Knock-knock. Who's there? Nostalgia. Again. The family next door to my family and I back on Long Island had a light green, four-door, 1964 Buick LeSabre so my interest in this 1964 Buick Wildcat is a bit of a stroll down the block I grew up on in Baldwin, New York for me since these '64 Wildcats and LeSabre's are so similar looking. Baldwin, incidentally, where I grew up, is on Long Island and is a bedroom community of Manhattan that, without traffic, is just twenty minutes or so from Times Square. Baldwin's now a community with housing so expensive that for the same kind of money a falling-down lean-to goes for there, like the pre-war dump I grew up in, you can buy a lavish, freshly built McMansion in most any mid-western city. But I digress.
Technically, a "wildcat" is a term that refers to a species complex comprising two small wild cat species; a species complex is a group of closely related organisms that are so similar in appearance the boundaries between them are often unclear. Euphemistically, then, it's not much of a stretch to say that Buick's 1962-1970 "Wildcat" was named after a feral, "household-pet sized" common cat. Ah, but what's in a name anyway, right?
There have been five Buick "Wildcat" concept cars over the years in addition to the 1962-1970 production models; there were three in the 1950's, one in 1985 and the last one was in 1997. Come 1962, a Buick Wildcat was a sub-series of their Invicta; for '63 Willdcat became it's own line squeezed between the top-dog, err cat, Electra, and the LeSabre. Invicta stuck around for '63 but was only a station wagon; Buick dropped it for '64.
From '62 through '64, Buick Wildcats's were dressed up with Electra like details inside and out and were stuffed with engines only available on Buick's haughtier models, From 1965 through 1970 Wildcat was based on the same GM platform that underpinned the Electra and was, ahem, a whole other animal from these big cats. These large, semi-luxurious '62-'64's where also pegged as "full-size sports-cars" or "banker's hot-rod's." Wild, indeed. All of GM's divisions save for Cadillac offered "executive-sleeper's" like the early Wildcat's with Chevrolet, arguably, being the most successful at it. The advent of GM's very successful intermediate sized muscle cars made these cars superfluous if not redudant. If not, actually, irrelevant.
Don't get me wrong, my ribbing of these lovely cars is purely in gest. I love 'em as I do many an old Buick and the idea of a gigantic, six-passenger car with serious beans is very alluring to me. Our '64 here is stuffed with a three-hundred and twenty-five horsepower, "Wildcat 445" V-8 engine. "445" referring not to the engine's displacement but, curiously, the engine's gross torque output rating. This engine, part of a series of Buick V-8 engines made between 1953 and 1966 that were known as "Nailhead's" in deference to their narrow intake and exhaust valves actually displaces 401 cubic-inches. A more powerful 401 engine, the "Wildcat 465" and a 425 cubic-inch "Super Wildcat" were optional. A four-speed manual and two-three speed automatic transmissions were available making for a daunting number of available power train options.
Red here's "Wildcat 445" backed, somewhat disappointingly, with a column mounted (booooo!) Buick automatic, presumably Buick's most excellent "Super Turbine 400". Buick's automatic transmission's where the precursors of GM's famous Turbo-Hydramatic's. Sidebar for those of a certain vintage - how freaking dangerous was it to have someone sitting next to the driver in any car with a bench seat? Also, note, no seat belts. They weren't required on cars sold in this country until 1966.
Aside from some bright work and perhaps a tad more scoot, there was little to differentiate our '64 Wildcat here from a LeSabre. Even the rear end treatment here is pure LeSabre whereas in 1962 and 1963 it was more Electra like. Naturally, Buick charged substantially more for a Wildcat than a LeSabre although, honestly, you think it cost Buick any more to make a Wildcat?
I really, really like this car and it's tad unusual for me to be as smitten as I am with it. Perhaps it from my birth-year has in addtion of it reminding of my neighbor's LeSabre has a lot to do with that. The condition of this car is also spectacular and with a not-out of this world unreasonable asking price of just under ten-grand, I have to resist the temptation to call on it. Having one or two too many cars is a big deterrent as well and my car loving older son thinks this a fuddy-duddy "old man's car".
There aren't many things about my childhood I'd like to relive again. The cars on the block I grew up on one of the precious-few things I wouldn't mind seeing again. You can't go home again, as they say, good lord, again, not that I'd want to, but sometimes it's a ton of fun to think about.
My recent critically acclaimed and award-winning soliloquy (no one fact checks anymore, right?) about the 1971 film "Vanishing Point" and the 1970 Dodge Challenger R/T featured in it reminded me I'm way over due in blogging about the '70 Challenger's stablemate, the also new for 1970 Plymouth Barracuda. Grab your tie-dye and bell bottoms and let's get at it.
