1970 Cadillac Coupe De Ville - Things Are Not What They Used To Be

Cadillac's 1968 vintage deVille was not what Cadillacs of less than a decade prior were
 

Growing up in the vast concrete and asphalt prairie of southwest Long Island, I felt as though I was suffering from a hangover from a party that I missed. My mother, reminded me of that every chance she could with her terse mantra of, "things are just not what they used to be."

 

My mother's idea of what a Cadillac was all about it. 1955.

Mom had a point. By the '70s, for sure, things were not what they used to be. The glow of post War America and the boundless enthusiasm and optimism that came with it had vanished. The country was reeling from the impact of the Vietnam War. Watergate was percolating. A recession,  bell bottoms, disco music and leisure suits were taking hold. On the home front, my mother struggled with crippling depression spurred on, she claimed, by the death of her parents and sister.

 

Could they have been any more wrong?
 

On top of all this, my father was facing a massive life change that, much like my mother's depression, affected us all; he lost his job. Apparently, we went from a family that never talked about money to one that scrimped on everything. Not that I knew any better. As far as I was concerned we were always poor.

I wanted to turn back the clock so I could attend the party that I was born too late to attend. If things were not what they used to be my only hope was that things would somehow, someway get better.

 

Where I grew up was more than a cross roads of streets. It was a cross roads of classes. 

Cars were a most welcomed distraction. On the block I grew up on, there were mundane Bel Airs, a couple of Ford Country Squires, Plymouth Valiants, Cutlass sedans. There were "cool cars" too like a 1964 and a 1967 Impala SS coupe, a '67 Camaro, a '66 Olds 98, a '72 Lincoln Continental, a 1952 Pontiac Chieftain (I thought it, along with its owners ancient), a '69 Buick Skylark and the apple of my eye, a jet black 1962 Cadillac Series 62 convertible that belonged to the Donovan family. They lived across the street from us. For the record, we had a rental light, sky blue, 1968 Ford Ranch Wagon. Think Ford Country Squire with no soul. Oh, the pain. The pain.

 

There it is. It looks virtually the same from the outside as it did when I was a kid. The interior has been completely redone.

 

Despite being across the street from where I lived, that Caddy could might as well have been in Australia as far as I was concerned. It was "that far away". My only ride in it came one rainy morning as I was walking to school. Mrs. Donovan, bless her heart, pulled along side me in that Fabulous Cadillac and asked me if I wanted a ride. Stunned by the gesture, I somehow drummed up the courage to meekly nod yes. Truth be known, it wasn't the rain I wanted to get out of so much as I wanted to ride in that rolling Oz. I quickly climbed into the backseat.

Built between 1918 and 1927, Overlook Place is very narrow. Back then, they had no reason to believe that cars would become as big as they would become in less than fifty years. No one could park across the street from a driveway. You couldn't get out if someone did.

Riding in the back, that Cadillac was everything I could've imagined it to be. And more so. The soft white leather, the chrome, the cool air blowing gently out of the dash board. The music playing all around me. The mood lighting. It was spectacular. I felt I was in a movie. I didn't want to get out.

 

The Donovans house. I thought they were wealthy because they owned Cadillacs
 

One day, a red Cadillac appeared in the Donovan's drive way. Unbeknown st to me, the '62 had been stolen and it was found partially dismantled and burnt out in Long Island City. The Big Red Cadillac, a 1970 Coupe deVille convertible, was its replacement. The Big Red Cadillac caused a commotion on Overlook Place. After all, it wasn't everyday that a new car, albeit three years old at the time,  appeared on our block. And, best of all, it was a Cadillac.
 

Cadillac "magnificence" was alive and well in 1962. Cadillacs featured a level of comfort, convenience and style that you could not find on "lesser" cars.  Storm clouds were brewing, though. As GM stopped refining Cadillac Mercedes Benz and other European makes were also about to become the luxury car of choice for taste makers. Instead of adapting to that sea change, Cadillac marketed their brand appeal on nothing more than on image of what the brand used to stand for.
 

I dragged my father across the street to the mini press conference that had sprung up in the Donovan's driveway.  Ohhhs and ahhhs ensured as Mr. D opened the door on the Big Red Cadillac to show it off.  My father was right there, first in line, to give Mr. D an emphatic pat on the back and a vigorous handshake. "One day, George" my father bellowed in his best game show host like baritone, "we'll get one too. Till then, we'll just have to eat our hearts out!"  I rolled my eyes. First at how cheesy my father was and more so because the way things were going back at our house, I knew that our rusty, soulless, light blue Ford Ranch Wagon  was going to be our terminally awful ride for a miserably long time. 

