1964 Imperial Crown Convertible - Elwood Engel's Finest Work

Through my foggy goggles, styling-wise, the Big Three really had it going on throughout most of the 1960s. General Motors led the way, of course, with Ford and Chrysler constantly craning their necks to steal a peek—or ten—at what GM was doing. The end result was a string of spectacular designs. Chrysler's Imperial division, in particular, hit its stride with the 1964 and 1965 models. This drop-top Imperial Crown is a 1964.

This popped up on Facebook Marketplace this morning in Hinckley, Ohio, near Medina. It shows just 86,000 miles and carries an asking price of $7,500. A tad steep, in my opinion, but I can't fault the seller for asking it. Oftentimes, someone gets hold of a car like this and then finds themselves buried under the tsunami of bills that comes with restoring it.

Between needing a paint job and what appears to be rust in the floor pans, the cost to finish this car will add up quickly—and in a big way. And that's just what we can see it needs from the photos in the ad.

From 1955 through 1975, although sold through Chrysler dealerships, Imperial was a separate make from Chrysler. From 1955 through 1966, Imperials also rode on their own exclusive chassis, setting them apart from the rest of Chrysler's lineup.

Intended to compete with GM's Cadillac and Ford's Lincoln, Imperial never really managed to carve out a significant share of the luxury market despite being an excellent automobile. Chrysler abandoned the exclusive—and expensive—Imperial chassis after 1966. Beginning in 1967, the cars shared Chrysler's C-body platform, making the Imperial more of an upscale Chrysler than the uniquely engineered luxury marque it had been.

Hemorrhaging cash during the mid-1970s, Chrysler finally pulled the plug on the standalone Imperial marque after the 1975 model year. The Imperial Crown and LeBaron names disappeared with it. Chrysler later revived the Imperial name on the 1981–1983 Imperial coupe, then again on a series of front-wheel-drive luxury sedans from 1990 through 1993. Those later cars, however, were officially branded as Chrysler Imperials rather than a separate Imperial make.

I've always thought these cars were a better-looking interpretation of the 1961 Lincoln Continental. That's hardly surprising, considering they were designed by Elwood Engel, the same stylist who penned the Continental before leaving Ford to join Chrysler.

The 1964 and 1965 Imperials are, in my opinion, among Engel's finest work, even if he did return to the Continental well once or twice for inspiration. That distinctive hump on the trunk is pure Lincoln Continental. By 1966, it had disappeared, giving the Imperial a cleaner, more modern look, though arguably one that was less distinctive.

 

1994 25th Anniversary Edition Pontiac Firebird Trans Am - Funny Thing About Living the Dream...

I swear, sometimes these things find me.

When I came out of the gym the other day, this 1994 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am was parked a couple of spaces down from where I'd left my car in the parking garage. This wasn't just any Trans Am, though. It was a 25th Anniversary Trans Am.

It threw me for a bit of a loop at first. Pontiac introduced the Firebird in 1967, and these fourth-generation cars debuted for the 1993 model year. A fourth-generation, 25th Anniversary Trans Am? Then it dawned on me. While the Firebird arrived in 1967, the Trans Am didn't make its debut until 1969, just before the first-generation Firebird was put out to pasture after the '69 model year.

Ironically, although Pontiac campaigned first-generation Firebirds in the SCCA Trans-Am racing series during the late 1960s, it never raced a production Trans Am. The series limited engines to five liters (305 cubic inches), while the first Trans Ams came standard with Pontiac's 400-cubic-inch (6.6-liter) V-8.

Pontiac built just 2,000 of these 25th Anniversary cars, so running into one is a little like spotting a local celebrity—a star athlete or the city's best-known TV news anchor. Exciting, interesting and, at the same time, no big deal.

It's been so long now that not only are these Anniversary Trans Ams unicorns, but you hardly ever see worn-out, sun-faded, crusty fourth-generation Firebirds anymore. Like their Camaro cousins, they wore composite body panels that resisted dents and corrosion far better than conventional steel bodywork, helping many survive better than their predecessors.

