If you’ve been reading my columns long enough, you’ll know I’m a big fan of the full-size, “Nimitz Class” cars GM built from 1971 to ’76, from Caprices to Delta 88 Royales to Fleetwood Talismans. They were the last GM hardtops, and the last GM full-sizers that were available in every basic body style: coupe, sedan, convertible, and station wagon.

Buicks were still pretty big in 1976—in fact, this was last call for truly unapologetic room and length. In 1977 all the big Buicks—indeed, all big GM cars—would be downsized to tidier dimensions, except for the Olds Toronado and Cadillac Eldorado, who had to wait until the 1979 model year.

There were three versions of Electra for 1976: The Electra 225, the Electra Limited, and the super plush Electra Park Avenue, the last of which had a center console—though the transmission lever was still mounted on the steering column. The Park Avenue was available as a sedan only.

I have seen two very nice Park Avenues too, and will be writing at least one of them up sometime, but that’s for another day!

Technically, the Limited was also an Electra 225, though it was not badged as such. The lowest priced Electra was the 225 coupe, at $6367. GM built 18,442. Limited coupes started at $6689 and were more popular, to the tune of 28,395 units sold.

Most popular Electra of all was the Limited four-door hardtop, with 51,067 cars built at a starting price of $6852. For comparison, the priciest ’76 LeSabre was the Custom four-door hardtop, at $5166. LeSabres looked more like their flossier Electra brethren this year as well, adding the quad rectangular lights the Electras first gained in 1975.

As one would expect, there were plenty of standard features on the Electras, including the 455-cubic-inch V-8, Turbo Hydra-matic automatic transmission, power front disc/rear drum brakes, High Energy ignition, power windows, and Custom seat and shoulder belts. The Limited added a two-way power seat, a 60/40 divided front seat upholstered in cloth, a quartz crystal digital clock, and of course the much more luxurious seats and door panels. The 225 interior was nice too, but it was a bit plain in comparison.

And there were still many optional extras, as you’d expect of Detroit in the ’70s. Such as the Landau roof seen on our featured example. You could also get steel-belted whitewall tires (steel-belted blackwalls were standard), automatic level control, a four-note horn (these were loud and well worth the extra charge), carpet savers, a litter container, power antenna, automatic climate control, power door locks, power trunk release, and more.

The seats, of course, were really plush. While they perhaps were not as scientifically fashioned as Volvo’s famous orthopedically designed chairs (I can speak to those seats too, as a former Volvo owner) they were definitely cushy. It was the kind of car that was pretty much like driving around in your living room.

And if you were on a business trip to Omaha and the Holidome was full up for the night, the Limited’s seats made for rather nice first-class sleeping quarters—in a pinch!

I saw our featured car at the annual car show held indoors each January in downtown Rock Island, Illinois. I had seen the car before a couple of times, but hadn’t gotten any really good pictures. It was interesting, of course, due to its color. I recall seeing it the previous summer and thinking if it wasn’t the original color, the paint was done very well.

Well as it turns out, the car came out of the factory wearing this color. I did recognize the color, but believe it was limited to the smaller Buicks like the Skyhawk (Buick’s version of the Chevrolet Monza 2+2) and Skylark coupe, sedan, and hatchback. But I was fairly certain it was not available on the LeSabre/Electra/Estate Wagon.

Shortly before I began this column, I saw the car advertised on my local Marketplace: “All original 76 Electra Limited. 2 door, 455/400. 37K original miles. Factory optioned “Firecracker Orange” paint only offered in 76.” So the car apparently was special-ordered in this color. Of course, back then, you could do such things. Today, not so much!

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Packard was such a great luxury car. And I’ve always loved Studebakers too, from the Art Deco-style cars of 1932-33 to the bullet nose ’50-’51s and the Gran Turismo Hawks of 1962 to 1964. But long story short, the merger of the two was not good for Packard. However, it did produce some interesting variations. Perhaps the most interesting offshoot of those times—or most odd, if you prefer—is the one-year-only Packard Hawk.

The Hawk was an extension of the all-new 1953 Studebakers, the sleek Commander two-door hardtop in particular. In 1956, a new, taller hood and trapezoid central grille were added among other new trim details, and they became the Hawk series, with the Golden Hawk the top of the line, complete with a Packard V-8 under the hood.

But starting in 1957, Studebaker’s own 289-CID V-8 was found under the hood of new Golden Hawks, and was supercharged to boot. New and oh-so-trendy fins were added as well. With its power and style, it was one of the more compelling—and fast—choices in new cars that year.

Unfortunately, Studebaker-Packard Corporation was in poor health financially during this time. “True” Packards ended in 1956. 1957 Packard Clippers were essentially super-deluxe Studebakers, though they did receive 1955-56 Packard styling cues, including the instrument panel. But beneath the skin, it was mostly the top Studebaker sedan, the President Classic. A nice car in its own right, but not really a Packard.

Originally, this was to be a stop-gap solution, with all new and truly large Packards to appear a year or two after, partially designed by Richard Teague. But the money never came in, and there never was another all-new Packard, strictly speaking.

That said, there were the 1957 Packard Clippers, available only as a four-door sedan and a four door wagon, dubbed “Country Sedan.” And 1958 brought, surprisingly, additional Packard models.

It was the final year for the company, yet the Packard series, comprised of the Packard 4-door Sedan, Packard Hardtop, and Packard Station Wagon (all without model names) got a heavy, and rather wild, facelift with quad headlamps and unusual double fins on the rear.

Then there was the Hawk. The Packard Hawk was essentially a Studebaker Golden Hawk with a long, low “catfish” style grille, gold Mylar inserts in the fins, leather interior, and a simulated spare tire sunk into the trunk lid, among other minor details.

As an ad declared, “It is designed with that imaginative flair you only expect to find in Europe’s most fashionable automobiles…a regal air that immediately distinguishes its owner as a man of position. Put yourself in that position…behind the wheel of a Packard Hawk, soon.”

While I’m sure few people were fooled, it was all in all a nice car. It still had the swoopy lines of the Golden Hawk, an even more sumptuous interior (borrowed from the extra glitzy and rarely seen Golden Hawk ‘400’), full instrumentation in a handsome engine turned dash, and—best of all—the supercharged 289-CID V-8, with a 3.56-inch x 3.63-inch bore and stroke, and good for 275 horsepower!

The 1958 Packard Hawk had a $3,995 MSRP, weighed in at 3,470 pounds, and only 588 were built. For comparison’s sake, a ’58 Golden Hawk based at $3,282 and sales were slightly better, but still really low, to the tune of 878 units. But then, 1958 was a recession year, and even fat, healthy car companies like GM were losing thousands of sales.

Not too many folks were optimistic about Studebaker-Packard. And indeed, it was last call. Come 1959, Packard was no more, though the corporation continued to be called Studebaker-Packard for several years after the cars’ demise.

And those final cars were not really the majestic luxury cars folks of a certain age at the time had remembered. But the last new car from Packard, this Hawk, was still a pretty cool conveyance. Leather, supercharged V-8, sleek lines, what’s not to like? And a rare birdie, too!

Our featured car was spotted by your author at an SDC Club meet in Iowa City, Iowa, back on August 11, 2018. I was lucky in that I had no idea this show was going on, but my uncle, David Klockau, texted me about it, so I hopped in the Town Car and made the hour jaunt down Interstate 80. I was not disappointed!

In addition to this fine ’58, there was an aquamarine ’58 Golden Hawk, a Wagonaire, a really nice mint green ’53 sedan, and many others. I’d actually been meaning to write this car up for years, but kept forgetting about it. There’s always more shows to attend and cars to gawk at! I’m happy to finally give this final-year Packard model its due.

But wait, there’s even more! While I was working on this column, I ran across pictures of another ’58 Hawk I saw when I visited the Studebaker National Museum (if you find yourself in South Bend, I highly recommend it) back in 2015 with my friend Jim Cavanaugh, an Indianapolis resident and fellow Studebaker nut.

It was fetching in its gunmetal gray paint with saddle tan leather, and I recall gawking at it for some time. At least until I caught the last Studebaker built, a turquoise metallic ’66 Cruiser, out of the corner of my eye, and went scampering away to it! So expect more Studebakers sometime soon.

One final note. In preparing this column, I used some brochures I received from Suzanne Reid. Her dad was another Studebaker fan and owned several. She had a number of booklets and brochures from the ’50s and ’60s and was kind enough to send them to me when they needed a good home.

I was thrilled to receive them and spent quite some time reading through them. They were a great help in pinning down some of the details for this column. I thank you, ma’am!

***

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Full disclosure: I love these cars. This basic body style first appeared in Autumn 1976 as a ’77 model, and the was given a more aerodynamic restyling in 1980, though the basic size and shape remained. That ’80 body lasted all the way to 1992, with only minor exterior and interior trim and styling changes. But my favorite is the facelifted 1990-92 models. And it takes me back to when Cadillac just made cars: sedans, coupes and the Allante convertible. Nary a 4×4 or crossover to be seen!

It was a better time. I loved Cadillac back then. Lincoln too. It goes back to early childhood and my Grandpa Bob’s 1977 Continental Mark V. Big, bold, with hidden headlights, opera windows, and swank interiors. Oh sure, I loved the Porsche 911s and Lamborghini Countaches of the time, too, but my heart was with domestic luxury cars, even at 11.

A big plus at that time (circa 1991-92) was that the father of one of my best friends, Cameron Saunders, was a salesman at Horst-Zimmerman Cadillac-Pontiac-Honda in downtown Rock Island. Cameron brought the big, plush 1991 and 1992 Cadillac brochures to school, which I hid in my desk and ogled during lunch and at recess. No, really.

It actually got to the point that the teacher took them away! I was heartbroken. By golly, what’s wrong with looking at fine luxury cars? And why confiscate such treasures from a car-obsessed kid, dang! But such is life—and childhood.

Fun fact: years later, after I got my driver’s license, I went back and talked to the principal, who was a neighbor of ours, to see if possibly they were still in a closet or drawer somewhere. Of course they were long gone, but a short time later I was able to replace them with a little help from eBay. As you can imagine, my brochure collection has grown substantially since then, but I’ve digressed enough already!

While the same essential car existed from 1980 through 1992, what it was called depended on the year. In 1980, it was the Fleetwood Brougham (and associated tonier Brougham d’Elegance, which included what I like to call the “lawyer’s office” interior in all its button-tufted glory). It would remain the same through the 1986 model year.

Starting in 1987, however, it became simply the Brougham. This was due to confusion which began in 1985 with the new front-wheel drive C-body de Villes and Fleetwoods. Yes, in 1985 there were two Fleetwoods. The smaller, yet still luxurious front-wheel drive Fleetwood, and the 1980-vintage Fleetwood Brougham.

For several years it was uncertain if the new front-drive car would replace the more established model, but since the rear-wheel drive Caddy kept selling, GM kept building it. Thus, starting in ’87, the RWD car was the Brougham and the FWD car was the Fleetwood.

Fun fact: the 1987 Brougham got a “new” grille, but it was actually the former grille first seen on 1981 Coupe de Villes, Sedan de Villes and Fleetwood Broughams. The ’88 was virtually the same, but in 1989 another “new” grille was featured—this time the former ’82-’86 grille. You might say GM was a pioneer in recycling. Personally, I think it’s a clever use of already-paid-for tooling.

But in 1990, the need for a more elaborate refresh was apparent. In addition to yet another new grille, Cadillac added flush “Euro” style headlights, new taillights, a revised instrument panel, and new side cladding adorning the flanks. As before, it was available in Brougham and Brougham d’Elegance versions, with all cars wearing ample chrome and a padded vinyl roof.

Despite my having at least 16-18 Cadillac books, I have to admit I was a little bit stymied in beginning this article—not one of my points of reference had production or price figures on anything after 1990.

Fortunately, my friend Dave Smith delivered in spades, as he has all sorts of dealer-only publications from back then. A ’91 Brougham based at $30,225, the d’Elegance with cloth was $32,027, and the d’Elegance with cloth was $32,597.

Dave and my other friend, Jeremy Shiffer, knowledgeable resources both, were able to confirm confirmed that 26,439 Broughams were made in ’91. Of that total, 8,812 had the d’Elegance package.

Our featured car was owned by my friend Anthony Gozzo at the time I began compiling information for its writeup, although it was for sale. Anthony has a tidy business selling classic 1970s-2000s Cadillacs and Lincolns, and he found this car—with a remarkable 21,000 original miles—in LaSalle, Illinois. Of course he has several nice Caddys and Lincolns in his personal collection as well.

As he related, this car “sold new at Lambert Jones Olds-Cadillac in LaSalle, Illinois. It was a spectacular example. The 5.0 may hold it back a bit, but unfortunately they aren’t as easy to come across in this condition or with a 5.7. Sort of at the point where even the underdogs are just as appreciated since they’re so hard to find.” And a bit later he told me it was sold and going to a happy new home in California.

These cars are appreciating, too. Valuation isn’t really my bailiwick, but Anthony had this listed at $31,995 and it sold in less than 48 hours. But to his and the car’s credit, it is a remarkably well-preserved version by any standard. And I personally loved the white with dark blue interior.

My friend Jayson Coombes and I have often discussed how while years ago we would have wanted leather, now the velour (or Prima Vera cloth, as Cadillac called it) is more appealing to us. It just looks so comfortable.

These were the last Cadillacs with all the cool little styling touches too, like the miniature wreath and crests on the front seat side shields, the wire wheel covers, and the ample woodgrain trim inside.

For facts-and-figures folks, additional options included the Gold Ornamentation Package ($395), genuine wire wheels ($1000), power Astroroof ($1355) and Firemist paint ($190 for the upper body, $50 for the lower accent moldings/cladding).

Sure, the more aerodynamic 1993 Fleetwood and Fleetwood Brougham, which retained this car’s chassis, was classy and sharp too, but a lot of those little chrome details and gingerbread were no longer present. And a bit of that old Cadillac swank and swagger was lost, never to return.

But don’t despair! For those seeking classic American luxury, there are still Broughams out there, looking for happy new homes, to whisk their owners to supper clubs for surf and turf and gin and tonics! Anthony is but one purveyor of these classic chariots. If you’re so inclined, seek them out. And until next time, Brougham on. And always tip your bartender.

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The reference probably dates me, but back in earlier decades, Buicks were known as doctor’s cars: Nice enough that one wouldn’t feel uncomfortable at a nice dinner, wedding, or country club but not so ostentatious that passersby might think you gauche or possibly connected to criminals. Yep, a Buick was just the ticket.

Of course, this was back when Buick made actual cars, not various and sundry crossovers and SUVs. I long for a 2024 Park Avenue! But never mind … Today, let’s go back to when Buick made cars—lush, large, imposing, comfortable cars, like this 1977 Electra.

At the time of this writing, it was owned by my friend Robert Reed, but it was going up on the online auction block at the time. You may recall my earlier columns on his 1985 Fleetwood Brougham Coupe and 1978 LeSabre Custom Coupe. Reed still has the LeSabre, but the Fleetwood has gone on to a happy new home.

Anyway, the ’77 Electra is one of those special cars that never had a rough day in its life and was always loved—as is apparent from the pictures. I see these models less and less frequently, though I remember seeing quite a few of them well into the late ’90s and early 2000s. They were robust cars.

As Reed relates: “This particular example has been a one family–owned car up until 2023. The original owners were BCA (Buick Club of America) members and this car went to quite a few shows. I believe the paint to be original as well as the top. The light blue metallic paint has a nice gloss and the car is extremely straight.

“Vinyl top contrasts the paint nicely and the interior is in near flawless condition. Right rear filler panel was missing so I am including a new replacement which can be seen in the trunk picture. This Electra Limited has the very peppy and smooth-running 5.7-liter 350 Buick V-8 engine. No vibrations from this motor even when in gear with the air-conditioning on max. It was/is kept in a climate-controlled garage under a car cover and has never been a daily driver since new.”

These were such nice, smooth cars. But ’77 was a big year for both Buick and GM, as all the big cars, including this Electra, were shrunken. The only land yachts that escaped the carnage were the Cadillac Eldorado and Oldsmobile Toronado, which lasted to 1978 in their previous parade-float glamour.

As the ’77 deluxe brochure relates: “The 1977 Electra. An Electra with a new brace of talents that make it a car of today, the future, instead of a tribute to the past. Its new silhouette is lean, aerodynamic.” And it was, for 1977. Some today may scoff at the prose Buick published, but these were revolutionary cars at the time, a country mile away from the previous Nimitz-class Electras from 1976 and earlier.

Buick made sure the prospect was aware of the new size too. “You’ll also discover a new fun-to-drive aspect to Electra. Thanks to the fact that it possesses the same supple coil-spring ride, the same smoothness in motion, that have become Electra’s special trademark…a beautiful reflection of a sophisticated day and age.”

Four Electra models were available. The $6673 Electra 225 coupe, $6866 Electra 225 sedan, $7033 Electra Limited coupe, and finally, the $7226 Electra Limited sedan. There was also a Park Avenue package, but it was included in the totals for the Electra Limited sedan, as far as I could tell. It was not available on Limited two-doors.

The Limited sedan, like our featured example, was far and away the most popular ’77 Electra, with 82,361 built. In comparison, the 225 sedan sold only 25,633 copies. But back then, if you were splurging for a new Buick, why not get the top model? And the Limited seats were definitely more impressive than the 225’s.

In 1977, the Electra Limited had plenty of competition, even within GM. If you decided you didn’t want a Buick, you could go across the street to your friendly Oldsmobile dealer and pick up a new Ninety-Eight Regency for $7133. It had an arguably plusher interior, despite its slightly lower MSRP, with cushy floating-pillow thrones.

Or if you wanted full-size luxury but didn’t want quite so much Broughamage (or quite so high a car note), the $5992 Pontiac Bonneville Brougham sedan and $5357 Chevrolet Caprice Classic sedan were fine cars in their own rights. Although they were on the ever-so-slightly smaller B-body chassis instead of the C-body, shared between the top Buick, Olds, and Cadillac models.

Oh, and also, if you fancied a Caddy instead of a Buick, the ’77 Sedan de Ville had a base price of $10,020. Quite a bump up from the Electra Limited, price-wise!

While LeSabres came standard with a six-cylinder engine, the Electras all came with a V-8. Standard power plant was the 5.7-liter, 350 V8, but you could order a 6.6-liter 403 if you wanted a little extra passing power. Of course, all Electras came with Turbo Hydra-matic automatic transmission, power steering, power front disc/rear drum brakes, wide, bright rocker-trim moldings, a handsome quartz clock, Custom steering wheel, and cut-pile carpeting.

They were handsome cars, and survived through the ’79 model year with only minor comfort and appearance changes. A major facelift occurred in 1980 and carried on until 1985, when an all-new, totally different C-body Electra replaced it, with front-wheel drive and a transverse-mounted 3.8-liter V-6 engine. In many ways, it would be an even greater departure to Buick fans than the ’77 was.

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There are some cars out there that, despite being out of production for many decades, are polarizing if mentioned amongst those who remember them. Pinto. Vega. Maverick (no, not the current popular trucklet). Gremlin. Hornet. And Pacer. Oh yes, the AMC Pacer, who could ever forget it?! “Party on, Wayne! Party on, Garth!” But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. So buckle up, we’re diving into AMC history today!

AMC, for those of you just joining us, was a result of Nash and Hudson merging in 1954. Initially both marques were offered, but the last real Hudsons were built in 1954, and the ’55–57 versions were “Hashes,” basically Nashes with different sheetmetal and interiors. Rambler was what really saved the new company’s bacon in the ’50s; by 1957 the last Nashes and Hudsons were built and Rambler was the primary focus.

As time went by, however, the plucky Wisconsin corporation started trying to more closely match its lineup with the Big Three, which resulted in myriad Classics, Ambassadors and Matadors appearing in showrooms. The Rambler name itself was retired for good after 1969 (the cars themselves became known as AMCs instead of Ramblers, starting in 1966); its replacement would be the all-new 1970 AMC Hornet—which, ironically, would be the foundation of most future AMC cars, all the way to the final 1988 AMC Eagle 4×4 station wagons.

By the early ’70s, the personal luxury car market was booming, but the all-new ’74 Matador Coupe failed to ignite, sales-wise. Perhaps it just wasn’t formal enough—though in later years it was offered with opera windows and tony Barcelona and Barcelona II luxury trim packages. So in 1975 AMC tried a different tack, with the “wide small car,” the Pacer.

It looked like nothing else on the road. And that more or less remains true today. The main selling factor was that although it was a small car, it was wide, thus providing “big car” room in a tidier package. It was appropriately quirky. Ample glass area was featured, and the passenger side door was four inches longer than the driver’s door. This was carried over to the Pacer wagons, which joined the two-door hatchback in the 1977 model year.

Sales of the 100-inch wheelbase hatchback was initially encouraging, as 72,158 were built. Many trim and decor options and packages were available, including the “X” package, which, like the Gremlin X, provided a sportier appearance designed to appeal to the younger set. Base price in 1975 was $3299 (about $19,152 today).

But here’s the rub: Most any new car will initially sell like gangbusters—at first. Only time will tell if any new model will carve out a niche for itself, or fall flat. With the Pacer, there was a lot of initial interest, but then it faded away. Just not right out of the gate.

In fact, sales increased in 1976 to the tune of 117,244 cars built. Base price bumped up slightly, to $3499 ($19,207). This healthy bump in its second year likely encouraged AMC to add the station wagon version, which appeared in 1977. Its base price was $3799 ($19,580); the hatchback now had an MSRP of $3649 ($18,807). But this was the year sales started to tank, despite the addition of the wagon. Only 20,265 hatchbacks and 37,999 wagons were sold for the year.

The 1978s had a new look up front with a more ornate grille and taller hood with a “power bulge.” This was done to make the AMC 304-cubic-inch V-8 available. It was an intriguing development. There were now four distinct models, the hatchback and the wagon, either with the venerable 258 six or 304 V-8, your choice.

But the availability of more oomph under the hood didn’t seem to help one whit. Sales that year were arguably catastrophic, with only 18,717 six-cylinder Pacers and 2514 V-8 models produced. I could find no individual breakouts by model or body style.  By this time the cheapest model was the six-cylinder hatchback at $4048 ($20,863). Priciest was the V-8 wagon, to the tune of $4443 ($22,900).

In 1979, AMC seemingly went full-zoot luxury on most of its models, including the Pacer. A New Limited model was added, surpassing even the previous top of the line DL version in comfort and convenience features and gadgets.

A most unusual model was the Pacer Limited Wagon. It was near Cadillac-like in its interior, with really snazzy leather and corduroy seating. As the ’79 brochure related, “The new Pacer Limited wagon offers even higher levels of appointments and conveniences. Standard are genuine leather seats with corduroy accents, luxury woodgrain steering wheel, and a host of power extras … an unmatched combination of big car room, ride, and comfort with excellent maneuverability.”

When I first spotted our featured car, I thought it could be a Limited—until I saw the non-leather interior. Though it too is pretty snazzy for a late-1970s small car. DLs had Caberfae corduroy seats in 1979, in ’80 it was Rochelle velour. But Limiteds added extra ribbed bright trim on the rocker panels, color-keyed styled wheel covers, and other niceties. But even the DL interior was a very nice place to be.

In the end, the Pacer just was not selling. Despite all the new extras and models, the bright, cheery pictures in the brochures, sales continued their drop. In 1979 only, 9201 six-cylinder models and 1014 V-8s were built. A Limited V-8 wagon, the most expensive model, was now up to $6589 ($28,347).

The 1980 model year was the end of the road for the Pacer. After Renault got a controlling interest in AMC starting in 1978, much of the model lineup was discontinued, starting with the Matador coupe, sedan, and wagon in 1978. The Gremlin disappeared after ’78, as well, but it returned in a fashion as the updated Spirit; the “Spirit Sedan” was basically the old Gremlin, albeit with a new nose and larger, non-triangular rear quarter windows.

As for the Pacer, it was only available as a DL or Limited, hatchback or wagon. Just 405 DL sedans and 1341 DL wagons were built. I could not find figures for the two Limited models. DL wagons like today’s featured example started at $5558 ($21,067).

I spotted this one in October, 2023—it was for sale in Boise, Idaho. As the ad relayed, “1980 AMC Pacer Wagon · DL · Wagon · Driven 27,900 miles Very nice original survivor 1980 AMC Pacer DL Wagon. A/C blows cold, radio, heat, defrost, windows, all work. Brand new old stock (NOS) front glass windshield just installed! I’m buying a truck so selling to help pay for the truck. I’m going to have it fully detailed soon and can get other pictures after that is completed.”

Hopefully, it went to a good home. Love them or hate them, surviving Pacers are seldom seen. And while I’d slightly prefer a Limited due to the extra-Broughamy features—especially those leather and corduroy seats—this was still a really nice car!

***

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I have a history with these.

A long history that goes back to me being a very little kid in the early 1980s, when my Grandma Ruby Klockau had one. For years, I wanted it to be my first car when I turned 16.

You see, my paternal grandparents were Ford people. Well, actually, so were my maternal grandparents. But while Fred and Mae Stamp preferred Galaxies and LTD IIs, Bob and Ruby Klockau had Thunderbirds and Continentals.

Ruby’s first T-Bird was a navy blue ’65 convertible with white interior and navy blue dash and carpeting. She loved that car. So much, that she kept it all the way to 1977, when she finally wanted a new car. And ordered another T-Bird.

This time it was black, with white bucket-seat interior and center console, and red instrument panel, carpeting and seat belts. Plus a factory AM/FM/Stereo with CB, back vinyl roof, and red pinstripes. It was a gorgeous combo. And Grandma Ruby kept it a long time, too.

Back then, oftentimes during summer vacation, she would pick me up and we would go to lunch, then Toys R Us (I would always pick out a diecast car—sometimes a Corgi, sometimes a Matchbox Models of Yesteryear), and then we would go to Sexton Ford and South Park Lincoln-Mercury, where I would gawk at the new cars and collect brochures to take home and study. I still have some of those brochures.

And so it went into my early junior-high years. But then in 1991 or so, she sold the T-Bird. My grandfather had passed away by then, she had been driving his 1987 Lincoln Continental 90 percent of the time, and someone made her an offer. And then it was gone.

But wait! My mom’s sister, Candy Symmonds, got a ’78 Thunderbird. My uncle, Don Symmonds, was a master mechanic and could fix anything. So when the old Blackhawk Foundry down the street from the Symmonds pretty much ruined her ’76 Cutlass Supreme’s paint and glass after several years, he found the T-Bird.

As I recall, Candy telling me long ago, it had been a kind of root-beer-brown color, but it was pretty faded. So Don painted it nonmetallic navy blue and spruced it up with other new parts and trim. And it had the same road wheels and Chamois interior as today’s featured car, owned by my friend Justin Landwehr.

I have many fond memories of riding in that car, too! And like Ruby’s car, it had the bucket seats and center console. It was not until many years later I realized how rare that setup was. By 1977–79, most T-Birds had the bench seat, even the flossier Town Landau models. Technically, you could get it all that time, but not many plumped for it.

The ’77 T-Bird was all-new. Well, for most intents and purposes. The 1972–76 T-Bird had been much larger and was based on the Continental Mark IV. But that all changed in 1977, and the T-Bird shrunk. But it still wasn’t small.

It was now riding the same chassis as the also-mostly-new 1977 Ford LTD II, which was essentially a 1972–76 Ford Gran Torino with an all-new body. Styling was much crisper and razor edged. And while the new Thunderbird looked a lot like the LTD II coupe at first blush, it had exclusive hidden headlamps and a “basket handle” roofline with inset opera windows between the front door and rear quarter glass.

It was a massive success despite the shrinkage. A total of 318,140 Thunderbirds were sold for 1977, riding a 114-inch wheelbase. The pool table-sized hood was standard. A base model started at $5063 ($26,095 today), the tony Town Landau at $7990 ($41,180).

As the 1978 brochure relayed, “Express yourself boldly this year. With one of nine exciting color combinations—yours when you order the optional Sports Decor Group … In this Decor Group, you also get deck lid stripes, dual accent paint stripes, fender louver and hood stripes color-coordinated with the vinyl roof, and styled road wheels with Chamois accents.

“Body side moldings have color-keyed vinyl inserts. Remote control, dual-sport mirrors, and blacked-out vertical grille bars are also included.”

Despite all the extra comfort and appearance items of the Sports Decor Group package, certain things were still optional, including whitewall tires and deluxe bumpers. Because, after all, in 1978 it was still Detroit (or rather, Dearborn), and many things taken for granted in 2023 were a la carte back then.

However, it did have some nice, basic standard equipment; after all, this wasn’t a Pinto or a Maverick. All ’78 T-Birds came standard with a 302-cubic-inch V-8, SelectShift automatic transmission, power steering, power brakes, steel-belted radial tires, 10-ounce cut-pile carpeting, simulated burled walnut interior and instrument panel trim, power ventilation, hidden headlights, full-width taillights, and the all-important opera windows.

Some Monday-morning quarterbacks like to pooh-pooh these cars, saying they were nothing like previous Thunderbirds and a cheap cash grab by Ford. Such folks likely never owned, drove, or got within 50 feet of one. There seems to be an unfair bias against ’70s cars, which is kind of funny when you see all the questionable, sometimes willfully ugly cars and trucks made since then.

And they sold. The final, extra-large 1976 Thunderbird, sharing much of its components with the cosmopolitan Continental Mark IV, sold 42,685 examples. However, that went way, way, wayyy up the following year, with the new downsized T-Bird: 318,140 in 1977, 333,757 in 1978, and 284,141 in 1979. That includes the base-trim Thunderbirds, the Town Landaus, and the extra-flossy 1978 Diamond Jubilee Edition Thunderbird, which was available in only Diamond Blue Metallic or Ember Metallic, and was even more luxurious than the already-Broughamy Town Landau.

And it had a price to match. The base ’78 Thunderbird was $5411 ($25,921), the Town Landau was $8420 ($40,335), but the Diamond Jubilee Thunderbird (so-named to celebrate Ford’s 75th Anniversary; a Diamond Jubilee Continental Mark V was also offered) was a princely $10,106 ($48,411). But pretty much everything was standard, including special blanked-out rear sail panels, aluminum wheels, color-keyed bumper rub strips, extra-sumptuous seating and interior trim, and more.

While I couldn’t break down 1978 T-Bird production between the standard model and the Town Landaus, I did find that 18,994 Diamond Jubilee models were built. The DJ Thunderbird would essentially return for 1979 but would be re-named the Heritage. As in ’78, it was a step above the Town Landau—with a price to match.

By the way, if you ever run across one in the wild, it’s really easy to identify the year: 1977s have the checkerboard grille and full-width taillamps, ’78s added the Thunderbird ‘bird’ emblems to the hidden headlight doors, and ’79s got the new grille with fewer bars and the taillights with a central backup light between them. It’s that easy.

***

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Let’s get one thing straight: I only have a rudimentary knowledge of Opel. My introduction to its existence was probably circa 1991 when, as an avid watcher of the Nick at Nite cable-TV channel, I was introduced to the classic show, Get Smart. Of course, Max’s Sunbeam Tiger is better known, but the last couple of seasons he traded it in for a gold Opel GT, Germany’s Mini-Me 1968 Corvette Stingray. Oh, and my friend Bryan Saunders owned a Manta and used it as his daily driver for a few years in the ’90s, believe it or not. He loved that car and would be thrilled to find another one! Funny thing, I remember seeing it in traffic a few times, but had no idea then that it was his car.

For those not in the know, Opel was GM’s German division for many decades until it was ultimately sold to Fiat in 2021. Opel typically had a lot in common with Vauxhall in England—another GM division, as I’m sure most would guess. While Opel was a part of GM, the marque had no equivalents to Caprice Classic convertibles, Fleetwood Talismans, or the like.

But Opel did have some pretty Broughamy offerings, such as the Diplomat and Kapitan. Those larger models, however, never were sold in the U.S.

The Manta was the sporty, affordable coupe in the lineup, and like American offerings of the time (like the Cougar and Firebird), it was available with myriad options, from plain to fancy. Its closest competitor in the home market was likely the Ford Capri, a similarly sporty coupe.

If I may digress a moment, my dad had a Capri, a bright yellow ’74 with a terra cotta-colored interior, a V-6 engine, and a stick shift. When he got a new company car, my mom drove it for a while, but she wasn’t thrilled with the manual transmission (she preferred an automatic), so it was traded in on a near-new ’73 Volvo 1800ES sports wagon.

Now, where was I? Oh, yes, Opels. The Manta first came out in late 1970. Like the Ford Capri, it was based on a family sedan beneath the swoopy sheet metal—in this case, the Opel Ascona. I’m not sure of all the variants in Germany, but based on my 1972 Opel brochure, available U.S. models were the Rallye and Sport Coupe. As you’d expect, the Rallye had a blacked-out hood, side stripes, sport wheels with bright trim rings and side stripes, and other extras.

Interestingly, at least in 1972, these cars were not badged Manta but as “1900 Sport Coupe” or “1900 Rallye.” In the same vein, the Ascona was simply called the 1900 in the States.

For ’73, the U.S. Opel line was reshuffled a bit. The “baby Corvette” Opel GT made its last appearance. And the 1900 Sport Coupes became Mantas, just like their siblings sold in Germany. The Manta and Manta Rally reprised their places, but there was a new model: the Manta Luxus.

And as you’d guess, the Luxus was the fancy-schmancy version. As the brochure relayed, “Manta Luxus … an inexpensive, plush European luxury car at a very practical price. And a brand new idea of what a luxury car should be.

“With the same advanced mechanical features that have won it acclaim from the world’s automotive experts. But inside its roomy interior you’ll find a velvety soft upholstery that doesn’t look at all like a little economy car.

“If you’ve always wanted the comfort and luxury you only seem to be able to find in big cars, but like the economy and handling of a small sporty car … we’re happy we found you.”

To me, it seemed like the Luxus was kind of a baby Cutlass Supreme, with velour seats, wood (or at least, wood-toned) trim, and additional bright trim on the exterior. Per the brochure, other features included an electric clock, custom headliner, carpeted trunk, sport steering wheel, and a chrome exhaust tip.

A vinyl top was available but optional, as were a sun roof, automatic transmission, air conditioning, and whitewall tires. A 1.9-liter four-cylinder was the sole engine option, with a standard four-speed manual. Overall length was 171 inches with a 95.7-inch wheelbase—at least on the ’73 models.

The 1974 Mantas were largely the same, but gained—as many other new cars did—much bigger bumpers, front and rear. Overall length was bumped (pun intended) to 176.1 inches. Horsepower was 75 at 4800 rpm, breathing through a two-barrel carburetor. Yes, it was the ’70s, with all that “fun” early emissions equipment! The ’72s had still had 90 horses.

The Luxus continued as the top Manta, along with the base sport coupe and Rallye, and it got top billing on page two and three of the ’74 brochure. The previous year’s velvet/velour cloth was replaced with corduroy, and as seen on our featured car, vinyl upholstery was also available. The styled road wheels also carried on. And Luxuses were available in four exclusive colors: dark blue, bright metallic blue, silver, and burgundy.

I discovered our featured car several years ago in the small town of Nauvoo, Illinois. I had driven down for the excellent Grape Festival Car Show, held every Labor Day weekend, and did a major double take when I saw this car parked at a disused gas station. My uncle said he’d seen the car on and off for years. But now it was just sitting. It looked to be in very nice, albeit dusty, shape. I loved the burgundy/burgundy color combination too. You just don’t see Opels of this vintage. I have seen maybe three ’70s examples in Iowa and Illinois since I was a kid. So, of course, I took plenty of photos.

German Opels appeared in U.S. Buick-Opel dealerships for the last time in 1975. The biggest news was fuel injection. But it was the last time you could get a Manta here. Due to the exchange rates, starting in ’76 the “Opel Isuzu” was the sole offering. Too bad; the Manta was a pretty car.

[As for German Mantas, a totally new, rather futuristic-looking car replaced this body style.]

***

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One of the cars I most miss in today’s lineup of mostly trucklike new vehicles is the Lincoln Town Car. For most of my life, they were there—as personal cars, as limos, as the bad guys’ cars on TV and in movies. I’ve always loved Lincolns. My Grandpa Bob drove them for decades before I was born, and as a kid I well remember riding in the back seat of his navy blue ’77 Mark V and peering through the oval opera window in the C-pillar. One might say I was preordained to love them.

And it always seemed a given that the big, luxurious Town Car sedans would always be available. I remember about 15 years ago having a discussion with my Uncle Dave about how there really were only three truly distinctive new cars at that time: Volkswagen’s New Beetle, the Jeep Wrangler, and the Lincoln Town Car. Most everything else faded into the background.

Today, all that’s left is the Wrangler! No more Beetles and no more Town Cars. And the world is just a little more drab as a result. Indeed, Lincoln has since deleted ALL sedans from its line, despite having two excellent choices in modern luxury in the now-departed MKZ and Continental. But I’m digressing. Time to get back on track.

The 1989 Town Car was the end of a lot of traditional cues, though the redesigned 1990 model was a fine car in its own right. Indeed, if I didn’t already have my 2004 Town Car Ultimate, I’d love to find a nice 1995–97 Cartier to keep forever, having driven many as lightly used, late-model cars. But 1989 was the last year for the landau top—or “coach roof,” as Lincoln called it—complete with opera lamps on the B-pillar, the last year for genuine wire wheels, and all those cool little chrome accents and details, inside and out. And the bladed front fenders!

Just doing a casual walkaround of these cars, you will note all manner of Lincoln ornamentation: stand-up hood ornament, crests in the opera windows, embroidered on the seats, accenting the headlamp bezels. There was also a factory full carriage roof option, turbine alloy wheels, lacy-spoke alloy wheels, and wire wheel cover options. Plus a power moonroof.

And these were big cars for their time, though they are eclipsed by the previous 1975–79 Town Cars and Continentals. But today, next to Malibus, Camrys, and such, they look big. Overall length was 219.2 inches, with a 117.3-inch wheelbase. It was available as a sedan only, the coupe having disappeared after the 1981 model year.

The 1989s were much the same as the ’85s, when the original new-for-1980 bodyshell got a mild “aero” facelift, with more flush front and rear bumpers, a new grille, and revised, sloped rear tail treatment.

The ’89s can be identified by the new “Lincoln” logos on the lower right side of the grille and the trunk lid, replacing the block-style font that had been seen on ’88s, and indeed, on Lincolns going back at least to the mid-’70s.

A total of 128,533 were built for the year. Three trim levels were offered: the Town Car for $25,205 (about $63,079 today); the Signature Series, which added the floating-pillow style seating as seen here, among other finery, for $28,206 ($70,589); and the top-of-the-line Cartier Designer Series, available only in Silver Frost Clearcoat Metallic over Pewter Clearcoat Metallic, for $29,352 ($73,457).

All Town Cars, regardless of trim or equipment level, had the tried and true 302-cubic-inch V-8 under the hood, with a 4.00 x 3.00 bore and stroke and 150 horsepower. Other Lincoln models available in ’89 were the Mark VII luxury coupe, available in Bill Blass and LSC versions, and the V-6, front-wheel-drive Continental.

But the Town Car reigned supreme in sheer size.—and popularity, as total production of Mark VIIs and Continentals that year were 29,658 and 57,775, respectively.

There were lots of color choices too, as in 1989 people actually bought cars in colors other than black, gray, and silver. Selected choices included Bright Currant Red, Sandstone, Rose Quartz, Pastel Adobe, Twilight Blue, Cinnabar, and Arctic White, as seen on today’s featured car.

Speaking of, this car was seen at the LCOC Mid America meet in Springfield, Illinois, last fall. It was a great show, and I took far more pictures than strictly needed. I’ve already written about the ’83 Mark VI Pucci Designer Edition that was also at this show, and I’ll almost certainly be writing up others from this event in the future.

This car wasn’t strictly in the show, as it was in the general parking and not on the show field, but it immediately caught my eye with its triple-white color scheme (with the fantastic red dash and carpeting matching the white leather inside) and factory optional, genuine wire wheels. It even had the moonroof.

Another reason I’m attached to these cars, and the ’89s in particular, is I remember my grandmother taking me to South Park Lincoln-Mercury back and my getting brochures on the Town Car and Continental. I still have both brochures today. In fact, I used the very same brochure I got in ’89 while writing this article.

My grandparents never did get a Town Car of this generation, but they did have a Rose Quartz Metallic 1987 Continental—the one with the bustle-back styling. And a family friend, Dick McCarthy, had one of these, an ’86 Signature in silver-blue metallic with a navy coach roof and interior. He drove it for years, until he finally replaced it with a gunmetal gray ’95 Town Car Executive in about 1997. I even drove that car once, at a company event in Springfield.

It was about 20 years ago, and I was helping Jerry Morescki with the ICC booth at the trade show. Dick came down too (he was involved with the company as well; indeed, he and my grandfather got it started), and one night we all went out to Gallagher’s, a supper club not far from downtown. And the hotel? The Crowne Plaza, where the LCOC meet was held! It was de ja vu! In a great way!

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Will 1970s cars ever shake the negativity from the public at large? Oh sure, plenty of folks love them—I’m one of them!—but even in this day and age, Pintos, Nimitz-class Caprices, Granadas, and more get disdain from many quarters. And I will certainly not dispute the quality control issues seen on many cars of the era. But what variety. What choices, not only in color and upholstery but in body styles. And the F-body 1976–80 Plymouth Volaré and Dodge Aspen were amongst one of the tidiest, good-looking compact wagons of the era.

These new compact Chrysler Corporation vehicles were meant to replace the venerable, robust, plain vanilla but-oh-so reliable A-body Dodge Darts and Plymouth Valiants. But for one final hurrah, in 1976, the outgoing cars shared showrooms with the all new models.

For one last year, you could get a stone-reliable, if somewhat staid, conveyance. But the new cars were pretty nice looking for their time, fresh and attractive, right in line with the recently introduced Ford Granadas and Mercury Monarchs. But as an added fillip, station wagons were available.

There hadn’t been any compact Mopar wagons since the ’66 versions. And in the mid-70s, with suburbia being the oasis from the big city, wagons ruled. Country Squires, Caprice Estates, Malibu Estates, Catalina Safaris, and many others were popular and prevalent.

Trouble was, the new compacts had some teething issues. The most visible was prematurely—VERY prematurely—rusting front fenders. A recall was issued, and complainants were able to get new fenders at no charge, but it was a major black eye to Chrysler and soured many new owners into Granadas, Cressidas, and other makes.

Eventually, Mopar got its act together though, and ’78 and up models were much more robust and reliable. And through it all, the wagon was a notable perk. It’s my favorite body style amongst these cars. Unless we get into the ’80s and start talking M-body Fifth Avenues with pillow-top velour and coach roofs.

The Volarés came in three flavors: plain, mid-range, and fancy. The top of the line was the Premier, and it was available as a coupe, sedan, and wagon. Of course, Premier wagons got simulated wood on the sides and lift-up tailgate.

A ’77 Premier wagon had a base price of $4271 (about $22,656 today), weighed in at 3505 pounds unloaded, and a total of 76,756 were produced. Premier sedans were $4354 ($23,097) and 31,443 were built. The wagon was very popular, in all trim levels.

In fact, the tony Premier wagon was the second most popular ’76 model. Most popular? The base station wagon, which retailed for $3,941 ($21,996), and of which 80,180 were sold.