Our neighbor's '62 was the most magnificent car I had ever seen. I still think it spectacular.

Mr. Donovan, a Daily News delivery truck driver was a humble man of few words. A humble man who happened to love Cadillacs. He thanked my father for the accolades but he looked fore lorn. He took a step back from the impossibly large car, looked down and mumbled, "You know, as nice as this is, it's not the '62. They don't make 'em like they used to." My heart sank. The last thing I wanted to hear was that. It seemed there was no respite from, "not what it used to be..."  Are you kidding me? I missed the party again? 
 

Mr. Donovan was right, though. While the Big Red 1970 Cadillac was nice, it lacked the elan or "je ne sais quoi" that the '62 had. The '70 seemed more like a big fancy Chevy than the "The Standard of The World".

Things were not what they used to be. But...what had they been?

By 1970, you could get any number of cars that featured what Cadillac marketed not 10 years prior as luxury items.

By the mid '50s, GM's post war boom as in full bloom and they had grown into the largest corporation in America.  Cadillac was its most prestigious brand. Profits were astronomical and shareholders wanted them to keep it that way. To do so, efficiently (cheaply), GM began offering features previously only available on Cadillacs on their "lesser models".  This is what is referred to as "trickle down", something GM and most manufacturers with multiple brands practice even today. Problem was, GM stopped pouring developmental dollars into Cadillac and offered their buyers little more than prestige. Those who wanted cutting edge technology and trend setting design were forced to look elsewhere. GM also began making Cadillacs with same injected mold plastic bits and pieces found on lesser models.

It all came to a nonsensical, image only conscious head in the 1980s when Cadillac hawked their wares with the adage, "Best of All, It's a Cadillac!".



For the record, the handsome Fleetwood Brougham in this is ad is little more than a Chevrolet Impala with a long wheelbase powered by an Oldsmobile engine. 

By the time Mr. Donovan got the Big Red 1970 Cadillac, the gig was up. Just like that, Cadillac lost its pole position as The Standard of the World. German brands like Mercedes Benz gave their buyers the very best of everything up to an including prestige and status. Not only were things not what they used to be they now had no chance of every even having  chance to be what they were.

Mercedes have always commanded a significant tariff. This 1970 sedan was pushed out the door at nearly $16,000; nearly twice the price of a typical Cadillac. It didn't matter. Status seekers pay exorbitantly for exclusivity.

The family that lived behind us where the wealthiest people on the block. Their house was two and a half times the size of anyone else's and it was furnished more lavishly than the house was grand. Their car of choice was Mercedes Benz. Mrs. Richter had a 280 SL. Mr. Richter the SEL sedan. Hand it to The Richters, those rich stiffs, whether they knew it or not, were ahead of the times.

 

In an attempt to maximize sales, Cadillac became almost too obtainable for the masses. By moving "down", Cadillac opened up a huge hole in the luxury market that Mercedes Benz dove into. BMW followed as well. Luxury makes from Honda (Acura), Toyota (Lexus) and Nissan (Infiniti) in the 1980's further reduced Cadillac's claim of being a premium brand. 

What I didn't know at the time was that there was a sea change already a foot, or I should say, "a float". Taste makers like the hoity toity Richters, those trendsetters whose opinions on such things such as style and fashion, had already begun their irrevocable shift over to those European luxury makes like Mercedes Benz and to a lesser extent at the time, BMW.

Not only is the interior of this car sumptuous and exquisitely detailed, the car itself performs at a level that is light years ahead of where not only Cadillac was at the time, but all American makes.

 

Meanwhile, back at The Fun House, my mother continued her downward spiral. Unlike GM and Cadillac, however, she was never able to pull out of it. One morning in February 1993, the years of neglect and self medication ultimately took their toll.

 

 

The world class Cadillacs of today owe a lot to Cadillacs like The Big Red Cadillac

 

As for GM and Cadillac, well, it's a very bitter pill that GM swallowed to make itself the fairly profitable company that it is today; GM went bankrupt in 2009 and if I wasn't for billions in government loans they'd have gone the way of my mother. While profits today are nothing like what they were back in the 50s, with the possible exception of the confusing XTS, the Cadillac ATS and CTS are world class automobiles offering buyers European and Asian levels of fit, finish and performance. All because Things Are Not What They Used To Be.

