That Ferdinand Porsche’s Volkswagen Beetle would permute into a highly successful off road capable troop transport vehicle in a matter of one month was one of the more remarkable and successful adaptations in automotive history. And that the first mass-produced light amphibious vehicle was the second adaptation added to the growing reputation of the VW and the Porsches. In almost every way the opposite of the specifically-designed American military Jeep, the battle of the two has never quite ended, and their respective fans still argue as to which was the better vehicle. It’s a bit like comparing a tractor and a sports car: it depends on the job at hand. Read More >

It’s a well known fact that GM didn’t approve production for what eventually became the Camaro until six months after the Mustang was released, by which time it had already sold over 100k units. That doesn’t mean that Chevy hadn’t given the idea some thought over the years. Read More >

[Note: Three related Checker posts: 1967 Marathon Curbside Classic; Vintage Checker Ads; and Tomorrow’s Checker? Also note that these pictures were found at a variety of sites, but it appears that the original source for most of them were posted on this Flickr account by Drivermatic. Thanks for the superb photographic resource!]

For sixty years, Checker Motors had a record unbroken run of profits building a few thousand cars per year in a small little factory in Kalamazoo, Michigan. In 1981, it posted its first loss, $488,326, and its owner made good on his threat to stop production of the iconic Marathon if his workers didn’t accept wage concessions. But Checker continued to stamp out body parts for GM into 2009, including for the Buick LaCrosse. The Carpacolypse of 2009 finally shuttered the ancient plant, but no need to shed a tear for the original owner’s son, David Markin: his wealth is estimated at over $100 million. And it was all due to a shrewd investment of $15,000 that his father made in 1920, which put him in the driver’s seat of Checker Motors. Let’s take a ride through Checker’s history. Taxi! Read More >

Here’s the very sketch that gave birth to the VW Bus. Dutch Ben Pon was visiting the VW factory in 1947, which was then controlled by the British Occupational Forces. Interested in buying some early Beetles to import to the Netherlands, Pon saw an improvised boxy parts mover on the factory grounds, and the light bulb went off.

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All this endless speculation as to whether Honda will someday build a real RWD pickup: they already did, in 1963. And in that inimitable Honda way, it stood the world on it ears: DOHC, four carbs, 30hp from 360cc at 8,600 rpm, 60 mph top speed. As an antidote to the mild-mannered Hondas sent our way in the seventies and early eighties, like the gen1 Prelude, the T360/T500 trucks were anything but boring. But the story of how this eminently practical little truck ended up with the engine from Honda’s crazy little S360 sports car is a wild tale only Honda could spin. Read More >

What are the defining characteristics of the modern mini-van? Front wheel drive? Transverse engine? Front wheels set forward of the passenger cabin? A one-box design with a short and sloping aerodynamic hood? A flat floor throughout, and flexible seating and transport accommodations? And which one was the first? Renault Espace or Dodge Caravan? How about the DKW Schnellaster (Rapid Transporter)? It had them all, in 1949. Time to give it a little overdue recognition. Read More >

To many today, the French automaker Panhard (pronounced panAR) may be unknown or rapidly slipping into obscurity. But the story of this once renowned firm, one of the very earliest pioneers of the automobile is remarkable and more relevant than ever. It developed a distinguished series of ultra-efficient two-cylinder cars in the post war era that culminated in this tasty 24TC of 1967, the very last Panhard. It reflected the French approach to automobile making perfectly: innovative, eccentric, stylish, and all to often, out of the mainstream and financial success. But Panhard’s efforts were always highly memorable, advanced, and foreshadowed the cars of today and the future. Before long, we may all be driving updated versions of small, ultra-light and super-efficient 850 cc two-cylinder cars like this.  And if this delightful and sporty coupe is anything to go by, it may be something to actually look forward too. Read More >

The history of mid-engined Corvette concepts is almost as old as the car itself, but even more colorful. Once the performance and racing potential of the ‘Vette was unleashed by its father, Zora Arkus Duntov, ambitious developments intended for the race track, Futurama, or the front pages of buff books speculating about the coming mid-engined production Corvette have never ended.