Today’s featured car was seen several years back on Marketplace. From my 1977 brochure, it appears to be in oh-so-period-correct Spanish Gold Metallic. Unfortunately, I have no recollection of where it was or what it was priced at, but I saved the pictures because it was the nicest one I had seen in years. These lasted until 1980. The final ’80 wagons sold had a base price of $3540 ($14,120); 19,910 were made. But that’s for all trim levels, as by that time the Premier extras were considered an option package and production figures reflected that.

One final note: For those in the know, the “Hamtramck Hummingbird” refers to that unique starter sound Chrysler products had back then. My mom’s ’92 Grand Caravan ES made the same sound! I’m not sure when the design was finally changed and that distinctive sound went away, but I would guess sometime in the mid ’90s. A little bit of that Chrysler Corporation uniqueness went with it.

***

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I’ve always loved Volvos, because they’re what I grew up with, what are among my earliest car-related childhood memories. Most of those cars were safe, solid 240 sedans and wagons, but at that same time, my mom owned a 1973 Volvo 1800ES.

When I first arrived home from the hospital, my parents had a 1979 Pontiac Bonneville sedan and a 1977 Volvo 245DL station wagon. Those were Dad’s and Mom’s primary vehicles, but the 1800ES was a fair-weather car, and it shared the 1929-era garage with Dad’s ’51 Porsche 356 Cabriolet.

It only came out on nice days. I remember Dad driving me to my friend Brian Macomber’s house for a birthday party in this car. It must have been 1985 or so; I was probably in kindergarten. We also took it for runs to Mr. Fresh, which was a drive-thru convenience store only a few blocks from home. We’d zip up, get some bread or milk, and zip back to the house. It was a five-minute ride, max, but I always wanted to go. I loved that car.

In late ’85, however, the 1977 245 wagon was sold to a family friend, and the ’73 1800ES was traded in to Lundahl Volvo, as my mom had special-ordered a new ’86 240 DL wagon in Cream Yellow with brown interior. I was sad, but we just didn’t really need that ES, and the new car needed to go in the garage, so that was that.

I held onto fond memories of that car. Since 1800s weren’t very common in the Quad Cities, I didn’t see any for years, save for one at a show in the late ’90s and a ’71 1800E that popped up at Lundahl Volvo circa 2004.

I did see a couple more, including a mildly customized one in Iowa City, but I hadn’t seen any relatively recently until I spied a white ES for sale in Davenport in 2014. It wasn’t perfect, but it was pretty nice (I wrote about it here). I took many photos and showed them to Dad, thinking maybe he’d want to get it. But no dice, unfortunately.

He already owned a ’60 Porsche, and my mom had a Jag XJS convertible—both used as summer drivers—so I understood. But lo and behold, in July 2018, he showed up with our featured car, a ’67 1800S, resplendent in British racing green over saddle tan leather.

I was so thrilled! It was like being beamed back to my childhood a bit, even though this was a coupe and not an ES wagon. It had been completely restored by a classic Volvo specialist in Schaumburg, and it needed nothing but to be driven.

But what of the “Souped-down Ferrari” itself, as Volvo called it in a classic ’60s ad? It goes back to the early postwar years, European cars, and the rise and embracing of exporting.

That was the watchword: Export. Volvo, in the ’50s, believed in it dearly, and it was thought that a ‘halo’ car was needed to draw interested parties into Volvo showrooms in other countries—especially the United States.

Its first attempt was the Volvo Sports, officially designated the P1900, a two-seat fiberglass roadster in the Corvette manner … but it didn’t take off and had some teething issues, so it only lasted through 1956–57. It was pretty though! I’ve never seen one, but I have a Robeddie white metal 1/43-scale example on my desk at home.

So, Plan B. Which was the P1800. After the P1900 exited stage left, in early ’57 the decision was made to base a new sporty model on the upcoming Amazon/120 series. Prototypes were built by Italian coachbuilder Frua, and while there were several differences detail-wise, the overall look would be familiar to P1800 owners today.

The first official pictures were released in May 1959. The Company stated at the time that the car would begin production towards the end of 1960, but as it turned out it would be delayed. It was displayed for the first time at the Brussels international show in January 1960; one was shown the following April at the New York Auto Show.

The new 1800 was equipped with the then-new B18B inline four, not the B16B from the PV544 as originally planned. So in keeping with its character, the P1800 had the oomph to go with its sporty, svelte looks. Eventually the same engine would be available on the 544 and P120/Amazon. But the 1800 had it first.

Power on the early versions was 100 horsepower at 5000 rpm. The first production cars appeared in Swedish showrooms in May 1961. These first P1800s were built and finished by Jensen, but issues arose, resulting in the cars being built in Sweden starting in April 1963. At the same time, the designation changed from P1800 to 1800S. The ‘S’ was for Sweden.

The initial 1800S had a mildly updated engine as well, bumping power to 108 hp. But the biggest win the P1800/1800S had was due to Sir Roger Moore and a classic TV show, The Saint.

As the story went, the producers of the show initially wanted the then-new Jaguar E-Type as the hero’s car. But Jaguar was apparently unhelpful. As Moore told magazine Teknikens Varld at the time, he saw an 1800, fell in love with it, Volvo was called, and the show had a car in five days. The rest, as they say, is history.

By 1967, the year of our featured car, the B18B engine was 1780 cc, breathed through twin SU carbs, and produced 115 hp at 6000 rpm and 108 lb-ft of torque at 4000 rpm. The bump to 115 hp had been achieved in 1966 via revised exhaust ports.

Also new was the straight-across side molding, replacing the earlier trim that curved upward into the top of the door, near the handle. A handsome new grille was also apparent, replacing the somewhat more plain stamped checkerboard version.

The 1967 1800S was the “M Series,” and the chassis numbers for the model year ran from 21000 to 25499. And one of those is today’s featured cars, owned by my dad. He brought it home on July 30, 2018—a total surprise to me.

It instantly brought back memories of the ’73 1800ES. It even had the same classic scent of leather, rubber, gas, and oil that I remembered. And it was very pretty in British Racing Green with saddle tan interior. I know, I mentioned that before, but what a great combo.

While researching for this story, I read the original paperwork that came with the car, and it was very detailed. It was, believe it or not, sold new by Budd Volvo in Riverside, California, to a Jerry Stotlar. And it was originally red with black leather, according to the records. But wait, there’s more. Apparently that was entered in error, as after I initially started this column, my dad got an 1800 book and decoded the data plate—and it was originally green with saddle tan.

The first plate it had was California VXE 144, and it had its 3000-mile service on November 2, 1968. This leads me to believe it may have been a leftover and sold for a healthy discount, though I can only speculate. Finding all this out was really interesting. You don’t always know the life your car lived before you got it.

Come 1968, a padded three-spoke safety steering wheel was added, albeit less gorgeous than the two-spoke version on this ’67, with its drilled twin metal spokes. American 1800Ss also got the dreaded tacked-on side marker lamps, which slightly spoiled the svelte, sleek lines.

As you can see in some of the pictures, my dad made some slight changes to the car. The 1800ES had the bright chrome lug nuts with the small center cap, and he liked that look, so the “V” hubcaps were removed.

He also added the driving lights to the bumper. But other than that (and a couple reproduction decals), it has pretty much stayed the same, and it’s being driven and enjoyed.

I had been meaning to write about the car earlier, but as it is usually in storage away from the house, I had to time it right. Fortunately, just before it started getting cold, in early October 2023, my father had it out for the weekend, and I managed to talk him into driving it down by the river for most of the pics you see here. While the coupe lasted through 1972 and fuel injection was added in 1970, the 1800ES “Sportwagon” took over in ’72.

The last one was built on June 27, 1973, the end of an era in Volvo history. Fortunately, there are many loving owners today who appreciate these special cars and keep them running to enjoy.

***

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Once upon a time, you could—instead of a bunch of crossovers and maybe three sedans and seven pickup trucks, like today—get all sorts of interesting new stuff. Like lots and lots of sporty, cool imported cars … Alfa Romeo Spider, Datsun 240Z, Porsche 914, Toyota Celica, Volvo 1800S, to name a few. And today’s subject, the Volkswagen Scirocco.

The Scirocco, along with the Golf, were the result of a big change in VW in the ’70s. Up until their appearance, VWs were eminently predictable: Round, happy looking rear-engined economy cars, with an air-cooled four. While the Golf effectively replaced the Beetle (though VW never officially called it that until the 1998 New Beetle), the Scirocco replaced the Karmann Ghia.

And like the Karmann Ghia—a favorite of mine, by the way—it was the basic VW with the same basic underpinnings, just in a snazzier suit. The K-G was a pretty car, and though it looked sporty it had the same engine and horsepower as the Beetle, so it wasn’t exactly a ball of fire.

But it sure was pretty. And a convertible was available as well, right up through its swan-song year of 1974. The convertibles were relatively rare, however, compared to the coupes. I was very happy to see this mint example at the Maple City Cruise Night in Monmouth, Illinois, last August.

And it was even in the same color combination as our Scirocco today—dark green with saddle tan interior, a favorite combo of mine. There was no Scirocco convertible sadly, but I am not sure how it would have looked if such an animal had been offered, with the fastback styling of the coupe.

But that’s enough Karmann-Ghia love for today; pardon the digression. At any rate, the Scirocco first appeared fairly early in ’74 in Europe, but it was a ’75 model when it first showed up on American shores. Like the Golf/Rabbit, it was front-wheel drive, a water-cooled engine, and wore very angular, modern styling.

Under the hood was a 1588 cc / 97-cubic-inch four, which by 1980 produced 76 horsepower at 5500 rpm and 84 lb-ft of torque. A little different from a ’75 Caddy with a 500-cu-in V-8. But, of course, it was a much smaller, zippier car. Sciroccos were 155.7 inches long with a 94.5-inch wheelbase.

As luck would have it, I have a 1980 VW Scirocco brochure, so I was able to identify the color of our featured car as Colibri Green Metallic, with a leatherette interior in Gazelle. Other colors available in ’80 included Mars Red, Brazil Brown Metallic, and Diamond Silver Metallic. You could also get a red interior.

Again referring to my ’80 brochure (I love collecting old car brochures, don’t you?) 0-50 mph took 7.5 seconds and top speed was 103 mph, which probably sounded pretty great in the 55-mph-speed-limited USA of 1981. Factory options included air conditioning, a rear window washer and wiper, five-speed manual (a four-speed manual was standard), three-speed automatic, and a sun roof, as seen on this example.

Our featured car is yet another find by my friend Jayson Coombes. It was on display at the Castle Hills Classic Car Show in Lewisville, Texas, in May 2023. Jayson sent a lot of pictures from that event, and there was a lot of excellent rolling stock (including a beautiful ’64 Buick Skylark Sport Wagon), but I zeroed in on this VW due to its gorgeous color, gorgeous condition, and the fact that I haven’t seen a Scirocco, in any condition, in probably 25 years. The 1981 model year was the last for this generation, but starting in 1982, an all-new Scirocco would take over and fight the good fight into the early ’90s, when the also-fetching Corrado took over.

Where have all the sporty, inexpensive cars gone? I don’t know, but there sure used to be a lot!

***

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I have my friend Mike Risatti to thank for the fantastic pictures of this beautiful Eldorado. Labor Day weekend always means a lot of car shows, and sometimes you can’t get to all of them. Previously, the Cadillac & LaSalle Club show at Ettleson Cadillac in Hodgkins, Illinois, was held in mid-June, but this year it was moved to the holiday weekend.

I wanted to go, and initially planned to, but the excellent Grape Festival show in Nauvoo, Illinois—just a short hop across the Mississippi River from Fort Madison, Iowa—is held the same weekend, and I have been attending it since 2006. My aunt and uncle, Lori and Dave Klockau, are always there (they have a house there as kind of a weekend getaway) and it’s always fun to drive up, visit, have a most excellent picnic lunch outside, attend the Labor Day Parade, then go to the show and gawk at the cars.

The problem was, Ettleson was Saturday and Nauvoo was Sunday, and attending both would have meant six hours of driving Saturday and four more on Sunday, which was a tad too much, even for a rabid car show attendee like me.

Fortunately, many of my Chicago-area Cadillac friends were at Ettleson. Mike owns a fantastic 1960 Cadillac Sedan de Ville, and he brought it to the show.

And luckily for me, he also posted many pictures online. At that time, I was on the couch at home, drinking coffee. There were so many nice Cadillacs, including a Mandarin Orange 1975 Eldorado convertible—with a matching orange top! But the one I really zeroed in on was this simply fantastic Cranberry Firemist 1974 Eldorado coupe.

This color and Persian Lime Firemist are my favorite 1974 Cadillac colors. There were so many great ones back then! None of this black, silver, and gray nonsense. I will posit that a ’70s Cadillac color chart was more extensive and impressive than any specialty, uber-expensive luxury car of 2023. Things weren’t perfect in 1974, but car-wise things were pretty impressive on the color and option scale.

I now know many folks of a certain age are just going mad, ready to say 1974 … really?! Seatbelt interlocks! Gas crisis! Etcetera! But I’ll always love the year for the sheer variety of cars. Luxury gunboats like this, Saab 99s, Fiats, Alfa coupes, Pinto woody wagons, Citroëns! It was a vast smorgasbord for those who were new-car shopping. And it was the year my parents were married. So there!

Cadillac was doing just fine, thank you, in 1974, despite gas prices and other things. Still all-car, no SUVs yet—thank heaven! The lineup began with the Calais coupe and four-door hardtop, moving up to the Sedan de Ville and Coupe de Ville, the personal-lux Eldorado like our featured vehicle, the incomparable Eldo convertible, top-of-the-line “owner driven” Fleetwood Brougham (with even more sumptuous Brougham d’Elegance and Fleetwood Talisman versions), and the top of the heap: the Fleetwood Series 75 limousine and nine-passenger Sedan.

And the colors! Did I mention the colors? Well, I’m going to do it again! So many fabrics, leathers, top colors, and paint choices! It was wonderful. And the names themselves just made you want to run into a Cadillac dealership and hand them a blank check: Victorian Amber Firemist, Terra Cotta Firemist, Regal Blue Firemist, Pharaoh Gold, and on and on!

And did I neglect to mention all the comfort, convenience, and appearance options available on 1974 Cadillacs? Well, buckle up! Available niceties included a power sunroof, Stereo with tape deck (no subscription claptrap then, no sir! You bought your 8-track tapes and that was that!), tilt/telescope steering column, Track Master (an early form of anti-skid braking), outside thermometer (mounted on the driver’s side mirror), extra brilliant Firemist paints, and more.

Our featured car also has the Custom Cabriolet top option, which retailed for $385 ($2409 today) as seen on this Eldorado, but was $1005 ($6287) with the power sunroof. The Custom Cabriolet roof “features a padded elk grain roof haloed by a sheer chrome molding,” per my 1974 brochure. The ’74 Eldorado started at $9110 ($56,991) for the coupe and $9437 ($59,037) for the convertible. A total of 32,812 coupes were built.

Interiors were suitably sumptuous. Remember when luxury cars had rich fabrics and velours, and everything wasn’t just black or tan leather like now. In 1974 alone Eldorados came with a three-tone Mohawk fabric with Meridian fabric bolsters. Leather of course was an option, as well as Medici crushed velour, available in Dark Blue, Amber, or Terra Cotta.

I was just smitten with this car, with its Cranberry paint, white Custom Cabriolet top, and white leather with Cranberry dash, carpet, and seat belts. What a magnificent ride! Cadillac, bring back the Eldorado already! Please.

***

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In September 2023, I was fortunate enough to attend the Lincoln and Continental Owners Club Mid America meet. I’ve been a member of the LCOC since 2015, and though I don’t go to a ton of events, I love the club magazine and enjoy local meets and shows put on by the Lake Shore Region, the division closest to me.

This year, I was extremely happy to discover the Mid America meet (the LCOC also has Eastern and Western meets each year) was a mere two-and-a-half hours away, in Illinois’ capital city of Springfield.

Springfield is a cool town, but I hadn’t been there since 2006, when I had visited friends Jerry and Freida Morescki. Jerry, a fellow car nut (and avid Studebaker fan) is a great guy and they have since moved to sunny and snow-free Arizona, but back then we got along famously, as they say, talking cars.

In fact, way back in 2004 I helped Jerry at a trade show, disbursing pens and information at the Illinois Casualty booth. It really is a small world, as it was held at the same hotel—the Crowne Plaza— as the Lincoln show was.

Anyway, I got a fairly early start, as I didn’t want to miss any amazing cars. When I got there around 10:30, I immediately went into a happy Brougham-induced state of mind, gawking at beautiful cars and chatting with the friendly owners. And taking many, many pictures!

I parked, spied a couple of magnificent 1960 Lincolns in the distance, grabbed my hat and camera, and waltzed into Lincoln heaven. There were so many wonderful cars! And the LCOC is a great club; everyone is so nice. People I’d never met were very friendly, and I chatted with several folks before I had to start taking many, many pictures.

And I zeroed right in on this 1964 Continental. The ’64 Connie is a pretty well-known car in several classic movies, including Goldfinger and Animal House. Now that I think of it, both Lincolns in those movies came to bad ends. Oh well, never mind!

Anyway, I zeroed in on this particular one pretty early for two reasons: first, I love the 1961–69 Continentals, and second, it was in the most excellent color combination of sleek black paint paired with a red leather interior.

In this case, Black Satin, according to the 1964 Lincoln color chart. I was very impressed with the condition of this car. Of course, all the cars are nice at an LCOC event, but this one appeared to be a spare-no-expense full restoration. Or so I thought, blissfully snapping several pictures. Then I wandered away towards the gilded ’70s Continentals, which always remind me of road-going luxury Pullman cars.

But a while later I drifted back to this car, because I loved it so much. This time, the doors were open, and I took the opportunity to take many more pictures of that fabulous bright red leather interior. An information placard had been added as well, on front of the car.

And I was surprised and impressed to find that this car was an amazing low-, low-, LOW-miles original car. To the tune of 2800-odd miles on the clock. Wowsers! No wonder it was nice.

I learned the current owner is Tim Wilson of London, Ohio, though he wasn’t around the car, and unfortunately I didn’t get the opportunity to chat with him. But from what I learned, this Lincoln was ordered new by Charles and Ruth McGill and delivered in October 1963.

The couple traded in their 1961 Continental for it. But sadly, Mr. McGill passed away only three weeks after they took possession of their beautiful new car, and his wife put it into storage and never drove it again.

Rich Liana, a prominent 1961–69 Continental expert and restorer, brought back it into gorgeous usable condition while maintaining its originality.

The current owner still has the original tires even, but correct whitewall reproductions have been installed to keep the car safe to drive.

It is just a beautiful car. Lincoln in the ’60s was the go-to for elegant transport, as were Cadillac and Imperial. It was truly a great time to be able to own and enjoy a new luxury car. This is an amazing survivor, and I was so happy to see it in Springfield and take far more many photos than I needed to!

***

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Let me get right down to brass tacks: I love these. Always have, always will. And I miss 1970s PLCs (that’s Personal Luxury Cars, for those of you just joining us). And there’s family history with these too, which makes me even more infatuated with them.

My grandfather Bob Klockau was in World War II. When he got out, he got on the GI Bill and went to college in Champaign, Illinois, commuting from the Quad Cities on a Henderson motorcycle. He got his law degree and set up shop in downtown Rock Island with his law partners, Barney Moran and Dick McCarthy.

Later on, the trio got involved in dram shop insurance and started an insurance company, specializing in insuring bars, taverns, and restaurants. For years, Grandpa Bob joked that they did so to give the law firm something to do. And both the insurance company and the firm of Klockau and Moran thrived. So much so that by the mid -’60s, he moved from Buick Electras to Lincolns.

His neighbor across the street was Bob Neal, who had both Ford and Lincoln-Mercury dealerships on 11th Street in Rock Island. As a result my grandmother gave her 1959 Catalina convertible to my Uncle Chris and picked out a new navy blue 1965 Thunderbird convertible. And my grandfather traded his circa 1962 Buick Electra sedan for a dark green 1966 Continental.

He loved that car. It had a matching dark green leather interior and the optional 8-track tape player. It whisked everyone on vacation to South Padre Island and Biloxi circa 1967–68. Back then, you drove to wherever vacationed!

Then in mid-’68, the all-new Continental Mark III personal luxury coupe came out, and my grandfather traded the four-door Connie for a Mark III. It too was dark green metallic, with matching green leather and Cavalry twill vinyl top. This particular car was my father’s favorite. He loved the interior with the button-tufted door panels and seats. It was lush.

But then in late 1971, the all-new 1972 Continental Mark IV came out. And in what would become a trend, Grandpa Bob traded the Mark III for the super swank Mark IV. It too was triple dark green. The Mark IV was my Uncle Dave’s favorite of my grandfather’s Lincolns.

He remembers one time he was taking it for a spin, and one of those massive luxury wheel covers detached and rolled off into the grass. He said those things were super heavy; as it rolled away it sounded like a manhole cover.

Fortunately he saw where it landed, and amazingly, it was not scratched or scuffed. He put it back on and drove much more sedately back to the house.

As previously mentioned, the 1972 Continental Mark IV was all new. And like the 1969–71 Mark III, it was based on the Thunderbird chassis. As the brochure extolled, “For 1972, Continental introduces a new Mark. It stands alone in a world where individuality has all but disappeared.

“In many ways Continental Mark IV is a subtle refinement of a contemporary classic. But though the styling changes are evolutionary, they are also dramatic. The grille is even bolder than on previous Marks. The hood is longer, lower. The graceful sweep of the roofline, sleeker. And inside, more leg and shoulder room for passengers in the rear compartment.

“Continental Mark IV. For all the 1970s, this will be the unique American car.” And while it was certainly distinctive, it still had a lot in common with the T-Bird, though the Ford version itself got much more luxurious too. Base price on the Mark IV was $8640 (almost $63,000 today). Curb weight was a healthy 4792 pounds, and 48,591 were produced for 1972—one of which was my Grandpa Bob’s.

A 460-cubic-inch V-8 was standard, naturally. It had a 4.36 x 3.85 bore and stroke, and an 8.5:1 compression ratio, breathing through a four-barrel carb. Horsepower was 224 at 4400 rpm.

And as you’d expect, these were long—to the tune of 220.1 inches with a 120.4-inch wheelbase. Just for comparison, a 2023 Navigator L is 221.9 inches long! Compared to the outgoing Mark III, it was about four inches longer and slightly lower and wider.

Like all Lincolns, Michelin tires were standard. Other Mark IV equipment included the Sure-Track braking system (an early form of ABS), Cartier-signed clock, six-way power Twin Comfort Lounge seating, and a vinyl roof. The oval opera window was new and would become a Lincoln trademark, but in ’72 it was technically optional, though it would become standard before long.

Options included extra-snazzy Moondust paint, leather seats, a tilt wheel, speed control, and various stereo systems, with or without 8-track tape player. There were 15 standard colors, eight optional Moondust colors, and five vinyl roof color choices. But the color of today’s featured Mark, owned by my friend Humberto Garcia, won’t be found in any official Lincoln brochures or color charts.

It appears to be a 1969 Cadillac color, Wisteria, and it looks like the car was custom-ordered in the hue, as it is in remarkable original condition. I always enjoy seeing this car; it’s just fantastic. These pictures were taken at an LCOC Lake Shore Region meet in late summer 2015 at the airport in Poplar Grove, Illinois, just a short drive from the big Chrysler factory in Belvidere.

I was smitten with the car and couldn’t help but take far too many pictures of it! I love these cars, and the entire Mark Series, all the way to the final 1998 Mark VIII. I miss personal luxury coupes and bright, vivid, unique colors like this. In a world of silver silvermist, black, and gray SUVs passing as “luxury,” the Mark IV is a cut above.

***

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Today if you’re looking for family transportation, your choices are limited if you want some style. Maybe a Mercedes-Benz E-Class wagon or Volvo V60—are they still available in the U.S. or only Europe now? No, the common family transportation choices are largely devoid of head-turning looks. You have your choice of a spud-shaped Equinox, spud-shaped CR-V, spud-shaped Highlander, and other extremely similar-appearing options. No stand-up hood ornament. No whitewalls. No chrome-plated heraldic crests. No hidden headlights. And certainly no Di-Noc-clad, simulated-woodgrain paneling on the sides!

But, oh! Once upon a time, when America still made cars instead of trucks and the aforementioned spud-shaped rolling stock, you had all manner of attractive luxury station wagons just beckoning to you from your friendly local Ford, Chevy, or Chrysler-Plymouth dealerships. Kingswood Estates, Sport Suburbans, and, of course, the venerable Ford Country Squire. And if you wanted to spend a little more, you could get even swankier with an assortment of Bonneville Safaris, Mercury Colony Parks, and Chrysler Town and Countrys.

But even if you remained within the “Low Priced Three’s” wagon choices, you gave up little in luxury and comfort, especially if you chose the top-trim models. But if I expand much more on the state of American station wagons in 1968, we’ll be here all day, so let’s get back to today’s featured “longroof,” the ’68 Country Squire.

The 1968 Fords were essentially heavily facelifted ’67 models. Gone were the vertically stacked headlights that had been a big Ford trademark since 1965, replaced with horizontally-oriented quad lamps on the lesser models, with hidden headlights installed on the flossier LTDs—and the Country Squire.

The ’68 Country Squires came in six- and nine-passenger versions, retailing at $3539 (about $31,000 today) and $3619 ($31,687), respectively. Production was 33,994 six-passenger versions and 57,776 nine-passenger variants. The new 302-cubic-inch V-8 with a two-barrel carburetor was standard with a synchronized three-speed manual transmission. Of course, Select Shift automatic transmission was extremely popular. Bigger 390- and 428-cu-in V-8s were also optionally available.

Today’s car was spotted by my friend Jayson Coombes at a show in downtown Fort Worth, Texas, back in September 2022, in what appears to be Meadowlark Yellow. I was immediately taken with it when he texted me pictures of it back then. Of course, I forgot about it as I went to more shows and saw other fine examples of vintage Broughamage.

But lo and behold, early this summer my friend Sal Darigo sent me a care package of vintage brochures he’d run across, and one of them was the full-size 1968 Ford brochure. It immediately triggered my memory, and I spent some time tracking down the correct photo file on my computer. And here we are!

I really do miss the “standard Ford” LTDs, Galaxie 500s, Custom 500s, Fairlanes, and the like. The final vestige of that great line of Ford automobiles was the Ford Taurus, which sadly ended production after the 2019 model year. And the ’19 Taurus Limited was a great car. Sadly, today all you can get car-wise is a Mustang. Which is a shame. But for those who march to the beat of a non-crossover drummer, check the classic car listings and you’ll find all manner of fine LTD Country Squires—with style in spades!

***

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Do you ever feel old? I don’t terribly often, but I do more so when I see a great old car. Today’s case in point: This magnificent 1970 Chevrolet Caprice. It’s almost 54 years old, but to me, it’s still only 20 years old—25 max!

I remember these due to a brief but vivid childhood memory. An old friend of my dad’s, Donnie Moore, always drove cheap used cars. He was hard on them, so they were replaced with rather frequent regularity. He nicknamed many of them: a Chevrolet Vega was “Darth Vega” and a Thunderbird of indeterminate age was dubbed the “Thunderchicken.” I also remember, at various points, a blue, circa-1975 Dodge Colt coupe, an ’84 or ’85 Buick LeSabre, and a Grand Marquis.

Whenever he got a “new” set of wheels, he would frequently stop by my parents’ house to show the car to my dad. And one day, probably around 1989–91, he stopped by with a full-sized 1970 Chevrolet.

I am not 100 percent certain if it was a Bel Air, Biscayne, or Impala, but it was a four-door pillared sedan in metallic gunmetal gray, with a black interior. I think it was a Bel Air, but honestly can’t remember.

It was in slightly weathered, but intact, shape—right down to the factory wheel covers. I think I was interested because it was the first 1970 big Chevy I’d seen up close. I was familiar with the 1971-up Caprices, because a neighbor down the block had a ’71 four-door hardtop in that light lime green metallic that was so popular back then.

Anyway, he stopped, parked in the driveway, and then he and my dad commenced chatting. I was approximately 10 years old at the time, and I proceeded to gawk and circle the Chevy with avid interest.

The ’70 Chevrolets were a facelifted version of the all-new 1969 versions, but there were several noticeable cosmetic changes. The biggest one was that the “loop” bumper/grille, encircling the grille and headlights on 1969 versions, was replaced with a conventional chrome bumper below the quad headlights and all-new grille. Out back, the elongated horizontal taillights were replaced with thin, vertical versions.

In 1970, Chevrolet still offered a dazzling variety of models, instead of the all-truck, all-crossover line today (except for the Corvette and Malibu). But never mind, we’re talking about the first year of the Me Decade, not 2023. You had trucks, Suburbans, Vegas, Chevelles, Novas. And full-size Chevys. Glorious, full-size, classy, attractive full-size Chevys.

Coupes. Sedans. Hardtops. Convertibles. In trim levels from plain to totally fancy. And there was no fancier Chevrolet in 1970 than the Caprice, unless we want to engage in a discussion about the Monte Carlo. But that’s a conversation for another day.

In 1970, Caprice meant luxury from GM’s contribution of Detroit’s Low Priced Three, which back then consisted of Chevrolet, Ford, and Plymouth. Ford was making hay with its similarly luxurious LTD. Plymouth, meanwhile, had recently canned the top-trim VIP nameplate and its best model was the somewhat contradictorily-named Sport Fury Brougham.

But in 1970 GM was still a near-impenetrable juggernaut, the 800-pound gorilla of U.S. motordom, and so the Caprice and Impala were extremely popular.

First appearing in 1965 as a four-door hardtop only, as a super-deluxe appendix to the popular Impala line, the Caprice became its own model in 1966, adding station wagons to the mix. By 1970, it was an integral part in the full-size Chevrolet line, available as two-door and four-door hardtops, as well as the wood-sided Kingswood Estate station wagon, available in two- and three-seat models.

The 1970 Caprice Sport Sedan retailed at $3527 ($27,912 today) before options. Curb weight was 3905 pounds. At the time, Chevrolet didn’t break out models by trim level and body style, but from what I could glean from my automotive library, 92,000 Caprice V-8s were built for 1970, in all body styles.

Most expensive Caprice that year was the three-seat Kingswood Estate, at $3866 ($30,594). There was no convertible that year; if you wanted to go topless in 1970 you had to settle for an Impala. A Caprice convertible would appear for 1973.

This Caprice, absolutely gorgeous in Misty Turquoise with matching turquoise brocade interior, was spied at the annual car show in Bishop Hill, Illinois, a tiny enclave with Swedish roots in Henry County, Illinois. I attend every year, and it never disappoints. Today’s subject was my favorite car at the show this year.

If you’ve read enough of my columns, you know that I love Detroit land yachts and I love turquoise. I was about three-quarters through my walkthrough of the show and had just taken pictures of a gorgeous 1971 Oldsmobile 442 convertible when I spied this off to my left. Zounds! After stopping for approximately 12 seconds to photograph the 1979 Seville parked next to it, I commenced drooling over this Caprice.

My favorite body style and my favorite model. So sharp. And although I would have preferred the color-keyed factory wheel discs and fender skirts, this remarkably well-preserved example was just as pretty with its Chevy Rally Wheels and whitewalls.

It also had the optional 265-horsepower Turbo-Fire 400-cubic-inch V-8, a step up from the base 250-hp, 350-cu-in V-8. All the better to motivate you while riding in turquoise brocade, cushioned comfort.

As the 1970 brochure stated, “Some people have professional interior consultants design their living area. Some people. You. All you need to do is choose the Caprice interior that strikes your fancy … everything is color and design coordinated. Seat shape and material, carpeting, wall and ceiling fabric, instrument panel form and function. Everything. Beautiful.”

Such a comfy car, in such beautiful colors! I loved it. Every bit of it. And I walked away feeling just a little bit sad that you can no longer get American cars like this. Caprices, LeSabres, Bonnevilles. They were such great cars: Chevrolet built 162,800 full-size cars in 1970. Today? Zero. But some still live on, even in this day and age. I salute them.

***

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Another Vega? As Marge Gunderson said in Fargo: Oh, yeah! One would think in this day and age that finding a Vega, the notorious GM subcompact that polarized so many, would be a difficult task. But some way, somehow, I keep finding them. Or word’s gotten out and they’re finding me!

I’ve mentioned it before, but the Maple City Cruise Night, held annually in the small college town of Monmouth, Illinois, is a must-attend event for me. Essentially, the whole town turns into a car show. And anything goes! It’s a show where you really never know what you’ll see. I love that.

Last year there was a mint condition 1977 AMC Gremlin X. In previous years I’ve seen a 1976 Continental Mark IV with the Lipstick Luxury Group, a 1959 Dodge Royal Lancer, spectacular 1964 Cadillac Series 62 in Turino Turquoise, a 1976–77 Mustang II Ghia, a remarkably well-preserved sky-blue 1973 Pinto Squire, and a giant red 1974 Cadillac Eldorado convertible that would have done Big Enos Burdette (of Smokey and the Bandit fame) proud.

It isn’t like the local monthly or weekly cruise nights, where you start seeing the same cars over and over. Here, there is always something new. Some cars I’ve seen once and never again. You’ll see license plates from Iowa and Illinois and Missouri, sometimes even Wisconsin. It’s grand.

And so it was in August, when I hopped in the car and pointed it onto I-74 and then Highway 34 to Monmouth. As always, I made sure I had plenty of memory space in my camera and a fully charged battery. Once, at a Cadillac and LaSalle club show in Milwaukee, my camera flatlined just as I was taking pictures of a fantastic 1968 Fleetwood Series Seventy-Five limousine. I vowed then and there that I would never have that happen again.

But I am digressing again! Back to our featured car. When I initially posted a few pictures of this car on my Facebook page, my friend Jim Smith, who worked as a lot jockey at a big Chicago Chevy dealer back in the ’70s, had this to say: “Rare as a purple unicorn. I only recall having one, in white, in demo service at the dealership.”

He wasn’t wrong. When I was researching in my home automotive library to write this column, I found that only 3461 Vega Estates were built for 1977, which was the last year for a Vega in any form. The non-woody version was much more plentiful, to the tune of 25,181 units.

The ’77 Vega Estate had a base price of $3745 (about $18,975 today). As the 1977 Chevy station wagon brochure confided: “Vega. It might just be all the wagon you need.” And there was definitely a somewhat defensive tone in the description as well. Anyone around in the ’70s will remember the Vega had some teething issues upon its debut, the severity of which depends on who you ask, but regardless, rust, breakdowns and other functional complications were evident.

As the brochure continued, “Yes, it’s still the compact wagon that’s just right for today’s young thinker, regardless of age. And Vega’s still the wagon that offers an engine built to take it.

“We documented that when three 1976 Vegas, with Dura-Built 2-barrel carburetor engines, conquered 60,000 miles in and around Death Valley in 60 days in the summer of ’75. Maintenance was adjusted for dust conditions. Only one timing belt was replaced and 24 ounces of coolant were added to one of the three engines.”

I can’t speak for every Vega owner out there, of course. But my aunt Lori Klockau had a mid-’70s Vega Estate as a student teacher at the University of Iowa back then. Believe it or not, it was a Vega Estate, too. At any rate, she drove it for several years, and that little woody wagon ran like a Swiss watch. She never had any trouble with it. Of course, others’ mileage may vary. But even today Aunt Lori remembers that car fondly.

As for the 1977 Vega Estate, naturally it was a bit flossier than the plain-Jane Vega wagon. The biggest attraction, of course, was the “New simulated oak wood-grain paneling with simulated wood-grain outline moldings on the rear and full side panels.” The “new” must have been referencing the type of wood-grained paneling used, since there had been woody Vega wagons since 1973.

Other extras on the Estate included full wheel covers, deluxe bucket seats and trim, custom door panel and rear side panel interior trim, a day/night inside rear view mirror, the all-important (in the 1970s) rear seat ash trays, and more. A Vega GT wagon was also available, though there were no separate production breakouts I could find.

Our featured Vega Estate was finished in code A-2929 Light Blue with a complementary light blue vinyl interior, and optional Rally II wheels. It also appeared to have factory Four-Season air conditioning, judging from the vents along the bottom of the instrument panel.

I had just gotten over gawking at a 1976 Lincoln Continental Town Coupé at the show when I saw this Vega woody and briefly lost my mind. Holy cow, what a rare birdie! I have seen a few Vegas, but frequently they are hot rodded with a small-block Chevy V-8 and fat rear tires. But here was a bone-stock Vega—and an Estate!

I’m not 100 percent certain, I may have seen one or two long ago when I was a kid in the ’80s, but this was definitely the first Estate I’d seen in 25 years, at least. Yumpin’ yiminy!

After I regained consciousness and a nice lady helped me stand up, I began taking many, many photos of it. I loved it. I spoke with the owner, a very nice guy, and he confirmed it was a 1977. I knew it was either a 1976 or ’77, due to the grille. What a time capsule—not mint, but a very honest original car. It was a treat to see!

***

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Today we have yet another classic Lincoln that my friend and frequent photo contributor, Jayson Coombes, photographed at the Lincoln & Continental Owners Club (LCOC) Eastern Meet in Knoxville, Tennessee, last June. It was, as Jayson relayed, a somewhat small but extremely high-quality show, with some amazing cars.

If you don’t mind, may I make a minor digression? I would rather go to a small or medium-sized show with some really interesting rolling stock over a huge event with a bunch of late-model vehicles and Mustangs, Corvettes, and Camaros. Now, it’s not that I don’t like those cars too, but you see them so often. At least, I do. I like ’65 Mustangs and ’69 Corvettes and the like, but in an average show season, I will likely see 40–50 of them.

Oh, but what about Continentals? Vega woody wagons? LTD Landau coupes? I’d go to a show in a tiny town 40 miles away that had only 12 cars if cars like that were in attendance. I like what I like, and the few friends who tolerate my frequent disappearances—sometimes for 45 minutes—and yet continue to attend car shows with me will attest to this.

OK, now where was I? Oh yes, the LCOC show. As I write this I am eagerly anticipating the LCOC Mid-America meet in Springfield, Illinois, a relatively short hop for me, distance-wise. But at the Knoxville show, there was some severe Ford Motor Company Broughamage. This elegant ’68 Continental is a case in point.

By 1968, the Lincoln Continental’s classic squared-off, chrome-edged, classic 1961 lines were almost at an end. There would be only one more year of this classic shape, with the always-distinctive “suicide” doors. The ’68 model year was the first in which a convertible model was no longer available, though the two-door hardtop (introduced in 1966) remained alongside the sedan in Lincoln-Mercury showrooms.

The 1968 Continental sedan had a base price of $5970 (about $52,781 today). The coupe started at $5736 ($50,713), and the all-new Continental Mark III personal luxury coupe, which appeared mid-April as an early ’69 model, had a base price of $6585 ($58,219). A total of 29,719 sedans were sold for the model year. For comparison’s sake, a new ’68 Mustang was $2602 ($23,005), and a Steve McGarrett-approved Mercury Park Lane four-door hardtop stickered for $3647 ($32,244).

Under the Continental’s hood was an all-new 460-cubic-inch V-8 with 365 advertised horsepower and 500 lb-ft of torque. It breathed through a four-barrel carburetor, required premium fuel, and was backed up by a three-speed Select-Shift Turbo-Drive torque converter transmission. No manual transmission for Ford’s finest!

Available options included an automatic headlamp dimmer (seen above)—it was mounted on the front driver’s side fender, near the windshield—tilt wheel, Stereo-Sonic Tape System (8-track player), power vent windows, reclining passenger’s seat, Automatic Ride Leveler, six-way power seat (a two-way power seat was standard equipment), and an automatic temperature control system. And by the way, this car has a particularly uncommon option, the “Individually adjustable contour front seats with reclining passenger’s seat and console, six-way power driver’s seat, two-way power passenger’s seat,” as the brochure describes. I’d never seen one before.

Standard features included the expected power windows, power steering and brakes, factory undercoating, cut-pile carpeting, front and rear folding center armrests, electric clock, triple horns, and a choice of 22 exterior colors. I’ll always love these, since my grandfather Bob Klockau’s first Lincoln was a dark green 1966 Continental sedan with dark green leather and the optional 8-track player. This 1968 doesn’t look much different, though the ’68s received a new grille with the turn signals moved up into the fender blades with clear lenses, the stand-up hood ornament was replaced with a flush-mounted one, and there were mild styling updates to the rear deck, seats, door cards, and instrument panel. The non-Mark coupe also got a smoother roofline.

By the way, the color, according to my 1968 Lincoln color and upholstery folder, is Royal Burgundy, suitably named for a luxury make. It is contrasted nicely with a black leather interior and black vinyl-coated Heritage Roof, as it was referred to in the brochure.

It was a splendid conveyance and makes me wonder why Lincoln decided to not only eliminate all sedans from its lineup starting in 2021, but also ax the Continental name, just when it was getting off to a new start. Oh well, we’ll always have the classics!

***

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Once upon a time in the 1980s, people bought cars. Actual cars, with four doors and a trunk lid, and no four-wheel drive. And one of my favorite marques, Oldsmobile, was still in business. One of its best, Broughamiest cars, and still a favorite of mine to this day, was the Ninety-Eight.

At the time, the Ninety-Eight was the top-of-the-line Oldsmobile sedan and had been for decades. The Toronado coupe may have been more of a halo car, but for maximum luxury and space, the Ninety-Eight was your best choice. In 1987, it was in its third year of second-round downsizing, the first shrink having been applied for the 1977 model year, when all GM C-bodies, from the Fleetwood Brougham on down, went on a crash diet from their 1976 Nimitz-class proportions.

Also in 1985, the Ninety-Eight became a V-6 front-wheel-drive car for the first time. Wheelbase was 110.8 inches, with an overall length of 196.4 inches. Curb weight was 3316 pounds (for the 1987 Regency Brougham sedan).The Buick Electra/Park Avenue, its corporate sibling, got the same treatment. So did Cadillac, but those luxury cars retained retained V-8 power, though seeing as how they had the 4.1-liter “High Technology” first introduced in 1982, an argument could be made that you may have been happier with a Park Avenue or Regency with the remarkably sturdy 3.8-liter V-6.

I remember these cars very well. My Aunt Candy had a silver-blue metallic 1986 Park Avenue, our neighbors two doors down had a 1987–88 Regency Brougham (it replaced a triple-navy-blue 1983–84 Ninety-Eight Regency Brougham), and our neighbor caddy-corner from our house had another ’87–90 Regency Brougham, in gunmetal gray metallic with matching interior. They were really nice cars.

Despite the 1985 downsizing, they retained full-size interior space. The glass area was impressive, with corresponding visibility. They were almost like an American version of a Volvo 740, albeit with much more elaborate chrome details and upholstery! You didn’t see many Volvos with wire wheel covers, whitewalls, and opera lamps!

The 1987 Ninety-Eights received a mild facelift, adding composite headlamps to replace the former quad sealed-beam units, a new grille, and other refinements. It was available in three models: the $17,371 ($47,050 today) Regency sedan, $18,388 ($49,802) Regency Brougham sedan, and $18,388 Regency Brougham coupe. Yes, the two Broughams were the same price, whether you selected the two-door or the four-door.

But this was the final year you could get a Ninety-Eight coupe. Starting in 1988 it would be available only as a sedan. Sales of the coupe had been going down, and it became more rapid with the 1985 downsizing; only 4207 Brougham coupes were produced for 1987.