Amen to that.

1989 Cadillac Brougham - One More "Daddy's Caddy"

 

1989 Cadillac Brougham 

You've got to hand it to Cadillac; in the last ten years and especially the last five, they've really bridged the gap between themselves and BMW and Mercedes. Lexus too, while we're at it, but GM likens Buick to being on the same deck with Toyota's luxury division.

This pristine 1989 Cadillac Brougham is a prime example of why Cadillac has had to play the catch up game in the first place.

 

 

                                                                                    1989 BMW 635 

 

Driven back to back with a BMW or Mercedes of the same vintage, I find it hard to believe anyone would pick the Cadillac. But folks did. In droves. GM kept building these cars as long as there was a market for them. Who were those people? My father, for one. He thought this car the epitome of class, the ultimate "you have arrived" car. "Look at me, I got a Caddy!"

Hmm, kay, Dad. He was a World War II veteran born in 1923. Cadillacs like this was his generation's prized automobile.

 

                                                                            
                                                                               1979 Cadillac deVille
 

Dad's "Look At Me" was a 1979 Sedan deVille (same car  as our white '89 here save for the engine, transmission and minor styling details). I loved the styling and the sheer size of it but found it sluggish, unresponsive and tiring to drive on long trips. 

 

Even as early as 1979, GM was losing luxury car shares to European makes. Lexus and Infiniti were still a decade off.

The leather interior cheapened by a forest of plastic wood trim. My mother would hear none of my hearsay when I'd tell her that it was nothing more than a "fancy" Chevy. Actually, I liked the Chevy better.  

 

 

I wouldn't mind spending an afternoon tooling around in this old faux limo. AC cranking, seats reclined in some ridiculous angle. Slamming the gas pedal to the floor at red lights and seeing the hood ornament nudge slowly upwards. A trip down memory lane. 

After a significant styling update and power train upgrade for 1993, GM finally signed off on the DNR for their big boat in 1996.

Happy Father's Day - The Ranch Wagon (Revisted)

I had blogged about my father's 1968 Ford Ranch Wagon previously. It's Father's Day morning, I'm feeling sentimental so I searched for new images of a '68. Low and behold, I found a couple. Of all the cars my father had, the Ranch Wagon has proved to be the most challenging to find not only pictures on, but information on in general. I updated my previous blog with those new pictures I found.   

 

When the mechanic at Stu's Gulf gave the diagnosis that the Rambler had a cracked block, he gave my father two options. He'd either replace the engine at considerable cost or he'd take the car off his hands for $150. Sitting next to my father in the greasy office of that long gone service station at the corner of Merrick Road and Silver Lake Lane back in Baldwin, I could hardly contain my excitement when my father said he'd take the money. Update...Chip and I took a trip back to New York last year and where Stu's Gulf used to be is home to a Chinese Restaurant, a nail salon and a dry cleaners.

 

My father terrified me when he'd light up his pipe while driving the Rambler. Lighting a pipe a two handed affair. 

 

Despite a push button transmission, I was never impressed with the gray on red, 1961 Rambler "Classic" that was the Connolly family ride when I was very young. When you grow up on a block loaded with automotive talent from Cadillac, Buick, Chevrolet, Lincoln, Oldsmobile, Pontiac, Ford and Plymouth "The Rambler" seemed woefully if not painfully inadequate. Update...I'd say pathetic...but...it is Father's Day, after all and I'm doing my best to stay positive.

 

It was a great day when the flat head six crapped the garage floor with oil and antifreeze. 

 

What's more, back then my father traveled a lot and at least once a month, if not more it seemed, he'd fly down south for several days and return home in a "company car". It was a rental from Hertz but since "the company" was paying for it that's what he called those cars.  For the most part he came home in something that was much more interesting to me than the darn Rambler. From time to time though he would bring home some clunker like a station wagon or "little foreign job". One of those "little foreign jobs" was a 1973 era Mercury Capri btw. I hated it at first because my father, who was a big man, hated it. What did I know. This is a story for another time. "Company Car"; still sounds exciting to me.

 

With the Rambler finally gone I was giddy with anticipation as to what we'd get. How exciting it would be go car shopping! Would we get that amazing Impala Sports Coupe with the tough sounding engine he had brought home not so long ago? Perhaps that gigantic and magical Fury convertible he brought home in the middle of winter! Oh, sweet joy! The sky was the limit!