Of course, I can't leave well enough alone - I have to include a history (below) of the Barracuda's that came before the mighty 1970 rendition. Let's also back off the aquarium tank and acknowledge the Plymouth pony car's namesake which is a predatory, salt-water fish. Adorable, no? Might as well have named the car the Plymouth Piranha; the alliteration sounds catchier too.
A "barracuda" is also a less than flattering slang for a sexually aggressive woman or someone behaving underhandedly. The mighty Wilson sisters 1977 rock anthem paying homage to such people and behavior and not the fish or Chrysler built automobiles. Thank goodness the Plymouth Barracuda was long gone by the time this song came out; who knows what cheesy commercials would have been made using the song as an underscore. Gosh, those first couple of Heart albums where fabulous where they not?
Born into the murky waters of a market segment that had yet to be defined, the Plymouth Barracuda faced more problems than just a questionable namesake. The original debuted on, of all days, April Fool's Day, 1964 which was, notably, a good two-weeks plus ahead of Ford's debut of the Mustang. It was all downhill or upstream from there.
The original Barracuda, based on Chrysler's capable compact "A-body" chassis, was actually branded as a Plymouth Valiant Barracuda and perhaps done-so by the product-planning and marketing team that branded the 1960 Valiant as a "Valiant by Chrysler" and not as a Plymouth Valiant. That transgression quickly rectified come model year 1961. Chrysler dropped the Valiant pre-fix for 1965 and they, wisely, never brought it back.
The only tangible difference between a Valiant and a Valiant Barracuda was this gigantic rear windshield, or "back-light". Chrysler partnered with Pittsburgh Plate Glass to fabricate this thing that was and remains the largest piece of automotive glass ever produced. Nothing if not distinctive, it added approximately one-hundred pounds to the curb weight of a Valiant and was heavily tinted so as not to turn the insides of the air-conditioning free Valiant, err, Barracuda, into a greenhouse or sauna. Aside from that, the '64 Valiant Barracuda was all Valiant. Well, save for the availability of a high-performance version of Plymouth's 273 cubic-inch V-8 engine on Formula S models. For 1965 and beyond, Barracuda was a separate model from the Valiant even if it stayed looking like a Valiant with a huge rear window. You wouldn't be alone in thinking the design somewhat attractive if not cool while also being cluttered and awkward.
Unlike what Ford was able to do with their Falcon based Mustang, purportedly, what with millions spent and lost on the abortive 1961 downsizing of Plymouth and Dodge models, Chrysler did not have the financial resources to fully develop the Barracuda into a uniquely styled automobile. The fact that the Barracuda was a lightly disguised Valiant along with Plymouth calling it a Valiant Barracuda for 1964 being the auspices that have been decided as being the circumstances that did in Barracuda; the thinking goes buyers were unable to decipher the car from the economy car based Valiant.
To make matters worse, Plymouth marketed the utility of the Barracuda what with its fold-down rear seat and generous cargo area afforded by the massive back-light. Can you mix business with pleasure? On paper, maybe, but rarely could you do so back then. Today's do-everything-well cross-over utilities are a different story but back then a practical sporty car was akin to taking mom along on a hot date. Although that hot date had a habit of balancing picnic baskets on her head.
Plymouth slogged on through 1966 with the Barracuda making minor styling updates to the Valiant based two-door as designers headed back to the drawing board. Less than one-hundred thousand 1964-1966 Barracuda's found buyers meanwhile Ford literally and figuratively ran all the way to the Mustang bank to the tune of more than a million sold during the same time.
It's easy to say that Plymouth should have come out with this car in 1964 and not what they came with instead.
Available in notch-back, convertible and fast-back with a smaller more conventional looking back-light like this, the 1967-1969 Barracuda was still A-body based underneath but featured all-new, unique sheet metal up top that was construed as a stylistic success. From some angles I'd concur; from others not so much.
However, sales were still disappointing with this generation of the Barracuda best sales year, 1967, below the best years of the 1964-1966 models. A large part of that was most likely due to a market segment that now included a redesigned Mustang and a version of it from sister division Mercury. Don't discount GM's world beating twin-ponies, the Chevrolet Camaro and Pontiac Firebird. The market for these types of cars may have increased and expanded but it could only so by so much. Choice, after all, is great for customers but terrible for business.