It may have been that the proportions of the 1985 body were a bit more awkward on the two-door version. With those long doors, you expected the car itself to be longer. Coupes as a whole were on a downward trajectory though; even the Toronado would go away after ’92. The Brougham sedan was much more popular, with 60,817 sold. It was actually the best-selling Ninety-Eight, as the less fancy Regency sedan sold 19,738 units. Still better than the coupe, though!

In this fashion the Ninety-Eight continued through 1990 with only one more minor facelift for ’89. The 1991 model would bring a total redesign, with swoopier lines. That ’91 would be the final generation of the Ninety-Eight series, sadly. Times were changing, and traditional luxury sedans were going in a different direction.

Our featured car, in fetching Dark Garnet Red Metallic with matching velour interior, was spotted by my friend Jayson Coombes at the Oldsmobile Club of America national meet in Murfreesboro in July 2022. He texted me car pictures all that weekend, and there were some amazing Oldsmobiles, but this ’87 was one of my favorites. Of course, I flashed back to the classic 1996 film Fargo, as this was very close to the car Jerry Lundegaard drove in the movie.

My only question: Does this one have TruCoat? Oh ja, you betcha!

***

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My friend Jayson Coombes attended the Lincoln & Continental Owners Club’s Eastern meet in Knoxville, Tennessee, in June (I’m a Lake Shore Region member). Initially I had thought about going myself, but it appeared to be about a 10-hour drive, so I demurred. It was a twofer for Jayson though, as his folks live nearby, so he got to see some beautiful cars and visit with his parents for a few days.

As Jayson explained, the show was not gigantic, but there were some absolutely high-quality cars at the event. In addition to today’s spectacular example of Broughamage, there was a Lincoln Versailles with a fantastic aqua velour interior, a burgundy 1968 Continental sedan, a 1949 Cosmopolitan, and several showroom-condition 1977–79 Mark Vs. But this 1977 Lincoln Continental Town Car was one of the first I zeroed in on.

What spectacular colors! I know I’m a broken record on this subject, but man, what colors used to be available. Glancing at my copy of the 1977 Continental brochure, the hues included Ice Blue Moondust, Yellow Gold Diamond Fire, Dark Jade Metallic (one of my favorites), Cinnamon Gold Moondust, Midnight Blue, Dove Gray, and Cream.

But you won’t find our featured car’s color in that ’77 showroom brochure, because it was custom ordered when new. The color itself, easily visible from across a parking lot, is Rosé Diamond Fire, which was available on the Mark IV in 1976. Apparently the original owner of this magnificent vessel wanted that color even though it was no longer on the chart and was willing to pay extra.

One indicator of a special order color is the silver-painted filler panels. That was done on all cars with custom paint, likely in order to streamline assembly on the production line. It’s just beautiful, and the optional turbine spoke alloy wheels, a new option for 1977, only enhance its good looks. This is luxury car with a capital L.

Ah, yes, the age of the land yacht. I missed the golden years, but I remember all the Fleetwoods, Continentals, Ninety-Eight Regencys, and LTD Crown Victorias from the 1980s and ’90s. And, of course, there were still myriad ’70s survivors at the time, ranging in condition to pristine and driven by little old ladies with hats, to one step away from the demolition derby at the Scott County Fair.

Speaking of demolition derby, back around 1990, my cousin Suzy’s boyfriend bought old clunkers and ran them in the fair. I remember one time he stopped by my aunt and uncle’s house in a bombed-out blue 1975–78 Mercury Marquis sedan. It was the same type as the one in the John Candy classic, Uncle Buck—and in about the same condition—except the movie car was a coupe, not a sedan. “Wanna go for a ride?” Heck, yes!

So we went on a quick and speedy five-minute ride, and when we got back I noticed it had one headlamp door remaining, with the emblem on it. “Can I have the emblem?” I asked. “Sure!” he answered and proceeded to break off the headlamp door, unscrew the emblem from it, and hand it to me. That car went out in a blaze of glory almost 35 years ago, but I still have that emblem in a drawer somewhere.

Pardon my digression, but the headlamp doors on this Continental took me back! Funny how that happens sometimes. But back to Lincolns. The 1977 models received a moderate facelift. The biggest change was the front end, where the previous year’s low, wide grille was replaced with a tall, narrow one.

It was very similar, though not identical, to the one on the Continental Mark V, and I’m sure the resemblance was intentional. As had been the case, Continentals came as either a two-door coupe or four-door sedan.

The four door started at $9636 (about $48,923 today); the coupe, $9474 ($48,100). A total of 68,160 four-doors and 27,440 coupes were produced for the model year, including both standard trim Continentals and those with the Town Car or Town Coupé packages.

Town Cars and Town Coupés added “floating pillow” seating, a full vinyl roof (the landau-style coach roofs, whether on coupe or sedan, were an optional extra), leather upholstery, carpeted luggage compartment with matching spare tire cover, six-way power seat, AM/FM radio with four speakers, power antenna, and Automatic Temperature Control.

As one would expect, a V-8 was standard, along with Select-Shift automatic transmission. Other standard features included power vent windows, cornering lamps, a Cartier-signed digital clock, white sidewall Michelin tires, tinted glass, power windows, power brakes, power steering, automatic parking brake release and fender skirts. The 208-horsepower 460-cubic-inch V-8 came on all cars except those destined to go to California, where a 179-hp, 400-cu-in V-8 was installed instead.

“A standard by which luxury cars are judged … introducing the 1977 Lincoln Continental.” So began the 1977 brochure. It was pretty clear they were referencing the newly-downsized 1977 Cadillacs. “You’ve got your standards … and everything you do has to meet them. You won’t compromise. For 1977, the Lincoln Continental hasn’t compromised either.”

That was definitely true in the Continental’s sheer size and room. These cars had a 127.2-inch wheelbase, 233-inch overall length, and had a curb weight of 4880 pounds for the sedan and 4836 pounds on the coupe.

Of course, as it turned out, Lincoln was whistling past the graveyard. Starting in 1978, the 460 was optional and the 400 was standard. In 1979, the 460 disappeared, never to return. And in 1980, the Continentals joined the Marquis and LTD and appeared on the newly shrunken “Panther” chassis. But it was fun while it lasted.

***

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If you were in the market for a luxury car, 1977 was a great year to be alive. So many choices! And all of them cars, not SUVs or pickups. And crossovers hadn’t been invented yet. Oh sure, there were trucks and four-wheelers, but Cadillac, Lincoln, Chrysler, and others were most certainly not offering them. If you walked into a Cadillac dealership and you asked a salesman for a Cadillac truck, they would smile politely, have you sit down on a nice, comfortable chair, get you a cup of coffee, then call for the guys with the butterfly nets. It was a different time.

But it was so great if you loved unapologetic luxury, vast color choices, upholstery selections, full and landau-style tops, opera windows, and opera lamps. And there was a lot more at your friendly local Cadillac dealer in 1977.

Cadillacs, being proudly and unapologetically huge for years, were suddenly 8–12 inches shorter and 950–1000 pounds lighter. While not small by any means—these weren’t Honda Civics, for Pete’s sake—they were definitely smaller than Cadillac owners were used to. Fleetwood Broughams lost their exclusive 133-inch wheelbase and now rode the same 121.5-inch wheelbase as de Villes.

The Seville and Fleetwood Eldorado continued largely as before, though the Eldo also received the new 425-cubic-inch V-8—and lost its long-standing convertible model.

The Fleetwoods and de Villes (the Calais series had also disappeared after 1976) were also over three inches narrower yet managed to lose almost no interior space. And the trimmer exterior dimensions made them easier to maneuver and park than the Nimitz-class 1971–76 Fleetwoods, de Villes, and Calais models.

The 1977 Fleetwood Brougham had an overall length of 221.2 inches. Four wheel disc brakes were now standard. Base price was $11,546 ($58,642 today) and 28,000 of them—including both the Fleetwood Brougham and tonier Brougham d’Elegance—were sold for the model year.

Dubbed “The Next Generation of the Luxury Car,” the 1977 Cadillac debuted on September 23, 1976. Incidentally, 1977 was also Cadillac’s 75th anniversary. There were 21 exterior colors offered, along with 16 vinyl roof selections. Yes, in the late ’70s you could actually get real colors! A wide variety of them. I miss that.

While some wags were unsure about these new downsized Cadillacs, sales proved otherwise. Cadillac set another production record this year, to the tune of 358,487 cars. Not bad. Fleetwood Broughams distinguished themselves from the Sedan de Ville, which now had essentially the same body, via a smaller “privacy” rear window, wide chrome rocker moldings, color-keyed turbine-vaned wheel covers (wire wheel covers were an optional extra), a plusher interior, and standard automatic level control.

I spotted our spectacular featured car on Palm Springs Craigslist earlier this year and was immediately smitten. I am old enough to remember these cars as late models, cruising along in near-showroom condition when I was a kid in the mid-to-late ’80s. Plus they didn’t seem so old to me at the time, as the same basic body continued, with some changes here and there, all the way to 1992 as the Cadillac Brougham and Brougham d’Elegance.

While I don’t recall seeing too many Fleetwoods, 1977–79 Sedan de Villes and Coupe de Villes were pretty common, even into the late ’90s here, ranging from mint to ragged condition.

As the seller related: “Available for sale is our one-family owned, super low mileage, ’77 Fleetwood Brougham. Stunning condition in an ultra rare color combination of Frost Orange Firemist, Antique Medium Saffron Leather, and Lt. Saffron Metallic vinyl top. Purchased new from Thomas Cadillac in Los Angeles and now has only 17,500 original miles.

“Still wearing its first issued California Blue plates! Absolutely zero rust and no accidents of any kind. Lots of money recently spent to bring it up to it’s current condition, including new A/C, correct 1.3-inch WW tires, rear bumper fillers, headliner, completely serviced including belts and vacuum hoses, full interior and exterior detail.

“Runs and drives beautifully at all speeds. Everything operates perfectly as it did when new, with exception of the digital clock. Optional features are: Pinstripes, cruise control, door edge guards, fuel monitor system, right-side remote control mirror, tilt/telescope steering wheel, twilight sentinel, 6-way power passenger seat, carpeted rubber floor mats.

“Included with the sale is a 1977 Factory Salesman’s Merchandising Guide and showroom brochures, two sets of original keys, and a car cover. Asking $22,500 OBO.” At the time I spied this ad on Craigslist Palm Springs, just before the July 4th holiday, I thought, well, 22.5K sounds pretty good since most modern cars don’t interest me, and the few that do are far above that amount.

And I LOVE the colors. I’ve been in love with Frost Orange Firemist ever since the early ’90s. Back then, my science teacher, Mr. Spilker, had a number of vintage National Geographics and stacks of Time magazines from the ’70s. He let me and a couple friends in my class take out the car ads from some of them, and one of them was an ad for the ’77 Eldorado—in this color. Wow! It was spectacular, especially with the color-keyed wheel covers. I probably still have that ad in a folder somewhere.

But even better, I also have the 1977 Eldorado-only dealer brochure, as well as the 1977 de Ville/Fleetwood brochure. And while at first blush it appears to be the same color in the brochure as our featured Fleetwood Brougham, it is actually Saffron, which was a similar, but darker color. I love them both. As a matter of fact, I have a 1977 Coupe de Ville dealer promo in 1/24th scale in Saffron. Such great colors back then!

As for the Fleetwood Brougham, it carried on through 1978 and ’79 with only minor changes to the exterior styling, upholstery, and color choices. In 1980, it and the de Villes and Fleetwood Limousines would be restyled yet again with smoother, more EPA mileage-friendly shapes. The 425 would become the 368, then be added with the questionable “4-6-8” cylinder displacement computer in ’81, then get the “High Technology” HT4100 V-8 in ’82. Later on it would be replaced with non-Cadillac exclusive 307- and 350-cu-in V-8s, but this basic Cadillac shape—that classic Cadillac shape—would endure all the way to my junior high school years. I’ll always love them.

***

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Ah, the early ’80s. When tastes diverged from Coupe de Villes and Mark VIs to BMW 535is, Volvo Turbos, Saab 900s, and of course Mercedes-Benzes. German cars, especially, were very hip, particularly among the younger, affluent set. Who could forget Roman Craig driving his navy blue 560 SEL in the classic John Candy movie The Great Outdoors, or the Porsche 928 sinking into Lake Michigan in Risky Business? “Who’s the U Boat commander?”

While the W126 S-Class was the biggest, baddest Mercedes at the time, one step below it was the W123, which later would be dubbed the E-Class. Not in 1983, however. This series had first appeared as a 1976 model and initially was available only as a four-door sedan.

The pillarless coupe appeared halfway through the 1977 model year, and the wagon (designated S123—not W123, for you Jeopardy! fans) went into production in 1978. And while the sedan was the belle of the ball production-wise, the coupe was naturally the prettiest.

The coupe rode a shorter wheelbase compared to the sedan and wagon, at 106.7 inches. All 1983 U.S.-bound coupes had the five-cylinder turbodiesel engine, matched to a four-speed automatic transmission. The coupe was the luxury version of the W123 lineup; as such, it featured electronic automatic climate control, cruise control, vacuum power door locks, AM/FM stereo with cassette, power windows, and the “Bundt” alloy wheels all as standard equipment. The black-on-black example featured in the ’83 U.S. brochure appeared suitably elegant.

As for our featured vehicle, I spotted it way back in June 2013. As I recall, there was a cruise night on the riverfront with a number of adjacent food trucks and vendors. I was walking back to my car and happened to spy this attractive bit of ’80s Teutonic luxury parked by the old train station, which now serves as a visitor’s center. I hadn’t seen one in a long time (and haven’t seen one since, believe it or not, though I did see a nice blue 300 TD wagon that I should write about one of these days), so I had to take a few pictures even though it was late, I was tired, and I wanted to go home and eat dinner.

Also, I am not certain this car is a 1983 model. However, my late friend and avid Mercedes-Benz fanatic Jonny Valadez had a 300 CD wagon, and I inherited the brochure he had of the 1983 Mercedes-Benz model lineup, which was utilized in the research for this article, so I went with that year. For Mercedes, it is frequently difficult to pin down a single model year, compared to say, 1970s Cadillacs or Oldsmobile Ninety-Eights, which are more of my bailiwick.

The Mercedes appears to be code 877, Blue Green, nicely contrasted with what looked to be a Beige interior. And may I add how much I love the interior and exterior color selections? Just look at that dark green striped velour! Can I still order one?

As for the W123, its reign as the “medium” Mercedes—price-wise, size-wise, and otherwise—was coming to the end. While it was introduced in its home market earlier, the W124 appeared in the U.S. in late 1985 as an ’86 model. And while it had its own success, the W123 had just a little bit more of that stout, traditional Mercedes-Benz vibe.

***

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I’m one of those people who likes—in some cases, loves—cars that most folks love to hate. Cadillac Cimarrons, Mustang II Ghias, Plymouth Volate Premier woody wagons. Yep. Love ’em. And Gremlins, and Matador Barcelona sedans. And the Lincoln Versailles, that late-1970s “luxury compact” that 99 percent of internet know-it-alls love to hate. Be warned. This is not going to be a column full of cheap shots and Granada references. Buckle up!

The Versailles was a step in a new direction for Lincoln. Until its appearance as a 1977 model, all Lincolns were big. Really big. True, the Mark III, which appeared in 1968 as a ’69 model, was based on the Thunderbird, but it was still pretty good sized. And imposing in its own right. But the Versailles was a different type of Lincoln.

And yes, let’s get it out of the way: It WAS based on the “premium compact” Ford Granada and Mercury Monarch. But so what? Plenty of luxury cars were—and are—based on more prosaic chassis. The primary issue was that it still looked so much like a Granada or Monarch—at first.

Of course, the Versailles came about due to the appearance in 1975 of the all-new 1976 Cadillac Seville, the first small Cadillac. Now there’s another car that armchair enthusiasts love to claim is “just a Nova.” Psst. It’s not. But let’s not get into that today, shall we?

But yes, partly due to Cadillacs and Lincolns getting so super-sized by the ’70s, and also partly due to increasing interest in luxury European imports, both luxury makes decided to offer a smaller car. Smaller, but still with all the luxury trappings: power everything, full- or landau-style padded vinyl roofs, wire wheel covers, opera/coach lamps, velour or leather seating, and anything else commonly seen on domestic luxocruisers at the time.

Despite its Granada origins, Lincoln offered a lot of interesting additional features to the Versailles. It was the first U.S. car with halogen-sealed-beam headlamps, four-wheel power disc brakes (at a time when many domestic cars still had front disc/rear drum braking), and a programmable garage door opener built into the driver’s side sun visor. By the way, do you know what U.S car was the first with basecoat/clearcoat paint? Yes, it was the Versailles!

Sales were initially tepid. Price was likely a factor, as the initial ’77 model started at $11,500 (about $58,409 today). That same year you could get a new Continental sedan—a car that was MUCH larger and roomier and imposing—for $9636 ($48,942). Sales were 15,434, and 1978 was even worse. The price was bumped to $12,529 ($59,146), and only 8931 were sold.

But in 1979, some money was spent to spruce up the Versailles and make it more distinctive. The biggest change was the roofline. Initially identical to Granada Ghias in the suburbs and plain-Jane versions in government fleets, it was made more formal for ’79 with a fat C-pillar and a new standard Cavalry twill vinyl half-roof. An even-thicker padded coach roof was also available as an option. This immediately made the Versailles look more like a separate entity, though of course the basic body and 109.9-inch wheelbase remained unchanged.

The 1979 Lincoln Versailles had a base price of $12,939 ($54,842), weighed in at 3684 pounds, and 21,007 were built for the model year—a healthy improvement from 1978, when less than 9000 were sold. All came with Ford’s robust 302-cubic-inch V-8, with a 4.00 x 3.00 bore and stroke and 130 horsepower, and SelectShift automatic transmission. Standard equipment was ample and included automatic climate control, AM/FM stereo with 8-track player, forged aluminum wheels (yes, the wire wheel covers were extra, as seen on this example), cruise control, and a Cartier-signed electronic digital clock.

The new roofline was likely the biggest reason the Versailles’ nearly tripled its sales numbers over 1978. It now looked much more like a Lincoln. But it was still pricier than the big Continental sedan and coupe, which based at $11,200 ($47,483) and $10,985 ($46,571), respectively. The Mark V personal luxury coupe was the only model with a higher base price than the Versailles, at $13,067 ($55,398).

It was a great sales year for the Versailles, but it didn’t last. In 1980 it was virtually unchanged except for a couple of new colors and a base price increase to $14,674 ($54,812). The drop may have been partly due to the Continentals and Mark being downsized and now being much closer to the Versailles’s size. At any rate, only 4784 were built for ’80 and it would not return for 1981, though the Fox-body based 1982 Continental would essentially replace it in size and position in the Lincoln model lineup.

This particular Versailles, finished in white with an amazing aqua velour interior, was seen by my friend Jayson Coombes at the LCOC Eastern Meet held in Knoxville, Tennessee, in June. I loved the color combo and its seemingly showroom condition. As Jayson related, there weren’t a giant amount of cars there, but they were all quality cars, and he saw some extremely nice stuff.

In addition to this Versailles, there was a gorgeous 1968 Continental sedan, 1949 Cosmopolitan fastback sedan, Fiesta Red ’64 Continental convertible, and more. I expect at least a few of those other show entries will appear here sooner or later.

As always, I’d like to thank Jayson for allowing me to use his photos. You’re a gentleman and a scholar!

***

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As a child of the 1980s, I was in a position to see firsthand the era of the station wagon giving ground, then giving way, to minivans. And later on, SUVs. But I always loved station wagons. I came home from the hospital in one, was driven to school in one, went on family vacations in one—well, several, actually. But the debut of the “Magic Wagon,” as Chrysler Corporation dubbed its new Dodge Caravan and Plymouth Voyager minivans, was the beginning of the end.

Even my own family went through it. My parents had two Volvo 240 and two Volvo 740GL wagons, but as us kids kept getting bigger, peace in the back seat amongst the three of us became pretty much impossible. So, in late 1991, my folks ordered a brand new ’92 Grand Caravan ES in white with dark gray leather, all-wheel drive, and the middle-row bucket seats. Peace was restored. But I digress …

In 1980, you had myriad choices in station wagons: Volvo 240s (my aforementioned trip home from the hospital was in a ’77 245DL), Peugeot 505s, Toyota Cressidas, Volkswagen Dashers. And over on the domestic side, a wide variety of Pinto Squires, Concord Limiteds, LeBaron Town and Countrys, and other fare awaited your pocketbook. But the top-tier domestic woodgrained rolling stock wagons were, not coincidentally, the largest models.

The top-of-the-line U.S. wagons were the Ford LTD Country Squire, Mercury Colony Park, Chevrolet Caprice Estate, Pontiac Bonneville Safari, Oldsmobile Custom Cruiser, and the Buick Electra Estate Wagon, our featured subject today. A case can also be made for the previously-mentioned LeBaron Town and Country; though plenty luxurious, it was on the midsize chassis, the truly large and unapologetically full-size T&C being discontinued after the 1977 model year.

But the Electra Estate wagon was as close as one could get to a Cadillac station wagon, excepting those with sufficient funds to have coachbuilders make a wagon out of a Fleetwood Brougham or Sedan de Ville.

All of the full-sized 1980 GM cars were given facelifts for a smoother appearance, partly to improve fuel economy but also for the looks. All the big GM wagons were naturally a part of it, though for them it really was only the front clip that was changed. The big Buick wagons came both as a LeSabre and as an Electra.

And that continued all the way through the 1989 model year, with the flossier Electra and slightly plainer LeSabre wagons pinning the top tier of Buick station wagons. I will always remember these wagons fondly, as a navy blue one had a major part in the classic 1987 film Adventures in Babysitting!

That movie could well be the primary reason I love these cars so much. And also why I was such a fan of the final seasons of CSI when Elisabeth Shue was part of the cast. Oops, wait. What were we talking about again?

Right, Buicks! The big GM wagons were all rather similar visually, from Caprice Estate to top-of-the-line Electra Estate Wagon. The biggest differences were the front clip, interior, and, depending on the year and make, the engine. But the Electras were always the plushest.

However, in 1990, Buick pulled a fast one. Technically, the Electra Estate Wagon and LeSabre Estate wagon were gone. But only in name. Instead of having the two very similar models, they were merged into a single “Estate Wagon,” with nary an Electra or LeSabre emblem to be found anywhere.

I initially thought only the badging was different compared to the 1989s, but the interior was now a hybrid: Electra Estate Wagon seats with LeSabre door panels.

The 1989 and earlier Electra Estate Wagons had these Regal (pun intended) half-woodgrain door panels. But at least you still got the primo seats in the 1990 model.

My friend Jeremy Shiffer related, “These 1990 B-body wagons (and base 307 equipped 1990 Cadillac Broughams) hold the distinction of being the last GM cars sold with a carburetor.” And then another friend Mike Massey confirmed that the ’90s only had “LeSabre door panels with Electra seats. I remember that well on those final ones.” At the time these were new, nobody we knew owned one, though there was one I’d see regularly, while riding my bike, about five blocks from home.

As the 1990 deluxe Buick brochure confided, the Estate Wagon had “Room for everything. Including luxury … the comfort, convenience, and luxury features are impressive, including rich woven velour upholstery, full carpeting throughout, automatic transmission with overdrive, tilt steering column, power steering, power brakes with discs in front, and, of course, the greatest luxury of all: room.”

All Estate Wagons came standard with the 140-horsepower 307-cubic-inch V-8. Base price was $17,940 (about $42,247 today), curb weight was 4281 pounds, and 7838 of them were built for the model year. As had been the case since 1980, these had a 115.9-inch wheelbase, 220.5-inch overall length, and 79.3-inch width.

Available options included leather upholstery, as seen in our featured car, power windows, power door locks, a roof rack, Twilight Sentinel, cruise control, and a six-way power driver’s seat. The unmistakable exterior vinyl woodgrain appliques remained an optional extra as well.

Our featured ’90 Estate Wagon was spied on eBay quite some time ago. It could have been 10 years ago or even longer. At the time I was stunned with how showroom-fresh it appeared, and I loved the light blue (Mist Blue Metallic, according to my 1990 Buick color chart) with saddle tan leather harmonizing with the Di-Noc woodgrain sides. It was simply superb.

Though plenty of these had the wire wheel covers shown here, the only thing that could have made this car better would be the optional turbine alloy wheels—just like the one featured on Adventures in Babysitting.

Fun fact: Those wheels were only available on the Buick wagons, except for swan-song 1990. In 1990, you could also order them on the Oldsmobile Custom Cruiser, though they had different center caps with the Olds Rocket emblem instead. Ask my friend Matt Smith how hard it is to find those Olds-specific center caps these days!

In 1990, only three of the four original full-size GM wagons remained: Chevy Caprice, Olds Custom Cruiser, and the Buick Estate Wagon. The Pontiac Safari was discontinued after 1989 for some reason. Never again would so much chrome and woodgrain gingerbread be seen on full-size American station wagons.

It was the end of the road for the 1980-style body, but not the end of the grand, luxurious full-size Buick station wagon. Starting in 1991, the totally restyled and renamed Roadmaster Estate Wagon would continue to carry the torch (albeit on pretty much the same chassis as this car) through the 1996 model year. And while it was pretty flossy, it didn’t have quite as much wood-toned trim as the 1980–90 Estate Wagons—though you could still get the woodgrain exterior siding. And after ’96, my friends, if you wanted a new luxury Buick station wagon, you were sadly out of luck.

***

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It’s fairly well known that I am a big fan of yellow luxury cars. Especially when said yellow luxury car has a matching yellow interior. As a kid I’d always gawk at a Colonial Yellow or Cameo Ivory Cadillac as it went by. In my win-the-lottery garage there would at least be a triple Colonial Yellow 1978 Eldorado Biarritz, Naples Yellow ’77 Seville, and Cream ’77–79 Continental Mark V. With color-keyed interiors, naturally!

Actually, I’m still a big kid, as Auto World recently released a 1979 Continental Mark V in 1/64 scale, in Cream with matching top and interior. I immediately had to have one, and when my preferred regional diecast shop didn’t get them in fast enough, I ordered directly from the manufacturer.

But wait. Then the local Walmart started getting them in, and like a starving man at a buffet, I bought four more. Though in my defense, two were earmarked for my friend (and frequent column photo contributor) Jayson Coombes. But I see I’m digressing again.

The Mark V, with its unapologetic length, style, and decadent luxury features, ended its three-year run in 1979 and was replaced with the 1980 Continental Mark VI, which looked very much like a 3/4-scale Mark V. But it added a four-door version! The Mark VI lasted through the 1983 model year, and then things changed. A lot.

Based on the all-new 1983 Thunderbird and Cougar and further refined, the 1984 Mark VII was super modern in the 1980s Ford “aero” style that would define its entire lineup just a few years in the future. Sure, it had the Parthenon-style grill, spare tire hump in the trunk lid, tons of luxury features and plenty of chrome (at least in the non-LSC models), but it was dramatically different from the Mark of 1969–83.

The new Mark VII was once again coupe only, though the Fox-body Continental, which first appeared in 1982, was for all intents and purposes a four-door Mark, if a bit more formal with its bustle back styling. The new coupe came in standard, Bill Blass and Versace, and LSC “Luxury Sport Coupe” editions.

Perhaps the two biggest talking points, other than its extra modern styling, was the use of new flush headlamps, which eliminated the tried and true individual headlights one could purchase at Kmart, Sears, or the local NAPA auto supply. I’ve heard the reason the Mark VII didn’t appear in ’83 with its T-Bird and Cougar siblings is that the Lincoln designers really wanted it to have the flush headlamps from the get go but had to wait for federal approval, which bumped its debut to the ’84 model year.

Headlamps aside, the big deal was the all-new LSC model, or Lincoln Sport Coupe. For the first time ever, a Mark VII came from the factory with blacked-out trim and—I hope your fainting couch is nearby—blackwall tires! The buff magazines were by and large fairly impressed, which was a tricky thing for the domestic car manufacturers to do in the ’80s. Though the initial ’84 model had the same engine as the Designer editions and standard Mark VII.

That changed when the ’85 Mark VIIs started appearing in showrooms, with the ’85 LSC—MSRP $24,332 (almost $70K today)—gaining the 165-hp High Output 302 V-8 as seen in Mustang GTs. Meanwhile, the Bill Blass and Versace Designer Series models continued at $26,659 ($76,258) and $26,578 ($76,026), respectively. Standard Mark VIIs like our featured car started at $22,399 ($64,072).

The Mark VII had a 108.5-inch wheelbase, overall length of 202.8 inches, and 54.2-inch height. Curb weight was 3615 pounds. For the 1985 model year, 18,355 Mark VIIs of all trim levels were produced. That was also the first year that the Anti-Lock Braking System was added to the car’s power four-wheel disc brakes.

ABS was standard on the Designer Series and LSC, optional on the base Mark VII. The non-LSC 302 V-8 produced 140 horsepower. In 1984–85 only, a BMW-sourced 115-hp, inline six-cylinder turbodiesel was also available optionally, but seldom seen. It was also available on the four-door Continental. And even less frequently seen. I have seen a couple online, but never in person.

As you may guess, I was smitten with this car’s color combination. Until I saw this online, I wasn’t aware that Cream had been an available color on Mark VIIs. I remember seeing it on the later Mark IVs (usually with the Cream and Gold Luxury Group) and Mark Vs, but never on the aero Mark.

It had to have been uncommon, especially since most Mark VIIs were either the Designer Series or LSC. The “standard” Mark VII was kind of a rare bird. So much so that it disappeared after the 1987 model year. At that point all Mark VIIs were either the Bill Blass or the LSC, right up until 1992, when the Mark VII was replaced with the even more futuristic Mark VIII. It’s a credit to the styling of the Mark VII that even after nine model years it still looked clean and modern. In my opinion, it still does today. Especially the 1990–92 models with their BBS-style alloy wheels.

Our featured car has only a few options: leather-wrapped steering wheel, the compass/thermometer group (which included the nifty mini-overhead console), and power driver and passenger seat recliners. Of course, as a Mark it already had myriad standard comfort and convenience features.

During this time Lincoln’s tagline was “Lincoln: What a Luxury Car Should Be.” I always loved that slogan, and it would still work today except for the fact that Lincoln no longer builds cars. Perhaps: “What A Luxury Truck Should Be”?

Or even better, bring back the Continental. Please, Ford? I loved the 2017–20 version; it was worthy of the name. Especially when equipped with the heated, cooled, and massaging seats! Maybe someday. In the meantime, a tidy Mark VII like this would be a great Sunday and cruise-night driver! I spotted it online over Memorial Day weekend. It was on Phoenix Craigslist and I just loved it! But when I sat down to write about it, the listing was gone, so someone snapped it up. I’m glad I saved the pics to “The Vault” so I can continue to admire it for years to come!

***

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What is luxury in 2023? Even a casual glance by the layperson suggests SUVs like Range Rovers, Navigators, Escalades, the Mercedes-Benz G-Class, and BMW X7s. Oh, sure, you can still get a 7-Series or S-Class sedan, but when it comes to the American manufacturers, for a traditional luxury SEDAN, you really don’t have much to choose from.

The Cadillac CT5 is nice, but it’s not really a flagship like the ’Slade—or the no-longer-available-in-the-US CT6. I loved the CT6, drove several at McLaughlin when they were new. No more Continental either; after 2020 it was SUVs and CUVs all the time over at Lincoln. A shame; the Continental was a great modern American luxury sedan.

At one time however, in both the distant and not-so-distant past, you could get a really sumptuous, slinky sedan with V-8 power and lots of chrome trim, chrome scripts, gold-toned crests—and all sorts of other trappings that I so dearly love. Today’s example: the Imperial Le Baron. P.S.: It’s not a Chrysler!

Yes, the Chrysler Imperial was the top offering for many years, but starting in 1955, Chrysler Corporation, seeing Lincoln and Cadillac and wanting more prestige, made the Imperial its own marque, rather than the top-of-the-line Chrysler model. And so it would stay until the mid-1970s. As for the 1960 model, it was totally restyled and about as flashy and fin-tastic as you could get that year, outside of a new Cadillac.

The top model was the Imperial LeBaron—unless you count the rare-as-hens’-teeth and uber-expensive Crown Imperial limousines, that is. Like the Cadillac Fleetwood Sixty Special, the Imperial LeBaron was Mopar’s top “owner driven” model.

As the ’60 Imperial brochure confided, “Meet excellence face to face. A car that gives automotive craftsmanship an entirely new direction for the 1960s … Aristocratic in every appointment. Impressive, totally assured. A fresh new kind of limousine loveliness you won’t find in any other car.”

Yes, they ladled it on a little bit thick, but that was how the American luxury car market was in the early ’60s—offering swank, ostentatious vehicles to whisk you to supper clubs for gin and tonics. And exclusivity was assured when you bought a new 1960 Imperial, as only 17,707 were built for the model year. In the LeBaron series, only 692 four-door sedans and 999 four-door hardtops were built. Our featured car is one of those 999 four-door hardtops. Factory price was $6318 (that’s about $65,533 today) and curb weight was 4835 pounds. The pillared LeBaron sedan had the same MSRP.

A V-8 was, of course, under the hood of every ’60 LeBaron—in this case a 413-cubic-inch version with 350 hp @ 4600 rpm, breathing through a four-barrel Carter carburetor. Push-button, three-speed TorqueFlite automatic transmission was standard. As you’d expect, these were big, with a 129-inch wheelbase and overall length of 226.3 inches.

Along with the more sumptuous interior upholstery and door panels, the other big difference on LeBarons vs. lesser Imperials was the limousine-style smaller rear window—other models had a wraparound rear backlight. Another item seen during this time on upper-crust Chryslers and Imperials, and in evidence on this example, are the Swing-Away seats. And isn’t that instrument panel fantastic?

Unfortunately, despite the car’s many fine qualities, Cadillac and Lincoln totally blew Imperial out of the water, sales wise, particularly Cadillac, which sold more than 140,000 cars. Even Lincoln, which had a terrible year—on the verge of being discontinued until FoMoCo management saw a proposal for a 1961 T-Bird and it was decreed that it would be stretched into a four-door and become the 1961 Lincoln—sold close to 25,000 cars.

This excellent Imperial was spotted by my friend Jayson Coombes at a show at Texas Motor Speedway in September 2021. I have seen a few ’60 Imperials at shows, but I have yet to see a ’60 LeBaron in person. It appears to be painted in Executive Gray, a factory-correct 1960 Imperial color. Jayson knew I’d love this one and was very patient waiting for the many people strolling the event to thin out enough for him to get a photo of the entire car. I absolutely love it!

***

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The Valiant was first introduced in the great wave of compact American cars in 1960. Up until then, basically every American car was the same size, other than outliers such as Rambler and short-lived cars like the Henry J and Hudson Jet. Up until this point, only Rambler had really found a niche in the market; the others had long faded away as the ’60s dawned.

But that all changed in Autumn 1960 when the Valiant, along with the Ford Falcon and Chevy Corvair, appeared and unknowingly changed car lineups for good. While many buyers stuck with the standard-sized cars, newly dubbed “full size,” the compacts proved immediately popular.

While the Corvair faded away after 1969—due partly to a book by a certain lawyer and partly to the introduction of the utterly conventional Chevy II in 1962—and the Falcon survived through 1970 (fun fact: The ’70 Falcon was first sold as a near-identical version of the ’69, but partway through the model year became a “1970 1/2” Falcon, using the newly redesigned Torino midsize body), the Valiant carried on along swimmingly, along with its corporate sibling the Dodge Dart. And those A-body Mopars sold like dollar beer at a baseball game.

By 1973, the Valiant came in three basic versions: The sporty Duster coupe (which first appeared in 1970), the Scamp two-door hardtop (which shared its body shell with the Dodge Dart Swinger), and that favorite of librarians, school teachers, and grandparents near and far: the Valiant four-door sedan.

All 1973 Valiants got a new face to go along with their new 5-mph front bumpers that were federally mandated that year. Rubber-tipped bumper guards flanked the license plate and there was a new grille and power dome style front hood, all of which contributed to make the front end look much less flat than it did in 1972.

The 1973 Valiant sedans had a 108-inch wheelbase and overall length of 195.8 inches. As you’d expect for a 1970s Mopar product, the front suspension utilized torsion bars for better handling. Front disc brakes were standard on V-8 models and optional on Valiants equipped with the bulletproof Slant Six. A more robust 225-cubic-inch Slant Six was also optionally available.

Other options included air conditioning, electric clock, an AM/FM stereo radio, Rallye cluster (probably much more common on Duster 340s than Valiant four-doors), tinted glass, three-speed electric windshield wipers, and a trailer towing package.

The 1973 Valiant sedan had a base price of $2447 ($16,921 today) with the 198-cu-in Slant Six and $2564 ($17,730) with the 318-cu-in V-8; 61,826 four-doors were built for the model year.

But the Duster was the best-selling model by a wide margin, with 249,243 built in ’73. Scamp production totaled 53,792. Oh, and approximately 15,000 Duster 340s were sold on top of the regular Duster production figure.

One interesting thing about the 1973 sedan is it was the last one to use the original 1967 Valiant body shell. Starting in 1974, the four-doors would use the same body as their corporate sibling, the Dodge Dart—I’m not sure why, but possibly because the Valiant sedan body was pretty rectilinear and the Dart sedan body was “swoopier,” at least compared to the Valiant body.

Darts, Dusters, and Valiants would continue on with only minor changes through the 1976 model year, when production of both the Dart and the Valiant ended for good.

They were replaced with the F-body Plymouth Volaré and Dodge Aspen. And while they were very tidy and attractive, early versions had some teething issues, in particular rusting front fenders. But there was a cool wagon version, and by the late ’70s they were pretty robust, and they would morph into the Dodge Diplomat and Plymouth Gran Fury in the 1980s, becoming well-loved by police departments and taxi drivers across the land.

I spied this like-new Valiant back on May 31 at the weekly cruise-in on the Davenport riverfront. I had just taken the bridge from Illinois to Iowa, was sitting at a red light, and I immediately spotted a light blue Valiant-shaped object in the distance. I couldn’t wait for the red light to change. It was driving me insane.

So the light finally turned green, I rapidly parked, and I leapt from the car and basically ran over to this car. It was so cool! I still see Dusters and Dart Sports on a semi-regular basis (usually modified and not stock, but still …), but the four-door sedans, both Valiant and Dart, are pretty uncommon.

And this car was neat as a pin. The owner came up as I was frantically taking pictures and told me a little bit about it. He is the third owner, and the car was sold new at Learner’s Chrysler-Plymouth, which lasted in my hometown of Rock Island, Illinois, until 1998–99, when it was purchased by Dave and Dan Kehoe, moved to Moline, and became Courtesy Chrysler-Plymouth.

The owner and I chatted awhile, and he was very nice. He originally bought the car because his wife loved it, but he told me she has yet to ride in it and he was thinking about selling it, as he has nine other vintage cars. It was finished in appropriately-named Blue Sky paint and was loaded (by Valiant standards) with the 318 V-8, air conditioning, cruise control, the Rallye Road Wheels (which were available but rarely seen on Valiant sedans), and the split-back front bench seat with fold-down armrest.

I loved it and hope that if the current owner does eventually let it go, that it goes to a good home. And yes, I was reminded of the Valiant famously piloted in the TV movie Duel, even though this one was not orange and a few years newer.

***

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Remember American luxury? It used to be a thing, before people decided they no longer wanted elegant conveyances and decided to start buying SUVs and crossovers en masse.

And what a time it was. So many stately sedans: Lincoln Town Cars, Cadillac Sedan de Villes, Oldsmobile Ninety-Eight Regency Elites. And the 1991–96 Buick Park Avenue.

As showroom literature proclaimed, “Park Avenue and Park Avenue Ultra enjoy a balance of automotive virtues that is shared by few, if any, of their competitors.

“Park Avenue’s standard 205-horsepower, 3800 V-6 performs with a singular blend of efficiency, smoothness, and strength, while Ultra’s Supercharged V-6—revised for even greater power for 1996—helps make it a performance benchmark in its class.”

Oh, yes, I neglected to mention the Ultra yet. It was unique in that it offered the combination of a full-size American luxury sedan with a supercharged version of GM’s venerable—and bulletproof—3.8-liter V-6. Said supercharger bumped horsepower to 240, along with 280 lb-ft of torque, in 1996.

Budding Park Avenue collectors (are there any out there?) take note: This is the only year you could get the 3800 Series II Supercharged V-6 in the elegant 1991–96 body.

Another interesting tidbit that my friend Jeremy Shiffer shared around the time I spotted this car: “It has the seldom-seen base 15-inch Ultra wheels. Neat fact: If you ordered an Ultra with the Luxury or Prestige package, and then you ordered the Gran Touring package to get the more common 16-inch wheels, you got a rebate of $294!” I personally love the color-keyed stock alloys, however!

Although the Ninety-Eight Touring Sedan also offered the supercharged 3800, but only briefly in 1992–93. I actually saw one of these, in silver with burgundy leather, running around town in 2011–13, though it has since disappeared.

But my friend and frequent column photo contributor Jayson Coombes saw this supercharged ’93 last year at the Olds Nationals. Let us all take a moment and bask in its glorious lines.

And yes, you could also get the supercharged 3800 on the Eighty Eight LSS and Bonneville SSEi, but I consider those slightly below the Ninety-Eight and Park Avenue, at least as far as the traditional GM hierarchy is concerned—though those were excellent cars as well! I remember a white SSEi in bright white with saddle tan leather sitting in the showroom of Key Buick-Dodge-Pontiac when my parents went down to pick up their brand new ’92 Grand Caravan ES—with all-wheel drive!

I see I’m digressing again; now where was I? These Park Avenues were very well regarded when they debuted and were pretty slinky looking for a Buick. They were also extremely popular in my Midwestern city. One of the higher ups at Illinois Casualty ordered a silver one with dove gray cloth interior; later on, her husband got a navy blue one with wire wheel covers.

And they were frequently seen pretty much everywhere until maybe the mid 2000s, when age and wear and tear and their third, fourth and fifth owners started coming into play.

I still see them now and then, though more frequently in banged-up, worn condition than showroom new. And almost always, they’re the regular Park Avenue, not the flossier Ultra.

In fact, even when they were new, I didn’t see Ultras very often. Maybe because they couldn’t be had with the Broughamier velour or cloth trim and optional wire caps? Such items were still popular with a large portion of Buick buyers, though even then, things were changing. At any rate, Park Avenues were very well equipped, as you’d expect. Standard features included ABS, automatic transmission, aluminum wheels, keyless entry, dual zone climate control, cruise control, tilt wheel, and an AM/FM stereo with cassette player—a CD player was optional.

These front-wheel-drive sedans were tough, comfortable, and durable. And at 205.9 inches long and with a 119.8-inch wheelbase, they had plenty of room, even if they weren’t quite as large and traditional as the B-body Roadmaster sedans and Estate Wagons they shared showrooms with. Our featured example is finished in Light Driftwood, which was VERY popular with Buick customers. Even now, probably 60 percent of surviving Centurys, Park Avenues, and LeSabres here in the Quad Cities are sporting this color.

And while the final 1997–2005 Park Avenues were also fine cars—my friend John Gianulus had a white one with beige leather—they weren’t quite as pretty in my opinion.

Which brings us to the present. A mere week ago our company had a family night at the local baseball stadium. I had about an hour to kill before heading over there and happened to pass our featured example sitting at Lindle Auto Sales, a long-lived and very old-school car lot in downtown Davenport, Iowa.