Our Ranch Wagon looked EXACTLY like this except ours had blue rims not black and did not have whitewalls. Avendre is a French word meaning for sale. I'll take it!

So, when a baby blue '68 Ford Ranch Wagon showed up one day I simply shrugged my shoulders that it was one of the clunkers he'd get every now and then from Hertz.

I found this quickie shot of a '68 Ranch Wagon from an episode of Kojak. Who loves ya, baby. Note roof rack, chrome rub strip, black rims and whitewalls. This is probably a Ranch Wagon Custom 500. We had the bone stripper Ranch Wagon. This actor, especially with that hat and with that raincoat, looks just like my father.  

 

Imagine how crushed I was when I found out that lump was in fact our new family car. Turned out my father was such a fan of Hertz' rentals that he bought one they had for sale. It was the company car that came to visit and stayed for a long, long time.

 

Our Ranch Wagon did have the new for '68 and optional 302 cubic inch, 210 horsepower, "Challenger" V-8 engine. My father marveled at the car's power. Not to take anything away from the car's power but anything would've been considered powerful compared to the Rambler.

 

My father past away in November 1997.

 

1970, 1937 SS100 Jaguar - Nostalgia Is Nothing New

Let's get something out of the way first and foremost; I don't like "kit" or "component" cars. Therefore, I don't like this car. The original this is based on? Oh my, yes. Yes, indeed. It's lovely. In fact, I love many Jag-you-ares. Not all, mind you, but many. The car this is based on most definitely. Ain't nothing like the real thing. Baby.
 

 

Kit cars offer an affordable alternative to the real thing. Underneath a kit are the bones of a doner vehicle. On kits of this vinage, those bones, many times came from Volkswagen. Those primitive VW's were simple to work on, rugged, lightweight and most importantly, for profit margins, they were cheap. No one would ever mistake an old stock Beetle for a performance car like the original SS100 was in its day. Nostalgia is powerful. Especially as we get older. That longing, though, can lead us to make some unusual decisions. Like buying this car, new or used.

 

A "kit" car is different from a replica. I'll take a replica over a kit any day. This AC Cobra is a replica and in many ways is superior to what it's based on. This AC Cobra is a real car top to bottom that is a facsimile of the original.  Can't say that for our SS100. 

 

 

This 1970, 1937 SS100 "Jaguar" is a kit. There are several cues that betray its most humble DNA. Those stubby exhaust pipes back here, the odd wheels. Yup.  Underneath this awkwad body is a VW Beetle complete with an air cooled VW engine. As much as I love old Beetles, I can't help but look at this use of a Beetle as a waster. The body on top of the VW a clown suit as opposed to the tuxedo that was the original. I keep waiting for a bunch of clowns to pop out of the square engine door here. Hey, ya, numb skull! Honk, honk! The VW chassis  and engine used, abused to make for an expensive dream. Then and now. 43 years after it rolled off the showroom floor or over the curb of a dealership lot, the owner of this thing is asking five grand for it. Hmmm, good luck with that. Honk, honk!

  

 

1970 was a long time ago. 1937 even longer. However, there were "only" 33 years between 1937 and 1970. 33 years ago here in 2013? 1980. Can't be but it is. Why is it that 1937 seems longer removed from 1970 than 1980 is from now? 

1980 was not a great year for cars. Turbo Trans AM or 305 V-8 powered Corvette, anyone? Maybe a Celica or a Supra? A Jaguar XJS? Let's suppose, though, that you do have a jones for a late '70s or early '80s automobile. That's the same time span of expired years that this SS100 was born in. So, when we fire up the way back machine back to 1970, what "vintage" automobiles did folks long for? Keep in mind, we're talking not about baby boomers but about the parents of baby boomers. Corvettes didn't come out until 1953, muscle cars a good decade later.

 

They longed for the dream cars of their youth like European sports cars. Enter the SS100 "Jaguar" SS.

Nostalgia is nothing new.

 

The original SS100 "Jaguar" was a British 2-seat sports car built between 1936 and 1940 by SS Cars LTD of Coventry, England. The last one is thought to have been delivered in 1941.The SS Cars Ltd Model 100 "Jaguar" was so named as the '100' reflecting the capability of the 3.5-litre model to exceed 100 mph - then a remarkable speed for a production vehicle. In common with many products of the thirties, the adoption of an animal name was deemed appropriate, and once approved, the name "Jaguar" was given to a new saloon car in 1936, and from that point to all the cars.