Seeing that by the late 1960's what had become known as "pony-cars" had became a lucrative market segment commanding thirteen percent of all vehicle sales, somewhat remarkably, Chrysler executives tried for a third time to make inroads with an all-new Barracuda for 1970. Have to hand it to Chrysler in those days, they were nothing if not diligent.
Which brings us to today's main attraction. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the greatest looking muscle or pony car of all time, the 1970 Plymouth Barracuda.
If I thought that Chrysler should have come with the 1967 Barracuda in 1964, then Chrysler should have come with this car in 1967. I hate the word, "should" but sometimes no other word is appropriate,
Bigger in every way from 1964-1969 Barracuda's except in actual length, the 1970 Plymouth Barracuda and it's stable mate Dodge Challenger began their development. Chrysler starting with their intermediate "B-body" chassis that also underpinned the Plymouth Satellite and Dodge Coronet.
Essentially a mid-size car with a shortened wheelbase, the 1970 Barracuda was available in notch-back and convertible only; the fast-back design gone from the line up but lived on, somewhat, in a new "A-body" based design at Plymouth known as the Duster.
Subjective as it may be, my blog, my rules, pardner, what Chrysler came with in 1970 with the Barracuda was and remains, to me at least, one of the greatest looking automobiles of all-time. Note I said "looking".
Curiously, the story goes that Chrysler did little suspension work on these believing that as fast as the cars where, if they could handle well it would have been even more dangerous. Makes no sense now, of course, as a high-performing car is actually a safer car. Well, usually. If you've ever had a car that was fast as hell but handled poorly, you know how quickly that gets old. As they say, it's much more fun to drive a slow car fast than drive a fast car fast.
That was too bad given how spectacular the design was and how well they could go in a straight line. The 1970 and 1971 models with Chrysler's mighty 440 cubic-inch V-8 in particular. The "Hemi" models as well but I'm of the opinion that the 440 engine was a better day-in, day-out street engine than the street-legal race engine that was the Hemi. "Legendary" doesn't always mean "good". I'd also opt for a 'cuda with the 340 "Six-Pack" but that's just me. Again, power is over-rated; it's control you want. Well, power and control.
Wouldn't you know it, though? Sales of these-generation Barracuda's, while better in 1970 compared to 1969 models, were extremely disappointing. Approximately fifty-five thousand found buyers in 1970; Dodge sold more than seventy-six thousand Challenger buyers but it's been said those sales came out of the bumpers of Charger sales and not Barracuda's. I know, weird but that's what they (der experts) say. . Barracuda sales dropped to around an abysmal eighteen-thousand for 1971, 1972 and 1973 sales hovered around a twenty-two thousand. In 1974, the model year most affected by the 1973 OPEC embargo, less than twelve-thousand Barracuda's left dealer lots.
So, how could such a handsome car as this fail so badly at the box-office? Blame a confluence of circumstances the most significant of which being rote bad timing.
Chrysler coming with this gorgeous albeit overinflated, ill-handling gas-guzzler just as the performance car market was beginning to wane. That due in large part to insurance company surcharges on any vehicle construed as a performance car. Couple that with less than stellar reviews because of it's ponderous handling capabilities, or lack there-of, not to mention a market by 1970 literally clogged with options for buyers and it's fairly easy to see what happened to the Plymouth Barracuda.
Also, to use a vernacular of the times, "dig-this"; if you were of the age and of the means to buy a sporty compact in 1970, what with the gaggle of makes of models available to you, which one, all things being equal and you wanting the best car for your money, would you buy? Keep in mind GM's Camaro and Firebird were freshly updated and were gorgeous and performed better overall and the 1970 Mustang and Cougar were updated as well. You also had a Plymouth Duster that handled better and went like stink when optioned with the right go-fast engines. Choices. Choices. Too many choices, actually. Remember what I said about choices.
An all-new Barracuda was planned for 1975 but Chrysler didn't move forward with it seeing the automobile market was changing so quickly. 1974 was the last model-year for Plymouth's fish-car with approximately just one-hundred fifteen thousand "third-generation" models sold.
Ironically, 1970-1974 Plymouth Barracuda's, especially the 1970 and 1971 models, more than likely due to their scarcity and the fickle nature of the collector car market, have become some of the most sought after and valuable cars of this era.
When I was a kid and came of football appreciating age in the mid '70's, I was transfixed by the Green Bay Packers of the 1960's and their coach Vince Lombardi. I'm not a Packers fan, mind you; just an admirer of that team and their coach. NFL Film's series, "A Football Life", documents the lives of select NFL players, teams, owners and coaches and the expansive, ninety-minute episode they did several years ago on Lombardi is one of their finest. Recently, I watched it again for the first time and found myself more perplexed than ever by the enigmatic man; again, a man I unquestionably worshiped when I was growing up. The film, and this is a testament to how well it's done, much like the man doesn't leave much room for indifference.