As I passed it, I realized that in was in remarkably nice condition, and that it was an Ultra to boot! I immediately pulled over, parked, and ran back to it.

It really was in wonderful shape. And it was so attractively cheap! Ooh! If I didn’t already have my Town Car as a summer/Sunday cruiser, odds are I would have written a check for it on the spot!

But just seeing one so nice made my day. If GM ever brings back a new Park Avenue sedan, I may be persuaded to ditch my MKZ. I truly miss cars like this.

***

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Dodge finally got some style in 1955. Not that the ’54 was ungainly, but starting in 1949, Dodges (and its Plymouth, DeSoto, and Chrysler brethren) got a little taller, plainer, and narrower than the competition, famously so due to then-Chrysler president K. T. Keller requiring a man to be able to get into a Chrysler Corporation product and not have his hat knocked off in the process. Yes. Hats were important in 1949.

All of the Chrysler Corporation vehicles for 1955 were redesigned, from basic Plymouth Savoy to the top-of-the-line Imperial, which became a separate marque, a la Cadillac and Lincoln, instead of the fanciest Chrysler, although then and to this day, these cars are still far too frequently referred to as “Chrysler Imperials.” The ’55s were much more modern and stylish than the somewhat staid 1949–54 models.

It was all part of Chrysler Corporation’s so-called “100 Million Dollar Look,” so named due to the reported cost of the all-new redesigned lineup.

As the brochure extolled, “New ’55 Dodge … Flair-fashioned and alive with beauty! Expect the unexpected when you take command of the brilliant new ’55 Dodge. Expect a new reserve of power, new ride, new handling ease … new luxury features and advances that cater to your every comfort, pleasure, and pride!”

Among the new optional items prominently featured for 1955 were a four-way power front seat, power windows, and “new, improved Full-Time Coaxial Power Steering.” Automatic transmissions now had a control lever sticking out of the instrument panel fascia. A standard feature on all models was the “New Horizon” wrapped windshield. As the brochure bragged, it was the “car of a hundred exciting surprises.”

There were three model lines for 1955: the base Coronet, mid-level Royal, and the top-of-the-line Custom Royal. One cool new feature, and oh-so 1950s, was the three-tone paint option. And the colors! So many colors! Among the unashamedly bright and cheerful selections were Chiffon Green, Cameo Red, Parisian Blue, and Fantasy Yellow.

Regardless of model designation, the 1955 Dodges had a 120-inch wheelbase, an overall length of 212.1 inches, and were first revealed to the buying public on November 17, 1954.

Model year production was 273,286 units, while the calendar year sales totaled 313,038 vehicles.

Our featured car is a two-door Royal Lancer, Lancer being Dodge’s designation for pillarless hardtop, regardless of model. It had a factory price of $2370 (about $27,150 today), a curb weight of 3425 pounds, and production of 25,831 units.

The other Royal models included a four-door sedan, six-passenger station wagon, and an eight-passenger station wagon. If you wanted a convertible, you had to splurge for the top-of-the-line Custom Royal version for $2723 ($31,195).

While the basic coronets came with a 123 horsepower, 230-cubic-inch six-cylinder engine, both the Royal and Custom Royal came with the 270-cu-in Red Ram V-8 with 175 horsepower.

If that wasn’t enough power for you, you could also get the Super Red Ram V-8 with 183 horsepower at 4400 RPM. That last figure was with the Stromberg two-barrel carburetor, but if you ordered the Carter four-barrel carb, power was bumped to 193 horsepower at 4400 RPM.

And while the majority of ’55 Dodges were introduced in November 1954, the Royal Lancer and the Coronet Sierra station wagon appeared a little bit later on December 17. The Custom Royal four-door Lancer appeared in April.

Perhaps the most unusual 1955 Dodge was the La Femme package, available only as a two-door Lancer hardtop. It came only in Heather Rose and Sapphire White two-tone color combinations.

Meant to appeal to the fashionable sophisticated woman, special features of the La Femme included color-keyed floral-tone upholstery, an umbrella, cape, boots, and even a shoulder bag.

No matter who you ask, response to this special model was likely not what Dodge had hoped for. Though the package returned for 1956, it is estimated that less than 2500 were made in 1955–56.

As a matter of fact, when I first spotted our featured car at the weekly Freight House cruise-in on the Davenport riverfront back on May 17, I thought it was a La Femme, but closer examination proved it was just a very brightly hued Royal Lancer hardtop.

So while it was perhaps not quite the rare birdie I initially thought, it was still a beautiful car, and I was pleased as punch to gawk at it! I’d happily and proudly drive it.

***

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I truly miss the majestic land yachts of yore. Cars still had style in spades in 1966. Even within Buick, every single car—from the dreamboat Riviera (newly redesigned!) to the plainest, refrigerator-white Special four-door sedan—had attractive lines. One of the prettiest was the Wildcat two-door hardtop, but I haven’t run across one in a while. Soon, I hope!

But even more majestic was Buick’s traditional top-of-the-line model, the Electra 225. Electra. What a fantastic name! And these mid-’60s prairie schooners were smooth, quiet, large, and in charge!

As the full-size Buicks had been totally redone for 1965, only minor cosmetic changes were made for ’66, but the midsize Skylark, Special Deluxe, and Special were redesigned with even smoother, swoopier styling, along with the previously mentioned Riv.

The 1966 Electras came in two trim levels, the Electra 225 and the Electra 225 Custom. Although the Custom trim was essentially an option package, it was listed as a separate model. Both lines included a four-door sedan, four-door hardtop, and two-door hardtop (all with standard fender skirts!), but the Custom alone listed a convertible.

Series 48400, Model 48467, the Electra 225 Custom convertible sold for $4378 ($41,306 today), had a curb weight of 4298 pounds, and 7175 were sold. The most popular Electra 225 was the Custom four-door hardtop; at $4332 ($40,872), 34,149 were sold for the model year.

Buick’s theme for 1966 was “The year you discover the tuned car.” As the big, fat, gorgeous 1966 prestige brochure conferred: “What is the tuned car? I don’t know, but I sure like the way it feels. Let the Buick engineers tell you.

“We insist on tuning not only the engine, but every element of the car. The ride and handling. The styling. The performance. Only when they’re all tuned together are they a Buick … we could go on and on about the tuned car, but we leave you with this introductory thought. Buick tuning is a many faceted thing. Some may seem insignificant. Until you start to live with your Buick and begin comparing it with the four wheels you had before. Then you’ll agree with our theory that nothing is too small to be tuned to the rest of the car—not even a nut and a bolt.”

Whether or not you got all excited about tuning, there was no denying the Electra convertible was a beauty. It was especially fetching in Flame Red with white interior, as our featured car sports. The white interior was called dove by Buick; other available interior colors were red, black, and blue on the convertible. Strato bucket seats were also available as an option, in either dove or black.

Standard engine on Electra 225s was the 401-cubic-inch V-8 with 325 horsepower at 4400 rpm, and 445 lb-ft of torque at 2800 rpm. Optional was the “Wildcat 465,” so named due to its 465 lb-ft of torque. A 425-cu-in unit, it produced 340 hp at 4400 rpm. The “SuperTurbine” automatic transmission, power steering, power brakes, electric clock, door-operated courtesy lights, and deluxe wheel covers were all standard equipment.

The Custom added notchback front seats, more luxurious upholstery in a different sew style from regular Electra 225s, fancier door panels (with carpeting on the lower section) and other finery. Wheelbase was 126 inches; overall length was 223.5 inches.

It was getting near the end for big Buick convertibles. The end of the Electra convertible came in 1970; in 1971 it was no longer on the new Buick roster. The slightly less luxurious Centurion convertible would last through 1973, the LeSabre convertible through 1975. And that was it—until the Riviera convertible appeared in 1982!

I recently was at an antique mall in Davenport, Iowa, and found a huge, deluxe 1966 Buick brochure for a mere $3. I immediately bought it and spent some of the evening leafing through it. I commiserated with my friend Jayson at how beautiful cars were in 1966 and that today at least 60 percent of new cars are completely non-compelling and dull. But boy, in 1966 Buick sure had it all going on!

***

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You never know what you’re going to run across. Or what you’re going to write about next, if you happen to write about old cars. I certainly never know. Some cars I’ll see, gawk at, and write about that very same day. Others I will immediately love and just know I’m going to write a column on, then I get distracted and it gets pushed onto the back burner, sometimes sitting for months. Or years.

Today’s featured car is the former. I saw it at a show on a Tuesday evening in mid-June and began writing it up on Thursday that same week. Some cars just have that effect on me. In this case, it was a car I always liked but never saw many of: 1963–64 Chryslers.

Chryslers morphed frequently between 1950 and ’65. First, you had the rather tall and narrow, rather plain 1949–52 models, designed so you wouldn’t knock your hat off when you got into or out of the car. Then the “Hundred Million Dollar Look” 1955–56s, which cranked style up to 11. Followed almost immediately by the giant-finned “Forward Look” 1957–59s.

The 1960s were all new but still sported huge fins. However, in 1962, the exact same car as the 1961 appeared in showrooms, its fins were shorn. A shock to many, but these “plucked chickens” set the stage for 1963.

Chrysler Corporation’s style chief at the time was Virgil Exner, and after the giant fin era ended, his new styling direction was predicted in the all-new compact 1960 Valiant. Lots of different surfacing designs and planed areas on the sheetmetal. It continued with the full-size 1962 Dodges and Plymouths, which were downsized a good decade and a half before the 1977 Chevrolet Caprice.

Starting in 1963, Chryslers got yet another restyling, though from the cowl and windshield it appeared that large parts of the 1960 body were still present beneath the sheetmetal. A 1963 300 in blue with white interior paced the Indianapolis 500 that year.

While not a carbon copy of the 1960 Valiant or 1962 Plymouths and Dodges, the themes were somewhat similar, if less wild. I liked the styling myself, but I never had much opportunity to admire any in person, because I just never saw these. How many have I seen over the years? Five, counting today’s 1964 New Yorker.

First up was a legitimate 300K, seemingly abandoned, probably about a dozen years ago. It has since disappeared—hopefully restored!

Next up was a ’64 Newport that was sort of a “bitsa” with ’68 Plymouth wheel covers and New Yorker script on the fenders. I also saw a ’64 Newport sedan in Iowa City some time ago that was a bit weathered but pretty well preserved; it was a similar green to today’s car, but I’m not 100 percent sure it was the same color. And that’s it. And I go to a LOT of car shows.

The 1963 Chryslers carried on in four series: Newport, 300 Sport, New Yorker, and 300J. The latter model was, of course, the “banker’s hot rod” hi-test model, available only as a two-door hardtop. A five-year, 50K warranty on the powertrain was an added enticement to folks nervous about reliability after the 1957 quality control fiasco.

A total of 118,800 ’63 Chryslers were built for the year. Unsurprisingly, the 300J was the rarest, with 400 units.

For 1964, only minor styling revisions were made—the most noticeable change being the deeply tunneled quad headlights of the prior year being enclosed in a trapezoidal, chrome-edged trim panel. The round dual taillights of ’63 got a similar treatment, with more squared-off units to match the revised front end.

These cars have a lot of differing styles. It’s a ’60s shape, but it has a lot of ’50s style gingerbread. My friend Mike Batch Kirouac, a dedicated Mopar man with several Newports, New Yorkers, and Windsors of his own, reminded me: “Virgil Exner’s last design for Chrysler. He still had one foot in the excess of the 1950s.”

It’s apparent on these cars, especially on the New Yorkers, which naturally had more chrome trim, scripts, and styling fillips than the Newports. The trim was more noticeable compared to ’63 New Yorkers, especially the fatter side rocker trim molding.

Our featured car, one of 10,887 New Yorker four-door hardtops built in 1964, was finished in Pine Mist with a white interior. I spotted it at the monthly cruise night at the Viking Club of Moline, Illinois. I had heard of these show nights for a couple of years, but for one reason or another had never made it out to one.

Isn’t it funny how you can drive past a place weekly, for decades, and never set foot on the property? In my case, the last time I’d been at the Viking Club was, believe it or not, in 1998 when my friends Judy and Allen Noftsker got married. The ceremony had been at a church, but the reception was held here. And although my memory was a tad hazy, the place looked more or less the same as it had 25 years ago!

I parked, and it appeared to be a nice show. I started walking around, taking pictures here and there, when I came to the last car in the first row, and there sat this New Yorker. Holy cow! I immediately began taking many more pictures than were strictly necessary.

It was weathered but seemingly fairly well preserved, nonetheless. I loved the silver-green paint combined with the white interior, black carpet, and black instrument panel.

And while at the time I wasn’t totally certain, I was pretty sure those weren’t the factory wheel covers. I had guessed ’65 Dodge Coronet. But while researching for this article I found I was close, but wrong: They’re from a ’64 Dodge Polara.

Above are what the factory-correct 1964 New Yorker wheel covers would look like, by the way. And while I’m digressing, I really love that Town and Country wagon!

One neat feature I noticed belatedly was the passenger grab handle. While walking around the car (probably on photo #28 by that time), I noticed this chrome fillip.

I walked back, peeked in the passenger side window, and saw this very sleek-looking grab handle. So cool! Actually, I love the entire instrument panel on these. As I told a friend of mine, Robert Reed (who owns the ’78 LeSabre Custom coupe I wrote about previously), it reminds me of the dash on a ’60s Chris-Craft or Century Coronado. By the way, this was also the last year for Chrysler’s push-button transmission, sadly. It would be floor shift or column shift only starting in 1965.

That year, Elwood Engel would replace the recently-departed Virgil Exner, and Chryslers would become very rectangular, and sleek. Long, low, and wide, with fender skirts.

I love those cars too, but they were a totally different kind of Chrysler from the 1963–64s. Seeing this car made my day! It’s one of the things I love about car shows and why I go to so many. You never know what you’re going to find.

***

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Remember when Volvos were boxy? I do. My childhood was spent in several Volvo wagons. The blue 1977 245DL that brought me home from the hospital, the pastel yellow ’86 240DL that took us on vacation to the Wisconsin Dells, and the metallic navy blue ’90 740GL wagon that whisked us up to visit friends on Lake Michigan. My folks still have two Volvos—including a classic ’67 1800S I will be writing about someday.

But today I’ll be talking about more prosaic models than the sporty 1800 coupes: the 140 Series. But don’t let its sedan- and wagon-only body styles fool you. This was a technologically advanced car when it debuted and was a key model in Volvo’s success in the U.S. market.

Keep in mind that Volvo was still a relatively small car company in the 1960s. It was big in Scandinavia and was having some initial success since entering the American market in ’56, but planning was still crucial. And the new car had to be done just right. The 140 Series was orignally planned to be evolutionary, compared to the current Amazon lineup, but the first designs were not very well liked. A more ambitious second design was green-lighted and became the 140.

The first cars were shown in August 1966, but production did not significantly ramp up until early 1967. American deliveries began in March 1967. Initial U.S. pricing was $2995 (about $27,411 today) with a manual transmission and $3175 ($29,059) with an automatic. A new and important safety feature was four-wheel disc brakes and a novel dual-circuit braking system. Each circuit was designed to provide full braking on both front wheels and one rear wheel. So even if one circuit failed, you would still have 75 percent of your braking power. This was a first.

Early models were available with either the B18A 85-horsepower four-cylinder engine with a single Zenith Stromberg carburetor, or the B18B engine—the same basic block but with 115 hp and twin SU carburetors. This latter engine was dubbed “S.”

The more powerful engine was very popular; 40 percent of 144s had the “S” engine. While the 140 was only available as a two-door or four-door sedan, a station wagon was added in March 1968 and included a one-piece lift gate, rather than the more traditional tailgate and upward-opening window section.

The B20 engine replaced the B18 in autumn 1968. The standard engine now produced 90 horsepower SAE. The “S” engine had 118 hp SAE. Another new change was fabric upholstery replacing the earlier vinyl/plastic seats.

The 140 was becoming a popular import in the U.S. market, and Volvo found its niche growing in the land of the free. It sold 33,189 cars in America in 1967. Modifications to the line through the years were more minor refinements than huge changes. Starting in 1970, front head rests were standard, and the back seat gained three seat belts. An anti-dazzle rear view mirror was also added, along with hazard lights and flow-through ventilation.

The 1971 model year saw a new grille with the now-famous angled cross bar added (which was used on many Volvos in earlier years, right back to the first Volvo, the 1927 “Jakob”)—except for base models, which carried on with the old grille treatment. New wheels with larger cooling slots and smaller hub caps were also added. In 1973, larger bumpers and yet another new grille and bigger taillights changed the look a bit. A year later, the ’74s were much the same except for truly huge “safety” bumpers. And that was the swan song for the 140, though the 1975 240 was about three-quarters carryover 140, except for the front end. And the 240 proved to be truly evergreen, lasting a way, way, wayyyy long time (to 1993) before finally being put out to pasture.

I spied our featured 144S at the annual Bishop Hill, Illinois, car show last summer. It is always a great event, held in a picturesque little town with Swedish roots, in a picturesque park right on the main drag. I was especially pleased to see several classic Volvos there, including a yellow 1970–71 1800E, an Amazon, a 544 Sport, and this time-capsule 144S. I also loved the “BORK” personalized license plate on this car. The Muppets’ Swedish Chef would approve.

Ingvar Hallstrom, a friend of mine who lives in Sweden, was very happy to see this car when I originally posted it on my Facebook page last summer. As he related, “That blue really is a nice color polished up. Colors are funny; I only remember the color as faded on used cars, because a car like that would’ve already been 10 years old when I started noticing cars growing up. And there was nobody that was gonna polish up a 10-year-old Volvo at that time.”

We both brainstormed and tried to pinpoint the year, but Volvos are kind of funny; there’s no hard and fast way to ID them year-to-year compared to say, a Cadillac or Ford Galaxie of similar vintage. We both are wishing for a definitive classic Volvo book to identify each model by year.

If anyone has already published such a volume, please let me know immediately!

I hesitated to write about this car for several months because I couldn’t be sure what model year it was. I was pretty sure it was a 1969 or a ’70, but it was missing the U.S.-spec side marker lights that all of them had—and this car was sold new in Peoria, Illinois. But fortunately, a couple of weeks ago I stumbled upon a blog post about this very car and discovered the owner had removed the side markers for smoother look. Excellent! With the car’s proper year now identified, I was finally able to give it the spotlight it deserved.

And while I’m still atop my soapbox, let me close by thanking Volvo for continuing to make actual sedans and station wagons as of this writing—so many have stopped. I like cars more than trucks; I’ve never owned anything but sedans and station wagons and intend to keep it that way.

And I still love those boxy Volvos. I grew up with them, owned several myself, and still smile when I see a 1960s to ’80s “Ovlov!” Long may you roll, classic Volvo.

***

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This was the end of a fine line of glorious full-size Chevrolet convertibles. Oh sure, the Big Caprice would carry on with a square-headlight facelift through 1976, but you could no longer get a convertible. While the well-known 1976 Eldorado convertible was the “last convertible” in 1976 (at least until 1983, when a new topless Caddy appeared on the heels of the new K-car Chrysler convertibles of 1982), 1975 was last call for the Caprice convertible and its Olds 88, Pontiac Grand Ville Brougham, and Buick LeSabre Custom siblings.

In 1975, the Caprice was the biggest, most luxurious Chevrolet you could buy. Since 1965, the Caprice had out-Broughamed the Impala, first as a custom luxury trim package in 1965 and then becoming a full-fledged model of its own in 1966, with wagons added to the two-door and four-door hardtop models.

By 1975, you could get your Caprice in two- and four-door pillarless hardtops, a four-door sedan, six- and nine-passenger Caprice Estate Wagons, and the belle of the ball, the Caprice Classic convertible. And today’s featured Caprice looks especially good to me in Antique White with matching white interior with blue dash and carpets. Very nautical. See you on deck, Senator!

As I’ve mentioned in past columns, convertible sales in the U.S. had been slowly but steadily declining since the late ’60s. There were myriad reasons for this, but the biggest was the increasing popularity (and the corresponding decrease in price) of factory air conditioning. Why endure a drafty convertible top and the related ease of breaking into the car when you could get your Caprice two-door hardtop with factory air?

The production figures tell the story. The 1971 Chevrolets were all-new and bigger than ever and, of course, there was an Impala convertible. This continued for 1972, but then in ’73 the Impala droptop was discontinued and replaced with a Caprice convertible. Production figures for 1971–74 were 4576, 6456, 7339 and 4670.

Compare that with a decade earlier, when Impala convertible sales in 1960–63 were 79,903, 64,624, 75,719, and 82,659. Of course, tastes changed a lot from the ’60s into the ’70s, but it still surprises me that the big Chevy convertible couldn’t hit annual production of even 10,000 units in the ’70s (1970 came closest, with 9562).

But I’m getting off track, so let’s get back to the 1975 model. Chevy was a little bit sly about the convertible in its big ’75 brochure: “For those who still favor a convertible, we still offer one, combining the exhilarating effects of a convertible with the elegance of a Caprice.” Nowhere near the “Last chance, so get one now!” seen a year later with the ’76 Eldorado convertibles. Still, it was pretty common knowledge early on that the ’75 Caprice droptop was going to be the last one.

The ’75 Caprice Classic convertible (how’s that for alliteration, ha ha) had a base price of $5113 (about $29,000 today), a not-insignificant sum, as the cheapest new Chevy that year was the two-door Vega sedan at $2786 ($15,800). Curb weight was a majestic 4342 pounds, and a total of 8349 Caprice convertibles were built. Despite all the compact, midsize, and subcompact Chevrolets available in 1975, big Chevys were still popular: just in the top-tier Caprice line, production including the convertible was 103,944. And that was that. Come 1976, the sportiest Caprice Classic you could get was the coupe.

As many of you recall, 2020 and ’21 were bad years for classic car fans, as many shows and cruise nights were canceled due to the pandemic. But as 2022 came along, most (if not all) of them resumed, and I was dedicated to attending as many as I could. I saw this Caprice at the annual car show in Alpha, Illinois, in May 2022. It was the first show of the year that I attended. I’d never been to this particular show before, but it was quite good, with entrants ranging from an early Bronco restored to showroom condition, a 1963 Cadillac convertible, and an early Studebaker Avanti with that amazing factory-correct orange interior. But the one I wanted to cruise home in most of all was this Caprice!

***

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Here it was another Sunday, and I had yet to decide what car to write about for my weekly column. As so frequently happens with me, when in doubt, write about another Cadillac. So I decided to go back to the 1950s—again—with this fantastic 1957 Cadillac Fleetwood Sixty Special, yet another fine show car from the CLC Grand National show held on June 25, 2022 at the Westin in Lombard, Illinois.

I’ve already written about several cars from this show, and it’s certain I will write about more in the future. There were so many excellent cars there, and I love Cadillacs. Especially those from the 1950s to the ’70s. They were just so cool. After all, Chuck Berry sang about Maybelline in a Coupe de Ville, not a Henry J … or a Prius.

The 1957 Cadillacs were all-new and much lower and wider than the previous Caddys of 1954–56. Cadillac was king of the road in the 1950s, in status and popularity. As the brochure confided, “Take a new 1957 Cadillac—give it a home with a fine new American family—and, in no time at all, the car will become one of its best-loved members.

“Certainly, a new Cadillac would make a wonderful addition to your family’s happiness—and serve as a revealing tribute to your thoughtfulness.” Regardless of marketing hyperbole, Cadillac had a good year, with 146,841 sold in 1957, ninth in the industry sales rankings. Pretty good for a luxury brand.

The Fleetwood Sixty Special four-door hardtop, as in years past, was the finest “owner-driven” Cadillac you could buy, with a 133-inch wheelbase and overall length of 224.4 inches. MSRP was $5539 ($60,142 today), curb weight 4755 pounds, and exactly 24,000 were built for the year.

Interiors were appropriately sumptuous. There were 10 different fabric and leather-upholstered choices, just for the Fleetwood. Exterior enhancements included the ribbed stainless steel side trim on the lower quarter panels and “Fleetwood” letters on the trunk lid, flanked by inset backup lamps.

And we have to talk about the colors! Oh, they were so much better in 1957. Look at all those choices! You could order your Cadillac and have one like no other in town, depending on the model, color, and fabric selections you made. Indeed, you were totally spoiled for choice.

Our featured car is resplendent in Dusty Rose with a contrasting roof finished in Mountain Laurel. I thought it was just sensational looking, with the black-and-white interior a perfect match.

Under the hood of all new 1957 Cadillacs was a 365-cubic-inch V-8. In all models except the Eldorado, which had a slight horsepower bump compared to the others, the 365 was capable of 300 horsepower at 4800 rpm, breathing through a four-barrel Rochester carburetor. The Eldorados had 325 horses, thanks to twin four-barrel carbs.

And I would be remiss not to at least make a passing mention of the all-new-for-1957 Eldorado Brougham four-door hardtop. A super-luxury model, it cost more than $13,000 in 1957 ($141,054 today)—more than a Rolls-Royce. Only 400 were built. The one above is a 1958, butit’s  visually identical to the ’57 and owned by my friend Ron Schweitzer. I will definitely do a full column on it one of these days!

Once again, I have my friend and fellow Cadillac fanatic Jayson Coombes to thank for the pictures. This was a fantastic show, and I was on total sensory overload for most (if not all) of the day. I am slightly embarrassed to say I did not get even one picture of this wonderful Sixty Special that day, but I can explain …

You see, an equally magnificent 1960 Eldorado Seville two-door hardtop, finished in Persian Sand, was nearby, and after visiting with Jim Jordan a bit, my radar zoomed in on it, and I immediately scampered over to it, tripping over my tongue. About five minutes and 54 pictures later, it began raining, and I forgot all about the ’57, I am somewhat ashamed to say.

Fortunately Jayson was Johnny-on-the-spot and took all of the fine pictures you see here. So, the next time he visits the Quad Cities, surf and turf at The Cellar is on me!

***

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Remember the Dodge Monaco and Royal Monaco? I bet you do if you’re of a certain age—a certain age that, like me, remembers the TV show Hill Street Blues and the classic 1980 movie, The Blues Brothers. I love The Blues Brothers. It’s my favorite movie, and I’ve probably watched it 50 times. So I knew all about Dodge Monacos from an early age.

The Monaco was originally meant as a competitor to the Pontiac Grand Prix, which itself was a super-deluxe version of the Catalina two-door hardtop. Chrysler Corporation responded with the 1965 Monaco. Like the GP, it came only as a two-door hardtop and had an extra-snazzy interior with rattan door panel inserts, bucket seats, and a center console.

But that only lasted for a single model year. Starting in 1966, the top-of-the line coupe, now named “Monaco 500,” was supplemented with a slightly less-loaded two-door hardtop, four-door hardtop, and four-door pillared sedan. Oh, and there was now a glitzy, wood-sided Monaco wagon.

The Monaco remained the top-of-the line full-size Dodge through 1973, with the Polara sedans, coupes, and wagons being one rung below it, much like the LTD and Galaxie 500 over at Ford, or the Caprice and Impala at Chevrolet. But starting in 1974, the Polara disappeared, and it was all Monaco, all the time. Now there was a base Monaco, mid-level Monaco Custom, and the top-of-the-roost Monaco Brougham.

Chrysler Corporation was very popular with police departments nationwide, so many, many Monaco and Fury police cars were seen in the ’70s, both on the streets, on TV, and in movies. But mostly what you saw were sedans. So, have any of you fine folks ever seen a 1974–77 Monaco wagon?

If not, don’t feel bad. I’ve never seen one. Not as a kid, not at car shows or cruise ins, not anywhere. Until my pal Jason Bagge, “The Brougham Whisperer,” found this one late last spring.

It was rough, rusty, and dusty, but it ran, and the price was right, so he nabbed it and began sprucing it up. When I asked him what he knew about the car’s history, he said all he knew was that the car was sold new in Edmonton, Alberta, so it was a Canadian car. It went from Edmonton to California, then to Montana. And that’s all Jason knows about its journey.

As per usual for a Royal Monaco, it does not have air conditioning; indeed, it is rather sparsely equipped for a car with such a fancy-looking front end, complete with hidden headlights. Though it does have the optional Premier wheel covers.

One interesting interior feature of these cars (and also the 1974–77 Plymouth Fury/Gran Fury, 1974–75 Imperial, and 1974–78 Chrysler New Yorker/Newport) was the centrally-located glove compartment. Also, that chrome-rimmed square above the ventilation ducts to the left of the speedometer are where the clock would go if—you ordered one. This wagon doesn’t have it.

For whatever reason, Dodge full-size wagons were not very popular. In 1976, the Monaco came in four versions: a base two-seat Monaco, two- and three-seat Royal Monacos, and a three-seat Royal Monaco Brougham wagon. Production was 1116 Monacos, 923 two-seat Royal Monacos, 1429 three-seat Royal Monacos, and 2480 Royal Monaco Broughams. Yes, the most expensive wagon, the Brougham, was the most popular.

The previous year, 1975, a total of 8019 Dodge wagons (in all trim levels) were built. Which is crazy, because the same year Ford built 6930 Custom 500 wagons, 22,935 Country Sedans, and 41,550 Country Squires. And Chevrolet built 58,529 full-size wagons, from the bottom-rung Bel Air to the top-trim Caprice Estate.

The 1976 Royal Monaco two-seat wagon had a base price of $5241 ($28,100 today) and had a curb weight of 4915 pounds. While sedans and coupes came standard with a 318-cubic-inch V-8, all wagons came with the 400 V-8, a 4.34 x 3.38 bore and stroke, and 175 horsepower. The Elwood Blues-approved 440 V-8 was optional.

As the ’76 Monaco brochure stated, “A full-sized wagon should be able to do a day’s work and then take you out on the town in style … all models feature power steering, power front disc brakes, automatic transmission, and 400-cubic-inch V-8 engine. Choose a Monaco wagon for ’76: You’ll get the uncommon in luxury and convenience, plus practical full-sized utility.”

It sounded good, and the Monaco long-roofs were sharp in my opinion, especially the wood-sided Broughams, but as previously mentioned, both Ford and Chevy trounced them in the sales charts, particularly Ford. There was a reason they were called “The Wagonmaster” at the time. Granted, Dodge was closer to Mercury and Oldsmobile at the time, but even Plymouth sold around 16,000 full-sized wagons in 1975, still way below Ford and Chevy.

Jason’s survivor is in the very ’70s color combination of what appears to be Saddle Tan (per my ’76 Monaco brochure) with a dark brown vinyl interior. Other available colors in 1976 included Eggshell White, Deep Sherwood Metallic, Spanish Gold Metallic, Powder Blue, Silver Cloud Metallic, and Vintage Red Metallic. Wagon wheelbases were 124 inches; sedans and coupes had a shorter 121.5-inch span.

As I write this (in June 2023), Jason is attempting to sell it. He did some work on it but didn’t want to get too deep into it, as he essentially bought the car as a U-Haul for a one-time use, then sell it off. A rare birdie any way you slice it, only 923 Royal Monaco two-seat wagons were built in the U.S. in 1976—and this is a Canadian-built version, one of 547, according Jason. Hopefully it goes to someone who will appreciate it and enjoy it!

***

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Sixty-eight years ago, Americans were spoiled for choice and style in their cars. Unlike today, where seemingly three-quarters of the population want something staid and “comboverish,” you could get all manner of snazzy cars in snazzy colors, ample body styles, and myriad options, wheel treatments, and fabrics. And in 1955, Cadillac was king of the hill.

For instance, at least in my opinion, it seems that three-quarters of new cars are of the style deemed “willfully ugly.” I remember Bill Mitchell saying decades ago that it costs as much to design and build an ugly car as it does a beautiful one. So where have all the beautiful cars gone? Well, last June many of them were in Lombard, Illinois, at the CLC Grand National meet.

In 1955, you could get any kind of Cadillac you wanted, as long as it was a car. Yes, a CAR. No sport utilities, no 4x4s, no crossovers. You could get anything from a Series 62 pillared sedan to an Eldorado Biarritz convertible, or factory-built Series 75 Fleetwood limo, complete with power divider window separating the chauffeur from the captain of industry in the back seat.

The snazziest Cadillac that year was arguably the Coupe de Ville. The model initially was introduced in 1949, an all-new body style dubbed the “hardtop convertible,” as the roof resembled a convertible with its top up when all the side windows were lowered. The most prominent feature was no B-pillar, to further the convertible look. But by 1955, the Series 62 two-door had adopted the same roofline, so the biggest differences between it and the Coupe de Ville was a plusher, brighter interior and gold-toned “Coupe de Ville” scripts below the rear quarter windows.

A total of 140,777 Cadillacs were built for the 1955 model year, which set a record at the time for the luxury make. The Coupe de Ville itself sold for $4305 (about $49,000 today) before options. Curb weight was 4424 pounds and 33,300 were sold.

The Series 62 coupe had most of the Coupe de Ville’s style but was a little less dear at $3882 ($44,195). Most expensive? The Series 75 Fleetwood Imperial sedan—Cadillac’s term for the formal limousine—at $6402 ($72,885). By the way, if you ever see a ’55 Series 75 Imperial limo, you should take plenty of pictures. Only 841 were built.

The new Cadillacs had only minor detail changes for 1955, as they had been totally restyled for the ’54 model year. All ’55s had the 331-cubic-inch V-8 under the hood. Bore and stroke were 3.81 x 3.63. Horsepower was 250 at 4600 rpm. Eldorados had 270 hp, thanks to twin four-barrel carbs.

However, any new Cadillac could get the 270-hp engine by checking the “Power Package” option for $160 ($1822) extra. Factory air conditioning was also available, for a princely $620 ($7058).

The most noticeable differences to the exterior of 1955 Cadillacs, compared to the outgoing ’54s, were a new grille with prominent “Dagmar” bumper bullets and a revised chrome side-molding that started at the front fender and moved down the flank in a continuous line until abruptly turning up just behind the front door on two-door models.

The ’54s had the same molding begin at the front, but it went straight back before ending before a heavy simulated chrome air duct at the front of the rear quarter panel. The ’55s took those two trim pieces and rather smoothly combined them into one trim piece. As I recall from one of my Cadillac books, GM designer Dave Holls created that for the ’55s.

Since there were only minor refinements for the year, Cadillac talked up its engine in the showroom brochures. It was the same basic 331-cu-in block, but back then it was constantly being refined. While the ’54 engine was 230 hp @ 4400 rpm, the ’55 version (as previously mentioned) was 250 @ 4600. And that was sans the 270-hp dual four-barrel carb option.

As the brochure relayed, “For 1955, Cadillac presents the most perfectly proportioned automotive power plant [that] science, skill, and experience can produce … with its new and far higher compression ratio of 9.0 to 1, it provides a tremendous reserve in performance, infinite flexibility under all driving conditions, and even more surprising economy of operation.”

But, of course, luxury was just as important as—if not more than—performance. The selling point of the pricier Coupe de Ville over the Series 62 hardtop was the interior. Again from the brochure: “Interiors are blue, tan, or green—tailored in patterned and metallic nylon and dark leathers.

“Also offered are three exciting and unusual new ‘glamour’ interiors, featuring a special V-pattern metallic nylon in black, green, or gold—set off by copper-tone, green, and white leather, respectively.” That latter gold-and-white interior is what our featured Coupe de Ville sports. And appropriately, this car is painted in Goddess Gold, though at first I thought it could also be Cape Ivory.

Cadillac buyers were spoiled for color choices in 1955, that’s for sure. Among the tempting hues were Mist Green, Azure Blue, Pacific Coral, Mandan Red, Bahama Blue, and Deep Cherry. With many contrasting or complementary interior choices available as well.

This was the next-to-last car I photographed at the CLC Lombard show. It was a fantastic day, and after dinner at Harry Caray’s inside the Westin, my friend Jayson and I moseyed among the parked show entries as we made our way back to my car for the trip home. I really loved this car, especially the colors. Cadillac could do no wrong in the 1950s, that’s for sure.

Once upon a time, America made cars like this. I missed it by 25 years, but I still feel a loss when I see a wonderful car like this. I think the 1955 me, if I existed then, would have loved listening to Fats Domino on the AM while driving a lovely cruiser like this.

***

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Sometimes the best cars at a show are in the parking lot. Strange but true. You go to a show, see some interesting stuff, see some common fare, walk back to the car, then whoa! Look what’s sitting there amongst the late-model rolling stock!

Such was the case recently when my Texas friend Jayson Coombes was leaving a local show and stumbled upon this relic of gratuitous Detroit luxury, a 1976 Oldsmobile Toronado Brougham. Be still my heart!

One benefit Jayson has living in the Lone Star State is that the car show season starts much earlier there than it does here in the Midwest. The first show of the year near him was in March at Ford’s Garage Restaurant in Plano. Now, don’t get me wrong, there were some pretty interesting cars at the show, including an early ’60s German Ford Taunus, ’49 Cadillac Series 62 sedan and others.

But Detroit Broughamage always gets my immediate attention, and when he texted me the pictures you see here, I went nuts. I love the Oldsmobile Toronado—all of them really, from the Cord 810/812-inspired ’66 original all the way to the downsized final model in ’92. But there’s just something about the mid 1970s versions. Like those seats! The upholstery itself (which reminds me of bowtie pasta) and the floating-pillow seats themselves were exclusive to the Toronado Brougham.

In 1976, Brougham was king, as evidenced by the Toronado sales figures. While the Toronado Custom was almost $300 cheaper at $6891 ($36,832 today), it saw only 2555 units produced. Meanwhile, the $7137 ($38,147) Brougham saw the lion’s share of production with 21,749 sold. And there was, as you’d expect, ample power under the hood: Oldsmobile’s vaunted 455-cubic-inch V-8. While there were myriad emissions devices on them by 1976, they still had plenty of torque, despite the deceptively low rating of 215 horsepower.

My pet theory is that ’76 was “Peak Brougham,” with the downsizing and rapidly approaching CAFE regulations dimming the Brougham momentum starting in 1977. Though the large-and-in-charge Toronado continued in its embiggened size all the way through the 1978 model year.

At the time, Jayson was not positive of the model year, narrowing it down to 1975 or ’76. But I was pretty sure it was a ’76 from the combination of the finned wheel covers and that oh-so-distinctive upholstery. While it was clearly weathered, I loved it all the same, especially its combination of Light Blue Metallic with matching interior, white padded Landau top, and white pinstriping. It still looks good now, but it must have looked even better when new, ideally parked outside a supper club or golf course!

Back in the 1980s and early ’90s, my folks had a 38-foot Chris-Craft Commander, complete with flybridge, moored at the local marina. One of the other folks on our dock, Tom Ohlweiler, had one of these Toronados, and it is probably that car that made me fall in love with these. It was white with a matching white Landau top and deep-red velour interior. I really thought the “extra” brake lights in the rear decklid were cool. Still do.

While I can’t swear to the year, I’m pretty sure his was a 1977 or ’78, as it didn’t have these wild seats. I think it was a more sedate-looking striped velour. But he was fastidious about that Toronado, and it always looked brand new and totally detailed every time I saw it.

This same upholstery was used on 1976 Cutlass Supreme Broughams too—again, only in 1976. There is a ’76 Supreme Brougham that I see fairly regularly at local shows, bright red with dark red interior and white Landau top. I’ll have to write it up one of these days.

The ’76 Oldsmobile brochure had this to say about it: “… its distinctive combination of roadability and luxury have earned it a singular reputation among personal luxury cars … Toronado. Proud classic among luxury cars. A rare experience on the road. Can we build one for you?”

I wish they still could.

***

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For most classic car fans, a Chevelle SS or Malibu SS isn’t exactly an uncommon sight at shows and auctions. As one wag once joked, Chevy built 63,000 in 1967 and only 130,000 survive today. But how about a wagon? Yes. One was made—for only one year—and last year when I posted a photo of one on a ’70s car group page, one armchair expert insisted that it was simply a Malibu wagon with a 454 and someone just tacked the emblems on.

I get the same thing when I discuss the 1965 Fleetwood 75 (“It’s a ’64; the ’65 was a totally different body!”) and the 1959–60 Cadillac Eldorado Brougham (“It’s just a ’60 or ’61 regular Cadillac!”). Even when I post a picture from the brochures, it tends to fall on deaf ears (or eyes). People love their preconceived notions, that’s for sure.

As many of you undoubtedly know, in 1973 GM completely redesigned its A-body intermediate cars. Everything was new, convertibles were no more, and pillarless two-door hardtops were replaced with pillared “Colonnade” styling. It was very modern for the time, despite the shrieking from those who adored the 1968–72 midsizers. But that’s a story for another time—though I do have photos of a spectacularly original bronze ’72 Chevelle two-door hardtop I need to write about soon.

At any rate, somehow along with the myriad of new mid-size cars, was a peculiar new model. For while the SS coupe continued to be available, albeit in an all-new body, somehow there was now an SS package available for the Malibu wagon. Why? Who knows. Maybe it came up during a three-martini lunch. Maybe some product planner said, “Hey, let’s make the SS available on the wagon with a 454 and see if we sell any!” Perhaps it was the same guy who decades later said, “Psst, hey, put a Corvette engine in the Cadillac CTS wagon. And give it a stick.” I love that guy … if he exists!

It wasn’t prominently advertised, either in the showroom brochures or in advertisements. The first I heard of this model was back in the late ’90s. I had recently acquired some 1973 Chevrolet wagon brochures from a very nice eBay seller, Bill Hilyard. I bought a lot of brochures from him back then.

The ’73 brochure touted that the Chevelle and Malibu wagons were “brand new, all with a hatchback tailgate … They’re smooth and quiet too, with a new cushioning system and precision tuning of the front and rear suspension.” And as I was flipping through the brochure (which I still have, and which assisted in the writing of this article), I found way in the back, listed among the available options, confirmation of the SS package for station wagons.

As you can see above, it was largely a décor package, though all wagons got a V-8 from the get-go; there would be no SS wagons with the “Turbo-Thrift” 250-cubic-inch six-cylinder, thank heavens.

The most noticeable features were the contrasting paint on the lower body, blacked out grille, and of course, the SS emblems. The standard engine was the tried-and-true 350, but if you had the cash and could afford the gas, you could get the 454 V-8 and surprise the other dads in their Country Squires and Grand Safaris.

Finding production information on these special wagons is not particularly easy. I have copies of both American Cars 1945–75 and Chevrolet: The Complete History, but I came up empty. However, I did discover that in 1973, a total of 28,647 Chevelle Malibu SSs were built, of which 2500 had the 245-horsepower, 454-cu-in V-8. Logically, most of the SSs sold were coupes and not the elusive station wagon.

Fortunately, my friend Sean Flanagan saw my post awhile back on this car and referred me to a link to G3GM.com, which provided the numbers I sought: A total of 1432 SS wagons were built, with a breakdown of 1361 with the 350 V-8 and a mere 71 with the 454. Yes. she is a rare birdie.

I wasn’t sure of the color, but fortunately my Chicago pal Jim Smith worked at a big Chevy dealership in the ’70s when he was in high school, prepping new cars and the like. He identified the color as Chamois. As he related, “That’s the name Chevrolet called it. We took a few ’73s in on trade that came in that color.” It’s a very ’70s color, to be sure!

Jim was also kind enough to provide some pictures of another ’73 SS wagon he had. While the Chamois one is oh-so-’70s, colorwise, I love the red with the contrasting dark silver, even though red is such a cliché on Chevy SS models.