Following the Second World War, because of the connotations then attached to the initials "SS", the company was renamed "Jaguar" in 1945.

 

The Good Parent - Lessons Learned from Bad Examples

 

 

If I learned anything from my parents, it was how not to parent. Below is one of several events that happened in my life that demolished my relationship with my mother. It also helped make me the parent that I am today.

I wanted my parents to stay in the kitchen long enough so that my brother and I could finish watching "Westworld" on the TV in the living room. Rarely did we get to watch what we wanted to see. With only one TV in our home, our parents, particularly my mother, had final say on what we watched. Each second of the movie that went by felt like a delicious, rare, decadent, treat on that winter Saturday night long ago. Sure beat "All In The Family". Sorry, Archie.

 

Shortly after the scene where Yul Brynner's character, or robot, starts misbehaving, our home  phone rang. It was Mrs. Goldstein, my best friend's mother. I thought it odd that she'd call on a Saturday night but I paid little attention to it. Besides, with my mother tied up on the phone,  she'd stay in the kitchen giving my brother and I more time with the movie.  

 

 

Their conversation was much shorter than I had anticipated. I heard my mother mumble "so, so sorry" as she hung up the phone. The dull, out of tune clang of the phone's bell ringing throughout the house as she clumsily slammed down the heavy plastic handset. I heard the kitchen door open. Great. Here she comes. There goes the movie.   

 

She entered the living room and sat down on the couch next to my brother. She said nothing. Through the corner of my eye I could see my brother becoming agitated, anxious. I concentrated on the movie.
 

After a few minutes she finally broke the silence. Her powerful voice full of drama. "Charlie, I need you to turn this off. Chris...I need you to go upstairs". My brother bolted from the living room, slamming the door as he ran upstairs to the room we shared. Whatever was the matter, he was safe. Lucky him.
 

"Charlie...", she continued, "that, was Mrs. Goldstein on the phone...David's mother. And...", she bit her lower lip. My heart started to race. My ears adjusting to the erie silence in the living room after I turned off the TV. She burst into near hysterics as she yelled at me, "I'M SO SORRY!"

 

I didn't need to hear anything more. I knew what she meant. David, my best friend, was dead.

 

David was born with a weak heart and had nearly died several years earlier when he had come down with pneumonia. Not a week earlier he had been perfectly fine. Then he came down with a cold. It got worse. He had trouble breathing. His parents took him to the hospital to be observed and they admitted him. His parents thought it best that I not visit him, germs and all. The cold had turned to pneumonia. His heart gave out.  

 

I was frantic with instantaneous, complete and total grief. My mother said and did nothing. She just sat on the couch. I ran out into cold and down the hill into the park behind our house, hoping somehow it was all a dream. I was yelling, screaming, crying uncontrollably. I felt so bad for my friend. I had just spoken to him that afternoon? What happenend? Did he suffer? I didn't think he was that sick! Was he in pain? Where is he now? Is he here with me now? This doesn't happen to kids! My mind a flutter with a million and one thoughts.
 

Eventually, I walked back up the hill. My 11 year old world was upside down. I had never experienced anything like this before. Death was something that happened to old people.  It felt so odd. So, dream like. I was hoping, praying I'd find it was all one of my mother's cruel, heartless jokes.

I walked back inside the house and saw my mother still sitting on the couch in the living room. The TV was on. She was watching "Westworld". I walked in and sat down in the chair near the TV that I was sitting in before. I cried softly to myself. Tears ran down my face. I was very alone. I said nothing to my mother.

 

She was smoking. The cigarette's orange glow the light in the room besides the TV. She took a long, filterless drag,  When she exhaled, she blew the smoke at me and she murmured just above her breath, "you know...Charlie...I hope you're this upset when I die..."

 

 

2014 Chevrolet Impala

A Picture Paints a Thousand Words. Sometimes less.

 

In hindsight, my expectations where unrealistic but not without good reason. I knew the new for 2014 Chevrolet Impala was based on the Opel designed, "Epsilon" platform that underpins the Buick LaCrosse. Having spent considerable time with the LaCrosse, I knew that the new Impala would at least be big, bold, stylish and very solid. Sneak peaks of it by GM on Facebook left me with high hopes as I signed up for the online debut of the next, great Chevrolet. The buffering seemed endless as the press conference struggled to load. C'mon, already!  