Duntov is shown here, proudly posing with his 1959 CERV (Chevrolet Engineering Research Vehicle) I, clearly a racing-oriented concept intended to test advanced designs and components for future use. The CERV’s independent rear suspension was adapted to the 1963 Corvette. It’s 350 hp 283 CI V8 featured aluminum block and heads, and fuel injection. A grand start to a long series of exciting Corvettes, even if they never made it into production. Read More >

Grand Prix, GTO, Firebird, LeMans, Catalina 2+2, Bonneville. The names instantly evoke automotive excitement — provided you were an enthusiast between the ages of six and sixty during the sixties. For today’s pistonheads, these storied names; indeed, the entire Pontiac brand long lost its adrenal association long before it was euthanized. Bob Lutz’ attempts to inject some life into the once-storied excitement division all came to naught: GTO, Solstice and G8. He might as well have been mainlining meth into Pontiac, but decades of budget-priced, badge-engineered mediocrity had taken their toll. Pontiac’s fall from grace may not be the worst (best?) example of GM’s branding cataclysm, but it’s certainly one of the most emotive. Pass the Kleenex. Read More >

[This piece first ran in 2007 as part of a five-installment series. I’ve added some pictures, but note that the ending was written at Buick’s all-time product low]

Buick was the special child in the GM family: the beautiful and temperamental second-oldest daughter that somehow always got the most attention from Daddy. Sure, oldest daughter Caddy got to wear the family jewels and formal gowns, but Buick was lavished with style. Whether it was Harley Earl or Bill Mitchell, GM’s top stylists always blessed Buick with their best efforts. For decades, Buick was maintained in the style to which she had become accustomed, and remained America’s fashion-conscious upscale buyers’ wheels of choice. And then, not. Read More >

[Note: A significantly expanded and updated version of this article is here]

For most of the fifties, sixties and into the early seventies, automotive aerodynamicists were mostly non-existent, or hiding in their wind tunnels. The original promise and enthusiasm of aerodynamics was discarded as just another style fad, and gave way to less functional styling gimmicks tacked unto ever larger bricks. But the energy crisis of 1974 suddenly put the lost science in the spotlight again. And although historic low oil prices temporarily put them on the back burner, as boxy SUVs crashed through the air, it appears safe to say that the slippery science has finally found its place in the forefront of automotive design. Read More >

In honor of our greatest president’s birthday this Friday, it’s going to be Lincoln Week at Curbside Classic. We’ll start with a brief history of the brand to set us up for the sixties, when our featured cars begin. Read More >

I’m a lover of vans, especially those suitable for camping. Few things beats hopping into a vehicle with all the basic necessities of life and hitting the road. I have a vintage ’77 Dodge Chinook that I bought for $1200 in which we’ve racked up 35k memorable miles in trips to Mexico and all over the west. And in my younger days, I had a ‘68 Dodge A100 that I converted to a less wife-friendly (no bathroom) spartan camper. But all along, I’ve had my eyes on Mercedes vans. As a kid in Austria, I was absolutely in love with the delightfully rounded L319 (van) and 0319 (bus) Mercedes: Read More >

Chrysler’s logo should have been a bottle of lithium, rather than the Pentastar. It suffered from severe bipolar disorder all its life, and, sadly, died from it at its own hands. Like many suicidal bipolars (e.g., Van Gogh, Hemingway, Virgina Woolf), Chrysler’s many crashes and acts of self-mutilation were punctuated by fantastic highs of brilliant engineering, design and creativity. Chrysler has taken us on quite the roller coaster ride. And now it’s over. As we stumble out of our (Hemi-powered) coaster car, we’re left with an intense mixture of relief, thrill, and sadness.

Chrysler’s beginning was an unparalleled flash of genius and overnight success. Walter P. Chrysler had a fairy-tale career in the early automobile business, earning $10 million ($130 million today) in just three years while turning Buick into GM’s early powerhouse. Then, while running Maxwell, he launched the Chrysler line in 1924 with that just-perfect blend of advanced engineering and style.