Their steel unibody structures? That's another story, especially up here along the shores of Lake Erie, where our vehicles are marinated in salty brine for the better part of the year.

While I fell hard for the fourth-generation Chevrolet Camaro—I owned three of them over the years—these cars always left me a little flat-footed. I've always preferred the Camaro's more restrained styling.

For about $995 more than a Trans Am GT—which itself cost roughly $1,000 more than a standard Trans Am—buyers got an all-white car with distinctive Tyrol Blue graphics inspired by the original 1969 Trans Am. A single Tyrol Blue stripe ran from the nose over the roof and onto the hatch, or across the convertible's boot cover.

The 16-inch, five-spoke aluminum wheels were painted white, and inside were white leather seats embroidered with blue "25th Trans Am" logos on the headrests.

Mechanically, these cars were essentially Trans Am GTs wearing a commemorative paint-and-trim package. The GT package added Z-rated 155-mph tires, the tall pedestal rear spoiler and, on automatic-equipped cars, a 3.23:1 rear axle ratio. Standard Trans Ams with the automatic received a 2.73:1 axle, while six-speed cars used a 3.42:1 rear axle.

Power came from Chevrolet's 275-horsepower LT1 5.7-liter V-8, backed by either a Borg-Warner T56 six-speed manual—available only in coupes—or GM's electronically controlled 4L60E automatic. Four-wheel disc brakes with ABS were standard, and a six-speed car could cover the quarter-mile in the mid-14-second range, making it one of America's quickest performance cars in 1994.

The Anniversary package was available on hardtops, T-top coupes and convertibles. The car parked in the garage is the most common configuration: a T-top with the automatic transmission. The rarest of the bunch is the six-speed hardtop. Pontiac built 500 convertibles, and every one of them came with an automatic.

Like fourth-generation Camaros, these aren't for the faint of heart. They ride low and firm, have an awkward driving position, handle well—but not quite as well as they should—the steering is numb and short on feedback, the catalytic converter intrudes into the front passenger's footwell, they're difficult to get in and out of, and the back seat is practically ornamental.

As they age, it's also becoming increasingly difficult to find technicians who understand mid-1990s GM electronics, especially the OBD-I systems that preceded standardized OBD-II diagnostics in 1996.

The LT1 is a terrific engine, but it does have one notorious Achilles' heel. The water pump sits directly above the OptiSpark distributor. When the pump inevitably begins to leak, coolant can drip directly onto the OptiSpark, often turning one repair into two. If you're handy with a wrench, it's manageable. If you're paying someone else, your wallet probably won't appreciate it.

Like fourth-generation Camaros, the power window motors eventually fail, and replacing them is more aggravating than it should be because they're riveted into the doors. Plastic interior panels also become brittle with age, crack easily and are eye-wateringly expensive—if you can even find replacements.

When I was younger, I was all about these kinds of cars and more than willing to put up with their quirks and idiosyncrasies. Now all I see is a festival of compromise—especially as a daily driver. As a weekend toy, though, something like this makes a lot more sense.

I asked my 29-year-old, quasi-car-guy son what he thought of it. His response, and I quote, was, "Smokin' hot."

Like father, like son, I guess.

Funny thing about living the dream: once you finally get there, it can rob the experience of the mystery, intrigue and elan that made you want it so badly. 

General Motors ended production of the fourth-generation Camaro and Firebird after the 2002 model year. Pontiac itself disappeared seven years later when GM shuttered the division in 2009.

  

1967 Ford LTD - Fugazi

The other night, the wife and I were out, top-down, enjoying a sunset cruise along Lake Road in our 1991 Corvette when she spotted that 1969 Corvette I blogged about last weekend. I, of course, never saw it. I was too distracted by the 1967 Ford LTD parked several cars away.