 

 

A picture says a thousand words. Sometimes, as is the case of the new Impala, they say less. A lot less. And that's a good thing because the new Impala looks much better "in person" than in pictures or on line. In pictures, the new Impala looks lumpy, frumpy, dense (not that it's not even in person) and heavy in a way that's hardly flattering. Does this trunk lid make my rear end look gigantic? The rear detailing is derivative, retro. Dare I say, passe. C'mon, guys. Retro is so...2000. The front end is chunky, heavy. The sides are tall; this car looks like a rolling bathtub. Then again, so does the LaCrosse. The Impala, again, in pictures, looks like several designs cobbled together in an attempt to make one. Once more, a GM car designed by committee.

  

However, in the flesh, or sheet metal, the design has more cohesion than it appears to have in pictures. This is a pretty good looking car with, yeah, some retro design cues. The "shoulders" at the top of the rear quarter panels are Impala/Caprice circa 1967. Handsome as they are, they flow awkardly into the rear doors. I'd just as soon they not have put those bulges up there but then perhaps the car would look like nothing more than a big Malibu. The dog legged "C" pillar, something GM dropped a peak a boo photo of on Facebook in the days leading up to the press release, while handsome as well, appears as though it came from another car.  Yet somehow, taken as a sum of its various design elements, at the end of the assembly line day, this new Impala is a better looking and driving car (based on its Epsilon genes) than the generic rental lot blob it replaces.
 

 

I found this loaded, LTZ model in the parking lot of the Harry Buffalo in Parma Heights last Friday Night. Being an LTZ, it's powered by GM's magnificent, 3.6 liter, direct injection, three hundred and five horsepower, DOHC V-6. Car and Driver tested this model and found while it provides brisk acceleration (0-60 mph in 6.0 seconds is plenty fast for a family sedan), it returned a middling 19.4 miles per gallon. Most  buyers of this car, I have to assume, will opt for the base engine, the 2.5 liter, direct injection, in-line 4. The 2.5 makes an impressive 196 horsepower however, just 186 foot pounds of torque at a lofty 4400 rpm. "Pickup", while adequate, will be far from sporty. This bathtub car weighs 3650 pounds; 186 foot pounds of torque, peaking all that way up north, is not a lot of twist. Passing 18 wheelers on the Turnpike will take planning. The 2.5 liter Impala has an EPA highway rating of  31 mpg so you're rewarded somewhat for your frugality. 

There is a hybird offering. Sorry, I have no data on that greenie but look for that car to have better acceleration than the base 4 with better overall economy. However, get set to pay a premium to "save money".

 

Although based on that global platform, the Impala is not tuned to be a sports sedan. It's in a large-car segment populated with the likes of the Ford Taurus, Dodge Charger, Toyota Avalon, Kia Cadenza and Hyundai Azera—one that often attracts buyers from a less-demanding crowd when it comes to steering precision, handling, and off-the-line power.

 

This more demanding than that less-demanding crowd lead foot can't wait to test drive your new Impala. You've got an LTZ, right?

 

 

 



 



 

 

 

Charley Connolly

1967 Ford Fairlane - Drive By

I don't encourage taking photos while driving. However, please know that when I saw this little beauty on westbound 90 last night just east of 140th, I picked up my trusty iphone 4S and starting shooting blindly hoping, praying I'd get something usable. Presto!

I'm a GM guy first and foremost and a Chevy guy too. I also love Mopars (Dodge, Plymouth, Chrysler, Imperial, Desoto). For whatever reason, old Fords, for the most part, leave me a little cold. There are exceptions, though. Like this delightful, 1967 Fairlane. Much like the '67 Mustang, a Ford a Chevy guy can love.

Back in the day, the Fairlane was Ford's mid-size offering nestled between the full size Galaxie and the compact Falcon. Ford built this handsome car for only two years (1966 and 1967). Standard engine was the durable but boring, 200 cube, straight six. The "base" V8 was a 289. The Ford 390 V8, with two- or four-barrel carburetor, made things a lot more interesting. By the way, in case you haven't noticed, I love V8 engines.

If this car has the original mill, I bet it would be the 390. A 427 was available but those cars are very rare. But hey, y'never know.

Maybe I'll see this car at one of the myriad of car shows I'll be dragging my family to this summer and I'll be able to report back on what she's got.

Til then, happy motorin', y'all.