It was a home run that catapulted Chrysler to number four out of a crowded field of 49 manufacturers. The subsequent successful launches of the low-price Plymouth, the upper-mid priced DeSoto, and the purchase of mid-priced Dodge firmly established Chrysler as a charter member of the Big Three.

Chrysler’s first crisis came in 1934 with the failure of the radically advanced but unusual-looking Airflow. Its wholesale rejection by the buying public taught Chrysler (and Detroit) a painful lesson: avoid extreme innovation.

Chrysler recuperated and made enormous profits during the WWII era. But the development of the all-new 1949 models was haunted by Chrysler’s still-lingering Airflow insecurities. Whereas GM and Ford confidently introduced longer and lower models designed to thrill exuberant post-was buyers, Chrysler president P. T. Keller insisted on tall, boxy cars.

In the early fifties, Americans were in the mood for more—horsepower, automatics, power steering and brakes, style, and flash. Unlike Chevy and Ford, Plymouth offered none of those, and the market punished it unmercifully. In 1954, Plymouth was kicked out of its long-established number three spot by Buick and dropped to number five behind Pontiac.

The exuberant designer Virgil Exner was hired to inject vitality and fresh style. The 1955s were an improvement, but the radical 1957s were destined to be the great leap forward (“suddenly it’s 1960!”). But in the rush to revolutionize, the products were not fully developed, and suffered from atrocious build quality.

The flashy ’57s sold, but word got out and buyers punished Chrysler unmercifully. 1958 sales plunged by no less than 41% for Plymouth. And despite a reputation for engineering excellence, Chrysler would have to dodge a reputation for spotty build quality from then on, deserved or not.

Chrysler nursed itself to health once more, only to be deeply wounded by one of the most staggeringly idiotic acts of executive self-mutilation. In 1960, Chrysler president William Newberg overheard a rumor at a cocktail party that Chevrolet was working on a dramatically smaller 1962 model (it was: the compact Chevy II).

In a colossal blunder, he assumed this referred to the full-sized Chevrolets. Newberg killed development of the full size 1962 Plymouths and Dodges and initiated a crash program for substantially downsized replacements. When the ugly, truncated ’62s were first shown to dealers, an uproar ensued, and twenty dealers cancelled their franchises on the spot. Plymouth crashed to ninth place, while GM’s market share rose to an all-time peak of 52%.

Chrysler barely survived the fiasco but went on to enjoy a relatively long spell of good health from the mid-60s through 1974, in part thanks to its successful performance image. But with a portfolio of heavy RWD cars and lacking the foresight, will (and capital) to retool extensively, Chrysler was flattened by the one-two punch of the energy crises. By 1979, it was back on the critical list, saved from bankruptcy only by the life-support of a government loan-guarantee act.

This financed the compact K-car; Chrysler squeaked by and regained health, once again. Endless K-car variants carried the day. When the 1990 recession brought on another depression, Iaccoca was shown the door.

In the mid-nineties, Chrysler was on its ultimate manic high. Low overhead costs from its near-bankruptcy, some deft model development, the purchase of Jeep, and sheer luck (the boom of the truck and SUV markets) generated huge profits and a 23% market share in 1997 (bigger than GM’s recently). But at the very height of health and success, the suicidal urges return.

In 1998, CEO Robert Eaton had Chrysler engage in ritual corporate seppuku by selling itself to Daimler (while walking away with over $200 million himself). And despite all of Dr. Z’s ministrations, the patient never really regained lasting health. Was there arsenic in the Daimler medicine?

There’s a market for corpses, and Cerberus bit with all three heads at once. And choked.

Oil prices have just hit record highs. Talk of recession is in the air. Ford’s line-up of bloated, heavy vehicles is piling-up like cord-wood on the dealer’s lots. The only car selling: its “Americanized” global compact. Ford stock is in the toilet and bankruptcy rumors are swirling. The top exec hired a year earlier is intelligent, unassuming and straight-talking. He commits Ford to building “higher quality products with stronger customer appeal… emphasizing smaller, more efficient cars.” Ford in 2008? No, it’s 1981.