Obligingly, I swung back around for another look at the Corvette. While I was snapping photos of it, though, my eyes kept wandering back to the big old Ford.

Mid-to-late-'60s Fords like this '67 LTD were everywhere when I was growing up on Long Island, just a stone's throw from Kennedy Airport; they were as common as potholes and litter. Corvettes, on the other hand, were almost mythical. At least where I lived, you rarely—if ever—saw one. They might as well have been Apollo rockets.

Ford's full-size lineup was completely redesigned for 1965 and received a substantial facelift for 1967. The updates included more sculpted sheet metal with pronounced "Coke bottle" styling, a redesigned interior, and a host of new safety features. Among them were an energy-absorbing steering column, four-way hazard flashers, dual-circuit hydraulic brakes, and other improvements introduced as the first wave of federally mandated safety standards began taking effect for the 1967 model year.

The LTD debuted in 1965 as the top trim level of the Galaxie 500. It proved so popular that Ford promoted it to a separate model series for 1966. The LTD remained a fixture in Ford showrooms through the 1991 model year before being effectively succeeded by the Crown Victoria.

The LTD was such a game changer that Chevrolet responded by introducing the Caprice as the top-of-the-line version of the Impala midway through the 1965 model year before spinning it off into its own model series for 1966. It was essentially the same formula: add a healthy dose of luxury, make standard what should have been standard in the first place, sprinkle in a generous helping of marketing fugazi, and voilà—an automotive icon was born.

Plymouth wasn't about to be left behind, either. For 1966, it introduced the VIP—short for "Very Important Plymouth"—its own attempt to lure buyers looking for affordable luxury.

I've always had a soft spot for the 1967 big Fords if for no other reason than they look like something a GM stylist drew up. Their styling flows better than the '65s and '66s, at least to my eye. A big Ford this Chevy girl could love? I wouldn't go that far, but it's as close as I think it could get. 

Ford lost me with the fussier 1968 redesign (my father had a '68 Ranch Wagon) before hitting the reset button with an all-new generation for 1969.

1969 Corvette - Stuff That Dreams (Nightmares) are Made Of

The other night I had a dream that literally shook me awake. It took me a minute or two to realize it was just that—a dream. Somehow, I had "rattle-can" spray-painted my 1977 Corvette in primer, only to watch most of it run down the sides of the car in giant drips. Yes, that's Lake Erie and no, that's not my house. 

If anything, my long-gone, woe-begone '77 was one car that didn't need a paint job. Maybe it was a combination of missing the old girl and stumbling across this 1969 Corvette that desperately needs one that conspired to wake me up in the middle of the night.

My wife actually spotted it out on Lake Road during one of our leisurely cruises in the 1991 Corvette convertible I replaced the '77 with.

"Did you see that red Corvette back there that looked like our old one?" she asked as I zipped past it.

I immediately turned around for a better look.

The front chrome bumper told me everything I needed to know. This was one of the holy grails of third-generation Corvettes—a 1968-1972 chrome-bumper car.

Beginning in 1973, to comply with federal 5-mph front-impact standards, Chevrolet replaced the chrome front bumper with a body-colored urethane nose over an energy-absorbing structure. The rear bumper received similar treatment for 1974.

In my opinion, the literal plastic surgery Chevrolet designers and engineers performed on their Plastic Fantastic was among the best work they did during the 1970s. It was so successful that, back then, some owners of 1968-1972 chrome-bumper cars actually updated them to resemble the newer rubber-bumper models.

Times have certainly changed.

Today, the simple elegance of the chrome-bumper cars has sent their values soaring. Although there's nothing particularly special about this example beyond being a 1969 Corvette, if it were in good-to-great condition, it could easily bring $50,000 or more. Some online valuation guides would even have you believe it's worth considerably more, though those estimates tend to be optimistic.

Which makes the $10,000-or-best-offer asking price dangerously alluring.

Let's roll up our sleeves and see what we'd really be getting ourselves into.

