolutely not the least, we have the stately MG RV8.

Using only about 5% of the original MGB parts, it was offered in roadster and coupé forms. The underbody stampings of the original car were retained, as were the trunk lid and doors (minus the vent windows). But all-new body panels were formed to create this proud steed over the original MGB British Motor Heritage body shell.

Bits and pieces of other cars made their way to this MG. Headlights from a  Porsche 911, door handles from a Jaguar XJS, and CDO instruments from a TVR blended in quite nicely.

The Rover 3950cc V-8, with 190 horsepower and a 5-speed stick, rocketed this car from 0-60 in 5.9 seconds. Top speed was 135 miles per hour. Rear drum and front disc brakes were used, as well as a live rear axle. Front coil and rear elliptic springs with dual roll bars kept the RV8 well-planted in the curves. A RV8 could almost pass as a small Bentley. All interiors were Stone Beige colored, with rich Connelly leather, Burr Elm veneer woodwork, and thick cut pile carpeting, even in the trunk. Ten body colors were offered. All MG RV8s were officially built as right-hand-drive, but one left-hand-drive RV8 is known to exist.

Only 2,000 examples of the MG RV8 were made between 1993 and 1995. They were not sold as new in North America, but three are known to have snuck in. The Japanese market loved these cars- 330 RV8s were sold in Great Britain, and 1,579 went to Japan. Being right-hand-drive, they were tailor-made for Japanese roads.

This brought total MGB Series production to 525,836 cars. It was the most popular sports car of all time until passed by the Mazda Miata. Other MGs followed, including the MG F and TF, but these probably deserve a post of their own.

Driving our MGB was always a pleasure. In a lot of slight curves, you didn't turn the steering wheel so much as you put pressure on it towards the corner. We didn't have the reliability problems a lot of sports cars had back then, but it was only three years old when we got it. I remember the car had some kind of radio, but convertibles and audio systems do not mix. Raising and lowering the ragtop was a bit of a chore, as levers and snaps were everywhere.

Sis sold the MGB and bought a '73 Olds Cutlass as her family car; it was the perfect vehicle for them at the time. But at least I will always remember that day on campus when all the ladies were lined up to go for a ride. ...

The black and white MGB photo is from my scrapbook. The interior photo is thanks to mzaff.com. The MGB GT image is from flickr user Sjoerdwm. The MGC photo is from Wikipedia. MGRV8.com is a great source for all things MGRV8, including ths photo. Cartype.comsupplied the MG logo.British Motor Heritage supplied inspiration as well.

--That Car Guy (Chuck)

It was the dawn of the present-day SUVs, say around 1990. The huge Chevy Suburban and Blazer had been with us for some time, but they hadn't yet crossed over into the auto-buying mainstream. The Ford Explorer and Mazda Navajo were brand new. The word "craze" did not apply to the old behemoths, but when mid-sized SUVs like the Explorer debuted, their sales took off like rockets.

At the same time, the Suzuki Samurai was on the outs because, like Mayberry's Otis Campbell, it had a reputation for being a little "tipsy." Yet there seemed to be a market for a compact SUV, especially for thrifty folks like yours truly.

Enter Daihatsu. The name "Daihatsu" is a combination of the first kanji for "Osaka", and the first kanji of the word "engine manufacturer." When put together, they are pronounced "dai hatsu." With only two vehicles in its American lineup (1988-1992), Daihatsu struggled to keep up with the established brands. The company only offered the compact Charade and Rocky. The Charade was a car, and a bit plain at best. The Rocky was a small SUV that, had it been a bit more refined, could have been a big hit in our market. Comparing the Rocky to the more-familiar Samurai just seems natural here.

I had the pleasure of keeping a new Rocky for a few days as a test vehicle back when it launched. In addition to highway driving, I took it off-road on some farms, but nothing real serious. My attitude was to return the vehicles in as good of shape as I received them, if not better. So forging streams and jumping dirt mounds was out of the question.

The Rocky had the tight, well-built feel of all Asian vehicles of the time. All the pieces fit together well. If I had not been in need of a pickup truck with an open bed to tote smelly fossil fuels around in, the Rocky would have been a good candidate for my next vehicle.

Its styling was pleasant enough. The character lines all flowed together, door hinges were concealed, and the wheel arches and large tires were macho enough to say "rugged" without being a Jeep poseur. The design looks clean today.

Like the Samurai, all Rockys were two-doors with manual transmissions and four-wheel-drive. The Rocky had a five-speed; the Samurai had a four-speed. Air conditioning was extra. The Rocky was also available in different open-roofed configurations; the one I drove featured a hinged hard top over the front passengers. A soft canvas top covered the back, and a rear hardtop was an option.

The Rocky was just big enough to live with. I enjoyed the Samurai (aka SJ-410) that we rented in The Bahamas, where there were no interstates and the fastest speed limit was 45. But back here in the States, a little more mass is needed to feel safe above 55. If you've ever caught a wind gust while in a high-profile vehicle, you know what I mean. At least the Rocky felt adequate on the highways of middle Tennessee.