I found it interesting that both the car I photographed and the one Jim shot had the third-row seat. It seems kind of counter-intuitive that one would order an SS package for the wagon and then order the third seat as well. Apparently, for dads who wanted to haul—and haul!

I spotted the Chamois example at an AACA regional show last August at Bend XPO in East Moline, Illinois. The show didn’t officially open until Saturday, but our office closes at 1 p.m. every Friday, and I was looking for something to do. It was a warm but rather gray day, and I didn’t feel like making a gin and tonic and reading a novel on my postage-stamp deck without sun, so I stopped by my friend KV Dahl’s garage, and he was showing some cars to another car guy, Dave Mills.

As we were chatting, KV said, “Hey, go on over to the show, no one will mind.” So after ogling several of KV’s classics, I said my goodbyes, and snuck into the show venue.

Unfortunately, I was only there about a half hour before they started turning off the lights as folks finished detailing their classics for the show. I didn’t have much time to gawk at all the beautiful cars, but I covered as much ground as I could. There were many nice cars—including several others that I’ll be writing about at some point, including a fantastic “flat-top” 1959 Impala Sport Sedan—but I was pleasantly shocked to see this SS wagon.

I knew they existed, but I’d never seen one, ever. It was so cool! Practical, yet crazy. Just my style. Of course, I returned the following afternoon with the rest of the showgoers and took many, many photos. The SS wagon was such a cool idea. Sure, it didn’t sell, and today most people don’t even realize these were ever made. It’s good to know that stuff like this was once put on the market. Just do it. No focus groups, just offer i,t and see what happens. I love it.

***

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How well I remember the classic luxury duo of the Chevrolet Caprice and the Ford LTD. As a kid growing up in the ’80s, I loved seeing one cruise by, even if it was an older, rusty one. You could tell, regardless of whether it was a showroom-new version or weathered veteran, that these cars were a little special. Lots of chrome—rocker trim molding, bright wheel opening moldings, stand-up hood ornaments, and/or heraldic crests on the C-pillars, trunk lid, or grille. I liked them. A lot.

It all started in 1965, with the Caprice, a super-deluxe package available on Impala two- and four-door hardtops. Meanwhile, over at Ford, you could get the same treatment on the all-new ’65 full-size Fords. Of course, today we’re here to talk about Dearborn’s Brougham, but I always have and always will lump the Caprice and LTD together; they were two of a kind.

Just like the Caprice (at least for the 1965 model year), the LTD made its first foray as a deluxe option for the Galaxie 500. As the brochure explained, “This is the elegant new Galaxie 500 LTD—an all-new kind of Ford with luxury totally new to Ford’s field.”

Standard equipment on the inaugural LTDs included the 200-horsepower “Challenger” V-8 and Cruise-O-Matic automatic transmission, door-mounted courtesy lights, a fold-down center rear armrest, ample simulated wood trim on the instrument panel and door cards, nicer upholstery in a choice of six colors, and more.

It was a hit, and just like crosstown rival Chevy, in 1966 the LTD became its own model instead of a luxury package on an existing one. But now you could get Brougham-style accouterments at your friendly local Ford (or Chevrolet) dealer, instead of having to visit the Olds or Mercury showrooms in order to get flashier options or more sumptuous interior trim.

Eventually that would start to blur the lines between standard cars and full-boat luxury cars, but it worked very well for years. Heck, the Caprice made it to 1996, and the LTD to 1991 (2011 if you include the Crown Victoria).

Plymouth also made an attempt at the LTD formula, starting in 1966 with the VIP. But for whatever reason, it never hit the impressive sales numbers the LTD or Caprice did, and it was discontinued after the 1969 model year.

And now we finally come to 1967, the year of our featured car. All Fords were restyled for the year, with swoopier lines. LTDs were available as a $3298 ($30,000 today) four-door sedan, a $3363 ($30,622) four-door hardtop, and a $3362 two-door hardtop. Yes, there was just $1 difference between the two- and four-door hardtops!

The pillared sedan had the lowest take rate by far, with only 12,491 built. The hardtops were neck and neck production-wise, with 51,978 hardtop sedans and 46,036 hardtop coupes sold. It makes sense to me; why get the drab pillared sedan, the exact same body style as the police and taxi-spec Customs and Custom 500s, in the fanciest, most plush trim level?

A prominent LTD-only feature on hardtop coupes was a more formal C-pillar. While the actual roof panel retained the semi-fastback shape shared with Galaxies, an insert was added to make a smaller rear quarter window and broader sail panel. Naturally, an LTD emblem graced this area.

As expected, the full-size ’67 brochure made it clear the LTD was Ford’s best, fanciest, and Broughamiest offering—except perhaps for the Thunderbird. As it confided, “LTD by Ford. The car that introduced a new world of luxury to Ford’s field adds to its fame with new styling and comfort—and an all new model!” The new model, by the way, was the pillared four-door sedan.

“Inside you have a choice of seven limousine-like standard interiors of cloth and vinyl, highlighted by simulated walnut door panels … new optional Twin Comfort Lounge Seats, with individual arm rests for driver and passenger, are separately adjustable.”

But, of course, it wouldn’t be Detroit (or Dearborn, rather) in the ’60s without a cornucopia of optional extras. Selected items for 1967 included Fingertip Speed Control, power six-way seats, Stereo Sonic Tape System (8-track tape player), and SelectAire air conditioning—the last of which this car has installed.

All LTDs came standard with the 200-hp 289 V-8 and Cruise-O-Matic, but our featured car has much more oomph under the hood, with the 390 V-8.

Options included five V-8s: 270-hp 390, 315-hp 390, 345-hp 428, and 410- and 425-hp 427—though I can’t imagine too many LTDs had a Cobra 427 under the hood. A four-speed manual was required with either 427 V-8 option.

I spotted this excellent example last summer at the monthly car cruise in historic downtown Mount Carroll, Illinois. Gorgeous colors on this! It was the first car I zeroed in on when I was parking, and my Brougham radar immediately began going awooga awooga!

It reminded me of the blue Galaxie 500 that my science teacher Vern Spilker owned at the time. His car is the reason I could identify ’67 Fords from an extremely early age. It was light silver-blue metallic with a white top—painted, not a vinyl roof. He was still using it as a daily driver during that time, circa late-1980s/early-90s.

Though Vern retired back in ’94, we’ve reconnected via Facebook, and he still has his Galaxie! As he related, “My ’67 runs well. Had it mechanically restored. Not repainted yet.” Amazing that he has held on to it all these years, and he’s still enjoying it. I really need to get down there for a visit soon!

***

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Once upon a time in the ’70s, people bought cars. Cars, not trucks, not SUVs. Fortunately for humanity at the time, the crossover had not yet been invented. Trucks and 4x4s were more of a specialty item for outdoorsmen, tradesmen, and the like. But there were some outliers at the time, like the car-based Chevrolet El Camino/GMC Sprint and the Ford Ranchero. And the Vega Panel Express.

Yes folks, it’s another Vega! Hold on to your hats. Today’s example is a rather uncommon Vega, even amongst Vegas: the Panel Express. Which was referred to in the brochures as “Our Truck.”

I won’t dive too deeply into Vega history since I’ve already discussed Chevy’s star-crossed subcompact, the 1976 Cosworth-Vega, but here’s an abbreviated version: It was introduced in 1971 as an all-new model, to great fanfare. It was an immediate hit, with its four-model lineup and attractive baby-Camaro styling.

A total of 269,905 were sold in 1971 and 390,478 in ’72, but by then the bloom was already off the rose, so to speak. The two biggest issues were that they liked to break down, and they liked to rust. Really rust. Especially the front fenders. Even in dry, warm climates.

So while they continued to sell, sales slowly but surely tapered off—so much so that by 1977, the car’s final year on the market, only 78,402 were built. While that’s not terrible, it was a far cry from ’73, when 427,300 rolled off the line.

The ’74s, like pretty much everything else that year, lost the nifty little chrome bumpers for park-bench-style ones, making the 1971–73 models much prettier. I must have seen the occasional Vega when I was a kid, but I don’t have any hard and fast memories of it, though I did have a couple of plastic, dime-store Vega toys … one of which I’m pretty sure was a big-bumper Panel Express.

Back to the featured ’71. I was at a car show in Davenport, Iowa, over Labor Day weekend in 2013, and while walking back to my car I spotted this survivor. I was taken aback because I had never seen a Panel Express up close, though I knew of their existence. My Uncle Dave, who as a teen in the early ’70s naturally was in a garage band, lusted for one of these back then. He was the drummer, and I remember him telling me it would have been a great car to haul his drum kit around in.

Of course, later events would prove it was just as well that he didn’t get one. Plus he was 13 at the time, so there’s that.

When I peeked through the window of this one, it was clear that its navy blue paint was not original—it was originally the bright blue that was prominently featured in early Vega brochures and ads. Otherwise, it appeared to be in quite original shape.

The Panel Expresses were never common, as you would expect. As I recall, even the passenger seat was optional, as the whole point of the model was it was to be used as a mini utility vehicle. Add the fact that the very attractive Vega Kammback wagon was essentially the same except for the rear quarter glass and back seat, and it makes sense the Panel was never a popular model.

In 1971, 55,839 Vega two-door sedans were built, along with 71,957 Kammback wagons and 262,682 hatchbacks. Of the wagons, approximately 7800 were panels, though it wasn’t clear in my research if that was a separate figure from the standard wagons or included in the near-72,000 unit total.

Any way you slice it, however, the Panels were pretty small potatoes in Vega production. Indeed, the model only lasted through 1975, then was quietly retired. Apparently the Estate and GT versions of the wagon were more popular. Unsurprising, really.

But it was a unique offering, and it was pretty cool to finally see one, 20-odd years after finding a coverless ’71 Vega brochure in my uncle’s old room at my grandparents’ house—the very same one my Uncle Dave pored through 20 years prior, I’m sure. I’m not sure what happened to that brochure since I discovered it in a stack of magazines around 1991, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find it in a box someday!

***

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Last June, my friend Jayson Coombes flew up from Texas to visit me. Main goal: Attend the Cadillac LaSalle Club Grand National in Lombard, Illinois, and the Buick Club of America’s national meet in nearby Lisle.

It was nearly a once-in-a-lifetime event. Two national clubs with extreme Broughamish tendencies (i.e. giant Klockau magnet) would be less than three hours from my home base. Via several texts and phone calls, plans were hatched, and we decided it was worth it. We were going.

And then, lo and behold! I was woken up Saturday morning, the day of the grand event, by lightning. Nooooo!

But we went. It was far too late to cancel plans. We were determined Cadillac fanatics! A rainstorm chased us 2/3 of the way there, making visibility extremely poor when behind semis passing each other, going 0.0007851 mph faster than the other one. But we made it to the Westin Chicago Lombard unscathed.

It was raining upon our arrival at the Westin, but not too bad. We immediately spotted Jim Smith, my buddy who’s lived in Chicago his whole life and has attended every Chicago Auto Show since 1968.

Naturally we were as far as possible from the building when the rain started pouring. I’d been distracted photographing a Phantom Gray 1970 Fleetwood Brougham when it began. I stood under a tree for approximately five minutes when Jayson ran up, also seeking shelter. We stood there like idiots for about another 10 minutes when we wordlessly agreed to go for it and ran for the hotel.

But right next to that Fleetwood Brougham, and five feet from the tree I had been hiding under, was this fantastic Cadillac. A 1970 Fleetwood Eldorado.

It was spectacular in San Mateo Red with white leather and a white vinyl roof. Such a nice, cheerful color combination! It was initially my favorite car at the show. That would change frequently throughout the day, but I kept coming back to it. It was so pretty!

The ’70 Eldorado was the last edition of the original front-wheel-drive 1967 Eldorado personal luxury coupe. While it hadn’t changed drastically during its four years of existence, it did lose its hidden headlights in 1969 and got a new grille and wheel covers.

For its last appearance in 1970, it received a bolder, more heavily cross-hatched grille; Cadillac crests in the front turn signal lenses; redesigned, slimmer taillights; and other minor styling fillips. Oh, it also got a 500-cubic-inch V-8.

A 400-horsepower V-8 breathing through a Rochester four-barrel Quadrajet carburetor, to be precise. Yowza.

As the 1970 Cadillac brochure (of course I have a copy!) stated, the Fleetwood Eldorado was “one designed for the motorist who desires unusually spirited performance, individual styling, and all the elegance and comfort for which Cadillac is renowned.

“Eldorado’s exclusive, new 8.2-liter V-8 engine (500 cubic inches of displacement) is by far the largest engine to power a production passenger car and makes the spirit of the ’70s come alive with rare excitement.”

That was rather an understatement, as the new engine had 400 horses (as previously mentioned) and also 550 lb-ft of torque, with a 10-to-1 compression ratio, 4.30 bore, and 4.304 stroke. Not bad. Other Cadillacs had “only” 375 horsepower and 525 lb-ft of torque.

It was backed up by GM’s famous, creamy smooth Turbo Hydra-Matic automatic transmission. These ’70 Fleetwood Eldorados had a 120-inch wheelbase, 221 inches overall length, and a curb weight of 4630 pounds. Base price: $6903 ($53,972 today).

Of course, as a Cadillac, there was a raft of standard equipment: Power windows, power front seat, cornering lamps, a visor vanity mirror, automatic transmission, power front disc/rear drum brakes, and variable-ratio power steering, among other refinements.

Also as a Cadillac, and it being 1970, a multitude of colors, fabrics, and leather seating choices were available. Back then people actually liked driving something distinctive while choosing their own colors so that their car would look like no other in town.

Sadly, that’s mostly gone by the wayside in 2023, outside of very high-end new cars. And even then, white, gray, and black 7-Series, Phantoms, and S-Classes abound. But I digress …

The San Mateo Red just glowed later in the day when the sun came out. I loved it. And as I was working on this column I texted Jayson a pic of this car. His response: “That car was spectacular. I so wanted to take it home! I’m sure you have millions of photos, but you’re welcome to mine too.” Well, I didn’t take millions, but I probably took more than 50 of this car!

The Eldorado was redesigned in 1971, gaining more baroque looks but retaining its impressive engine and adding a convertible model. Actually there was a wonderful ’71 convertible at the show too, but this column is already getting a little long! Another time.

We met up with other Cadillac pals at the event, both from the Chicago area and much farther locales, and took a picture in front of Harry Caray’s restaurant before we all split up again to continue gawking at classic Cadillacs and frantically taking pictures. It was great seeing friends I ordinarily only communicate with thru Facebook or email.

Like I said, I frequently changed my mind about which car was my favorite, there was also an amazing Dumbarton Green ’76 Fleetwood d’Elegance on display. Between that and the Eldorado, they were in the top two.

I kept going back and forth between first and second place on my mythical list. And that car will be written about at some point as well! But until next time, keep calm, Brougham on, and always tip your bartender!

***

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For a long time, cars were cars, not trucks, and those cars typically came in three versions: a two-door sedan or coupe, a four-door sedan, and a station wagon. And right up to the early to mid-1980s, that was still largely the case. But by 1990, full-size American two-door sedans were basically extinct, with the exception of personal luxury cars like the Eldorado and Mark VII and sporty midsizers like the Grand Prix and Lumina Z34.

For most of the ’70s, the Ford was unapologetically large. Some wags remarked at the time that LTD stood for “Light Tank Division.” In 1979, the full-size Fords were finally downsized on the new corporate “Panther” full-size chassis. But as before, a variety of sedans, coupes, and wagons were offered in trim levels from plain to lavish.

However, by this time sales of the full-size coupes and two-door sedans were beginning to wane. Sure, the personal luxury coupes like the Cutlass Supreme were still going gangbusters, but models like the LTD, Caprice, LeSabre, and others were starting to favor four-door models.

While the initial downsized ’79 LTDs retained the previous trim levels of the final biggie 1975–78 models, starting in 1980 the top-of-the-line LTD Landau was renamed LTD Crown Victoria. It also lost the nifty illuminated C-pillar decor of the ’79. A shame.

And so it was in 1980 that the LTD Crown Victoria came—LTD and Country Squire wagons aside—in either a $7628 coupe or $7763 sedan (today that’s $28,083  and $28,580). Production was 21,962 four-doors and 7,725 two-doors. For 1981, the LTD Crown Victoria sold to the tune of 11,061 two-doors and 39,139 four-doors. Clearly the sedans were handily outselling the two-doors.

The easiest way to tell a 1981 LTD from a 1979–80 model is the front bumper. In 1979–80, there were slots in the bumper with matching grille pattern inserts. Starting in 1981, these were eliminated and the bumper was solid metal.

Starting in 1982, the blue oval Ford emblem was reintroduced, so the grille on LTDs lost the “FORD” capital letters in the grille header in favor of the new corporate logo on the grille pattern itself. So now you know how to positively ID a 1981 Ford LTD. You’re welcome.

The 1982 LTD Crown Victoria prices rose once again, thanks to early ’80s inflation that saw the price  of an LTD Crown Victoria two-door go from $7628 in 1980 to $9149 for a 1982 version.

Starting in 1983, all LTDs were renamed LTD Crown Victoria—not just the fanciest models—in order for the new smaller LTD to be introduced. This  smaller LTD was essentially a higher-trimmed, restyled Fairmont. At the time, it was intended that the full-size Fords would be retired, and these new smaller versions would ultimately replace them.

But then a funny thing happened: Around 1983–84, big-car sales started picking up again, so the Panther chassis LTDs were kept and actually outlived the midsize LTD, which disappeared after 1986, replaced by the all-new Taurus.

At any rate, the LTD Crown Victorias carried on throughout the ’80s, but with two-door sales continuing to dwindle. In 1987, the last year the Crown Victoria, two-doors (and corporate sibling Grand Marquis) were offered, and in ’88 the LTD Crown Victoria was given a new aero-styled facelift and only the sedan and wagon returned.

The old, standard Ford coupe and sedan, designated “Tudor” and “Fordor” decades before, had changed. The “Tudor” was gone, thanks to changing tastes. Fortunately, two-door lovers still had many choices in a Ford showroom in 1988: Escort, Tempo, Mustang, and Thunderbird were all still there waiting for you and your wallet. Not so much today, except for the Mustang … but I digress! Now, where was I?

I first spotted this nicely preserved ’81 LTD Crown Victoria at the weekly cruise-in held on the Davenport (Iowa) riverfront in June 2021. I was immediately smitten. I’ve seen a few 1979–87 two-doors at shows, but not many—and never one this nice. The owner and his wife were very nice too and opened up the doors and hood so I could get a closer look. At the time, it had about 73,500 original miles.

It was in excellent, largely original condition, with factory applied paint and pinstripes. I really liked the colors too. I’m not 100 percent sure, but I think the color is Dark Cordovan. The matching top and upholstery were just the icing on the cake. I don’t remember if it had the 255-cubic-inch V-8—the new standard engine for ’81 LTDs—or the optional 302 V-8 or 351 V-8.

I spotted the car at another cruise night a bit later that year, but I haven’t seen it since. I hope the owners are still enjoying it, as I sure enjoyed seeing it! While it’s not the official designation, I’ve always felt that LTD stood for, or should have stood for, Love To Drive. Friends of mine who have LTDs of this vintage largely agree.

Until next time folks, Brougham on, and always tip your bartender!

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Believe it or not, I’m easily distracted by bright, shiny objects. Especially when said object is rolling on four wheels. That can throw a wrench in how I plan my next column. For instance, I’ve been meaning to write about a gorgeous ’67 Ford LTD coupe for about three months now. I’ve started to, but I only got a couple paragraphs into it. There’s also a navy blue ’71 Vega Panel Wagon I took pictures of about 10 years ago at a cruise-in over Labor Day weekend; I still haven’t typed a word about it.

Similarly, I’ve been wanting to write up the star-crossed Cadillac Cimarron for at least five or six years. Believe it or not, I found a very nice one right here in my town back in 2015. One of these days, you’ll see it too.

And so it was on a recent weekend I had been planning for which car to write about, and I had narrowed it down to two or three choices from my photo files. And that all went out the window when I spied my ’61 Cadillac brochure while going through a desk drawer and was reminded of this absolutely fantastic 1961 Fleetwood Sixty Special.

This gorgeous conveyance was spied last June at the Cadillac LaSalle Club Grand National held in Lombard, Illinois (greater Chicagoland for you non-Midwesterners). I attended with my friend Jayson Coombes and local Cadillac pals Jim Smith, Ron Schweitzer, Lauren Schweitzer Cody, and Andrew Bobis, along with Jim Jordan from Oklahoma City, who arrived in a friend’s green 1957 Sixty Special. That’s another one I should write up. But wait, I can’t get distracted again today! Onward …

It got off to a rocky start that morning as I woke up to thunderstorms and pouring rain, but I called Jayson at his hotel and we decided we were driving up anyway. No turning back now! And luckily the rain mostly stopped by the time we arrived. Though about an hour later the storm started up again.

As is my luck in life, I was at the extreme far end of the show field, as far from the hotel as possible. After a mad dash for indoors, Jayson and I met up again with Jim, Nick Manole, Bill Buckingham, and Brian Wood, and we yakked about cars for a while until the rain stopped. Fortunately, this time it stopped for good and the sun came out.

So we all broke up and exited the hotel en masse to check out the various Broughamage on display. The exhibitors were all frantically drying off and polishing their cars. And so it was about an hour (and several hundred more pictures taken) later that Jayson and I were gawking at a marvelous pastel yellow ’61 Cadillac convertible when I saw this Fontana Rose 1961 Fleetwood approaching the show field. And as luck would have it, the lucky owner parked right next to the convertible we were standing by. I was ready with the camera, believe you me!

The 1959 Cadillacs get the lion’s share of attention, led by the flamboyantly unapologetic Eldorado Biarritz (possibly the gaudiest, most awesome Cadillac ever—but I really love the 1961–62 Cadillacs. And unlike the ’59s, you don’t see them as often.

As I’ve discussed in the past, the ’59 Cadillac was “Peak Fin.” Starting in 1960, the fins were just a little shorter, without the bullet-shaped taillights. The 1961 Cadillacs were totally redone, and again, the fins got just a little more discreet—though you still couldn’t miss them!

The 1961 Fleetwood Sixty Special, Model 61-60M and Body/Style 6039M in the Cadillac catalog, was now the finest “owner driven” Cadillac available at $6233 ($63,240 today) before options, the previous $13,000+ Eldorado Brougham four-door being discontinued after 1960. Of course, the Fleetwood Seventy-Fives were even more than the Sixty Special, but those were usually chauffeured. Prices on the limos was north of nine grand in 1961.

A total of 138,379 Cadillacs were built for the model year, and 15,500 of them were Fleetwood Sixty Specials. The Sixty Special had a curb weight of 4770 pounds and “achieved new luxury, spaciousness, and good taste, combined in a supreme expression of the stylist’s craft,” according to the 1961 Cadillac brochure.

The easiest way to spot a Fleetwood Sixty Special from other ’61 Cadillacs was the wide, formal C-pillar. Other Cadillac sedans had either the “six-window” roof with a very slim C-pillar or “four-window” roof with a distinctive wraparound rear window, as seen on the Series 62s and de Villes.

Inside, the interior was naturally fancier than the lesser (but still luxurious!) Cadillac models. Again referring to my brochure, “Interior fabrics include fine-textured Cambridge cloth in blue, sandalwood, or green with matching Florentine leather bolster trim; black Cambridge cloth with white Florentine leather bolster trim; gray, fawn, turquoise, or rose Crestwood cloth with matching bolsters; or gray or fawn broadcloth throughout.”

Our featured car has the Rose Crestwood cloth to match its Fontana Rose paint; it was simply wonderful. There were so many great cars at this show that I kept having to reassess which one was my favorite. And even now, I waffle back and forth among perhaps six or eight cars.

It was just a terrific show; the showgoers and car owners were all great; and both Jayson and I took way more pictures than strictly necessary.

No wait. I take that back. Taking a couple of thousand pictures of Cadillacs was strictly necessary, at least for me.

***

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As is frequently the case, my primary goal in writing these random scribblings is reintroducing cars to folks like you all. Sure, I’ve done Mustangs and Camaros and more, well, mainstream vintage motor vehicles, but I always—and frequently!—come back to my favorites. And those favorites are generally cars that you don’t see at shows or haven’t seen on the city streets and country highways in 30 years. Like today.

Cadillac. Once a purveyor of sumptuous, V-8-powered dreamboats like the 1967 Coupe de Ville, 1958 Eldorado Biarritz, and other grand, large-and-in-charge luxocruisers, today alternates between gonzo V-8 sedans like the CT5-V, huge SUVs like the popular Escalade, and more mainstream crossovers like the XT5. But the big sellers are those aforementioned crossovers. I prefer sedans. Apparently I am in the minority, sadly. But I miss the old days when you could walk into a Cadillac dealer and drive out in a brand new Sedan de Ville or Sixty Special. And when cars were cars! Coupes, sedans, convertibles.

Even in 1989, nary a crossover or 4×4 was to be seen in the fancy-schmancy, deluxe, 82-page Cadillac brochure. But you had a newly-redesigned and elongated Fleetwood, Coupe de Ville, and Sedan de Ville, the swoopy Allante convertible, and, of course, the Seville and Eldorado. None came with all-wheel drive, a roof rack, or step plates. Heaven forbid!

Cadillac spent most of the ’80s slimming down its cars. The Fleetwood and de Villes got it in 1985 (though introduced early in ’84), then the Seville and Eldorado shrunk—too much, by most accounts—in 1986. The Allante appeared in 1987 to enhance Cadillac’s luxury image with a two-seat convertible (and with removable hardtop, like the Mercedes-Benz 560SL). The Cimarron had been cancelled (and yes, I shall be writing up one of those someday), and Cadillac commercials and advertising included the memorable “Cadillac Style” series of commercials.

At the time, I was a nine-year-old kid, but I loved Cadillacs and Lincolns, and if I was waltzing through the living room on various missions and a Cadillac commercial was playing on TV, I always had to stop and watch until it ended. Yes, ladies and germs, I was Brougham-smitten even back then.

So I loved the Eldorado, even though between 1985 and ’86 it had drastically shrunk. While the newly downsized, newly front-wheel-drive de Villes and Fleetwoods (with the exception of the RWD Fleetwood Brougham/Brougham/Brougham d’Elegance, which retained its 1980-style body) sold very well, the 1986–87 Eldo and Seville saw a rapid decline in sales.

How so? In 1985, 74,101 coupes and 2300 Biarritz convertibles were sold. Now, granted, people knew the car was shrinking for ’86 and bought accordingly, but in 1986 sales were 21,342; all were coupes. Now, that’s a catastrophic drop by most anyone’s standards. I like them now, but even back then I thought, “Why did they make them so much smaller?” The following year was even  worse: only 17,775.

They weren’t really SO much smaller, but visually they looked pretty truncated compared to the very pretty 1979–85 Eldos. A 1985 Eldorado was 204.5 inches long with a 114-inch wheelbase, the ’86 was 188.2 inches long with a 108-inch span. Yes, that was a reduction by anyone’s standards, but the problem was the proportions were more skewed than the reductions reflected. It had a short little rear overhang, flush taillight lenses and the C-pillar was a whisper of the fat, regal sail panel on the earlier model. What to do?

Well, they couldn’t very well bring back the old model, so the decision was made for a quick and dirty stretch. The basic car remained, but the front fenders and hood were stretched, with a slight blade to the fender tips, and the taillights bumped out past the trunk panel, resulting in little finlets that also lengthened the car and gave it a more Cadillac look.

Even better, the rather (ahem) sedate 4.1-liter V-8 was redone and became the much more powerful, more robust 4.5-liter V-8. Sales rebounded to 33,210 for 1988. In 1989, the year of our featured example, a total of 20,633 Eldorados and 7174 Eldorado Biarritzes were sold.

Base price for an ’89 Eldo was $26,915. Power was 155 horsepower at 4000 rpm with 240 lb-ft of torque at 2800 rpm. As the brochure extolled, “The 1989 Eldorado is for those discerning individuals who insist on the finest in personal luxury coupes. Those who want bold, standout styling. Assertive 4.5 V-8 power. Four-wheel power disc brakes. Abundant personal amenities. And sophisticated technology.”

Back in 1999, I test drove a ruby red ’89 Eldorado with matching red leather, in nearly as nice condition as this Cotillion White example, and just loved it. Smooth, fast, plenty of get up and go.

I remember sunset was approaching and a little message appeared below the digital gauges: Headlamps Suggested. Yep, it was a smart car well before Mercedes introduced its two-seat mini-commuter. I loved the car, but I was a freshman in college and really, REALLY didn’t need a second car at the time. But I still remember that car fondly, 24 years later. It was really nice.

I spotted our featured car (the white one; the Rosewood one is owned by a Chicagoland friend, Frank Murphy, and was seen at the 2017 Shirey Cadillac show) at the local Cadillac dealer back in April 2021. I was immediately smitten. The car was in remarkably tidy original condition, with the rather seldom seen full vinyl roof, resplendent in Cotillion White with a red leather interior. Alas, it was not for sale, but was merely in for service. Well, it’s just as well; I’d have had to rent a garage to store it safety from the elements that she’d deserve.

In 1992, the Eldorado was totally restyled—and very pretty! But 1991 was the end for a lot of things on Eldorados that had been available for decades: factory vinyl roof, factory-available wire wheel covers, the Biarritz model with half-top, button-tufted upholstery, electroluminescent opera lamps, fender-mounted lamp monitors, and the like. A lot of people—most people—have forgotten these cars, but I have always and will always love them. They are wonderful to drive!

***

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For a brief period in 1976–77, Chevrolet tried to give its plushest compact a separate name from the perhaps more prosaic, basic Nova. It’s kind of ironic. Initially, the compact Chevrolet was dubbed Chevy II upon its introduction for the 1962 model year, with the Nova being the top-of-the-line version with more chrome, nicer seats, and more standard equipment. But within a few years, “Chevy II” was retired and “Nova” became the name for the basic version. So, when a new Broughamier version was added, the GM marketeers needed yet another model name.

I had a confusing experience with one of these in my youth. I rode my bike all the time, 90 percent of it within about an eight-block radius of my house (that included the disused black 1971 Lincoln Continental I previously have written about).

It was probably around 1990. There was an alley that ran behind our block, which included our house, the Ohlweilers next door, and the Kendalls at the end. I’d just hit the far end of the alley and saw a caramel-colored Concours parked on the next street. I think it had a beige top, pretty much the same as the one featured on the cover of the ’77 brochure.

I thought, “Nova,” of course, but as I slowed down (it was in super nice condition, and even then I had an appreciation for ’70s domestic rolling stock), I noticed it did not say Nova anywhere. On the side it said “Concours,” which I dimly recalled was the top Chevelle wagon in the early ’70s (thank my science teacher Mr. Spilker’s cache of vintage National Geographics for my remembering that obscure fact, even back then). And each wheel cover had a cursive letter “C.”

Out back—again, no Nova nomenclature. Instead, in a Cadillac-like cursive script on the right side of the trunk lid, it said, “Chevrolet Concours.” I was thoroughly confused! What was this, some obscure export version? It looked like a Nova. Same sheet metal, same glass, same size, same everything, perhaps rather more ornate and well-equipped than an average Nova, but really … what the heck?

It wasn’t until years later I found out it was just Chevrolet Motor Division trying to separate their fanciest compact with a different name. At some point I finally got a ’77 Concours brochure and immediately remembered the much more elaborate grille with a chrome header, the wider taillights, and, of course, that “Chevrolet Concours” script on the trunk lid.

I was reminded of that experience back in mid-February when I saw our featured car, a rather well-preserved example in Medium Green Metallic. It was for sale at Murphy Chevrolet, a dealership in Foley, Minnesota. It looked to be in nice shape, with the exception of a sunburned passenger-side fender. You don’t see these fancy versions often. But first, if you don’t mind a minor digression, the whole luxury compact Chevy started with the LN, a one-year only model.

When the Nova was redesigned in 1975 with a highly touted “European” look, with more upright styling and more glass area, the LN, or Luxury Nova, debuted with color-keyed wheel covers, plush seats, and a much lusher look than the usual utility-company-spec Novas hovering around in refrigerator white.

The Luxury Nova was available as a sedan and coupe. A LN coupe with the V-8 had a base price of $3857 ($21,639 today), while a plain-Jane Nova coupe with the six-cylinder engine started at $3280 ($18,402). An extra-frugal Nova S coupe was $3099 ($17,386).

After all was said and done, 1138 LN six coupes, 11,395 LN V-8 coupes, 1286 LN six sedans, and 8976 LN V-8 sedans were sold. Not terribly great, but let’s face it, around $700 more over a stripper Nova was a lot of money back then. If I had to guess, I imagine many folks took that $700 and moved up to a Malibu. But the LNs sure were pretty!

At any rate, in 1976 the luxury version was renamed Concours, but it retained the nicer interior, trim and appointments. This continued into the 1977 model year. As with the Novas, the Concours came in sedan, coupe, and hatchback versions.

GM went all out for 1977 in differentiating the Concours from the lesser Novas, as it was the only year it had its own showroom brochure. Yes, in 1977 if (like me) you routinely went to the local dealer to collect brochures, there was a 1977 Nova brochure and a separate 1977 Concours brochure, the only model year where that happened.

As the copy extolled: “This elegant compact, finely styled and engineered in the great road car fashion, is now even more luxurious … and in the continental manner, styling changes this year are subtle rather than extreme.”

“Concours also has very complete and elegant standard trim work. All three models include newly designed full wheel covers, wider bright-metal wheel-opening moldings, a stylish hood ornament, and distinctive identification. For 1977, nine of the 14 available colors and three of the seven vinyl roof color choices are new.”

It was all very nicely presented, and the extras the Concours sported were stylish in my opinion, but it just seemed like giving it a different nameplate didn’t work. It looked like a Nova. Because it was one, more or less. More chrome, more trim, more standard features, more wood-grained trim, yes, but still essentially a Nova—ornate grille and stand-up hood ornament notwithstanding.

And some wags who should know better will likely chime in right now to say the 1976–79 Seville was the same deal. Let’s not go there; I’ve covered the K-body Seville already.

When it was all said and done, with its own special brochure and everything, 5481 Concours hatchbacks, 28,602 Concours coupes, and 39,272 Concours sedans were sold for the model year. Sedans, like our featured green example, had a base price of $4066 ($21,569 today) with the inline six and $4186 ($22,205) with the V-8.

Chevrolet gave up, and most of what made up the Concours became the “Nova Custom” in 1978. It was nice but perhaps not quite as gilded as the ’77 Concours but retained the snootier grille and wider taillights. Sales didn’t improve however, as 23,953 Custom coupes and 26,475 Custom sedans (sixes and V-8s included) were sold. Seems like most folks just preferred the garden-variety Novas!

***

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Today’s question for all of you fine folks: What year was Peak Cadillac? What was the best possible year for the highest quality, most beautiful, most powerful version of GM’s storied top-of-the-line marque? Depending on the day, I might say 1962, 1968, or 1970. But today, I’m making the case for 1966. That year, Cadillacs—from most basic Calais to the top-of-the-line Fleetwood Brougham and Eldorado convertible—were swank, classy, and elegant. Any country club, fine hotel, or upper-tier department store would have been happy to have one parked right in front of their establishment.

Perhaps my affection for 1966 Cadillacs was reinforced because around the time I saw this most excellent example, I had recently gone out to the local theater and saw Once Upon a Time in Hollywood. I highly enjoyed it. Naturally, all the car spotting was a substantial part of my pleasure, and the “hero car,” driven by Brad Pitt through much of the movie, was a 1966 Cadillac Coupe de Ville.

Through pure good luck, or just decent odds due to all the car shows I attend, I saw a most excellent ’66 Coupe de Ville a mere week prior to screening the film. I’ve always loved Cadillacs, Lincolns, and Imperials. And although I drive Lincolns, I equally love seeing Cadillacs, especially the classic 1960s models.

There I was, wandering around with my Uncle Dave at the monthly cruise-in held by the local Classy Chassy (yes, that’s how they spell it) Car Club at Coral Ridge Mall in Coralville, Iowa. I’d just finished checking out a very nice 1972 Pontiac LeMans coupe when it appeared out of the ether—or just one of the mall entrances.

“Holy cow! That’s a nice ’66!” I stammered, hurriedly abandoning my uncle and my cousin Sara’s husband to chase after the Caddy. Yes, cars like this have that effect on me.

Ever notice the preponderance of red muscle cars, pony cars, and hot rods? I see so many. And I’m sure their owners love them, enjoy them, and never regret for one second getting them. But oh, how I love the offbeat stuff. I’ll march past a row of Mustangs and Camaros to gawk at an AMC Pacer Limited wagon, a 1977 Malibu Classic, or a 1979 Bonneville.

Stuff that was once commonplace in 1968 or 1978 or 1991 is now rare, unusual, and interesting. And if it’s a Chris-Craft-sized road vessel from the good ol’ United States, forget everything else, I’m checking it out immediately!

Now, where was I? Oh, yes. The cover of the 1966 Cadillac showroom brochure had the tagline “New elegance … new excellence … new excitement.” And so it was.

Cadillac had been all-new in 1965, so the 1966 models were not drastically different. But to my eye, all the minor details and refinements made for an even more beautiful car.

The ’66s were introduced on October 14, 1965. Color-keyed bezels replaced all-chrome units, there was a new grille and parking lamps, plus a revised tail treatment as well. New wheel covers, new colors and upholsteries, and even more refined trim and details rounded out all that was new this year. Heated seats and vario-ratio power steering appeared for the first time.

Series 683, better known as the de Ville series, was offered in four body styles: The Sedan de Ville, Hardtop Sedan de Ville, convertible, and the unforgettable Coupe de Ville. Really, is there a better car name than Coupe de Ville? Well, Imperial and Continental are contenders too, but I love the name of Cadillac’s luxury two-door hardtop.

The 1966 Coupe de Ville, model #66-683, weighed in at a princely 4460 pounds and had a base price of $5339 ($49,738 today). A total of 50,580 were built for the year. This was no small amount. But when you bought a Cadillac, you GOT a Cadillac, and all that the name implied: Comfort, prestige, class, and luxury, naturally.

For comparison’s sake, that same year you could have picked up a new 1966 Chevrolet Caprice two-door hardtop for $3000 ($27,948) or a Buick Electra 225 Custom two-door hardtop for $4211 ($39,229). But in 1966, Cadillac was king of the domestic luxury cars.

Sure, the Continental and Imperial were equally nice, luxurious conveyances, but Cadillac stood head and shoulders above them when it came to total sales. When you had a Cadillac, in 1966 America, you truly had arrived.

The Coupe de Ville, like all Cadillacs, was powered by a V-8. In 1966, it was a 429-cubic-inch bent eight with overhead valves and 4.13 x 4.0 bore and stroke, producing 340 horsepower at 4600 rpm. Breathing was accomplished via a Carter Model 3903S four-barrel carburetor.

It was backed up by the creamy smooth Turbo Hydra-Matic automatic transmission, with torque converter and a variable stator—though Seventy-Fives didn’t get that last feature, according to my 1966 brochure. Other major standard equipment on all Cadillacs included power brakes, power steering, and a heater/defroster. Automatic level control was standard on Eldorado, Sixty Special, Brougham, and all Seventy-Five models.

And you will be relieved to know all 1966 Cadillacs came with whitewall tires as standard equipment. Even the spare tire was a whitewall—a nice touch of class.

Coupe de Villes, naturally, were truly full-sized automobiles. Wheelbase was 129.5 inches, and overall length was an impressive 224.2 inches. With the sleek, squared-off styling that all 1966 Cadillacs displayed, they looked even longer than they actually were.

And of course, even if you bought a totally standard, zero-option Coupe de Ville, you still had a marvelous conveyance. If you wanted more (and many did—after all, it’s a Cadillac!), many optional extras were available if your wallet could handle it. For those folks of a certain age, some of these options may seem odd, considering you can get a 2019 Fusion or Malibu with them fitted as standard, but it was a different time.

How so? Well, here’s just a sampling of 1966 Cadillac factory options. Air conditioning was a substantial $624, or more than 10 percent of the base price of a 1966 Coupe de Ville. Other popular options included cruise control for $97, tinted glass for $52, leather trim for $151, and an AM/FM radio for $191. The previously-mentioned heated front seat retailed for $60.20, and bucket seats with center console (with mandatory leather trim) were $188.

But for those folks splurging on a brand new Cadillac, such finery was expected, and buyers happily added whatever they wanted. And they drove out of the dealership happy, with zero regrets.

Our featured car was resplendent in Antique Gold, with cloth and leather interior trim in gold and white. It was a stunning example. As gorgeous in 2019 as it must have been sitting in the showroom in Autumn of 1965. As Cadillac advertising 20 years later often said, “Best of all … it’s a Cadillac.” And was 1966 Peak Cadillac? Perhaps. It’s certainly a contender!

***

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Wouldn’t you really rather have a Buick? That was the slogan for years for the one-rung-below-Cadillac marque. And Buicks used to be everywhere … when Buick still made cars, that is, back in the last century. It seems everyone has to have an SUV these days.

Buick

Picture it. It’s 1987. You walk into your local Buick dealer and you’re spoiled for choice. There’s the subcompact Skyhawk (the Cadillac version, the Cimarron, gets way more internet hatred than it deserves, yet never a peep about the Buick and Olds versions. Strange) … and the compact four-door Skylark … and the two-door version, initially dubbed Somerset. The two-door would finally become a Skylark too, for the ’88 model year.

Big, comfy, and recently downsized front-wheel-drive LeSabres and Electras, along with the majestic, gigantic wood-paneled Estate Wagon (a key plot point in one of my favorite ’80s movies, Adventures in Babysitting), and today’s subject, the front-wheel-drive, midsize Century.

The Century, the new A-body starting in 1982, replaced the earlier 1978-vintage A-bodies: the rear-wheel-drive Century, Cutlass, LeMans, and Malibu Classic. These new FWD A-bodies themselves were an enlarged and improved X-body (you know, the Chevy Citation—another ’80s car that most love to hate). The initial offerings were the Chevy Celebrity, Pontiac 6000, Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera, and the Buick Century.

I need to be careful; if I get too deep into A-body history, we’ll be here all day! But, as usual, the Buick was the fanciest version. And the Limited was the fanciest Century model. The coupe and sedan were available from the beginning, and the station wagon was added for the 1984 model year. A redesign for 1986 resulted in a new forward-leaning nose; for 1987, things more or less stood pat.

The 1987 Century came, as usual, as a coupe, sedan, or wagon, in Custom and Limited trim. I remember seeing a lot of these when I was a kid. I recall a first- or second-grade field trip to Eagle Supermarket, and my friend Brian Macomber’s mom had a burgundy ’84 or ’85 Limited sedan with decadent burgundy velour seats. A few years later they traded it for a GMC Safari minivan. I kept it to myself, but considered it a downgrade. Not Broughamy enough.

But back then the volume seller of the Century line was the four-door sedan. No combovers—oops, I mean crossovers. Most popular was the Custom four-door sedan, with 80,445 built. Second-most popular was the Limited sedan, to the tune of 71,340 sold.

The biggest draw for spiffing the Limited was the lush interior. As the brochure said, “The Limited’s 55/45 notchback seats are covered by luxurious velour, and its 45/45 seats are available with cloth or leather trim in the seating areas. New shale-gray dash and door trim appears on 1987 Century Coupes, and brushed pewter trim is used on Sedan models.”