Like current Ford CEO Allan Mulally, Donald E. Petersen was an atypical choice when he was promoted to the Presidency by the Ford family in 1980. An engineer, development executive and genuine piston-head, Petersen was also the antithesis of Lee Iacocca, whom he replaced. Never in modern history has an automotive CEO been so devoid of spin and hyperbole. No wonder Ford of the eighties looked to Japan for inspiration.

Petersen learned of Toyota’s use of quality guru Edward Deming. In the first coherent US automaker assault on “total quality,” Petersen adopted Deming’s techniques, and those of corporate guru Peter Drucker. As measured by owners, Ford’s vehicle quality improves 60 percent from 1980 to 1987.

The aerodynamic 1983 T-Bird launches a dynamic wave of efficient, exciting and successful passenger cars. The Turbo-Coupe has the world’s first fully computer controlled (EECV-IV) integrated turbocharged fuel injected engine. The Ranger successfully takes on the long-established Japanese compact pickups, becoming the category best seller for many years. The Fox-body Mustang’s balance of light weight and V8 power at an affordable price reinvents and dominates the pony-car class.

In the biggest single auto product gamble in modern times, Ford launches the 1986 Taurus. It leapfrogs the competition, and sets the packaging and dynamic standards for the modern US-market sedan. For sells 400k Tauruses per year, grabbing the best-seller crown from the Honda Accord by 1992. Petersen employs Japanese “just in time” production methods at Ford, and the Atlanta Taurus factory becomes the most efficient auto factory in the US (including Japanese transplants).

Petersen’s honest, cooperative, non-political management style motivated FoMoCo’s management ranks as never before. His deep experience in car development as a car enthusiast ensurfed that Ford’s products were consistently more dynamic than their competition.

In trend-setting, car-conscious California, Ford becomes the number one selling brand. The Blue Oval Boys’s passenger cars sell well in The Golden State; GM and Chrysler have already become irrelevant (except for trucks and Corvettes). Ford’s profits explode. In 1986 and 1987, Ford was the most profitable car company in the world. As its stock ascends from around $1 in 1982 to $17 in 1987, “F” becomes a Wall Street darling

But what really separates Petersen from the rest of his ilk: he maintains perspective, candor and modesty– despite the phenomenal success that was his doing. It’s a stark contrast to Chyrsler’s Iacocca, who had to be dragged out of Chrysler kicking and screaming, well past his sell-by date. And then tried to weasel his way back several more times, Petersen consciously and quietly retired two years early in 1990 at the age of sixty-three. He wanted a new management team to have a running start dealing with the clouds he clearly saw gathering on Ford’s horizon.

In an exceedingly frank and prescient farewell discussion with thirteen journalists the day before he retired in 1990, Petersen expressed grave concerns about the future of the U.S. auto industry. According to one reporter, “his terse answers were sobering. The word survival came up a lot because it’s no joke to ask how much of a home-grown auto industry will exist a generation from now.”

“Because of the deep partnerships of the Japanese companies with their suppliers, changes can be implemented predictably and rapidly. The steady loss of state-of-the-art manufacturing technology in the US manifests itself in the longer product cycles and lower real or perceived quality of the domestic automakers… There’s this nibbling away, this gradual erosion that’s occurring that nobody sees very well, I don’t think. It bothers me a lot.”

Petersen ended with a warning that “the manufacturing sector in the US is going through the same process now as the agricultural sector went through in prior generations… we have to accept that it (manufacturing) will generate a far smaller percentage of the employment of the people of the United States than it does now or did 10 years ago. There will be far fewer jobs.”

Those words spoken eighteen years ago seem remarkably prophetic (“how much of a home-grown auto industry will exist a generation from now?”) ,especially during Ford’s current déjà vu crisis. Alan Mulally has charted a very similar course for Ford’s salvation, emphasizing efficient European cars and quality. Will the same medicine save Ford a second time?