The paint alone could run as much as $25,000 if done to a very high standard. If you're going to do it, do it right. Otherwise, seriously what's the point? Even a cheapie paint job will run you ten-grand. 

Assuming the front and rear suspensions need rebuilding—as my '77 eventually did—you could easily spend around $4,000, depending on whether you tackle the work yourself and whether the differential also needs rebuilding.

If the engine and transmission both require overhauls, figure another $6,000 to $10,000, depending on what's actually wrong and, as the old saying goes, "How fast do you want to spend?"

Then there's another $2,000 or so for period-correct wheels and tires.

The frame is soft just ahead of the rear wheels, too. Repairing that with welded reinforcement brackets could add another $1,500 to $2,500. That's the sort of repair that does resale value and buyer appeal no favors.

The good news? The interior appears to be in respectable shape. I didn't open the car to take a sniff inside it; you know cameras and all. 

I'd also budget for electrical work. C3 Corvettes are notorious for electrical gremlins. If the wiring harness ultimately needs replacing, you could spend anywhere from $3,500 to $5,000. Personally, I'd want the body off the frame before tackling a job like that. Otherwise, you're just asking for headaches.

So, assuming you negotiate the purchase price down to around $8,500, you're looking at well over $60,000 invested by the time the dust settles. And after all that, there's no guarantee you'd recover your money if you decided to sell it.

Talk about a nightmare.

1960 Dodge Dart Seneca - Estate Sale Dreams

What car enthusiast doesn't see a lawn sign advertising an estate sale and immediately hope there's an old car tucked away in the garage or barn just waiting to be bought for pennies on the dollar and flipped for a tidy profit? Reality, of course, usually has other plans.

Such is the case with this 1960 Dodge Dart Seneca, purchased at an estate sale last year.

The young woman who bought it thought she'd scored the deal of a lifetime when the seller accepted a paltry $1,500. What she didn't realize was that getting the car roadworthy would cost more than $5,000. The bill for parts accounting for less than half of that; the rest disappeared into labor. As anyone who's restored an old car can tell you, labor is where projects like this can really drain your wallet. 

She doesn't mention whether these non-matching, retina-searing seat covers were part of the refurbishment. 

If you're of a certain vintage, you probably associate the name "Dodge Dart" with compact cars. However, when Dodge introduced the Dart for 1960, it was anything but compact. The original Dart was a full-size automobile. This particular example recently popped up on Facebook Marketplace in Lodi, Ohio, about an hour's drive from the Triple Wide.

For 1960, the Dart served as Dodge's entry-level full-size series in what was, dare I say, a needlessly complicated three-tier lineup. Above it sat the one-year-only Matador, while the Polara occupied the top rung. As if that weren't confusing enough, each series was offered in three trim levels. Dart buyers could choose the entry-level Seneca, the mid-range Pioneer, or the top-of-the-line Phoenix. Our Marketplace find happens to be a Seneca.

Compared with the Matador and Polara, the Dart rode on a wheelbase three inches shorter, making it slightly smaller overall. Less sheet metal meant a lower sticker price.

Power comes from Chrysler Corporation's all-new-for-1960 overhead-valve inline six, better known as the legendary "Slant Six." The engine was tilted 30 degrees to allow for a lower hood line, a design that made it possible to fit beneath the compact Valiant's sleek profile while also lowering the engine's center of gravity. The Slant Six would go on to earn a reputation as one of the most durable engines Detroit ever built.

For the $5,000 asking price—which is reportedly below market value, although it still strikes me as optimistic given this car's overall condition—you get a 66-year-old sedan with a column-shifted three-speed manual transmission, no power steering, no power brakes, and no air conditioning. In 1960, air conditioning wasn't even available on the Dart Seneca.

I wish her luck selling it. I think we've all looked at an old car and imagined striking automotive gold. Most of us never act on those fantasies. She did, and she's learning the hard way that buying the car is often the cheapest part of the adventure.