Today’s subject is one of 4384 Century Limited coupes built for the year. MSRP was $11,397 ($30,282 today). The coupes are the scarcest Centurys; the $10,844 Custom coupe sold even fewer copies, 2878. This one appears to be exceptionally nice, in Dark Blue, code 31, with matching interior and top. At the time, early in 2022, it was for sale on Craigslist in Colonial Heights, Virginia, though (of course) the ad is long gone now.

As the then-seller related, “I have for sale a real time capsule. 1987 Buick Century Limited Coupe. Undercoated by the selling dealer in 1987. Zero rust. I have never seen another 1987 Buick Century Coupe! They are all four-door sedans or station wagons. 46,500 actual miles documented on the Clean CARFAX, as well as the clean Virginia title.

“No damage ever. Power Steering, Power Brakes, Tilt Steering Wheel, Power Door Locks, Power Windows, Cruise Control, AM/FM/Cassette Player with Automatic up and down Antenna. New Virginia State Police Safety Inspection Sticker. The car is extremely clean inside, outside and underneath. All of the options work as new. All of the outside and inside lights work as new. All of the gauges work as new.”

This one also has the optional 2.8-liter V-6 engine, a step up from the “Tech IV” four-cylinder that was standard equipment on Century models. All Centurys had a standard automatic transmission, however, regardless of engine choice.

I really liked this one. I don’t recall seeing many Century coupes back then, and in looking up the production records for this column, I now see why. Hopefully it found a caring new owner and is still in showroom condition somewhere!

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Nineteen-seventy was a good year for Buick. It built 459,931 cars for the calendar year and 666,501 for the model year. Buick had any number of gorgeous showroom attractants, such as the Gran Sport, over-the-top GSX, luxurious Electra 225, and Riviera, and both two- and three-seat woody Estate Wagon for aspiring Clark Griswolds. And even the bread-and-butter LeSabre was eye-catching. Especially the convertible.

While the least-expensive Buick was the intermediate Skylark, the LeSabre remained Buick’s lowest-cost, full-size automobile. But that didn’t mean it was dull or cheap. It was still a Buick, after all, not a taxi-spec Chevy Biscayne.

As the 1970 Buick brochure advised, “Did you know you’ll probably spend 600 hours or more behind the wheel of your car this year? Don’t you think you should enjoy every minute? You can. That’s the case for the 1970 Buick LeSabre.”

There were three tiers of LeSabres this year: basic LeSabre, LeSabre Custom, and Custom 455. The Custom was the flossier variant and added bright wheel opening moldings, lower body moldings, the expected Custom badging on the flanks, and plusher interior upholstery and door panels. The Custom 455 was largely the same as the “regular” custom, but the standard 260-horsepower Buick 350 V-8 was replaced with the big-block, 370-hp 455 V-8 instead.

The LeSabre Custom was the lowest-priced, full-size Buick drop top that year, with a base price of $3700 (about $28,688 today). It had a curb weight of 3947 pounds, and 2487 were produced. Like all ’70 LeSabres, it was similar to the redesigned 1969 model, but was facelifted front and rear, with more squared up nose and tail, as well as the expected seat and door panel style changes from model to model.

The Wildcat (in its final year) also offered a convertible, or if you had money to burn, you could go whole-hog and spring for the Electra 225 convertible, also in its final year of availability.

LeSabre Custom convertibles featured all-vinyl seating in a choice of blue, saddle, black, or red, as seen on our featured example. Overall length was 220.2 inches, wheelbase 124 inches, and width 80 inches. Just for a fun comparison, today’s new Buick Enclave is 204.8 inches long and has a 120.9-inch wheelbase.

The aforementioned standard 260-hp Buick V-8 also had 360 lb-ft of torque and breathed through a two-barrel carburetor. However, a four-barrel 350 with 285 horses was optionally available, as well as a high-compression (10.25 compared to 9.0) four-barrel 350 with 315 horsepower.

This was the final year for this body, as 1971 would usher in a complete restyling, with the cars even larger than before. The LeSabre would carry on, but the Wildcat would be gone, replaced in the line with the Centurion model to bridge the gap between LeSabre and Electra. The LeSabre itself would last all the way to 2005 before finally being retired, albeit only as a four-door sedan. The final LeSabre convertible appeared in 1975.

This car was spotted by me and my friend Jayson Coombes at the BCA Nationals held in Lisle, Illinois, last June. It was a great event, and the CLC Grand National meet was just a few miles away at the Westin in Lombard. It was a full day for gawking at classic Buicks and Cadillacs!

I’ve already written up the ’58 Roadmaster 75 Riviera sedan I saw at this show, and there will be other attendees featured as well. There were so many nice cars. But I especially loved this Fire Red (paint code 2189) LeSabre Custom convertible, particularly with its matching red interior and white top!

If you will permit me one final indulgence, I wrote this column on the 26th anniversary of my kidney transplant. I’d just like to say I’m grateful for every day, and I appreciate readers like you. Make every day count!

***

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I’ve already extolled rampantly about the original 1976–79 Cadillac Seville. It was a game-changer, for both Cadillac and GM, helped Cadillac expand into new customer bases, and sold well during its four years on the market. But by 1979 it was time for a new design. Yes folks, today we’re going to be discussing the star-crossed, polarizing, “bustle back” 1980–85 Seville! That’s right. Hold onto your hats!

Cadillac almost always had far more models than cross-town rival, Lincoln. The Seville usually was thought to compete with the Lincoln Versailles (despite its family car origins) and later on, the Fox-bodied Continental, which was also conveniently bustle-backed to avoid confusion. As you would expect, this was not a cheap car in 1984. The factory base price was $22,468 (about $65K in today’s money). It weighed in at 3844 pounds, and 39,997 were built for the model year. The Elegante package, which included two-tone paint, 40/40 divided front seat, leather-wrapped steering wheel, and plush seats with an integrated center console, was an extra $3879 ($11,232) over the base price. By 1984, this generation was in its next to last year and had been on the market for five.

While that price was a lot of money that year, it still wasn’t the most expensive Cadillac. The Eldorado convertible was $31,286 ($90,588) and the Fleetwood 75 limo went for $30,454 ($88,179) while the formal limo (a glass divider between the front and rear compartments was the primary difference between the two limos) went for $31,512 ($91,242).

And while I’m delving into my Cadillac facts and figures, the cheapest Cadillac that year was—as you might suspect—the Cimarron, which had a base price of $12,614 ($36,524). But that’s a car to discuss some other time. Don’t worry, I’ll get to it one of these days!

Starting in 1980, the Seville now shared its chassis with the E-body Cadillac Eldorado, Oldsmobile Toronado, and Buick Riviera. The only four-door E body GM car, it had a 114-inch wheelbase and overall length of 204.8 inches. The GM personal-lux cars had been downsized and completely redesigned in 1979. Like the Seville, they would all last through the 1985 model year with only minor changes. There had been some preliminary designs for the new-for-’80 Seville that looked much like a four-door 1979 Eldorado, but outgoing GM VP of Design Bill Mitchell, who adored neoclassic touches and owned several classic cars, insisted the neo-Hooper coachbuilt look be utilized. The result was this car.

The 368-cubic-inch Cadillac V-8 was standard in 1980–81, but starting in 1982 it was replaced with the smaller (um, leisurely?) HT4100 V-8. The 5.7-liter diesel was standard at first and later on became a no-cost option. As you might suspect, I really like these cars, because—Brougham. That said, I don’t think it was the right direction for the Seville to take. The original 1976 Seville was in a class of its own: a smaller, more maneuverable, more fun to drive Cadillac with styling closer to the European sedans, which were finding so much favor at the time.

Imagine the surprise: 1980 rolls around and the Seville is no longer a light, relatively nimble class-of-its-own luxury car (I know, I know, it wasn’t a sports car, but it was compared to, say, a Fleetwood Talisman). Instead, it went full-on baroque with rampant Broughamage. Sure, I like them, but it’s a stretch to claim they had youthful appeal.

The preferred upwardly-mobile, upper-middle-class cars in 1984 were rides like the BMW 3-Series, Audi 4000, Mercedes 190E, Saab 900, and Volvo GL. Maybe a Toyota Cressida or Accord LX, or Cutlass Supreme, Thunderbird, or Cougar. I should know; my parents drove Volvo 240s during this time period, one uncle had a white Subaru wagon, and my older uncle had a Suburban. Sure, the Seville was more expensive than all of those, but while the 280E owner might have lusted for a 450SEL, he probably wasn’t drooling over Sevilles and Continentals. The only people I knew back then who had a Cadillac were the Hesemans, who went to our church and drove a black 1983 or ’84 Sedan de Ville. They were in their late 50s at the time.

You know the old chestnut about selling a young man’s car to an old man, but not an old man’s car to a young one. I may have bought two Town Cars in my 30s, but I’m a loose cannon! So this generation of Seville sold 39,344 in its first year, dipped down to 19,998 in 1982, rose to 30,430 in 1983, and then hovered around 40,000 in 1984–85 before being put out to pasture for an even more downsized 1986 Seville. Which did not have a bustle back.

Instead of being something your wealthy younger aunt and uncle might take to the tennis club (or so Cadillac sincerely hoped, from period advertising), it looked more like something Smithers would drive Mr. Burns to the nuclear plant in.

As one of Cadillac’s top-of-the-line cars, there were only a few optional extras and some big-ticket extras, including the power-glass Astroroof ($1225), Delco-GM/Bose sound system ($895), and a digital instrument cluster ($238).

The floating-pillow seating shown on today’s gorgeous example, an ’84 in Cameo Ivory, was new for 1984 and replaced the vertically-pleated seats seen in 1980–83 models. While this was the “d’Elegance” style that was seen on Fleetwood Brougham d’Elegance and Eldorado Biarritz models, it was not optional on Sevilles. The higher-priced Seville Elegante had a more elegant, less-busy “tucked-in” sew style.

Funny thing about this car. I first spotted it back in 2016. As I was seeking the pictures for this column, I tried to remember if this was a 1984 or an ’85. There are virtually no changes between the years, so the only really true way to tell is the VIN.

So, I texted my friend Jayson Coombes and asked him if there was any definitive way to tell one year from the other, because I’m OCD about getting the details right. As it turns out, my favorite Cadillac color, Cameo Ivory, was last available on bustle-back Sevilles in 1984. In ’85, a very similar but different yellow, called Chamois, was the only option for Sevilles, though you could still get a front-wheel-drive Sedan de Ville, Coupe de Ville, or Fleetwood in Cameo Ivory.

I revisited my pictures, and Jason and I both agreed it looked like Cameo Ivory, as Chamois is slightly darker with a bit more tan in it. And the light yellow leather was also changed to Chamois in 1985, which again, has an ever-so-slightly less-yellow hue to it. More of a saddle tan than a yellow. As Jason said, “If you’re sure it’s Cameo Ivory it’s a 1984. So if it looks more pale go with ’84. The Chamois had a little more red in it for lack of a better description.” So I may still be wrong and this is an ’85, but I believe it’s Cameo Ivory. That’s what happens when six years pass between photographing a car and finally writing a column about it!

As for the 1980–85 Seville itself? All in all, it was probably a step in the wrong direction. But Bill Mitchell ran GM Design, and even though he was retiring, he meant to have this car go into production, and so it did. But it was a love-it or hate-it proposition, and it just seems like more people hated them than loved them. The 4.1-liter “High Technology” aluminum V-8 added in ’82 likely didn’t help. But I’ll always have a soft spot to them, because they were new when I was young, and I had both the Hot Wheels and Pocket Cars toy versions! Let the haters hate. Buy one and enjoy it. You’ll be the only one at the cruise night!

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The first-generation Monte Carlo was Chevrolet Division’s answer to the 1969 Pontiac Grand Prix, which moved from a full-sized personal-lux coupe to a midsize in 1969, albeit with accompanying pool table-sized hood. It was immediately successful and, although based on the Chevelle coupe, was differentiated with its own alligator hood and riding upon the 116-inch Chevelle sedan wheelbase.

Yes, personal luxury was on the way, even as the final fire-breathing muscle cars appeared in showrooms across the land. But in a few short years, the midsize luxury coupes from GM were going to take over. By 1978 safety and fuel economy standards—along with changing tastes—resulted in an all-new Monte Carlo.

It was a smaller Monte Carlo, following in the footsteps of the full-size GM cars that had shrunk in 1977. As had been oft-told, GM realized sometime in the early ’70s that its full-sized cars were getting too big, and the decision was made to make the next round of new cars smaller. Thanks to CAFE, two fuel crises, and the lead time involved in rolling out an all-new automobile, the ’77 Caprice Classics and Impalas hit just as people were getting tired of parking and fueling their Nimitz-class cruisers. And in ’78, it was the midsize cars’ turn.

All the A-body cars, from LeMans to Century to Malibu, shrunk appropriately. In 1977, the Colonnade midsizers were actually about the same size as the brand-new full size cars, though the big cars had more interior room and trunk space. But order was restored for 1978. And as the A-Special cars— Monte Carlo, Grand Prix, Cutlass Supreme, and Regal—were cash cows, many of the Colonnade styling cues were retained on the new, smaller coupes.

There was no questioning it was smaller. Gone were the long, long hood and front fenders, though the neoclassical fender blisters remained as a nod to the ’73–77 Monte Carlo. The stacked quad headlamps were gone, replaced with dual rectangular units. The formal grille remained, but with a tight grid pattern. And the taillights went from vertical to horizontal.

Interiors were still plush, especially in red velour! Bucket seats and a console were also available, along with the expected power windows, power door locks, power trunk, and power Skyroof. Production was good, with 216,730 Sport Coupes and 141,461 upper-crust Landaus built for the model year, though that was down from the 411,000 Monte Carlos built the year before.

The first noticeable thing about the 1978 Monte Carlos were their reduced size, naturally. They were a foot shorter, 800 pounds lighter, and sported a V-6 for the first time ever; all 1970–77 Monte Carlos came out of the factory with a V-8. Standard engine was a 231-cubic-inch V-6, with a 305-cu-in V-8 optional.

The Landau, top-of-the-line Monte Carlo since 1973, added an Elk-grain landau vinyl roof, pinstriping, power steering, power brakes, deluxe wheel covers, broader chrome sill moldings, and color-keyed sport mirrors, among other extras.

A T-top was optional if you wanted even more sky than the power sunroof offered. And, of course, there were the expected stereo options, including a cassette tape player, 8-track player, or AM/FM unit with an integrated citizens’ band radio.

The cheapest ’78 Monte was the V-6 Sport Coupe at $4785 ($22,079 today); top dog was the V-8 Landau, for $5828 ($26,891). Of course, with all the optional extras, that could be pushed much higher when A/C, cruise control, sun roof, and other items were added to the total.

And the two-model Monte Carlo line, with 358,191 total ’78 sales, very nearly outsold the also all-new Malibu line, which included coupes, sedans, and station wagons. How close was it? Very—358,636 base Malibus, Malibu Classics, and Malibu Classic Landaus were built. Yes, coupes were still king in 1978. Especially personal luxury coupes. This basic body style carried on through 1980 with only minor facelifts, though the ’80 got a new quad-headlamp fascia. In 1981, all the GM midsize personal-lux coupes would get new sheet metal, though they still rode the 1978 chassis.

I spotted this showroom-condition example locally in October 2012 while running errands. I was agog at how nice it was and immediately had to park and check it out. It’s always nice to see a clean, original car like this with such a caring owner. It really shows.

As for the Monte Carlo itself, the ’81 style lasted to 1988, then disappeared from the Chevrolet line. It returned in 1995 as a two-door version of the redesigned Lumina sedan. In 2000, it was redesigned along with the Lumina sedan (newly renamed Impala) and lasted to 2006. The storied name is unlikely to make a reappearance in today’s truck-, SUV-, and crossover-obsessed car market, but the vintage ones will always be around, whether at a car cruise, car show, or just being driven and spotted my an admirer on a nice autumn day.

Oh, and for folks who share my love of cars like these, Johnny Lightning recently (October 2022) released a ’78 Landau in 1/64 scale … in the exact same color combo! Of course, I bought one.

***

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As a fan of 1970s Broughams, woody station wagons, and personal luxury coupes, I’ve always loved the Chrysler Cordoba. For anyone who grew up in the ’70s, the Cordoba commercials starring Ricardo Montalban were unforgettable. And the cars sold. In 1975, the “Small Chrysler” was practically the lone bright spot at Chrysler Corporation. So successful was the Cordoba, its corporate sibling—the Dodge Charger SE—has been all but eclipsed.

Prior to 1975, the Charger SE was the Broughamed-out version of the Coke-bottle-styled 1971–74 Chargers. Starting in 1973, it featured a canopy-style landau top with triple opera windows and usually sported the de rigueur wire wheel covers and whitewall tires. Such ornate trim on what was a fairly sporty-looking body was kind of jarring, but for ’75, formal styling would finally catch up with all the chromed gingerbread.

According to an article published in 1995 in Collectible Automobile, what would become the Cordoba was originally designed as a personal luxury Plymouth. But at the 11th hour, management decided it would sell better as a Chrysler. And so it did. Meant to compete with GM’s Monte Carlo, Grand Prix, and Regal, along with the Ford Elite and Mercury Cougar, the Cordoba’s upper-crust Chrysler nameplate led to most everyone remembering the commercials, and the car’s “fine Corinthian leather.”

Lost in the Cordoba’s marketing frenzy, however, was the Dodge Charger Special Edition, or SE. Based, like the Cordoba, on the midsize B-body chassis, it was the lone Charger in the lineup that year, while in 1974 there had been several different models: base coupe, base hardtop, Rallye, and the top-of-the-line SE.

But with Cordoba fever starting to accelerate, I imagine many Dodge dealers were happy to have the SE. Starting at $4903 ($29,920 today), a total of 30,812 were sold by U.S. Dodge dealers.  But that was a spit in the ocean compared to the Chrysler version.

The 1975 Cordobas, with a base price of $5581 ($31,208) sold 150,105 units. (Corinthian leather was optional, naturally.) Holy cow! Despite the SE being over $600 cheaper and almost identical save the grille, taillights, badging, and some other minor trim bits, the Cordoba completely clotheslined it, sales wise. Was it the Chrysler nameplate’s cachet, or the power of the Cordoba’s marketing blitz? Maybe a little of both.

By 1976, the year of our featured car, Charger SEs had a base price of $4763 ($25,183), weighed in at 3945 pounds, and came with a standard 115-horsepower, 318-cubic-inch V-8. The price was down a little, as some previously standard equipment became optional. If you wanted more oomph than the 318 could provide, optional 360 and 400 V-8s were available.

Also new in 1976, there were two different Chargers. The former 1975 Coronet two-door hardtop was now redubbed “Charger,” with a fancier “Charger Sport” version, though both were cheaper than the SE, which remained top dog.

Standard features on ’76 SEs included bucket seats, shag carpeting, power steering, automatic transmission, and a deluxe sound package. Also standard (this was a personal luxury car, after all) were power front disc brakes, dual horns, electronic ignition, bumper guards, and a heater/defroster.

An optional package for the SE was the “Charger Daytona.” It included two-tone paint, black grille, color-keyed tape stripes, sport mirrors, and steel-belted whitewall tires. A “Tuff” steering wheel—a remnant of the fire-breathing Chargers, Challengers, and Super Bees of just a few years prior—was still available, as well.

Sales for ’76 SEs was up, to the tune of 42,168 units. Cordoba production was down some from 1975, but it still handily outsold the Charger, with over 120,000 leaving dealerships. And so it went, with the Chrysler version selling better pretty much every year.

The Charger SE last appeared for a short 1978 model year; later that year the Magnum XE replaced it, with a more blunt nose and flares added to the front and rear fenders. It would survive through 1979.

As for the Cordoba, it got a complete redesign for 1980, while the Dodge version of the new car became the Mirada. Both would last through 1983, when Lee Iacocca decided to bet the farm on K-cars and minivans, and the final personal luxury coupes, along with the Imperial, were unceremoniously axed.

Yes, these were pretty much eclipsed by the Cordoba and its ad campaign. Though I do remember in high school, circa 1995, someone had one—gold with a black landau top and tan interior. But the lower rockers had kind of a zig-zag two-tone with flat black paint, and it was jacked up in the back with fat tires and wheels.

Of course, since far fewer Charger SEs were built than Cordobas, they are even harder to find today. Which is why I got so excited when I saw this metallic blue one back in December 2019. Although weathered, it appeared to be a largely original car, with the correct SE wheel covers, bucket seats and triple pinstripes outlining the wheel openings, hood, and trunk. It was great to see one after so long!

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If you’ve been following my posts here the last few years, you know that I’ll occasionally throw in a BMW 2800CS or a Porsche 356 or Vega every now and then, but I always, always come back to the 1970s American land yachts I love so dearly. While many in the ’70s were disdaining how massive and fuel-guzzling the new Cadillacs, Lincolns, and Imperials were getting, I see them as their marketeers likely saw them: sumptuous, mind-bogglingly roomy, and totally awesome.

The American favoritism towards long, low, and wide was still alive and well when the 1974 Cadillacs debuted in Cadillac showrooms on September 16, 1973. The usual assortment of Caddys, naturally all full size, included the base model Calais two-door coupe and four-door sedan, flossier Coupe and Sedan de Villes, top-of-the-line “owner driven” Fleetwood Brougham (with d’Elegance and Talisman packages available for even more blatant Broughamage), the swank personal-lux Eldorado coupe and convertible, and last but most certainly not least, the Series 75 Sedan and Limousine, the only factory-built limousines in production.

But while the extra-fancy models got all the glory, it was really the Coupe de Ville and Sedan de Ville that kept Cadillac in gravy. Fancier than the rather-plain Calais series, but less expensive (please don’t call them cheap) than the Fleetwoods and Eldorados, the de Villes were “just right” for many luxury car buyers.

In 1974, Cadillacs were mildly but still noticeably restyled, incorporating the new 5-mph rear bumper that was required on all new ’74s sold in the U.S. Inside, a new instrument panel was prominent, with the expected new colors and fabrics. There was no beige or dark gray, only color choices. No sirree, Bob! Want green, blue, red, white, or amber (as shown here)? No problem!

One cool feature, at least to me, was that all 1974 Caddys had a brushed-metal, silver-hued gauge cluster. It was a one-year-only feature, though later Buicks had them several years in a row. I always liked that.

One thing the new 5-mph rear bumpers did was make Cadillacs look even longer, not that the ’73s were skimpy. The 1974 Sedan de Ville was 230.7 inches long, with a 130-inch wheelbase. Curb weight was 5032 pounds.

As the middle-tier Cadillac, these were pricey but not too bank busting—for a Caddy, anyway. The ’74 Sedan de Ville had a base price of $8100 ($48,083 today), and 60,419 were produced for the model year. Its sibling, the Coupe de Ville, was far more popular, as coupes ruled the roost for the most part in the ’70s. A total of 112,201 Coupe de Villes were made and were slightly less expensive at $7867 ($46,700) a pop.

Of course, that was before options were added. Cadillacs came well equipped, but as you’d expect there was a long list of extras for people so inclined. As a Cadillac, however, there were plenty of standard features, including Dual Comfort front seats, digital clock, cornering lamps, power windows, simulated distressed pecan wood-grain vinyl trim in interiors, variable ratio power steering, Turbo Hydra-Matic automatic transmission, and the 472-cubic-inch Cadillac V-8, which in ’74 produced 205 horsepower at 4,000 rpm and breathed through a four-barrel carburetor.

But what about extras? Gadgets, gizmos, and the like? Oh, there were plenty. As the brochure extolled, “Cadillac offers an inviting array of luxury features, equipment, and accessories you can order to individualize the Cadillac of your choice …”

Things like a stereo radio with built-in 8-track player, an electric sunroof, turbine-vaned wheel discs, Twilight Sentinel, tilt/telescope steering wheel and Track Master, an early version of skid-controlled braking. If that wasn’t enough, you could get the expected leather interior (standard only on the Eldorado Convertible), a heavy-duty trailering package, Firemist paint, lamp monitors, and a security system.

I could go on about how the gas crisis in late 1973 brought a sudden shift in the minds of a lot of people to go smaller and was responsible for Cadillac’s resulting shrinkage for 1977. But I really dislike jumping on the oil crisis schtick and loathe the “Malaise” terms bandied about by bloggers who should know better. But suffice it to say that Cadillac sales did take a hit.

While 1973 sales tallied up to 267,787, the ’74 results were assuredly lower, to the tune of 242,330 Cadillacs built for model year. Not necessarily devastating, but a downward trend is a downward trend. But after a recession in ’75, the national economy bounced back and GM made a lot of hay in 1976 with everything from the Impala taxicab-grade sedans all the way to the vaunted “last convertible” 1976 Eldorado.

I spotted this remarkably nice example at the annual Trains, Planes, and Automobiles car show in historic downtown Geneseo, Illinois, in September 2016—just a stone’s throw from my favorite restaurant wihin a 50-mile radius, The Cellar. It’s always a terrific show and brings a ton of people into the small town to gawk at the classics.

There was some debate as to the color of this car. Cadillac had a vast assortment of wonderful colors in 1974, and there were no less than THREE orange hues available: Mandarin Orange, Andes Copper, and Victorian Amber Firemist. After some debate on Facebook at the time, I posted this car on my page, and Brougham guru and pal Dave Smith confirmed it was Victorian Amber Firemist.

The Cadillac Firemist colors were extra sparkly and really nice, so nice that if you selected a Firemist color for your new 1974 Cadillac, it ran you an extra $132 on the bottom line. But what the heck! Life is short, youth is fleeting, and you might as well get exactly what you want, am I right?

This car was just like new, and I loved the Mardi Gras striped velour interior. It’s soooo 1974. And so much more lush and impressive than many alleged luxury cars in 2023.

Manufacturers take note: Not everyone thinks black leather is the bee’s knees. Injecting some color into your life can be most beneficial. And whoever ordered this ’74 SDV definitely took that into account. As the ’74 Cadillac brochure said of the Sedan de Ville, it was “a perennial favorite.”

***

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I can hear it now: “Klockau, we get it, we know you like Broughams, but a Pinto? Come on!” It’s OK, I haven’t gone off my rocker, but some of these first subcompacts from Ford, particularly the Squire wagon and the coupes and hatchbacks with the LDO (or Luxury Decor Option) package, definitely gave off a bit of a Brougham vibe.

But no one’s going to confuse this with an LTD, Marquis, or Continental Mark IV. I mean, it’s a Pinto, for crying out loud. But in 1973, when this baby blue Squire came off the line, Lee Iacocca was essentially running the show despite his name not being on the building, and one thing Lee loved was Brougham.

Yes, Brougham. Chrome, whitewalls, extra side trim, luxury wheel covers, the whole bit. And don’t forget the simulated wood! And, of course, on the Pinto Squire it was inside and out, thanks to the Di-Noc festooned flanks.

Ask folks of a certain age about the Ford Pinto, and you could either get an earful about a rust-bucket lemon, or about a car that just kept on running for years, or about certain yellow journalism from the ’70s that singled the tiny Ford out for a design that many other contemporary cars also had.

If you were born before 1980 (the last year the Pinto was made, incidentally), odds are someone either had one, knew someone (or several someones) who had one, delivered pizzas in one, went on crazy college road trips in one, and so on.

Once upon a time they were everywhere, thanks to a cheap price and the increasing interest in smaller cars as the 1970s dawned.

Along with archrival Chevrolet, the first Ford subcompact came out for the 1971 model year. Initially offered only as a two-door sedan or two-door hatchback (termed “Runabout” by Ford marketing), it was base priced at $1919 ($13,867 today); a Runabout was $2062 ($14,900).

It sold like dollar beer at a baseball game—288,606 sedans and 63,796 runabouts were delivered for the model year. The runabout/hatchback was not initially available; it debuted several months later at the 1971 Chicago Auto Show.

But the big news for the 1972 Pinto was the addition of a two-door station wagon. It immediately became a healthy seller. Initially offered at $2293 ($16,054), 101,483 were sold for the ’72 model year. That same year, 181,002 sedans and 197,920 runabouts were produced.

As previously mentioned, from the beginning lots of dress-up and comfort/convenience options were available, but don’t get the idea this could be optioned to mini-LTD specifications. You couldn’t get power windows, power locks, or even wire wheel covers.

But you could get the Cruise-O-Matic automatic transmission, full wheel covers, whitewall tires, a leather wrapped steering wheel, electric rear window defroster, dual color-keyed sport mirrors, metallic “Glow” paint choices, and an AM/FM stereo.

But the real flossy version was the Luxury Decor Option, which was available on all Pintos and included a vinyl insert body-side protection molding, full wheel covers, bright wheel lip moldings, and bright rocker-panel moldings.

But inside was where you really saw the difference, with pleated cloth or vinyl trim, fancier door panels with wood-tone trim, cut-pile carpeting, deluxe steering wheel, wood-tone-accented shift lever and parking brake lever, rear seat ash tray (trust me, this was a big deal in 1973), and more.

But wait! As someone rather famous one said, there’s even more! If you ponied up (pardon the pun) for the Squire option, you got as nice a Pinto as was possible in 1973.

As the 1973 Ford Wagons brochure said (of course I have a copy), the Squire Option was “a beautiful complement to the Pinto Wagon, and a Ford Wagonmaster innovation.” I’m not sure where the innovation was, as in 1973 you could get a Vega Estate across town at your local Chevy dealer. But who knows what the FoMoCo marketeers discussed with their lunchtime martinis?

At any rate, the Squire included all of the Pinto Accent Group and Luxury Decor Group features, plus the woodgrain-clad sides and liftgate. To that, one could also add optional SelectAire air conditioning and tinted glass for an extra plush Pinto.

A 1973 Pinto wagon started at $2319 ($15,285), though naturally the Squire goodies and other options would bump that tally higher. This was the year the Wagon became the most popular Pinto, with an impressive 217,763 sold, along with 150,603 Runabouts and 116,146 sedans. That would dip some in a few years, but as previously mentioned, the car made it all the way to the 1980 model year before being replaced by the front-wheel-drive Escort. And yes, a Squire option was available to the end.

Escorts and Pintos, sigh. They used to be absolutely EVERYWHERE, but you’d be hard-pressed to find one today. The cheap and cheerful price, 1970s-style rustproofing (or rather, the lack thereof), and the fact that most of these cars had the bark beaten off of them means there are few survivors today despite extremely impressive production. I’ve only seen two in person at shows, the Light Blue ’73 featured today and this Clark Griswold-approved green ’74.

I first saw the green one at the 2013 Railroad Days show in Galesburg, Illinois. Back then it was held in Standish Park, near the Knox County Courthouse, and was a great location. Though it’s since moved to Main Street, it is still a great annual event that draws a bunch of interesting cars.

I see both Pintos at several shows a year, including the most recent 2022 show season. They always make me smile. I just like the uncommon stuff, I guess; I’ll walk past a row of red Corvettes and resto-mod Camaros to look at a Cordoba, Granada … or a Pinto!

And while I am still atop my soapbox, may I say that if we’re apparently no longer going to be getting many station wagons or sedans from manufacturers anymore, can we at least get some wood sides for our combovers? Please?

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Once upon a time, there was a car called the Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. It was popular for years—nay, decades—and found happy homes in suburbs and cities and country towns everywhere. You’d never know it today, with largely uninteresting and largely anonymous-looking crossovers making up the vast majority of new cars.

But back in 1986 you could get your luxury at your friendly local Oldsmobile dealer, in large (98 Regency Brougham), medium (Cutlass Supreme Brougham), or small (Calais Supreme). For that “just right” size, look no further than the Cutlass Supreme Brougham Sedan and Coupe.

The 1978–88 Cutlass coupes are much more commonly seen, as coupes were the gotta-have-it model through most of the ’80s. The Cutlass Supreme sedan, by comparison, was kind of the wallflower. But I still really like them, perhaps a bit more than a loaded-up Brougham coupe, simply due to their scarcity.

By 1986 the success of these cars was starting to wane, but there were still plenty of people who took home a new Olds that year. The Brougham Sedan had a base price of $11,551 (about $30,850 today). They rode a 108.1-inch wheelbase, were 200.4 inches overall, had a curb weight of 3253 pounds, and 27,967 were built.

These had been largely unchanged since the 1980 model year, other than some revised taillights, grilles, colors, and fabrics. But the coupe still handily outsold the sedan. Stats on the Brougham Coupe: $11,408, 59,726 built, 108.1-inch wheelbase  and 200.0 inches long. At 3211 pounds, they were slightly lighter than their four-door sibling.

But the four doors looked a lot different from their original ’78 forebears. The ’78 A-body “Aeroback” two- and four-door models were fastbacks, not a three-box sedan. But while they looked like hatchbacks, they actually had a tiny conventional trunk lid instead. Compared to the earlier “Colonnade” 1973–77 Cutlasses, they looked a little, well … anemic? And sales were too, though the also-downsized 1978–80 Cutlass coupes sold like dollar beer at a baseball game.

As a result, the four-door became a conventionally styled sedan, with the Aeroback consigned to history. The look was very much like the original 1976–79 Cadillac Seville, which I’m sure didn’t hurt Cutlass sedan sales—or those of its Bonneville, Century, and Malibu sisters.

One thing that remained, and to this day is a bone of contention amongst folks of a certain age, was the rear door’s fixed window glass. Instead of a roll-down window, only the quarter window vent opened, consigning many kids with cheap, non-A/C-running parents to perpetual discomfort. On this Brougham, they are power operated.

This was the optional “gage package,” as GM termed it at the time. I love this cluster; it has everything. Years ago, on a car website, there was discussion on these mid- to late-1980s Cutlass Supremes and I mentioned, “Wouldn’t it be amazing to order a Brougham sedan, the least sporty version, and get the gauges with the tachometer? It would be so at odds with the luxury theme, velour, and button-tufted seats!” Well, at least one new Olds buyer decided that was the way to go. Excellent!

And those seats! They’re just so fantastic. I miss those GM pillow-top seats. They were so lush, so comfortable. You just sank into them. And didn’t want to leave.

They contrast perfectly with this car’s original Medium Gray Metallic paint with matching burgundy pinstriping. It is, after all, a Brougham.

This is a pretty loaded-up example, even for a Brougham, so I was a little surprised it had the standard 3.8-liter V-6 instead of the optional 307-cubic-inch V-8. Granted, that wasn’t a major powerhouse compared to, say, the way a ’76 Toronado with the 455 would have been.

But my friend Matt Smith said, “I feel like by then the 3.8 would’ve moved the car OK compared to the 307. I drove a two-door with that engine at my summer job a couple times in high school, and it seemed alright considering how small and light these things were.” Still, it would have been a little bit cooler with the V-8.

I spotted this one in early August, thanks once again to the Facebook group Finding Future Classic Cars, run by my friends Chuck Houston and Joe Tralongo. It was listed on Sacramento Craigslist at the time. I was instantly smitten by this example, that it was the loaded-up Brougham with slick top, opera lamps, and … holy cow, BURGUNDY LEATHER?!

“Only 59K original miles, 1 owner, clean title, V-6 engine, still like new. New Battery, tire water pump, power windows/locks. Everything is working, perfect original paint, cold A/C, well taken care of.” Definitely well taken care of! I haven’t seen one this nice since probably the mid- to late-’90s.

I did see a pretty presentable one locally about 10 years ago. Except it wasn’t showroom condition. And didn’t have leather. Still, I was really excited to see one!

And the navy blue velour interior was pretty excellent too. A lot of people today don’t realize it, but up until maybe the late ’80s/early ’90s, many people preferred velour or a high-quality cloth to leather seats. At least, folks who appreciated domestic Broughamage.

So I instantly posted it to my own page, then saved the pictures and the link. The next day I decided to write it up. And here we are. I hope she found a good home!

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What is Brougham? Simply put, it’s a state of mind. A state of mind where you value elegance and luxury and fine appointments and quality fabrics over stomping, hot-rod speed and burning tires and high insurance premiums. Something with a touch of class.

And so it was that Lincoln-Mercury division took a Mustang, made it elegant, and turned it into a beautiful pony car: the original Mercury Cougar.

OK, calling it a Brougham is a stretch. But I’m known as the Brougham Guy around here, so sometimes I get carried away. Velour and opera lamps are in my blood. But there’s no denying the Cougar was meant as an upscale sibling to the popular Mustang. I’ve always loved the electric-shaver grille with hidden headlights and matching taillights. And it was a success: 123,672 were built in the car’s inaugural year.

Sure, that was nothing compared to the 356,271 Mustang hardtops, 71,042 Mustang fastbacks, and 44,808 Mustang convertibles sold that same year. But it was very respectable for sedate Lincoln-Mercury Division, which naturally had an older, less-excitable clientele.

The Cougar added a bit of much-needed spice to the Montclairs and Colony Parks in the showroom. As the 1967 brochure confided, “Untamed elegance … that’s Mercury Cougar. America’s first luxury sports car at a popular price. With a European flair and thrust to its styling.”

“Mercury Cougar is a car of today—a  contemporary machine for exciting people. And the best luxury sports car you can buy for the money.”

I say Brougham, but the Cougar really gave a Jaguar-like vibe—if not in overall shape, then in its restrained but elegant looks, inside and out. The upmarket XR-7 was even more so.

The Cougar XR-7 had a factory price of $3081 (about $27K today), which was $230 ($2K) more than the base Cougar. A total of 27,221 were built on top of the 123,000-odd base Cougars made for 1967. The primary difference was inside, with a more ornate leather interior and woodgrain dashboard—again very much aping contemporary Jaguars, right down to the toggle switches in the center of the instrument panel.

A two-barrel 289-cubic-inch V-8 with 200 horsepower was standard on Cougar, with a 225-hp, four-barrel 289 and 320-hp, four-barrel 390 optional. All but the base engine required premium gasoline; the 390 was only available with the Cougar GT package.

This fine example was discovered by fellow classic car spotter and pal Jayson Coombes. It was at a show held in late August 2022 in the Dallas-Fort Worth area. As Jayson related, “I tried to get enough good photos for potential articles for you, should the mood strike you. LOL! I thought you’d like the Cougar. I loved how unmolested it was, even down to actual wheel covers.” It appears to be Fawn, an original 1967 color.

Although this wasn’t a huge car show, the vehicles on display were of extreme interest to guys like Jayson and me. No usual late-model Chargers, or 1980s Corvettes, or resto-mod 1967–69 Camaros. Nope! Instead there were classy pony cars like our featured vehicle, a tan and brown 1984 Coupe de Ville, 1970 Riviera, 1979 Continental Mark V Cartier (which can be seen in the background of some of these photos) and even a late-1970s/early-’80s Dodge Challenger.

You know, the one based on the Mitsubishi Galant Lambda? And its corporate sibling the Plymouth Sapporo? I’m including one photo of it because they are almost extinct. And to drive the muscle car Challenger people crazy. Yes, they did exist.

And as for the Cougar, I always loved them. Even today I’d love to see a more elegant, notchback Cougar version of the current Mustang. If wishes were horses … But we can all still enjoy surviving examples. Like this one.

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Yes, this is a 1959 Cadillac.

No, it is not a 1960 Cadillac. No, it is not a 1961 Cadillac. Or a ’62! Just thought I’d get that out of the way. You see, today’s subject is a lightning rod for social media/internet know-it-alls. I have some experience with this. I am, as you’d expect, in many Cadillac and vintage luxury car Facebook groups, and it never fails.

Someone will post one of these rare cars, the 1959 and 1960 Eldorado Broughams, and Monday morning quarterbacks line up with frenetic energy to declare: “That’s not a ’59! That’s not an Eldorado! That’s a ’60! There’s no dual bullet taillights!”

Or, when the equally rare but mildly facelifted 1960 Eldorado Brougham is posted: “Dagnabit that isn’t a ’60! It’s a ’61 Sedan de Ville! It has the skeg fins! No ’60 had the skeg fins! Dagnabit consarn it and gods cuss it!”

Oh, but they did. Here’s their story.

Most folks who are Cadillac fans remember the Eldorado Brougham—at least, the original 1957-58 version. A technological showcase, totally flamboyant, and ridiculously expensive, it looked like a Cadillac, boasting all the cues: egg-crate grill, fins, and chrome, chrome, chrome.

But at the same time, it looked like no other Cadillac, with its center opening doors, an uber luxurious interior (with magnetic cocktail tumblers included!), stainless steel top, and super low height. Expensive when new, expensive to restore today, but very collectible. Just 400 were made in ’57, while ’58 saw just 304 roll off the line.

And for many, with the exception of total Cadillac fanatics like your author, that is the only Eldorado Brougham. But it wasn’t. The 1959 Eldorado Brougham was completely different. And only 200 were made in 1959–60, which is the most likely reason it throws so many people: they simply have never seen one.

Even I had never seen one until 2016, when I attended a CLC West of the Lake Region show at Heritage Cadillac in Lombard. It was actually parked next to another gorgeous rarity: a 1959 Eldorado Seville. Eventually, I regained consciousness after my swoon and began taking pictures.

One distinction the 1959–60 Eldorados have that the 1957–58s do not: they were built in Italy by Pinin Farina. As my copy of 80 Years of Cadillac LaSalle relayed: “Pre-tested Cadillac chassis were crated and shipped to Italy by boat. Completed cars were shipped back to the United States and final finishing and testing in Cadillac’s Fleetwood plant in Detroit before they were released to dealers.”

The bodies were, naturally, very different from the rest of the 1959 models, though of course there was a strong family resemblance. But yes, they did not have the famous “biggest fins ever” that all other ’59s shared. And this is one of the sticking points when folks who don’t know about these cars see one online or in person: that it couldn’t possibly be a ’59. Ah, but it is!

I think another thing that throws people is that it doesn’t have that Jetsons-style wrapped windshield, another feature only the 1959–60 Eldorado Broughams had—until 1961, when all Caddys got a very similar one. With the exception of the instrument panel, pretty much everything else in the interior is unique to the Brougham vis-a-vis the other ’59 Cadillacs. The seats are similar but not identical to the 1959 Eldorado Biarritz and Eldorado Seville.

But under the skin it was about the same as its less pricey (but don’t call them cheap) siblings. It had the same 225-inch overall length, 130-inch wheelbase, and the same 390 CID V-8 under the hood—albeit with the Eldorado-spec triple carburetors.

And just like the 1957–58 Eldorado Broughams, these were VERY expensive: $13,074. This, when an Eldorado Seville went for a still princely $7401 and a new Chevy Impala Sport Coupe had a base price of $3580.

So it is no real surprise only 99 sold in 1959, and just 101 left dealer lots for the swan-song 1960 model year. That’s why you hardly ever see one. Fortunately for me, our featured car lives relatively close to me in the greater Chicago area. Since that 2016 show at Heritage Cadillac, I’ve seen it at the Ettleson Cadillac shows too. Always have to check it up close each time, too.

The ’59 Eldorado Brougham debuted at the 1959 Chicago Auto Show, which was four months after the rest of the 1959 Cadillacs appeared in showrooms. I’m not sure if this photo, found on Facebook, is of the Chicago show, but wouldn’t it be a kick if this was the same car as our featured Brougham? Could be.

As a result, I’ve taken probably around fifty pictures of this car over the years, as you can see from the different backgrounds in the pictures in this column. I just can’t help myself!

One cool feature was the rear quarter window, which retracted into the C-pillar when a rear door was opened. As you can see, many of the Eldorado Brougham’s styling features, such as the lower fins, inset taillights, and formal roofline appeared on later Cadillacs, which adds to the confusion amongst people not as immersed in Cadillac history as your author.

