I've blogged a lot about the 1975 Chrysler Cordoba I had when I was a kid. Write about what you know, they say. Well, I think I've said all there is I need to say about it but this '75 popped up on my Facebook wall the other day and it's too similar to the one that I had and just too darn pretty not to do something with. So, bear with me.
Holy way-back machine, President Reagan. Save for the whorehouse maroon, this interior is identical to my '75 I had from the summer of '83 until I wrecked it on an icy morning in late December of '87. My interior was a dreary black, so I actually like this one better. Note, no power adjustable seat. I sat on a pillow so I could see over the dash better as the set seating position was just a tad too low for me. No tilt either on what was supposed to be a luxury car.
Why aren't I jumping on a plane to Philadelphia and grabbing an Uber to Southampton with a wad of hundreds in my backpack? Well, first off, my wife would kill me. That and I've found that nostalgia trips are overrated. You can't go home again, son. Best to reflect wistfully about what was rather than attempt to recreate what wasn't that great in the first place. Ah, but that big Cordoba was mine. All mine. Derivative styling, soggy torsion bar suspension, spongy brakes, 2:45:1 axle, phlegmy, gas-swilling, emissions clogged engine and all.
Personal luxury cars like my Cordoba were nothing but fashion statements and were the embodiment of the big on the outside, small on the inside axiom of most American cars of the post-war era. They didn't make any sense then and they certainly make less sense these days in an age of do everything well crossovers. Back then, though, if you wanted to look fabulous, dah-link, a personal luxury car is what you drove. If you're curious, this roof treatment is what called a landau top complete with opera window and opera light. Total schmaltz. And it's amazing.
By the time I got mine, of course, it was already fairly frayed around the edges but for $750, us beggars couldn't be choosers. It's still the automobile bargain of my lifetime. The $50 Earl Shieb white paint was already flaking, the car was originally silver with a black landau top, and the interior was suffering a bit from use as well. But compared to my wretched Comet, it was automobile nirvana. It put me in the big leagues, and I was a legitimate player. Well, that's what I thought at least. And what's more important than the way you feel about yourself? Especially when you're 19, 20 years old.
Many give the Ford Motor Company credit for creating that long gone and peculiar market segment with their 1958, four-passenger Thunderbird. Although if you want to split hairs, Studebaker with their Speedster and Packard with their Caribbean sort of-kind of had the idea a good five years earlier. General Motors didn't have an answer to the Thunderbird until 1962 when they introduced the Pontiac Grand Prix and Oldsmobile Starfire. Throw the 1963 Buick Wildcat in there too but their real sporty\luxury salvo at the Thunderbird was the '63 Buick Riviera.
Much like the Ford Thunderbird, the Buick Riviera was too expensive for the masses. The personal luxury car market exploded in 1969 when GM introduced the "down-sized" (but still enormous) Pontiac Grand Prix that was priced more affordably. Built off the chassis of a four-door GM intermediate, the long hood, short deck Grand Prix was an instant smash hit. Chevrolet followed suit in 1970 with the first Monte Carlo. The swoopy, "suitcase fender" Monte Carlo came to market in 1973. The rest, as they say, was history.
Chrysler had nothing to offer until 1975 when they copied GM's recipe of gussying up an intermediate coupe and making it at least appear more than it really was. The Cordoba was perhaps the only bright spot for Chrysler in the 1970's as 60 percent of all Chrysler sales from 1975-1977 were Cordoba's.
These very well-done TV commercials featuring a pre-Fantasy Island Ricardo Montalban are given a lot of the credit for the success of 1975-1977 Cordoba's too. Incidentally, the shots of Mr. Montalban walking to the car were all done on a sound stage. Scrims were used to light the set to create the illusion of a sunset. The building is a backdrop.
Chrysler sold only about 150,000 or so Cordoba's between 1975 and 1977, a drop on the bucket for Chevrolet Monte Carlo sales, but that was enough to buoy a car company on the verge of collapse. At least for a little bit. An update for 1978 sullied much of the distinctiveness of the original design. Just as well as fashionistas were on the verge of moving onto the next automotive fashion whatever. Chrysler built a Cordoba through 1983 meanwhile, remarkably, Ricardo Montalban stayed on as a "pitchman" for Chrysler through 1991.
Fun facts: Cordoba is a city in southern Spain and the car was originally intended to be a Plymouth. The switch to Chrysler (the division) was a last-minute decision. Plymouth did get a version of the Cordoba, but it didn't sell well. Dodge got one too. More fun facts, "Cordoba" was originally a trim package on 1970 Chrysler Newports. Detroit advertising executives who saw Ricardo Montalban in George Bernard Shaw's "One Hell" when the show was traveling through Detroit thought he'd be perfect for the commercial for the car with a Hispanic name.
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