Of course, this is a blog (primarily) about cars, and what inspired today's soliloquy were the two scenes in the documentary that featured Lombardi either driving or walking around Pontiac's. It surprised me too much in the same way I used to be occaisionally intrigued by what my school teachers drove. This scene in "A Football Life", originally, from a highlight film shot by NFL Films just before the historic 1967 NFL championship game between Lombardi's Packers and the Dallas Cowboys shows Lombardi behind the wheel of a brand-new 1968 Bonneville.
In this shot from another documentary on the game we see that Bonneville he's driving is a four-door model but not, from best I can tell, a top-of-the-line Brougham.
The tell-all it's a '68 is the chrome trim around the front end. 1965 models had stacked headlights, '66's had body-colored trim where the '68's have chrome. Also, obviously, seeing this footage was shot on December 31, 1967, it couldn't have been any newer than a 1968 model.
Seeing what a conservative man he was in outward physicality, dress, offensive play calling and his devotion to God, a Pontiac seems somewhat overt for him. Not quite sure what I'd expected him to be driving; there are other films about those great 1960's Packers teams and I swear they show Lombardi driving a 1963 Chrysler New Yorker that I find more fitting of him what with its more stantoiran, autoritarian aire. Then again, one of many remarkable things about Lombardi was that he could also be equally progressive and in many more ways than one. Famously color-blind with regards to race and a "Kennedy Democrat", the Bonneville perhaps were his way of showing the world there was more to him than just X's and O's.
If I was surprised by the Bonneville, imagine my delight later in the film seeing him next to this all-new for 1969 Pontiac Grand Prix. Based on the wheel-covers and vinyl top this is probably an "LJ" model as opposed to the somewhat sportier "SJ". Was Lombardi actually a passingly casual automobile enthusiast who, much like his ability to evaluate raw football-talent, knew of a trend-setting automobile when he saw one? After all, the 1969 Pontiac Grand Prix helped spur a market segment that would go onto to define much of 1970's domestic automobilia.
We are what we drive, right? So, who was Vince Lombardi based on the cars he porportedly drove? For the purpose of today's blog I'll look past any chance of his vehicle choices being happenstanial; after all, we are talking about Vince Lombardi who left nothing to chance. That aside, like most things, who he was and what fifty-plus years after his death of legend making have made him out to be now, the answer to that question lies somewhere in the middle.
My first brand new car was a 1990 Chevrolet Lumina Euro coupe I bought late in 1989. Solid and reliable in ways the 1982 Buick Riviera it replaced could never have been, in December 1993 I made the mistake of not only getting rid of a car that was paid off, had low mileage and was in very good condition, I replaced it with another Lumina. Ah, but not just any Lumina, a 1994 Lumina Z34. The "Z" was hardly the worst car I've ever owned and although it was comfortable, looked great, in my opinion, and handled quite well, it may have been the most disappointing car I've ever had. That's saying a lot considering the rolling losers I've had over the years. The problem was it's 3.4-liter, double-overhead cam, twenty-four valve V-6 (LQ1) that I thought would be the answer to the only real problem I had with the Euro - a lack of power. While the Z was altogether faster, I found the engine sluggish and unresponsive at low rpm's, noisy, thirsty and ultimately came to believe the added expense of the darn thing over the Euro's seemingly plebeian, one-hundred thirty-five horsepower 3.1-liter engine was not worth it; buyer's remorse is a terrible thing. In hindsight, what I should have done, aside from not getting rid of the Euro and driving it into the ground, was have gone up a rung or three and gotten a Buick Regal GS like this '92 here.
A "Buick" may have seemed like an odd choice for a guy who wasn't even thirty-years old at the time, after all Buick, despite their best efforts, has always skewed older, but a Regal GS back then was all-in-all a better automobile than the Lumina Z34. While somewhat softly sprung compared to the Z, it's heart, its engine, was far better and you could a leather lined interior like our '92 here has. By the way, here's one of several reasons why critics lambasted General Motor's early GM10 or "W-Bodies", this ergonomic joke of a center dash layout. I count thirty-seven buttons on. Thirty-seven. I'm amazed they found room plaster BUICK on it.