The hatch-style hood and rear-hinged hood never appeared on any other Cadillacs, at least to my knowledge. See how the nose panel and fenders all appear to be one piece? Those are the handmade and leaded panels, courtesy of Pinin Farina’s coachbuilders. Top tip: don’t bump your Eldorado Brougham into a fire hydrant.

While the full array of Cadillac colors was available, this one is finished in Ebony, with a matching leather interior. It looks good, but I’m partial to the brighter Cadillac hues, and if I’d been a millionaire in 1959 or maybe had just won a jackpot in Vegas, I’d have gone for a light green, dark green, burgundy, or maybe navy blue.

Interiors? Hmm. White leather would be bright and cheerful, but a dark green exterior with saddle tan leather would be pretty too. I gravitate to my resin model of the 1960 Eldorado Brougham featured further up in this column, Persian Sand with white leather, black dash, and black carpet. Because, why not?

Either way, you had a rare birdie indeed if you owned one of these back then—or even today. I still hope to see a 1960 version in person sometime! But it truly made my day the first time I saw this particular ’59.

And now you know “the rest of the story”, as someone rather famous once said. Go tell the others.

The post 1959 Cadillac Eldorado Brougham: One of 99 appeared first on Hagerty Media.

The Pontiac Grand Ville was only available for five model years, but it made an impression on your author from an early age. I loved domestic land yachts starting around the age of 2 or 3 years old, believe it or not.

As the 1975 Pontiac brochure advised: “Don’t even consider it, unless you have a taste for luxury. A well-cultivated taste. Because this is Pontiac’s most luxurious car. Ever.”

Yes, folks, this is another column full of Broughamage! If that’s not to your liking, feel free to flee now. Flee for your lives!

But wait, you may be thinking. What’s a Grand Ville? Wasn’t the Bonneville top-dog?

Well, yes, for most of its life. But there was a brief period during which the Grand Ville snuck in above it. The Bonneville remained, but was just a little bit less fancy, had just a little bit less chrome, and got slightly less ostentatious seats.

Although the Bonneville remained in the lineup throughout the ’70s, it was bumped a notch with the appearance of the Grand Ville in 1971. But for whatever reason the name never really found a following, and starting in 1976 the Bonneville Brougham would return as the flagship. The Bonneville would remain Pontiac’s nicest car until its demise in 2005, with the exception of the Caprice-based Parisienne somewhat outsizing it during 1983–86.

1975 was the last year for the Grand Ville and at its last appearance, it became the Grand Ville Brougham, rather than just the plain Grand Ville.

Well, it was 1975 …

The ’75 models were handsomely restyled with a squared-off nose with new quad rectangular headlamps, which gave it a very Cadillac-like appearance from the front. Some of our younger readers may not be aware, but square headlights were a really big deal circa 1975 and ’76. Before ’75, everything had round lights.

Out back, handsome dual-level wrap around taillights dolled up the rear deck. The nose and tail were shared with the Bonnevilles, but plainer Catalinas retained round headlights, a less flashy grille, and shorter taillights out back.

And inside, perhaps the Grand Ville’s best feature (or was that the exterior?) were the sumptuous velour button-tufted seats that you could just sink into like your favorite recliner after a hard day at work. They were also available upholstered in Morrokide at no extra charge.

By the way, Morrokide was Pontiac’s incredibly durable vinyl upholstery that dated back to the ’60s. But I’d have chosen nothing else but the velour, oh yes! And the red is just perfect with this car’s Cameo White paint and matching Cordova vinyl roof.

The ’75 Grand Ville Broughams were available as a four-door hardtop, two-door hardtop, and a convertible. In addition, there was the related Grand Safari station wagons that came in six- and nine-passenger versions. They had Grand Ville noses and button-tufted seats but weren’t strictly Grand Villes.

Grand Ville coupes, like our featured gorgeous, white-over-red Brougham Coupe, had a base price of $5729, weighed 4404 pounds, and only 7447 were built. So you didn’t see many even when new.

You see even less now, naturally. In fact, this was the first coupe I ever saw in person … so far!

In addition to the coupes, 15,686 four-door hardtops and 4519 convertibles were built. The topless Grand Ville was the last full-size Pontiac convertible ever built, though Sunbirds, Sunfires, and Firebird convertibles would last into the 2000s. And with that, the Grand Ville came to the end of the road.

The 1971–76 GM B- and C-body full-size cars were the biggest GM built. Along with their Bonneville and Catalina siblings, they had an overall length of 226 inches, of which 123.4 were wheelbase.

A 400-cubic-inch, four-barrel V-8 was standard on Grand Villes, with a four-barrel 455 V-8 optional. Of course, GM’s terrific Turbo Hydra-Matic automatic transmission was standard equipment.

The 1975 Pontiacs debuted on September 27, 1974, and in all 523,469 Pontiacs were built for the calendar year. Not bad, especially considering it was a recession year. But the bulk of sales were not Grand Villes, despite their gorgeousness and luxury and fine appointments.

Oops, rambling a bit there. But I warned you I love these!

I spotted this one at the Pontiac-Oakland Club International (POCI) meet held at the Isle of Capri in Bettendorf, Iowa, back in the summer of 2016. It was great having a national meet right here in the metropolitan area. I haunted the show for all three days, taking way more photos that I needed. I believe I was walking around with a stupid look on my face the whole time. It was great!

There was also a very nice ’75 Grand Ville convertible at this show, but my favorite was the coupe, complete with cornering lamps, Pontiac Rally II wheels, and that decadent red interior. I’m happy to finally share its sheer Broughaminess with you all!

The post 1975 Pontiac Grand Ville Brougham Coupe: Pontiac’s Cadillac appeared first on Hagerty Media.

It’s no secret I love personal luxury coupes. And the Oldsmobile Toronado was one of the best.

A pioneer of its segment, the Toronado introduced front-wheel-drive to the GM lineup in 1966. It didn’t hurt that the car was gorgeous, too. It was so different from anything else on the road, both in engineering and appearance.

Then in 1967 it got a sibling, the Cadillac Eldorado, which kind of stole the Toronado’s thunder. Of course, a Cadillac was a Cadillac, and its razor-creased lines found favor with movers, shakers, and VIPs across the nation, not the least of which was The Rat Pack.

But we’re talking Toronados, aren’t we? I need to write up a first-generation Toronado, and soon—I even have one picked out. A beautiful dark cherry ’66 with matching interior.

I spied it at the Coralville cruise night several years ago, and chatted a while with its very nice owners. But today, we’re going to be looking at the far end of the Toronado’s production run. Why, you ask?

Well, it was simple.

It was a Sunday afternoon and I was hoping that the sun would come out, so I could sit out on my postage stamp-sized deck with a gin and tonic and a novel to read. Sadly, the clouds were relentless, despite a promising beam of sun that lasted about three minutes. It didn’t return.

So I decided to go through my boxes and stacks of vintage auto literature. I frequently do this on crummy days, just to read through the brochures and enjoy them. And sometimes inspiration strikes.

I found my deluxe 1975 Pontiac brochure and my auto-show copy of the 1990 Buicks. Those will result in columns on a 1990 Estate Wagon and 1975 Grand Ville Brougham coupe at some point in the future. But I also rediscovered my 92-page 1991 Oldsmobile catalog.

The catalog reminded me that my friend Jayson Coombes had recently attended the Olds Club of America meet in Murfreesboro and had photographed a really nice ’91 Toro, resplendent in Medium Garnet Red with matching cloth upholstery.

The Toronado’s run was just about over in 1991. The ’91 Toro was largely based on the 1986 E-body version, along with its siblings the Buick Riviera and the Cadillac Eldorado. But both the Riv and the Toro got, ahem, posterior lifts in 1989. Or rather, posterior stretches.

The 1986 E-body personal-lux coupes took downsizing a smidge too far. While they were well-appointed and great to drive, they still looked a little, well, stubby. That problem was fixed on the Buick and the Olds in ’89. The Eldo had gotten a slight stretch in 1988, and stayed largely the same through 1991, likely because an all-new Eldorado was due to appear for the 1992 model year.

So the rear deck was extended, which improved the looks immeasurably. (Pun intended.) The ’91 Toronados were powered by GM’s legendary 3800 V-6, producing 170 horsepower. Standard features included automatic temperature control, automatic load-leveling, hidden headlamps, cornering lamps, power windows, power mirrors (and power driver’s seat), cruise control, and a power antenna. Bucket seats and a center console were standard, but the base Toro could optionally have a 55/45 divided front-bench seat.

The standard Toronado was overshadowed by its sportier sibling, the Troféo. When these cars were new, it seemed like 90 percent of the Toronados I saw were Troféos, with their swept-spoke alloy wheels (shared with the Ninety-Eight Touring Sedan) and dual exhaust ports.

But I kind of liked the base ones, with their more classic personal-luxury-car vibe. I really like the one Jayson saw and would go so far as to add whitewalls, if it were to come into my possession. Not that I’d kick a Troféo out of the driveway if one came along, of course.

In 1991, you could even get an optional Ultrasuede interior in your Troféo. I’ve never seen one. Though I did see a gorgeous pearl white ’92 at Jewel-Osco several years ago.

It contrasted wonderfully with a burgundy leather interior. By the way, why can’t we get wonderful burgundy or navy-blue leather interiors anymore? Not everyone is infatuated with charcoal gray, you know …

I think they were really pretty cars. But sadly their run was just about over. Only 2705 Toronados and 5348 Troféos were built for 1991. MSRPs were $23,795 and $26,495, respectively.

1992 was the end of the line, with only 1239 base coupes and 5197 Troféos built. It was a sad production tally for a great car. And I was surprised when I found the production figures in my copy of Setting the Pace: Oldsmobile’s First 100 Years (a book I highly recommend, by the way). I knew these cars were rare, but the figures were quite a bit lower than I would have guessed!

But I’ll always love the Toronados, whether the forward-looking, futuristic ’66–70 cars or the final run of svelte, 3800 V-6-powered luxocruisers. Special thanks to Jayson for providing the photos: You’re a gentleman and a scholar!

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Gremlin. For those of a certain age, the name will bring back lots of memories. The plucky little car that was built by a plucky little car company, the last of the independents, AMC. It was introduced on April 1, 1970. You can’t help but admire a company with a sense of humor.

Naturally, thrift was played up heavily in advertising. The inaugural ’70 model had an overall length of 161 inches, seated four, and had a base price of $1959 (about $15,031 today). There was even a cheapskate-special two-seater model for only $1879 ($14,418), touted as the lowest-priced car in America.

For comparison’s sake, a ’71 Pinto based at $1919 ($14,724), and the ’71 Vega was $2090 ($16,036). But upon its introduction, the Gremlin’s primary competitors were the Ford Maverick (no, not the pickup for you young guns, the compact car that replaced the Falcon), Volkswagen Beetle, Toyota Corolla, and Datsun 510.

For you numbers folks, 1971 Gremlin production was 76,908, Vega was 269,900, Maverick was 271,897, and Pinto was a whopping 352,402. Granted, Ford and GM had vastly superior cash reserves; in addition, a four-door was added to the Maverick line; and, as you may recall, the Vega came in sedan, hatchback, wagon, and even a panel truck. Ditto the Pinto with a wagon version.

But as the Gremlin was heavily based on the Hornet compact, I’ll bet the tooling was miniscule compared to the clean-sheet Ford and Chevy subcompacts. Plus, that pair had four-cylinder engines, while the Gremlin came standard with a 199-cubic-inch, inline six-cylinder engine, but that was 1970 only. Starting in ’71, the 232-cu-in version became standard. The 258 six was optional.

Not much changed on the Gremlin through the years, though the addition of the 304 V-8 in 1972 made for a pretty compelling mini-muscle car. The ’73s got away with a somewhat enlarged front bumper, but only for a year. The ’74s got the awkward, giant Federal bumpers front and rear, which did not improve things aesthetically.

The 1974–76 Gremlins had only minor changes to the grilles, colors, and the available stripes on the sporty X model. By 1976, the Gremlin was in its seventh model year, and other than the bumpers, not much had changed. But a refresh was in the works.

My friend Drew Beck, of the greater Madison, Wisconsin, area, had three Gremlins back then, a 1974 X, plus a ’77 and ’78, both of which had the Custom Trim package, which included extra trim and standard features. I asked him if he had any Gremlin memories. He said “about a zillion,” so I asked him to pick one.

“Saturday night racing … a 1974 Gremlin X with the 258 six will easily outrun a Porsche 914 in a straight line, but once things get curvy, the Porsche pulls away quickly. Very front-heavy cars, though that means burnouts are as easy as finding mosquitos in Wisconsin.” And yes, he’d love to find another one.

The 1977 Gremlins presented a fresh face to the world. The long, front overhang was no more, replaced with a brand new front clip that was much tidier, with an attractive eggcrate grille. The new front end would be shared with the facelifted Hornet in 1978, redubbed Concord and given a more aspirational-luxury look. But the Gremlin got it first.

One item touted for all 1977 AMCs was the “Buyer Protection Plan II,” which added a full 24-month, 24K-mile engine and drive train warranty. It also covered the entire car, except tires, for 12 months or 12K miles from the date of delivery. Now that doesn’t seem like much today, but at the time it was rather comprehensive. After doing very well, sales-wise, in the early 1970s, by ’76–77 AMC wasn’t doing so hot and was trying everything in its power to bump sales.

But we were talking about the Gremlin, weren’t we? In addition to the new nose, Gremlins got a facelifted back end as well, including new, repositioned taillights and a “shadow box” recess for the rear license plate. The rear hatchback glass was also enlarged for better visibility. Standard features included front disc brakes, AMC’s famous Weather Eye heater/defroster, color-keyed carpeting, carpeted cargo area, a parking brake warning light, two-speed wipers, and a “Luster-Guard” acrylic baked enamel paint job.

The Gremlin X remained the sporty version and added those amazing plaid bucket seats, full-length sport stripes with a matching rear deck stripe, “X” badging, sports steering wheel, Extra Quiet Insulation Package, and slotted, styled steel wheels with D70x14-inch blackwall tires. It was largely a decor package, though you could order the 258 six with a four-speed floor shift if you so desired, or floor- or column-mounted automatic transmission.

Our featured car was seen at the excellent Maple City Cruise Night in Monmouth, Illinois, earlier this year on August 5. I had only been at the show a few minutes when I came upon this immaculate example, resplendent in Alpine White with that oh-so-attention-getting blue plaid interior with bucket seats and center console. Believe it or not, the Gremlin came standard with a split-back bench seat, despite its small size! It was only the second car I photographed. But even though it was one of the first cars I saw, it remained among my top five favorite cars at the show.

And while the Gremlin nameplate only lasted one more model year, gaining the all-new Concord instrument panel in the process, the car itself became a Spirit in 1979, with the same basic body—albeit losing that oh-so-identifiable triangular rear quarter window for one with less of a blind spot.

And a much more boring name: the “Spirit Sedan.” But you could get a flossy Limited model with leather! Uptown Gremlin! Love it or hate it, the Gremlin had its fans, then and today. A quirky little car that was 3/5 Hornet—and more than the sum of its parts.

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The various and sundry Buick Estate Wagons that existed between the 1950s and ’90s have always held a special place in my heart. Why, you ask? Well, it’s because they combine two of my favorite things: They’re part of the Broughamtastic cars produced by Detroit way back when. And they’re station wagons.

I love station wagons. I grew up with station wagons. I came home from the hospital in a station wagon. So, when I see any station wagon, I’m struck by nostalgia. True, Mom replaced her last Volvo 740GL wagon with a brand-new Dodge Grand Caravan ES in 1992, but by then I was in junior high. The wagons resonate more in my memory than the minivans.

So you combine Broughamage and “longroofs,” and you have exceedingly compelling Klockau material. And if you’re of a certain age, you will clearly remember Buick Estate Wagons, Custom Cruisers, Country Squires, and Colony Parks. Many of which were adorned with either genuine or Di-Noc wood side panels. But today’s example is wood-grain free!

It’s hard to believe, but this 1964 example was the last year you could get any type of full-size Buick wagon until 1970. Really.

You see1, starting in 965, the big Buick wagon went away (albeit temporarily), and in addition to the ever-present midsize Skylark wagon, there was now a Buick Sport Wagon. Which, while undoubtedly Skylark/Special-based, had a slightly stretched wheelbase and shared the roof-mounted windows of its corporate sibling, the Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser. Yes, you could cruise the vistas in a Buick too.

In this fashion, the Buick Sport Wagon became the “big” Buick wagon through 1969. If you wanted a premium GM fullsize wagon from 1965–69, you had to decide between a Caprice Estate and a Pontiac Bonneville or Executive Safari.

Because Olds lost its biggie wagon from 1965–69, as well. In fact, Olds didn’t offer a new fullsize wagon until 1971. But it was worth the wait.

Then in 1970, the fullsize Buick Wagon, in Estate Wagon trim (naturally), finally came back. And it remained in the lineup all the way through the Roadmaster Estate Wagon in 1996.

Which brings us to today’s featured station wagon, which your author went totally crazy for when he saw it. It was just gorgeous and loaded with options, including cornering lamps, roof rack, wire wheel covers, and all sorts of other goodies.

I never got a chance to speak with the owner, but I heard later from local friends that he added pretty much every factory option available when he restored it. Which made this car just dazzling! I’d never before seen a wagon of this vintage with cornering lamps; they were much more common on the flossier Electras and Rivieras.

And while it might be hard to tell in 2022, Buick was seventh in industry sales way back in 1964. Calendar-year production was, believe it or not 482,685 cars. That’s impressive considering average production of marques these days. But it was a different time, in so many ways.

Estate wagons were available in either two-seat or three-seat versions. The two-seat wagon started at $3554 ($34,166 today). It weighed in at 4352 pounds and 6517 were built.

But for those who needed to haul more even more people, the three-seat wagon was available for $3635 ($34,944).  A total of 4003 of those wagons were built for 1964 and were slightly heftier than the two-seat version at 4362 pounds.

Standard equipment was the Buick Wildcat 445 engine, so named due to its torque rating. Combined with the Super Turbine 400 transmission, which produced 325 horsepower at 440 rpm and 445 lb-ft of torque at 2800 rpm, it could haul you to the Grand Canyon or your kids to the local park for baseball practice.

But if you had a cabin cruiser to tow or maybe an Airstream trailer, you could get the optional Wildcat 465 V-8 engine with 425 cubic inches and a four-barrel carb, producing 340 horsepower.

But wait, there’s even more. The top engine option was the Super Wildcat with dual four barrel carbs, and it produced 360 horsepower! As the man said, you’d pass everything but a gas station. But don’t worry, gas was cheap in 1964.

This car was at the Joe Rizza Buick Cadillac car show held in the summer of 2017. It was the first car I really locked onto, wearing that sunny color combnation (Sunburst Yellow and Arctic White, per the 1964 Buick color chart), the bling of the wire wheel covers, and corenering lamps. Awooga!

It was a great show, and I was happy to meet my friend Jonny Valadez there, since he lived in the Chicago area. He brought his ’76 Mercedes 450SL out, and it was neat to see that car too, affectionately named Bobby after one of the characters of one of his favorite shows, Dallas.

We had a great time and took many pictures, but it was sort of bittersweet because it was the last time I saw Jon before he passed away in early 2018. I’m happy to share this Buick Estate Wagon because it brings back good memories of a friend who I’ll always remember.

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I miss Pontiac. Like my other much-loved departed GM make, Oldsmobile, Pontiac had a long line of impressive cars, especially during the salad days from the 1950s to the ’70s. Bonneville. GTO. Grand Ville. Ventura. Star Chief. So much gorgeous rolling stock. But I’d better get on with the program before I digress too much. Today’s topic: the 1970 full-size Pontiacs.

I love ’em. Most folks don’t seem to get too excited with the 1970 neoclassical facelift—right down to faux horn grilles like your great grandfather’s Hupmobile. References to “1970 Edsel” have been known to be uttered. But I love them. Back in the late ’90s, I got hooked on collecting vintage brochures. Ebay was in its prime then, and probably 80 percent of my collection came from there. One of my earliest acquisitons was the deluxe, 52-page 1970 Pontiac full-line brochure.

As the 1970 Pontiac brochure extolled, “Face it folks. The 1970 Catalina is all wrong. For the money, you should get a car of so-so size with hee-haw styling. But no. Catalina is big. Lots of room for heads and legs. And lots of engine. 350 cubic inches and 255 horses. Order a convertible or wagon, and the numbers get bigger: 400 cubes, 290 hp.”

This was during the final years of the terrific Van and Fitz Pontiac artwork, and the ’70 Pontiacs were in fine form in dealer literature. The Catalina, of course, was Pontiac’s lowest-priced full-size car—and very popular. A total of 193,986 Catalinas were built for the model year. By this time, pretty much all Catalinas had automatic transmission, despite it still being an option. Only 579 had the manual transmission!

If you really want to seek out something rare, try finding a ’70 Catalina station wagon with the manual transmission: only 113 were built. The Catalina Convertible was priced at $3604 ($27,681 today), weighed 4027 pounds, and 3686 were built. Convertible sales had been on the downswing for several years, thanks to hardtops, air conditioning, and simple changes in consumer tastes, and 1972 would be the last time you could get a brand new Catalina ragtop.

As previously mentioned, standard engine in Catalina coupes and sedans was the 350 V-8 with 255 horsepower and 355 lb-ft of torque, breathing through a two-barrel carb; Catalina convertibles and wagons came with the 290-hp, 428-lb-ft 400.

That was one of the things you got when buying a full-sized Pontiac over an equivalent ’70 full-size Chevrolet. While certain Chevy models made do with a standard six-cylinder engine, every big Pontiac had a V-8.

Of course, if you still wanted even more power, you could get ever increasingly powerful engines, all the way up to the vaunted Pontiac 455-cubic-inch H.O. engine with a four-barrel carb, 370 horsepower, and an impressive 500 lb-ft of torque. As long as you didn’t mind Chris-Craft style fuel consumption.

As much as I love this Catalina convertible, it would have been even better if it was a Bonneville. Bonnevilles are my favorite Pontiac, with the possible exception of the 1971–75 Grand Villes. The 1970 Bonnies would have had the Broughamier grill, fender skirts, fancier seats and door panels, and maybe even an AM/FM stereo with an 8-track player. And all the extra chrome gingerbread that I love.

This car was spotted at the Oneida, Illinois, car show in July 2022. I’d never been to it before, but I had been at a show the previous weekend in Bishop Hill, Illinois, and a guy I spoke to mentioned that the Oneida show was pretty good and encouraged me to attend the following weekend.

The morning of the show, I checked a couple websites that list local car shows, and there it was again: Oneida … 45 miles away … Hmm …

My car was already coated with bugs from driving to Iowa City and back on Interstate 80 the previous Friday, and the weather was great—low 80s and low humidity. So I went. Why not?

All in all it was a great show, and I’ll probably be back next year. There were some really great cars there, including a 1976 Continental Mark IV, 1956 Imperial, and a copper-colored 1986 GMC Caballero, the seldom-seen GMC equivalent to the El Camino. It was really hard to pick a favorite, but as you may have surmised, this car was my  choice. A perfect summer cruiser!

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Of all the GM wagons made in the final full-size, B-body station wagon years, I think I loved the Oldsmobile Custom Cruiser the most. I mean, first of all, is that a cool name or what? “Oldsmobile Custom Cruiser.” Even if you didn’t even know what kind of a car was, you’d probably agree that is a most excellent name. And these final Olds wagons remained unerringly, unapologetically full sized to the very end in 1992. They even eclipsed their Eighty Eight brethren starting in 1986, establishing them as perhaps the Broughamiest Olds in the lineup.

Yes, the second round of downsizing hit the Oldsmobile full-size line in the mid-’80s. The first round, for those of you just joining us, was in 1977, when the trim, smaller on the outside yet bigger on the inside B-body GM sedans, coupes and wagons appeared on the scene. Round two started in 1985 when the top-of-the-line Ninety-Eight shrunk, along with its corporate cousins, the C-body Buick Electra and Cadillac de Ville/Fleetwood. They were also front-wheel drive, and unit-bodied. Not a rare format in 1986, but completely new to the Olds flagship, which had been proudly gigantic and full-framed for decades.

The Eighty Eight got the same treatment in 1986. So now all of the big Oldses were front-wheel drive, V-6-only and unit-bodied. What was a full-sized car lover to do? Buy the wagon! Yes, the Oldsmobile Custom Cruiser was the last big Olds standing with Rocket V-8 power. As good as the 3800 V-6 in the new 88s and 98s were, the Oldsmobile Rocket V-8 was a lovely engine. Ever heard one run? They sound great! A soothing blub blub blub blub sound, not unlike a ’50s Chris-Craft speedboat.

From 1980 to 1985, the Custom Cruiser shared its grille with its Delta 88 brethren. Which made sense, as it was a part of the 88 line. But that was clearly impossible with the 1986 and up Delta 88s being a completely different body. So the 1981 Ninety-Eight grille (seen above) was dusted off and applied to ’86 Custom Cruisers to differentiate it from the ’85 models. The same trick was pulled in 1987, only this time the Custom Cruiser got the 1982 Ninety-Eight grille. At this point GM decided it no longer needed to change the grille on its luxury wagon, so all 1987-90 Custom Cruisers retained the ’82 grille.

And so it was that the Custom Cruiser entered the 1988 model year, looking very much as it had since 1980, when the 1977-vintage B-bodies got an aerodynamic facelift for a better coefficient of drag and corresponding fuel economy. As had been the case since 1980, ’88 Custom Cruisers, with internal model designation P35 and retailing for $15,655, rode upon a 115.9-inch wheelbase with a curb weight of 4,136 pounds.

Although the Custom Cruiser was prominently featured with the woodgrained vinyl applique on the sides, the wagon was also available without it. Although going from memory, most of these cars had the Di-Noc trim, whether Caprice, Parisienne, Custom Cruiser or Electra/LeSabre Estate Wagon.

I do remember one clean-sided Custom Cruiser from my youth, however. Our next door neighbors back in the ’80s were the Ohlweilers. Their daughter and son-in-law were big fans of Oldsmobile. Jeannie, who was frequently over at the house, had a beige 1984 Cutlass Cruiser that I remember very well. But every once in a while they would arrive in their other car, which was a brown Custom Cruiser without the wood sides.

I do not recall the exact year of that wagon, but it was definitely a pre-1986 model. The grilles on these cars changed every year until 1988, but from my somewhat hazy memory, I believe it was a 1982. It also had those rather plain stainless steel “aero” wheel discs that debuted in 1980.

As I was approximately in first or second grade at the time, I don’t remember much else about it, other than the fact that it seemed a LOT bigger than Jeannie’s Cutlass wagon and my parents’ Volvo 240 wagons! Total production for the Custom Cruiser in 1988 was 11,114 units. All were powered by the famous Oldsmobile Rocket V-8, which by the 1980s displaced 307 cubic inches. It had a bore of 3.80, a stroke of 3.39, and produced 140 bhp in ’88.

That year only two Oldsmobiles were available with it, the Custom Cruiser of course, and optionally it was available in the RWD Cutlass Supreme Classic, in its final year. The ’88 Cutlass Supreme Classic was the former 1987 Cutlass Supreme, as the “regular” ’88 CS was all-new, V-6 powered and front-wheel drive. But the earlier (and much classier, in my opinion) full-framed Cutlass coupe appeared alongside its replacement for one last bow.

Starting in 1989, the 307 was solely available in the big Olds wagon. The MSRP edged upward to $16,795. At the same time production went below 10,000 for the first time, to the tune of 8,929 wagons.

I spotted the featured 1988 example in what I believe is Dark Garnet Red back in July of 2016. It was sitting at a long-standing used car lot in downtown Davenport, where I frequently encounter interesting older models.

Just to give an example, over the past 10 years I’ve seen a mint ’81 Silverado in two-tone blue and white, a metallic tan 1980 Sedan de Ville, a metallic mocha 1991 Cadillac Brougham and a fantastic triple jade green 1975 Lincoln Continental Town Car.

May I digress for just a moment? Those seats! WOW! Now, where was I?

This wagon was a local from new. Campbell Oldsmobile used to be in downtown Rock Island, at least until the early 1990s. Later on it became the new home for Lundahl Volvo when they moved from Moline in 1995. I took my Volvos there for service regularly until Mike Lundahl sold the franchise and dealership to McLaughlin Cadillac circa 2006.

This wagon was identified as a one-owner car on the windshield, and I believed it. It was not mint, but very nice. All the trim was there, it had the required whitewall tires and all four factory wire wheel covers, and even the hood ornament was still in residence. The worst of it was a cracked passenger side reflector/side marker light and crumbling bumper rub strips.

The interior was equally nice, with unworn upholstery, decent carpet and the factory GM radio still installed.

This type of vehicle was all about comfort. Comfort and utility. While you were piloting your burgundy cloth Barcolounger around town, you could be carrying two weeks’ worth of groceries, anywhere from one to seven kids, an Airstream trailer, or your brand-new pontoon boat. These were the last of the full-frame, V-8 domestic station wagons, and thus were nearly in perfect form.

True, they only had 140 horsepower, but it was still a V-8 dagnabit, and that meant torque! Plenty of lovely, ever-present torque to haul whatever you wanted wherever you wanted. Buy a car like this, and you could be Clark Griswold.

Here is more proof that the burgundy ’88 was a one-owner car. The window sticker was still present and on display! It was rated at 17 mpg city and 24 mpg highway. Same as my Town Car, now that I think of it. It was an overcast day and the sticker is not easy to read as a result, but some of the options on this car included a power antenna, pulse wipers, cruise control, a tilt steering wheel, and a luggage rack with an integrated air deflector.

Total price was $17,580. Not a bad deal in 1988. My father got a new company car that year, a Volvo 740 Turbo Sedan, and I recall the price on that one was in the neighborhood of $25,000.

The final year for this style of Custom Cruiser, with chrome wire wheel covers and sheer rectangular styling was in 1990. The price was up again, this time to $17,595. Sales were much lower, with only 3890 built. But recall 1990 was when SUV mania really started ramping up, with the four-door S10 Blazer and S15 Jimmy being introduced, along with the four-door Bronco II, renamed Explorer, as you all know.

The minivans had been going great guns since the Caravan/Voyager duo came on the scene in 1984, but the SUVs made it a one-two punch that spelled the end of the traditional station wagon. In 1990 you could get a big wagon from Ford, Mercury, Chevy, Oldsmobile and Buick.

GM gave it one last try, and along with its aero-styled Caprice and Roadmaster sedans, new, sleek wagons were also back in the lineup. Even the Oldsmobile Custom Cruiser was back, against all odds, but only as a wagon; there was no corresponding Roadmaster-like Ninety-Eight Brougham sedan. But the Olds wagon was clearly lacking in the sales department, as it only lasted through 1992, while the Buick and Chevrolet wagons would make it to the end of the B-body’s existence in 1996. Too bad, the Olds was my favorite.

It may have been basically a Caprice Estate with different seats, wheels and grille, but for whatever reason, I still found it compelling. Maybe because I clearly remember eyeballing one at the 1991 Chicago Auto Show as an even then Brougham-obsessed 11 year old. At any rate, the big traditional wagon has now been gone for twenty-six years, thanks to people wanting to drive bar stool-height crossovers with looks that can stop a clock or crack a mirror. Oh well, life goes on, people change, tastes change, and technology advances. But I still love these Olds wagons.

One final word: Special thanks to pal Jayson Coombes for photographing the showroom new 1986 Custom Cruiser featured alongside the black cherry ’88. It was resplendent in Light Chestnut Metallic at the recent Oldsmobile Club of America meet in Murfreesboro, Tennessee on July 8th. His pictures made for a much better cover photo than those I took of the other car on a rainy weekend. Thank you, sir!

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There it was again. A magnificent relic from The Fabulous Fifties. When cars were gorgeous, airbags were non-existent, and we all loved Lucy. OK, variations of that line have been used dozens of times in the past, but when I see a fantastic classic luxury car like this, especially when it’s unexpected-like at the small cruise night at the baseball park downtown … I tend to get a little melodramatic. Eldorados have the same effect.

I have previously written other articles on the 1957 and ’58 “Packardbakers” and the Studebaker Packard merger, the downfall of Packard, and the later downfall of Studebaker. It’s a sordid story and everybody has different opinions on what could have been done, if anything could have been done, to keep the company from going out of business or to keep Packard from joining the South Bend Boys.

But really it was 1956. Because 1956 was the last year Packards were made inside the fantastic, historic, gigantic Packard factory in Detroit (portions of which are being demolished at this writing). After that, they were just dolled-up Studebakers. Not bad cars, but not Packards. Certainly not Packards like this one.

I first spotted this car in July. The local baseball park hosts a weekly car show in their parking lot every Wednesday evening, and since I get off work at 4:30, it’s very convenient to just cross the Mississippi River and check out the vehicles. A lot of times it’s the same cars, but sometimes you see a really amazing one. Like this one.

Of course, if you’re even mildly interested in ’50s classic luxury cars, you will know that 1956 was the last year Packard made real Packards. And they were gorgeous. The ’55 models were very handsomely restyled on the 1951 body that was largely styled by John Reinhardt. There’s only minor differences here and there between the 1955 and ’56 Packards. But fans know the details.

As had been the case in the past, Clippers were separated, price-wise and styling-wise, from senior Packards. In 1956 only, there was an odd hybrid, the Packard Executive, which was basically the Clipper body with the senior Packard front end and fancier interior trim.

But the primary exterior differences in the senior Packards—which included the Caribbean, the Four Hundred two-door hardtop, and the Patrician four-door sedan—were a new grill and the bold, Dagmar-style bumper guards moved a little bit further apart, going directly beneath the headlights instead of slightly inboard, as on the ’55s.

On the Four Hundred hardtop, the chrome trim that stopped at the simulated rear quarter van on the ’55 extended all the way to the taillights on the ’56s.

But I’m slightly digressing from our featured car. (If I’m not careful, I’ll be writing another thousand words or so on all the various aspects of the different ’56 Packards because I love them so much.) So, we were talking about the Caribbean, weren’t we? Let me get back on track.

In 1956, the convertible (and arguably the flagship of the Packard line) returned: The Caribbean. With its awesome tri-tone exterior and interior trim, the convertible went for $5995 ($65,700 today), had a curb weight of 4960 pounds and—hold on to your hats!—a mere 276 were built.

But wait, there’s more. For 1956—and 1956 only—there was also a Caribbean two-door hardtop. As you’d expect, it had the same exterior and interior trim as the convertible, but it was 500 bucks less at $5495 ($60,200), and only 263 were built.

And as I was typing that last paragraph, I was even more surprised than you to learn how few were made. Before I got into my Standard Catalog of American Cars to research this article, I would have guessed about 400 Caribbean convertibles were built this year. Clearly, I was wrong.

But, of course, I knew they were rare, and that’s why I went nuts when I saw this beauty at the Davenport riverfront and took about 30 pictures of it, most of which you see here.

When I was about 8 years old, my grandparents, Bob and Ruby Klockau, got me a little hardcover coffee table book called Decade of Dazzle that had huge wonderful color pictures of 1950s classic cars.

Included were the 1953 Studebaker Commander Starliner hardtop, the 1956 Continental Mark II, and several other wonderful cars, but the one I remember best was the 1955 Packard Caribbean. It just blew me away.

It was the first time I’d ever seen or heard of one (of course, I was just a kid at the time), and I fell in love with it immediately. It was just so spectacular, even compared to the Lincolns and Cadillacs that I loved from an early age. This was a whole other level of classic car!

And so it was that circa 1995 my parents got me the Franklin Mint 1/24th-scale model of the 1955 Caribbean. I still have it in a display case in my home office.

Caribbeans are beautiful cars. I love them and always will. I see a car like this and just wonder what might have happened if the Packard that was around until 1956 had continued into the late ’50s and early ’60s. We’ll never know, but it’s definitely food for thought.

The post 1956 Packard Caribbean: Magnificent Vessel! appeared first on Hagerty Media.

I’ve always loved the Chevrolet Caprice. Maybe because two of our neighbors had 1977 Caprice Estate Wagons, and they were always parked right in front of our house. Also, as a child of the ’80s, I had a number of Caprice and Impala toy police cars. And they were everywhere, both on the streets and in the movies of the time, frequently as NYC taxis or police cars.

But those were the downsized 1977–90 versions, not the subject of today’s column. The Nimitz-class 1971 Caprice. As I’ve related in earlier columns, the 1971 B- and C-body GM cars were all completely redesigned and became even bigger than the previous GM full sizers. And this was as big as they were going to get: the 1971–76 Chevys were the last of the unabashedly FULL-SIZE cars, along with their Bonneville, Delta 88, and LeSabre brethren.

But wait, you might be saying, Chevy went Brougham back in 1965 with the original Caprice, right? Yes. All true, but personally I’ve always considered the 1971 Caprice to be truly Broughamy, perhaps peak Brougham for the luxury Chevrolet nameplate. While the 1965–70 Caprices were extremely nice and luxurious, the ’71 was approaching Cadillac territory.

For the first time, Caprice received its own distinct front-end styling, with a bold eggcrate grille with inset Caprice fleur de lis emblem placed front and center. Up until 1971, Caprices shared the same nose with its Impala and Bel Air brethren. Now everyone knew you had the top-dog Chevy whether you were coming or going.

And with their wide-chrome, full-length rocker trim, “electric range” deluxe wheel covers, and fender skirts, they gave a pretty healthy Cadillac vibe, with the exception of their traditonal upper-class Chevrolet sextuplet of horizontal taillights. Granted, all the new ’71 GM biggies had a family resemblance, but the Caprice really had an upper class vibe—especially from the front.

There was a lime green metallic Caprice (Cottonwood Green, I believe, now that I’m looking at my ’71 Caprice brochure) in our neighborhood back then, too. I’m not sure who it belonged to, but it was usually parked catty-corner from our house. A couple of its original wheel covers had been replaced with circa 1971–72 Oldsmobile units, but the passenger side still retained those original, oh-so-cool electric range discs.

So that could be why I lit up like a Christmas tree when I saw this GORGEOUS example at the annual Cambridge, Illinois, car show in August 2018. I’d seen it at an earlier show in 2013, but didn’t take as many pictures as it was kind of boxed in on both sides.

But Eureka! It was sitting all by its lonesome this time, so I was able to take approximately 15–16 photos of it, including this side shot that shows the 1971 Caprice’s majestic Broughamage, and how it appears to be 30 feet long (ha ha). Standard equipment included a 255-horsepower 400 V-8. The 365-hp Turbo-Jet 454 V-8 was optional for extra spirited motorists.

As the 1971 brochure spelled out, “Caprice. Probably the most inexpensive expensive car ever built.” It certainly looked the part inside and out, with fine fabrics, ample space, and chrome, chrome, chrome. Interiors came in a choice of five colors.

The Caprice came only as two- and four-door hardtops; the convertible would not come along until 1973, so topless fans would have to settle for an Impala drop top. While the 1971 Kingswood Estate was Caprice level trimwise and pricewise, it didn’t actually beome a Caprice until ’73, same as the convertible.

The Caprice four-door hardtop had a base price of $4134 ($34,420 today); 64,093 were built. The coupe was slightly cheaper at $4081, and 46,404 found buyers. In all, around 668,000 fullsize Chevrolets were sold in the ’71 model year. As a ’71 Cadillac Calais coupe, the least expensive Cadillac, started at $5899 ($43,407), the Caprice represented a really fine value for Brougham on the cheap.

In comparison, 140,300 Impala four-door hardtops and 139,437 Impala Custom coupes were sold, so if you haven’t seen a ’71 Caprice in some time, that is why. As time went on and more models were added though, Caprices would be seen more and more, all the way up to 1986 when the Impala (the original, rear drive, V-8 Impala, not the 2000–19 FWD version) finally faded away and the big Chevys went all Caprice, all the time.

This one was especially fetching to me in what I believe is Ascot Blue with matching blue interior and black vinyl roof. It was really spectacular, and I’ve always loved the big ’70s luxury cars, whether from Chevy, Ford, or Mopar. And they’re so classy compared to some of the new cars on the road these days that look like Tonka trucks or cartoon hot rods. I miss elegance.

These had it. I miss that. I miss it all: whitewall tires, fender skirts, bench seats, heraldic crest emblems, meat locker quality air conditioning that would freeze you out of the car. But I can always look at one of these at a show and feel better. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to remain in the past for a while and visit a local supper club for some surf and turf, a gin and tonic ,and a baked potato with lots of butter and sour cream. Where can I rent a ’71 Caprice?

The post 1971 Chevrolet Caprice: Chevy goes Brougham! appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Ambassador. What a great name for a luxury car. And in the late 1960s, it was independent AMC’s way of saying Brougham. The model name had been inherited from the Nash half of the Nash/Hudson merger that created American Motors in 1954; Nash Ambassadors had been the fancy model going all the way back to the late 1920s.

By the mid ’60s, however, it was a smooth, sleek—albeit bargain-priced—Wisconsin-built car available as a sedan, coupe, or station wagon. In today’s terms, it would have been considered a “near-luxury” car. But with the car’s vertically stacked headlamps and ample chrome trim, particularly on the flossier DPL and SST trim levels, AMC wanted you to think Cadillac-level Broughamage.

But the biggest news was that now each Ambassador model came with standard air conditioning. As the 1968 brochure extolled, “The only American car with air conditioning standard. Ambassador is the only car in America, and maybe the world, that has its own air conditioning at no extra cost. (And that goes for every Ambassador, regardless of price.)

“Because American Motors is convinced that air conditioning is the best thing going in a car. If you live or drive where summers are hot or winters are cold, you need it. But if you buy your car on a nice day, you may not think about it—until it’s too late on a baking road in bumper-to-bumper traffic.”

At least, that’s what my copy of the deluxe AMC full-line brochure said. But apparently AMC marketeers were a teensy bit too excited to fact check before the brochure was published. Whoops.

As my Chicago buddy and vintage brochure/Brougham guru Jim Smith said, “1968 ushered in the first year that AMC made factory installed air conditioning as standard equipment. The only other American car with standard air conditioning was the Cadillac limo.”

And apparently AMC either was told or figured out the very same fact, as evidenced by this ’68 ad with a Judge Smails-approved Rolls Silver Shadow.

But it was a great marketing coup for plucky little AMC. Let’s face it, most Ambassadors were likely ordered with A/C anyway, so why not make it standard and bombard magazines, newspapers, and factory literature with the fact that its top-of-the-line model had standard air? Little cost, big impression.

The 1968 Ambassadors were only slightly updated from their all-new 1967 forebears. Sadly, the convertible model available in ’67 was gone, never to return. Basic Ambassadors started at $2820 ($24,052 today) for the sedan and $2842 ($24,239) for the coupe. A total of 8788 sedans and 3360 coupes were built.

Next up were the DPL models, with the same sedan and coupe versions available, for $2920 ($24,239) and $2941 ($25,084), respectively. As one would expect, nicer upholstery and more chrome exterior trim were in evidence, and 13,265 sedans and 3696 coupes sold.

But for those Brougham fans who lusted after brocade upholstery, power everything, and chrome chrome chrome, only the top-of-the-line SST would do. Coupe, sedan, and wagon models were available.

Displaying much more luxury trim and comfort features, the SST models also had as standard equipment a V-8, something lacking on the nice (but not top dog) SST models—although they did, of course, have standard air conditioning!