The low points of the Rocky were its lack of power and poor interior design. With just 1.6 liters and 94 horsepower, doing burn-outs while leaving the drive-in were impossible. Zero to 60 times were, well, leisurely. Top speed? In one of these vehicles? Uh-uh, not while I'm in it.

I'm not a big guy, but my right knee almost became sore from bumping the obtrusive radio/HVAC control housing. To live with a Rocky, some form of padding there would have been necessary. The radio was way too low to safely reach while driving; most newer vehicles have reversed this placement of the radio and A/C controls.

Our final verdict of the Rocky was that it was a glorified Samurai, and maybe a bit better planted on the road. Today, a new Rocky-type vehicle could be a success. Just give it some decent power, a few comfort goodies, and please remove that awful knee-knocker.

The first image is from Wikipedia, the second is from DougFreeze.com, and the third image is from Industriebedarf-hesse.de.

--That Car Guy (Chuck)

 Two hilarious monster-themed TV shows, The Addams Family and The Munsters, premiered and expired the same two weeks of the same two years in 1964-1966. Both were in black and white. Each had their audience, and you were either a Munsters fan or an Addams Family fan, or both. I liked them both, but I guess I was more of a Munsters fan, primarily because they had The Munster Koach.

George Barris is a genius. He created custom cars like the Batmobile, Monkeemobile, and The Beverly Hillbillies' truck; if a studio wanted a cool custom vehicle for a TV show or movie, Barris Kustom Cars was the place to call. Barris was also wise enough to retain ownership rights to some of his vehicles and just rented them to the studios, guaranteeing him rights for displays, models, and other rewards.

 Built in less than 30 days from three fiberglass Model T Fords, the Koach has the driver's seat up front for Herman and Lilly, a center laboratory for Grandpa, and a rear overhanging couch for Eddie and poor Marilyn, the only "abnormal" one of the bunch. Total seating is eight, though Herman in costume was seven feet tall and could not enter or exit the car on camera. He had to drive it in regular shoes instead of his costume.

The Koach also has a brass tombstone-shaped radiator, carriage lamps, landau bars, a 300-horsepower 289 Ford Cobra V-8, Anson Astro wheels with Mickey Thompson rear slicks, and a 133-inch wheelbase, nearly identical to the Maybach 57. Casket handles on the front, step bars, parlor curtains, and the family crest on the second of the three doors complete the comically creepy car's character.

 Here's a couple of stories from the archives: One time during filming, Fred Gwynne (Herman) hijacked the Munster Koach with the whole cast, with everybody in full costume of course. They drove down the freeway and onto Lankersheim, into the heart of Hollywood, and got many looks from the public. I can't help but wonder if that happened today, if anybody would notice.

Another time, they were in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade with George Barris driving the Koach. Fred and Al Lewis (Grandpa) were riding in back, and it was so cold that Fred had a bottle. There was a point in the parade when they rounded a corner next to a TV camera, and Fred's comment to that live camera is not printable on this page.

 In an episode titled "Hot Rod Herman, Herman lost the Koach in a bet with a faster drag-racer. To win the family car back, Grandpa built a dragster out of a coffin. In the end, they wound up with both cars, and the Drag-u-la is seen in the closing credits of the second season.

The Drag-u-la has a Dragmaster chassis, a 350-horsepower 289 Mustang V-8, four-speed stick, and dragster slicks mounted on polished Rader five-spoke wheels. On the front, English Speedsport wire wheels have mounted Italian motorcycle tires. With the upturned organ pipe exhaust, Grandpa says it's the only dragster in America that can play Oh, Promise Me in second gear.

Getting the casket for the car was, well, another story. Seems the crew went to buy a damaged casket, but the undertaker would not sell one to Barris since he wasn't dead. As soon as the funeral director left, Barris "appropriated" a casket, leaving the cash behind for payment.

 CBS thought that after only two years and 70 episodes, monster humor had ran its course. Judging by more than 40 years of "Munster" sequels and countless reruns, CBS might have been mistaken. The Munsters made a 1966 movie, Munster Go Home in color. It flopped. Somehow the green skin makeup just was not believable.

A TV movie was made featuring most of the original cast and, of course, the Koach. The Munsters' Revenge premiered on Feb. 27 1981, and was, well, not received. That attempt to bring the show back to the small screen was not successful.

Other Munsters productions have been made with new stories and new actors. In 1988, The Munsters Today (aka The New Munsters) premiered, and ran for three years and 66 episodes, almost as many as the original. 1995 brought us a Halloween TV movie Here Come The Munsters, and a year later, The Munsters' Scary Little Christmas.

Somehow, I don't think we've heard the last of the residents of 1313 Mockingbird Lane.

As usual with popular Barris Cars, several copies (four total) of the Koach were made. In 1984, one of them sold for $36,000. The latest one was made for in 1995 for Here Come The Munsters".

Here's a rare color photo of The Munsters and their Koach. Please enjoy! All photos and most technical information for this post are from Stephen Cox's "The Munsters - A Trip Down Mockingbird Lane", and a few bits I remember from the show. Wikipedia was a source as well.

--That Car Guy (Chuck)