The engine under the hood of early '90's Regal GS' was the then latest incarnation of the Buick 3.8-liter V-6. Improved incrementally over the years from its humble origins as a Buick V-8 with two cylinders lobbed off back in 1962, what became known as the "3800" in 1988 had become a pretty stout and responsive performer by the early 1990's; everything being relative. Making all of one-hundred seventy horsepower and two-hundred twenty pounds of twist by the early '90's, it was actually significantly less powerful than my Z34's wonky "Dual Twin Cam" V-6 that purportedly made two-hundred fifteen horsepower. The big difference between the 3800 and the DOHC V-6 in my Z was that the 3800 blasted you with peak torque at a V-8 like 2,000 rpm's whereas the fancy twin-cam V-6 made you wait all the way to 4,000. Couple that high rpm torque peak with an automatic and I hope you begin to put two and two together that acceleration off the line in my Z was almost an afterthought.
What's become known as the 3800 "Series-1" in our '92 here benefited from a number of improvements and refinements over the years. One of the most significant being that for 1977 GM split the crank shaft pins to smooth vibrations from its uneven firing order given it was literally a ninety-degree V-8 with two missing cylinders. I'm no physics expert but apparently ninety-degree V-8 engines are inherently balanced whereas ninety-degree V-6 engines are not and they shake like a Home Depot paint-shaker. A balance shaft added in 1988 really quelled the shakes down to the point that when running, it was all but indecipherable from a V-8. Port fuel injection first appeared on the 1984 turbocharged version of the 3.8 and added greatly to the engine's performance capability. It's not uncommon for some to refer to the engine in our GS here as being the "Grand National engine without the turbo"; that's a bit of a stretch but it's not that far out of the realm of reason.
What I thought was a head scratcher at the time was why General Motors went through the exercise of creating the funky DOHC V-6 when they had a more than capable power-plant for performance upgrades with their 3800. It's not like they gave it their best try either seeing they started with their oh-so-humble, sixty-degree (inherently balanced), 2.8-liter V-6 and strapped twelve-valve heads on them with belt driven overhead cams. That might sound like an oversimplification of what they did but really, it's not. Along they way, the snappiness of the 2.8, later enlarged to 3.1, 3.4, 3.5 and even 3.9-liters lost in translation. What they came out with was, again, a sluggish, clickity-clackity engine that felt unresponsive especially off the line. Any gusto the engine had came only from flogging it relentlessly. That can be fun but comes at a cost at the gas pump. I much prefer the instant torque, off the line responsiveness of a large-ish V-8 or a V-6 that thinks its a V-8 like the old Series-1 3800.
When I later learned that the Z34's engine was simply done so that GM could brag it had a double-overhead cam V-6 like their arch-nemesis Ford had, I felt somewhat betrayed and played as a fool. Especially considering that the engine all but sucked. Nothing quite like getting caught in a senseless cross-fire. That Ford DOHC V-6 was actually built by Yamaha and powered the Taurus SHO from 1989-1995 and was a vastly superior motor to the GM mill.
I was so disgusted with the LQ1 in the Z34 that when I got rid of the Z in 1996 and went with, in retrospect somewhat inexplicably but I'm a GM die-hard, a 1997 Monte Carlo, I eschewed the optional DOHC 3.4 for the base 3.1-liter, one-hundred sixty horsepower V-6 that felt every bit as powerful and more importantly, felt stronger taking off from standing still. It was great on gas too.
Wouldn't you know it, though, GM dropped the LQ1 after 1997 and started putting the 3800 into applications where they had been using the LQ1 prior including the Monte Carlo Z34. Son-of-a-gun. I don't know if I would have waited another year for a Monte Carlo Z34 with a 3800, the lease was up in the Z anyway, but a couple of test drives of Monte Z' and Lumina LTZ' powered by what had turned into the 3800 "Series II" convinced me that maybe I should have. What's life if you don't have regrets, right?
I got my chance with a 3800 Series II when I wore out the '97 Monte Carlo and went with a 2001 Monte Carlo SS that had one. Mighty fine motor in my humble opinion. I'm such a fan of the 3800 that I've had four cars with 3800 Series II's over the last twenty-years and they've all been the best part of the cars. My 2002 Dale Earnhardt Monte Carlo is still pulling like a freight-train even with 220K on its ticker. The rest of the damn thing is rusting away and is plauged with but that Series II is as smooth as it was when brand new.
As far as what I did back in late 1993 in going with a Z34 instead of a Buick Regal GS, hindsight is 20-20; would of, could have, should have. But you know what they say when you say, "should have"; you're "shoulding" all over yourself.