Again quoting the brochure, “Could that SST stand for Sensational Straight Through? Look what’s included in the base price (besides air conditioning): a 290-cubic-inch V-8, choice of expensive upholstery, individually adjustable reclining seats, interior wood-look paneling, an electric clock that works, and a gismo that buzzes if you leave the headlights on after you turn the ignition off.

“Two 343 V-8s (two- or four-barrel), ‘shift-command’ transmissions (column or console), and four-on-the-floor are options.” SST sedans had a $3151 ($26,875) base price and weighed in at 3476 pounds; 13,387 were built. The SST two-door hardtop started at $3172 ($27,054); 7686 were sold.

This gorgeous example, finished in Calcutta Russet metallic, was spotted and shamelessly gawked at by yours truly at the 2018 Des Moines Concours d’Elegance in 2018. I’ve always loved AMCs, admire their plucky effort—despite near-overwhelming odds that favored the Big Three at the time—and I always smile whenever I see a Pacer, Matador coupe, or Gremlin at a show. At the time that I saw it, this car was owned by Emily Worthington of Des Moines and is equipped with the optional 343-cu-in V-8. The placard indicated that only essential repairs had been performed to keep it operating as originally intended.

I absolutely loved it … If you couldn’t tell already.

The post 1968 AMC Ambassador SST: The Kenosha Cadillac appeared first on Hagerty Media.

My good friend Jim Smith has been attending the historic Chicago Auto Show for over 50 years. I’ve known Jim for several years, thanks to Facebook, and I’ve bought a whole bunch of dealer promo models and vintage brochures—mostly Cadillac and Lincoln, of course—in that time. As a fellow gearhead and Broughamophile, he has taken many pictures at the show for decades, well before it was cheap and easy, as it is today with smartphones. Lucky for us! So let’s dive into a world of Broughamage and wood-sided wagons—and no crossovers! Yay!—and see what kind of new rolling stock is on display.

Let’s start off at the Chrysler section, shall we? This year, it was all about the K-Car. Though the Dodge and Plymouth versions had appeared a year earlier, plush Chrysler variants joined them in ’82. LeBarons were offered in four body styles, including a coupe, sedan, and the handsome faux-wood Town & Country station wagon shown above. Those of you of a certain age will recall, like your author, that Ferris Bueller’s mom drove one of these.

The big news, however, was the convertible, which was finally offered by an American manufacturer for the first time since the 1976 Eldorado was discontinued. GM would respond almost immediately, however, with Eldorado and Riviera convertibles.

A Dodge 400 convertible was also offered for a bit less than the LeBaron. And there was even a K-car limousine! Known as the Executive, this Mini-Me limo was based off of a LeBaron coupe, with an appropriately stretched wheelbase and fold-out jump seats. Color-keyed wheel covers a la Mercedes-Benz were available on all LeBarons, not just the Executive.

The R-body Chrysler New Yorker and Newport were cancelled after 1981, so what had been the ’81 RWD LeBaron gained a new roofline with a landau top and became the 1982 New Yorker.

This only lasted one year, however, as the New Yorker would migrate to a stretched LeBaron platform for ’83. This car would remain in the lineup through 1989 as simply the Fifth Avenue.

Meanwhile, over at GM, Cadillacs were about the same as they had been since 1980, except for one minor detail. The 368-cubic-inch V-8, which had powered most Cadillacs since 1980, was replaced with the HT4100 V-8. Which, as most of you know, was perhaps not the greatest engine Cadillac made. But I love them.

It was somewhat slow and weak compared to recent 368- and 425-powered Caddys, and of course its reliability would prove somewhat lacking. But in ’82 it was new, fuel-efficient, and probably interesting to new Cadillac shoppers. The hangover would come later for many, but not all: a friend’s father-in-law’s ’83 Seville made it well past 160,000 miles with nary a hiccup.

Only one Cadillac still retained the 368, with V4-6-8 electronics intact: The Fleetwood Seventy-Five sedan and limousine. Technically, its the “Fleetwood Limousine,” as my friend and Caddy guru Eric DeVirgilis says, but I lump the Seventy Five monikor to all of Cadillac’s factory-built limos. They were available either with or without a divider window. Most were black. All were plush!

Of course, that didn’t stop coachbuilders from making their own Cadillac stretch limousines. These were displayed by Hanley Dawson Cadillac, which was for years the big downtown Chicago Cadillac dealer. Long gone now, sadly.

As previously mentioned, Buick had a new Riviera convertible to show off. It was the first Buick soft top since the 1975 LeSabre.

Only two colors were initially offered: White and Red Firemist. Only 1248 were built for 1982, due in part to the MSRP of $24,064 (about $74K today). That was about 10 grand more than a Riviera coupe, which had a base price of $14,468 ($44,500). So you had to really want the convertible.

As with many Detroit special editions, these were farmed out to American Sunroof Corporation (ASC). Coupes were sent off, and they were converted (ha!) into luxury drop-tops like the one seen here.

And here we have one of the most popular U.S. cars of the early 1980s: The Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme coupe. These were absolutely everywhere when I was a kid, and I especially remember a school friend’s mom owned one—triple burgundy metallic. It was, naturally, a Brougham.

But the Broughamiest Olds of the year was the Ninety-Eight Regency. These were preferred by Midwestern professionals, who wanted to let people know they were “doing well” but didn’t want to look like a bunch of pretentious snobs.

And it was a pretty darn nice car in its own right. Unlike Cadillac, the Olds retained its 5.0L-liter V-8, though the 4.1-liter V-6 was the standard engine. You could also get the 5.7L Diesel if you were so inclined, but by the early 1980s, the appeal of a Diesel GM product had waned considerably. Kind of a shame, as by this time all the bugs had been worked out.

Over at the Ford display, LTDs were well in evidence. This year marked the return of the historic Ford blue oval emblem, and it appeared on all 1982 models, from Escort to Econoline to the top-drawer LTD Crown Victoria, as seen here. A coupe was also available, but the four-door sedan far outnumbered it in demand. Despite this, the LTD coupe would last all the way through the 1987 model year.

And when it came to Ford longroofs, none were nicer than the LTD Country Squire, with its famous Di-Noc vinyl woodgrain sides.  You could even get leather as an on them.

The interiors on these were quite nice, almost to a Lincoln Town Car/Mark VI standard. It and the slightly flossier Mercury Colony Park were FoMoCo’s best family haulers. No crossovers, and even the Aerostar minivan was still a few years away. Just wagons, in small, medium, and large. The only other options for family hauling would have been an Econoline Club Wagon or Chateau full-size van.

Meanwhile at Lincoln, a new Continental appeared, more or less replacing the Versailles, which was discontinued in 1980. It was smaller than the Town Car and Mark VI and was clearly meant to compete with the Cadillac Seville, right down to the bustleback styling out back. It would last until 1987 and would be the last V8-powered, rear-wheel-drive Continental.

Finally, let’s take a look at the top-of-the-line Continental Mark VI. It rode the same Panther chassis as its Town Car sister, but with the spare-tire hump and hidden headlamps that had been a Mark feature for decades. It was also the last two-door, as the Town Car coupe lasted only for 1980–81 and disappeared for good.

The ’82 Continental Mark VI was pretty much the same as it had been since its 1980 introduction, with the exception of new colors and genuine wire wheels, which had become available in 1981.

Our time is up for this week, but rest assured there are still many more vintage pictures from Jim’s cache to share in the future, from the 1970s through the early ’90s … and beyond. Until then, keep calm and Brougham on!

The post Vintage Chicago Auto Show: Where Were You In ’82? appeared first on Hagerty Media.

I have a long history with the Mercury Cougar Villager. Which is kind of odd, as it’s an all but forgotten model, offered for a single year, 1977. True, it was essentially a 1972–76 Montego Villager with a new front clip with the oh-so-trendy formal grille, quad rectangular headlamps, and stand-up hood ornament, but it has been permanently etched into my brain for one reason and one reason only: Matchbox.

I grew up in the 1980s, and my parents noticed I was interested in cars from an extremely early age. My first memory ever was going through the car wash at the local Shell station; I was in a kiddy seat in the back seat of my dad’s root-beer brown 1979 Pontiac Bonneville. So this goes back a long way! As a result, they got me all manner of Hot Wheels, Pocket Cars, Zylmex, and Matchbox toy cars. And one of my most prized possessions then was a metallic lime green Matchbox Mercury Cougar Villager.

I’m not sure why, but it became one of my favorite toy cars, along with a Pocket Cars Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham and Lincoln Mark IV. At any rate, I carried it with me everywhere, and despite all odds, it has survived to the present day, albeit in somewhat rough condition. Even as I got older it was a keeper, and when I was around 12 my parents somehow found me a mint condition version at an antique store, complete with the original tiny box.

Fun fact: about five years ago I mentioned to my dad that if he needed any ideas for my upcoming birthday, I didn’t have the blue Matchbox Cougar Villager, which is somewhat rarer than the lime green one. He found one, got it, but it took forever.

Turns out it was an even rarer nonmetallic blue Villager, a Bulgarian version not sold in the States, and it came from—yep, you guessed it—Bulgaria! It has pride of place in my home office now.

Around the time I got my original Matchbox Villager, my maternal grandmother, Mae Stamp, had a triple jade green ’77 Ford LTD II Brougham, so perhaps that’s why I latched onto my mini-wagon. I loved her car, in fact, I called her Grandma Green Car. So that’s a distinct possibility. Plus, I liked wagons, Mom had two wagons in the same era: the daily driver, a ’77 Volvo 245DL, and lurking in the garage and only driven on nice days, a bright red ’73 Volvo 1800ES sportswagon.

But what about the genuine Cougar Villager? All 1977 Cougars were restyled, but underneath they were still essentially the 1972-76 Montego. A big difference was the addition of a station wagon and a four door sedan, something never before offered as a Cougar. But since the Cougar essentially replaced the midsize Montegos, they had to offer other bodystyles to round out the line. The whole lineup was essentially a renamed Montego. The Cougar itself had been a slightly restyled, fancier Montego since 1974, when it lost its kinship with the Mustang and got larger and Broughamier.

The same thing happened over at Ford, where the ex-Torino/Gran Torino became the LTD II, with the Gran Torino Squire becoming the LTD II Squire. While the Cougar  and LTD II sedans and coupes would last into 1979 before being discontinued, the station wagons were a one-year wonder: after ’77, they were gone for good.

Which makes them pretty rare these days. I only ever saw one LTD II wagon, a non-woody version in navy blue sitting parked at Sunset Marina when I was there with my dad, circa 1991. I’ve never seen a Cougar Villager in person. The primary difference between the two was the LTD II had stacked quad headlamps, while the Cougars had their quads horizontally situated.

The 1977 Mercury Cougar wagon came in two versions, the $5104 Cougar wagon and the $5363 Villager wagon. Villagers added, first and foremost, wide swaths of Di-Noc vinyl woodtone appliques along both sides and on the tailgate. Standard was a two-barrel 351 CID V8; a 400 CID unit, also with a two barrel carb, was optional.

Villagers added a deluxe steering wheel, electric clock, the aforementioned woodgrain exterior trim, deluxe wheel covers, power tailgate window, deluxe sound insulation package and front Flight Bench Seat with a folding center armrest. A Brougham interior package was also available, and is shown on both the green and blue versions seen here. Plusher seats and fancier door panels with “Brougham” plaques were the primary additions.

Options included color-keyed sport mirrors, cornering lights, AM/FM/MPX radio with Quadrasonic 8-track tape player, a roof rack and a rear-facing third-row seat. All rode a 118″ wheelbase and had an overall length of 223.1 inches. Unlike today’s shades of gray, interiors were available in saddle, jade, dark red, medium blue and chamois.

And there’s a reason if you’ve never seen one: Only 4,951 Cougar wagons and 8,569 Cougar Villagers were built for the year.

This particular one, resplendent in the very same Jade Green with matching Brougham interior as my Grandma Mae’s LTD II Brougham, was spotted on Marketplace back in September 2021:

“77 Cougar Villager Wagon. 6 passenger, 351m V8, Automatic, fmx I believe? 9” rear end w/ economical 2.75 gears, A/C, converted to r-134, power locks, all 5 doors, 2 way tailgate w/ power window, split front bench w/ power driver’s seat, cruise control (have never tried), AM/FM stereo, not working.”

“I have owned this vehicle for nearly 10 years of which the majority of that time has been spent in a heated pole barn.

Solid car; some rust around the edges. Was purchased new in Minnesota and lived most of its life in Arizona. Has had a repaint at some time in its past. Interior is original aside from new headliner. Braking system is all new except rotors and drums. Also has new shocks at all 4 corners. Car is not perfect but it is a very uncommon find as they are pretty scarce. Have some hard to find parts (including upper door seals), manuals, and dealer literature that are included too! $14,500 obo, no trades.”

I saved the link back then, but while putting this column together I saw it is now long gone. Here’s hoping she went to a good home. I’ve never seen one of these up close, so maybe I’ll see this one someday! That would be excellent.

The post Jade Dream: 1977 Mercury Cougar Villager appeared first on Hagerty Media.

I’ve always had a huge interest in vintage American luxury cars: Cadillac, Lincoln, Mercury, Imperial, Chrysler, Oldsmobile, and Buick. As a kid, watching 1980s TV, I always wanted the black Cadillacs, Town Cars, and Fifth Avenues the bad guys drove, not Magnum’s 308GTB or Michael Knight’s talking Trans Am. You can probably blame that one on my grandparents; my Grandma Ruby’s 1977 Thunderbird and Grandpa Bob’s navy blue 1977 Continental Mark V saw to it. From my earliest memories, I was into cars and had umpteen Matchboxes, Hot Wheels, and Corgi toys to prove it.

One of the earliest memories I have of car shows was when my mom and dad took me to the June Jamboree, a car show and festival in town back in about 1986. I would have been in first grade at the time. The only car I have strong memories of was a gigantic black 1955 Cadillac Fleetwood 60 Special. This was an imposing motor car, by any standard. Even more imposing when one is only four feet tall.

Fast forward 35-odd years and I still love vintage domestic lux rolling stock. And with all my car buddies near and far, I never know what I’ll get to check out next. Case in point: K V Dahl, a friend of mine who just happens to also be the local Ford dealer, got a blue 1962 Continental convertible a few years back. I’ve wanted to write it up (and get a ride in it too—yes, ulterior motives, and all that), and though I had some pictures of it, I wanted to get some beauty shots of the car sitting outside. K V said we could definitely do that. So back in the spring of 2017, I called him up and said, “Hey, I’d like to get some shots of the Continental sometime this week if you’re around.” To which he responded, “Well sure, but you should see what I got this week in Indianapolis!” “What?” “It’s a 1960 Chrysler New Yorker convertible. It’s sitting out front of the dealership right now. Want to stop by?” (… long pause …) “I’m on the way!”

The 1960 Chryslers were all-new, and the second generation of Virgil Exner’s Forward Look was extremely attractive. And fins? Oh, heck yes! Despite all the glamour and glitz that was de rigueur back then, the biggest news was under the skin, where all Mopars (save Imperial) went to unit-body construction.

The 1960 Chrysler lineup was homogeneous yet diverse at the same time. There were no mid-size cars, no compacts, subcompacts, SUVs, nor crossovers. Everything was a variation on a theme— said theme being an unapologetically full-size Chrysler motor car with unmistakable, giant fins. But there was a wide variety of body styles and trim levels. And colors! Oh, the colors! And hardtops! And wagons! And push-button Torque-Flite transmissions! And chrome, chrome, chrome!

Sure, if you didn’t want to drive such a gunboat, you were kind of out of luck, but that’s what Renault Dauphines and VWs were for. And you could admire the Chryslers and then check out the new compact Valiant sharing the showroom if you were more interested in smaller cars.

The other big deal on ’60 Chryslers was the most excellent Astra-Dome instrument cluster. In addition to its cool looks, the Astra Dome instrumentation introduced electroluminescent lighting to Chryslers for the first time. Instead of small bulbs throwing light upon the surface of the gauges (think spotlights on a stage), the numbers and needles were illuminated from within, in bright green and red. Not only did they look cool, they reduced glare compared to the more commonly illuminated gauges on other 1960 model year cars.

One interesting factoid on 1960–62 Chryslers. The rare buyer who wanted a manual transmission would have received a floor-mounted gearshift instead of the three-on-the-tree column shift. With the Astra Dome extending all the way to the steering wheel, there simply wasn’t any place to put it!

Super cool, but as you might expect, they were rather expensive to make, especially in 1960. But back then Chrysler was still the engineering-focused member of the Big Three, despite the early-rusting and troublesome 1957 Forward Look cars. Only 1960–62 Chryslers and 1960–63 Imperials got the EL gauge clusters. They looked pretty good in the top-tier Imperials too.

They were an indicator (no pun intended) of the future, as all cars eventually went this route, with the numbers and needles lit from within on pretty much everything by the late 1970s and early ’80s. In this picture you can see another gee-whiz late-1950s/early-60s Chrysler gadget, the swing out seats. Designed to help (in theory) people get in and out of the rather low 1957–62 Chryslers, they were an option, and depending on whether it was a Dodge or Chrysler or whatever, they automatically swung out or were operated via a lever on the seat.

As usual, the New Yorker was the top of the line, and while not quite in the same league as a Cadillac, Lincoln, or Imperial, it was nevertheless a swank set of wheels. Lots of Jet Age details abound; even the interior door handles have a jet thruster look to them.

K V’s new addition to the collection has a bit of history too. It was the cover car for the December 1994 issue of Collectible Automobile, which ran a feature story on the 1960–62 Chryslers. Of course, K V has a copy of the magazine in the car … and was nice enough to make a color copy of the article for me.

At any rate, I arrived at Dahl Ford in due course and met up with K V. As we exited the side door of the dealership, I spotted the New Yorker in a primo parking place and fired up the camera, but K V said the car deserved better pictures than sitting in a parking lot. “Let’s take it for a ride!” Um, hell yes, OK! I’m in!

A nearby cemetery provided a good background for pictures. I can also tell you that this is one smooth riding car. You think the late-model Town Cars and Cadillac DTSs ride nice? These mid-century yachts blow them totally out of the water!

You don’t really drive, you kind of float. But with that famous Chrysler Corporation Torsion-Aire suspension, it handles pretty darn fair for such a big car.

But as good as the entire car looks, let’s face it, it’s all about the fins. The 1960 Chrysler is, in my opinion, one of the best-looking Mopars of the late ’50s and early ’60s. I like it even more than the ’57 “Suddenly it’s 1960” Chryslers, which are pretty damn attractive in their own right. The ’60 is just so smooth—the whole car, from nose to tail, is smooth and flowing.

Sadly, that terrific look was slightly marred a bit in the ’61 restyle. The slanting quad headlamps just aren’t as attractive. It’s like they just changed it for the sake of change, and while that was the rule of the day in Detroit at the time, I kind of wish they’d just done a new grille insert and side trim instead of this. I like them, don’t get me wrong, but not as much as I like the 1960 Chryslers.

If you ever happen to see a 1960 New Yorker in person, you’re in rare company. For whatever reason, drop-top Mopars didn’t sell back then, while over at GM Cadillac convertibles were flying off the assembly lines. Total sales of topless New Yorkers that year were a mere 556 units. I kid you not. Each retailed for $4875 $48,883 today) before options. For those wanting Forward Look fins in a less-costly version could have gotten a Windsor for $3623 $36,329). Windsor convertible production was 1467 for the year, better than the New Yorker but still minuscule.

And for those for which cost was no object, the 300F was available for $5841 ($58,569). It was even rarer than the New Yorker, with 248 being sold. But it was so cool!

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how a 1962 Continental article turned into a 1960 Chrysler love fest. But never fear, the Lincoln will get written about one of these days. Until then, keep calm and Brougham on!

The post This 1960 Chrysler convertible puts me in a New Yorker state of mind appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Starting in the mid-1960s, the “Low Priced Three”—namely, Ford, Chevrolet and Plymouth—decided to go upscale. Said results included two models familiar to old car nuts: the Caprice and LTD. And a third, which only the most “with-it” Mopar devotees or Brougham aficianados will know of: The Plymouth VIP.

The VIP displaced the Sport Fury as the top big Plymouth in ’66, one year after the LTD and Caprice first appeared. And just like its competition, the VIP had the soon-to-be-typical chrome additions, plusher interior, vinyl roof, and wood-grained dash and door panels.

Although clearly a member of the Fury line, the VIP received its own special brochure apart from the Sport Fury and Furys III, II, and I. Initially available only as a four-door hardtop (a hardtop coupe came later), it was marketed as a Plymouth for folks who wanted the finer things in life.

Despite gilding the lily of the already well-equipped Sport Fury, the VIP looked as good as any of the other 1966 Mopar full-sizers, thanks to design chief Elwood Engel’s attractive square-rigged styling.

But only about 12,000 were built for 1966, compared to over 100,000 LTDs and 181,000 Caprices. And while it was, in your author’s opinion, as attractive and well-appointed as its cross-town rivals, it never broke 20,000 units during the four years it was the top of the line Plymouth. It last appeared in 1969.

But new plans were afoot for the ’67 model year. While the ’66 Plymouths were most attractive, their squared-off styling was a little out of style with the advent of GM’s swoopy 1965 Chevrolets. The 1967 Plymouths presented smoother, swoopier styling. Especially attractive was the new “Fast Top” roofline, as shown above. This body style was limited to only the Sport Fury and VIP hardtop coupes.

The VIP was back, all new, and with plenty of new Broughamtastic features, particularly inside. Several square feet of woodgrained trim graced the doors and lower instrument panel, along with a filigreed gold medallion that would not look out of place as a belt buckle at Studio 54 just a few years in the future.

The VIP remained available only as a hardtop coupe or four-door hardtop. No pillared sedans and no station wagons were available in the top-dog Plymouth. The VIP four door is shown here, and looks particularly fetching in black over red, with the snazzy turbine-style wheel covers. The VIP sedan sold a bit better than the coupe, to the tune of 10,830 units, and started at $3182 (about $28,216 today). Most of them likely went out the door for a fair bit more than that, considering the extensive option list.

It seems strange that Plymouth didn’t offer the VIP as a convertible; that remained the domain of the Sport Fury. Drop-top aficionados had to shell out $3279 ($29,076) for a Sport Fury, or a slightly cheaper $3118 ($27,649) Fury III variant.

The Fury III hardtop coupe, although nicely styled, had an angular roofline had been around on Plymouths and Dodges since 1963 and looked a little out of date. You could also get this body style as a Sport Fury. Formal, yes, but you could always go for the swoopy Fast Top coupe instead. The cheapest big Plymouth was the Fury I two-door sedan, with virtually no chrome trim outside of bumpers and emblems. Priced at $2473 ($21,929), it was also seldom seen; a mere 6647 were produced.

The tried-and-true Slant Six was standard equipment in almost all Fury I, II, and III models, though the Fury II/III wagons and Fury III four-door hardtop and convertible did come with the 318-cubic-inch V-8. The Plymouth Six was, of course, the bulletproof 225-cu-in Slant Six that had debuted in the 1960 Valiant compact. With a single-barrel carb and 145 horsepower. The smaller 170-cu-in Slant Six was not available in full-size Plymouths, being confined to the Valiant line. Probably a good move.

All 1967 fullsize Plymouths, regardless of model, got standard carpeting, armrests, heater/defroster, back-up lights, dual brake system, an energy-absorbing steering column, and seatbelts. While none of those sounded really exciting to someone ordering a fully-loaded VIP, I imagine it warmed skinflints’ hearts when they were selecting a Fury I. The VIP remained the top of the line, and as such featured prominently in Plymouth advertising, along with the Sport Fury and new-for-’67 Barracuda.

The two-model VIP line featured all Fury III equipment in addition to faux walnut interior trim, Deluxe gold-fleck cloth upholstery with vinyl bolsters, Deluxe wheel covers (those cool turbine wheel covers were optional), 15-inch wheels, light group, and Flow-Through ventilation.

VIPs came standard with a 230-hp 318 V-8, breathing through a two-barrel Carter carburetor. If that wasn’t enough motivation for you, also availaber were a two-barrel, 270-hp 383 ($70); four-barrel, 325-hp 383 ($120); or the top-of-the-heap four-barrel, 375-hp 440 V-8 ($268).

While the VIP was pretty well equipped, with its sparkly upholstery and extra chrome, you could easily tack on an additional $500–$750 in options if you wanted to. The available niceties included air conditioning ($338), automatic speed control ($83), power brakes ($42), power steering ($95), front disc brakes ($70), and a six-way power bench seat ($94). Also available was leather upholstery, available only on the VIP, for $104.

The 3630-pound VIP hardtop coupe started at $3117, which was $65 cheaper than the VIP four-door hardtop. It was also the less-popular model of the two-car VIP series, with 7912 produced.

As the 1967 VIP production suggests, the model never really took off, certainly not like the LTD and Caprice. Why not is anyone’s guess, but for some, “Sport Fury” may have sounded a lot better than “VIP.” A likely explanation is the Chrysler-Plymouth dealer network itself. After pricing out a loaded VIP, I imagine it was an easy step to just get a Chrysler Newport instead. The Chrysler name certainly had more cachet than Plymouth in the late ’60s.

The 1968 VIPs had the expected “new model year” trim changes and new wheel covers, but at a glance, they were very similar to the ’67s.

The VIP last appeared for the 1969 model year. In 1970, the Sport Fury once again ruled the Plymouth roost, with a new four-door hardtop model standing in for the ’69 VIP version. The true successor to the VIP in ’70 was, believe it or not, the Sport Fury Brougham. Talk about mixed messages! Eventually, the Gran Fury moniker became the top of the line, but even it never reached the sales success of its cross-town-Detroit and Dearborn competitors … though it did do better than the VIP.

I found our featured VIP in December 2012. I was driving along 14th Avenue in Rock Island (Illinois) near Augustana College when I spotted some distinctive ’60s-style stacked headlamps off to my right.

At the time, this was the first full-size ’67 Plymouth I’d seen in a long time. That it was the scarce VIP instead of a much more common Fury was the icing on the cake. Too bad it wasn’t in a flashier color combo, like those shown in the ’67 brochure. But it seems that white with a black top and interior was VERY popular on cars in the ’60s. I’d have preferred a nice blue, green, or burgundy, with a matching interior.

You could tell that the car had some rust repair in the past, judging from the lighter patches of white paint on the rear quarter panels, but it was in very decent condition. A rare birdie indeed: 1967 produced 7912 VIP two-door hardtops and 10,830 VIP four-door hardtops.

It was a real thrill to spot this one—and it’s still around. Late in the summer of 2021 I spotted it in Moline, parked next to a repair shop, and it was in about the same condition as the last time that I saw it. Unfortunately the next time I drove by, intending to get some updated photos, it was gone.

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Lido A. Iacocca was a polarizing figure, there’s no question about it. But he had a major part in many of Ford Motor Company’s successes in the 1960s and ’70s. The original Mustang, today’s subject, the Mark III, the Granada, and even the Mustang II (hey, love it or hate it, it sold, it was the right car at the right time, it made beaucoup money for Ford, and it was perhaps closer to the original ’65 than many Mustang fans are comfortable with). Some would say Iacocca took credit for the work of others, accepted all the glory, and imposed his will at his own peril. Alternately, he was a super salesman, made his career from nothing, was never afraid to stand up for something he wanted badly, created new market segments no one else had yet thought of, and saved a car company at the brink of being toast. Few are neutral about the man. But I fall a bit more into the latter camp, and the subject of today’s daily dose of Lincoln is the reason why: The magnificent Lincoln Continental Mark III.

That’s right, ladies and gentleman, “Klockau” is in the byline and the subject is Ford Motor Company’s finest. For my regular readers (all three of you), you just know there’s going to be a positive push for plush Lincolns! And you would be correct. Well, what can I say. My Grandpa Bob and Grandma Ruby were Ford people for many years, with multiple Lincolns and Thunderbirds playing a part in my childhood car memories.

And in 1968, my grandfather traded his green over green 1966 Lincoln Continental sedan for a triple dark green 1969 Mark III. He loved that car. One interesting thing my father recently told me: That Mark was the first one that Bob Neal Lincoln-Mercury, of Rock Island, Illinois, ever got in. My grandfather saw it sitting there and bought it on the spot.

Indeed, he loved it so much that he traded it for the all-new 1972 Mark IV. Like the Mark III, it too was dark metallic green, with matching leather and top. Then that one was traded for a triple navy blue 1977 Mark V. Iacocca was certainly onto something. The value of the renewed Mark III (there was a previous Mark III in 1958, but Ford decided to rewrite history) definitely exceeded the sum of its Thunderbird-derived parts. The inaugural 1969 model sold 30,858 units—initially at $6585 ($53,141 today), later bumped to $6741 ($54,400). The Mark III was introduced in April 1968, but all cars were officially 1969 models, much like all first-year Mustangs were 1965s—“1964 1/2” designations notwithstanding.

Despite the admittedly long model year, Mark III sales were quite substantial, considering 1969 Continental sedan and coupe sales came to 29,351 and 9032, respectively. Lincoln was clearly on to something. The 460-cubic-inch V-8 produced 365 horsepower through its four-barrel Autolite carburetor and had a curb weight of 4866 pounds. All 1970 models received redesigned door panels and upholstery sew style, new wheel covers, and other small details, plus a price increase to $7281 ($55,578). With a standard production interval for this year, production went down to 21,432.

Ninety-six percent of 1970 Continental Mark IIIs had air conditioning and tinted glass, and 88 percent had a tilt steering wheel. I suspect the four percent of non-A/C Marks were sold in Minnesota and Alaska (haha). A myriad of color choices—including optional Moondust colors, such as Red Moondust, Ginger Moondust (as seen on the Mark III in the terrific 1971 film The French Connection), or Ivy Moondust (as seen on our lovely example here) were available, plus a cornucopia of interior color choices. More than anything else, I have always associated luxury cars with a vast amount of both interior and exterior color choices.

You see, back then most people ordered their Lincolns, Cadillacs, and Imperials from a dealership. And when you’re spending over seven grand—a substantial sum in the Year Of Our Lord 1971—one was not going to buy a car off the lot and settle for a color they weren’t fond of. No, sir. You’d want to order exactly the car you desired: color, trim, options, sunroof, the whole nine yards. And most did. It was a different time, for sure.

Personally, the colors on this 1971 model, owned by my friend and fellow LCOC Lake Shore Region club member, Humberto Garcia, were just about perfect to me. I’d seen the car at several club events, but I finally got some suitable photos of it in August 2018 at a show at the airport in Poplar Grove, Illinois.

I love the Ivy Moondust paint, with that oh-so-excellent matching dark green leather and vinyl roof. My Grandpa Bob’s 1969 Mark III was essentially the same color combination, so this was as close as I’ve yet gotten to seeing, in person, his car.

The easiest way to tell a 1970 model from a ’71 model is that most ’71s received high-back seats, though the sew style remained the same as the previous year. I prefer the separate headrests; the high-back seats always make me think Mustang, for some reason.

However, even that is not conclusive. While the high-back seats appeared on early ’71s, there were some complaints about them, so Lincoln made the low-back seats with adjustable headrests a no-cost option shortly thereafter.

The 1970 and ’71 Continental Mark IIIs also received genuine walnut trim on the instrument panel. About 25 years ago, a friend of my father’s was performing some cosmetic restoration on a 1971 Mark III, and I got to sit behind the wheel.

The gangly, bespectacled 14-year old version of your author was immediately smitten with the interior—those instrument binnacles framed by real wood and the Cartier clock with the second hand seamlessly sweeping across its face. Wow, is this the life! Imagine the pleasure of driving one on a regular basis. Yowza.

The Continental Mark III not only stole the hearts of FoMoCo faithful, it also attracted admirers from “the other luxury car make.” And eventually, the Mark would trounce Cadillac’s Eldorado in sales—though Cadillac would still handily outsell Lincoln as a whole for many years thereafter.

Last call for the Mark III was 1971, when 27,091 sold at $8421 ($61,582) a pop. Clearly Lincoln—and by association, Lee Iacocca—had a hit. Who could blame Iacocca for using past successes to create new ones when he helmed Chrysler in the early ’80s? And the LeBarons certainly sold well. I remember many of them when I was a kid.

Times were changing though, and by about 1990, the “Mark III formula” really didn’t have the sparkle and attraction it once held. The retro-Brougham 1990–93 Chrysler Imperial, while a car I personally like, just couldn’t stand up to the new-for-1992 Cadillac Seville, a tasteful modern take on American luxury. But I will give Mr. Iacocca a pass on that, for he gave us some truly wonderful Lincolns. It all started with the timeless Continental Mark III.

The post 1971 Continental Mark III: Iacocca’s Crown Jewel appeared first on Hagerty Media.

Ever since I first attended an SDC meet in 1996 (thanks to great parents who indulged my love of cars), I have loved Studebaker. But even I have to admit that, in the end, Studebaker execs did themselves in. The company very nearly went under in the 1930s, but thanks to the new management team of Harold Vance and Paul Hoffman—and in no small part, healthy refinancing and restructuring—Studebaker survived the Depression. By late 1933, against all odds, the corporation was back in the black. Unfortunately, those same guys started making the decisions that led to the last South Bend Studebaker cars leaving the soon-to-be-shuttered factory in December 1963, only a few short months into the 1964 model year.

But first, a little history, if you’ll indulge me. Studebaker got off to a great start in the postwar era with its startlingly modern, all-new 1947 line.

With further advances, such as a V-8 engine and automatic transmission—both designed in-house, a major achievement for an independent—Studebaker had healthy sales through 1952, when it celebrated its centennial.

Unfortunately, trouble was right around the corner. Record sales in 1947–52 helped the automaker tool up for a major redesign and fresh lineup, but it had to be a hit.

The all-new 1953 models—both the beautiful coupes …

… and the comparably stubby sedans—sold less well than hoped. Studebaker needed a lot more sales than it got to stay in the black.

Trouble was, everyone and their brother wanted the sleek, sexy Loewy coupes. Studebaker had not anticipated the demand, because traditionally, its bread and butter were two- and four-door sedans, not coupes. So  demand for sedans was well below expectations and much higher than anticipated for the coupes. It didn’t help that the pillarless coupes had some flexing issues that led to doors sometimes not wanting to open. Or close. A solution was found relatively quickly, but I imagine new ’53 coupe owners may have been soured on the experience with early-build versions.

That’s not to say that Studebaker stopped making neat cars after the 1953 models didn’t live up to the company’s (and in some cases, customers’) expectations.

Studebaker’s classic Loewy coupes, handsome E Series (later Transtar) pickups, hot-rod Golden Hawk, innovative Wagonaire, and many other models were attractive and interesting, but sales continued their downward trajectory. Meanwhile over at GM, Ford, and Chrysler, new designs, new gadgets, and even more deluxe models were making the warmed-over ’53 bodies look also-ran by comparison.

The Studebaker story is oft told. So I won’t go too deeply into it. It’s hard for me to do a post on a Studebaker and not start with the history of the company and all the stuff that happened. It wasn’t a happy ending, but it sure was interesting. I think a movie about the last decade or so of Studebaker would be pretty interesting. All the twists and turns! Sherwood Egbert, the Lark, the Avanti, Andy Granatelli, the move to Canada, etc.

Now, where was I? Oh yes, one big problem was that Studebaker didn’t control its costs. Whatever the workers wanted, they got, and with nary a cross word from management.

That led to astronomical production costs compared with the Big Three, and Studebaker’s rapidly aging facilities complicated matters further. The success of the ’59 Lark provided a brief reprieve, but when the Falcon, Corvair, and Valiant debuted, it was back to the same-old, same-old in a very short period of time.

And thus do we come to the 1964 Studebakers. Brooks Stevens, the renowned Milwaukee-based industrial designer, was a godsend to small companies like Studebaker. He had quite a knack for taking a shoestring budget and delivering a major refresh that looked great. What would be his last assignment for Studebaker was the 1964 model refresh. There’s a 1959 Lark under there, but it isn’t immediately obvious.

Stevens first worked his magic in 1962, with the Mercedes-like ’62 Larks. They looked to be all-new, thanks to clever styling, but were the same old Lark. Sales increased over 1961. That same year, with perhaps his best design ever, the Gran Turismo Hawk appeared, looking surprisingly modern with its shorn fins and Thunderbird-style roofline. The transformation from the finned 1956–61 Hawk was remarkable.

Studebaker had spent most of the early ’60s clinging to relevance. Had it not been for Sherwood Egbert, Studebaker may have had even less time left than it ultimately received. But Egbert, going against orders to shut down Studebaker, instead tried his best to keep it going, hiring Stevens to come up with new styling, introducing the Avanti, and setting records at the Bonneville Salt Flats with Andy Granatelli-prepped R1- and R2-powered Hawks and Avantis.

Egbert did all he could to keep Studebaker afloat, but unfortunately his effort didn’t translate into any meaningful sales increase. Illness forced his retirement from Studebaker in November 1963; almost immediately, the Studebaker board approved shutting down South Bend in favor of limited production at its Canadian facility. The last Indiana-built car came off the line December 20, 1963. At the same time, production of all light- and heavy-duty truck lines, the Avanti, and the GT Hawk ended for good.

But not before the last “new” Studebakers came out in the fall of 1963. While technically still Larks, the name was not seen on the car. Instead, the names of different trim lines—Challenger, Commander, Daytona, and Cruiser—were emphasized. Studebaker may not have had much time left, but it still had quite a good-looking car, as well as attractive, colorful interiors.

The instrument panel was particularly sharp. In contrast to so many other domestic cars, the Stude had full instrumentation. And the optional tachometer was placed right there on the dash with the other gauges, unlike the difficult-to-read, center-console-mounted tachs in some GM and Ford products. Despite all of Studebaker’s troubles, it still offered many thoughtful, intelligent design features.

In addition to more modern, squared-off sheet metal, there was power if you wanted it. The aforementioned R1–R4 power options resulted in a sedate little Studebaker that could potentially suck the doors off unsuspecting Sport Furys, Impala SSs, and Fairlane 500s.

You could even get disc brakes, but you’d have to hurry, as only South Bend-built Studebakers got the R-spec equipment. The denuded Canadian-built 1964 lineup would be limited to bread-and-butter family cars, not hot rod Avantis, Larks, or GT Hawks. And no convertibles!

Yes, the beautiful Daytona convertible, with its fresh sheetmetal and most-excellent interior, would disappear with the closing of the South Bend factory in December ’63.

All Canadian Studes would have a fixed metal roof—unless you sprung for a Wagonaire with the retractable roof.

With the ’64 redesign, Studebaker deemphasized the Lark nameplate, and so all non-Hawk Studebakers were emblazoned with their trim levels: Daytona, Commander, Cruiser, etc. The Daytona convertible retailed for $2797 (about $26,722 today).

According to my Standard Catalog of American Cars 1946–75, only 647 Daytona convertibles were built between the introduction of the 1964 models and the closure of South Bend in December 1963. The final Indiana car built was a two-door Daytona V-8 hardtop. Like the convertible, there would be no pillarless two-doors once production moved to Hamilton, Ontario.

And it was sporting some serious firepower under the hood—yep, an R1.

And it had a red interior. The car survives in showroom condition at the Studebaker National Museum in South Bend. If you visit, tell Andrew Beckman that I sent you.

My friend Jim Cavanaugh and I got to see Beckman’s personal Studebaker back in 2015. We also got to view a bit of the museum archives, which was very cool. I highly recommend that if you’re a gearhead who happens to find yourself in central Indiana, you’ve got to visit the facility.

Oh, and Mr. Beckman’s Daytona sounded very healthy indeed when he pulled up out front to meet us.

But if you wanted luxury and not necessarily a hot rod, you needed look no further than the Cruiser. As in the past, the Cruiser nameplate designated the finest Studebaker you could get. While previous versions of the Cruiser had merited a longer wheelbase than lesser Studes, the 1964 model had the same 113-inch wheelbase and 194-inch overall length as the other ’64 four-door sedans. Price: $2595 ($24,792). Only 5023 were built.

The attractive, new-for-1964 “Lazy S” hood ornament was indeed appropriate for the luxurious Cruiser; it also graced all other Larks except the entry-level Challenger model. In fact, this picture is of the 1964 Daytona convertible, spotted in the summer of 2018 at an SDC zone meet in Iowa City, Iowa.

It’s just a happy coincidence that both cars are painted in Laguna Blue, an original Studebaker color. It’s very sharp, whether on the Cruiser sedan or the Daytona convertible. But who doesn’t love a convertible?

Cruiser features included a standard Thunderbolt 289-cu-in V-8 (although some export Cruisers were built with the six), plush cloth interior, wall-to-wall carpeting, and extra chrome trim inside and out. Available only as a four-door sedan, the $2595 Cruiser ran about $650 above the cheapest Lark, the $1935 six-cylinder Challenger two- door sedan.

As with our featured Cruiser sedan, most 1964s got a clock instead of a tachometer. I think this may be one of the most attractive instrument panels of the ’60s—all business, but with just enough chrome trim to let you know you’re in something a cut above.

Even our sporty, topless Daytona feature car, resplendent in Laguna Blue with matching blue bucket seat interior and floor-shift automatic transmission, had the clock instead of the tach. Well, Studebaker buyers were a somewhat more practical bunch.

It was a good try; but with South Bend shut down, already gun-shy Studebaker buyers became even more skittish. In 1965, operating out of a Canadian facility originally intended for Dominion-only sales, Studebakers were technically imports in 1965–66.

Ultimately, the diversification-driven Studebaker board got its way, and in 1966 the car division was shut down in favor of STP car care products, Gravely tractors, and Trans International Airlines. But handsome cars like these true-blue 1964 examples remind us of what was once the oldest auto manufacturer in America. Even to the end, their cars were interesting.

One final note: Most of the Studebakers in this column were seen at a Studebaker Drivers Club meet on August 11, 2018. The Cruiser was spied at the Planes, Trains, and Automobiles show in historic Geneseo, Illinois, in September 2012. Special thanks to my uncle, Dave Klockau, for texting me and letting me know about the terrific Studebaker club show! Being in the Quad Cities, I never would have known otherwise. It was a great show. There was also a gorgeous 1958 Packard Hawk that I still need to write about one of these days!

The post 1964 Studebaker Cruiser and Daytona: Brooks Stevens’s Last Pass For South Bend appeared first on Hagerty Media.

The late-1970s was a different time. And I’m not talking about TV shows, then-current headlines, political drama, or clothing styles. Just looking at the cars available then, it was so dramatically different from the 2022s and ’23s that we see on dealer lots now. Style, for one thing! No crossovers. Real colors. And so on. Just looking at Cadillac alone, there’s still such a shocking divide between then and now.

In 1978, Cadillac Motor Division provided a real variety of cars, including the Fleetwood limousines, the only factory-built limos in America. The Calais series, which had been the Series 62 until 1965, was gone, leaving the Sedan de Ville and Coupe de Ville as the “entry level” Cadillac. Of course, they were anything but—these weren’t exactly taxi-grade Chevy Impalas. The de Villes had much nicer interior trim and door panels compared to the final Cadillac Calais models built in 1974–76, avoiding the Calais’ expanded vinyl and plainer decor.

Of course, the big deal came a year earlier, in 1977, when all Cadillacs lost their sheer size in place of more practical—yet still roomy—dimensions. True hardtops were gone, never to return, and the Fleetwood Brougham lost its unique, longer wheelbase, sharing its dimensions with the less-Broughamy Sedan de Ville, but adding more gingerbread and a special tapering B-pillar.