1972 VW Microbus - Damn Hippies

This 1972 VW Microbus popped up on Marketplace this morning for sale down in Akron, Ohio, maybe an hour southeast of the Triple Wide. Asking price is $23,000.

I can still hear my father snickering under his breath, "damn hippies," as we'd drive by long-haired people hanging out in the park next to our home on Long Island back in the late '60's and early '70's. He was convinced they were all part of the Manson family and were up to no good. That, and they were perpetually stoned and all drove Volkswagens, either Beetles or these things.

 

That stereotype was exacerbated in 1982's Fast Times at Ridgemont High, when Jeff Spicoli and company emerge from the pot-smoke cloud inside a 1967 VW Microbus. 

Doesn't matter if you're into cars and trucks or not, if you're of a certain age, you may appreciate these old Volkswagen "buses." People freak out over these things, and no doubt this one gets its fair share of turned heads and finger-pointing.

This one's a beaut, Clark, but she ain't original and unrestored. The restoration was done seven years ago, and I take it the wooden cabinetry was added then as well. I've never seen the passenger compartment of these things be the same on any two. There are no details on these handsome buckets, for certain this thing was not born with these.

Our jaunty Microbus here is part of the second generation of these things, which first debuted for the 1968 model year, although production began in 1967. The original Type 2 debuted in 1950. The first generation, now commonly called the T1, was the famous split-window Bus. The second generation, commonly called the T2 or "Bay Window," got a larger body, a single-piece curved windshield and a more modern chassis.

The terminology can get confusing. The 1950–1967 T1s are commonly called "Splitties" because of their split windshields. The 1968–1979 T2s are the Bay Windows, with the single-piece windshield like our '72 here has. The 1972 model is generally considered a T2b, or Late Bay.

Contemporary reviewers applauded its practicality and space efficiency; you can stuff a lot of stuff in this little bus, but they lamented its heavy, slow and vague steering, spongy brakes, rubbery shifter and bog-slow acceleration. And while these things were never going to win many drag races, the 1972 U.S.-spec Bus actually got a 1.7-liter Type 4 air-cooled flat-four rated at roughly 66–67 horsepower. Older T1's had engines that made little more than the 50 horsepower. 

Still, and for whatever reason, they left an indelible imprint on the public's psyche for one reason or another.

A 1979 Microbus was cast in Little Miss Sunshine, as perfectly cast a vehicle as there ever was. Five buses were actually used during filming, and the VW became almost a character in the movie itself.

1966 Volkswagen Kharmin Ghia - Gott Schrecklich

Most likely didn't do much for my opinion of these cars that the "hillbillies", as my mother derogatorily referred to the family across the street from where we lived on New York's Long Island, pulled the bodies off junked up VW's and hacked the chassis' for Manx Dune Buggy's. Nothing making you believe that something is less than what it's perceived as by seeing behind the curtain. These days, while a Beetle of this vintage can still be had quite affordably, same can't be said for a Kharmin Ghia like this freshly restored two-tone '66 that has an asking price of $35,000. 

The problem I had with Kharmin Ghia's, and to some degree I still do, was that I saw them first and foremost for what they were - fancied Beetles. Didn't matter to me that Ferdinand Porsche had a hand in engineering and designing them; Beetles were noisy, cramped, under-powered death traps. Any offshoot couldn't be much better, right? Then again, I'm someone who'd pay a king's ransom for a 1973 Chevrolet Monte Carlo meanwhile for a fraction of the cost I could have essentially the same car with a different body in buying a Chevelle. To each, as they say, their own. 

Volkswagen's Kharmin Ghia was a result of the VW's success with the Beetle. The cheap little cars sold well world wide and, since VW had long ago amortized their tooling and development cost, they made a nice profit on each one sold. In a move that was quite General Motors like, in the early 1950's, VW executives determined that to keep up interest in the Beetle they needed a "halo car" for their showrooms. Particularly here in the United States which was a critical market to them. 

Of course, they wanted to do it as practically if not inexpensively as possible, Rather than go through the expense of engineering an all new car, they, naturally, started with the guts and chassis of the Beetle. Problem was, production of the Beetle and Type 2 bus where at full capacity. Was sollen wir machen (what should we do?)

Contract outside the company, that's what. Enter Wilhelm Karman a coach-builder who custom built Beetles into convertibles. He commissioned Gigi Segre of the Italian design house Ghia to design a sporty coupe whose body would the Beetle's. What's more, Karman offered VW the use of his production facilities to build what was known as internally the "Type 14" but would later be called the "Kharmin Ghia".

The first Ghia's came ashore here in the United States in late 1955 and were an immediate hit. Dealerships couldn't keep them in stock and customer's willingly laid down handsome deposits and  waited six to twelve weeks, many times longer, for their cars to come in. And, in the end, pay nearly a thousand dollars more for a Ghia than then Beetle it was based on. Big bucks, or deutsche marks, back then. The Ghia was so successful that VW commissioned Kharmin to build another model that was styled by Ghia. 

That resulted in the, frankly, rather unusual looking Type 34 Kharmin Ghia which debuted in 1961 but was never sold in the United States. Above is a 1963. Looks like VW suits knew American car buyer tastes better than we ever imagined; this is an odd looking car in a East German "Trabant" kind of way. It's sort of cool and pleasantly familiar but also weird in not a good way. If you've ever seen one here  in the U.S, at some point someone had it imported privately. 

The Type 14 Kharmin Ghia was sold in the United States through 1974; the end of the line, arguably long over due, coming at a time when the U.S. government was mandating ever more stringent safety and tailpipe emissions regulations. Meanwhile the good old Beetle was sold here through 1979. 

I see these now and I'm smitten; not by this one per se since I find it's color scheme and fat white walls  gott schrecklich (god awful) but by its overall design. It's simply gorgeous. I now see past it's oh-so-humble beginnings and see it for what it is or was. The Kharmin Ghia, to me, not unlike the girl next door whom you always thought was cute but familiarity breeding contempt, you never gave her a moment's notice; not that she would reciprocate if she did. Turns out she grew up and did quite alright for herself. 

1968 Meyers Manx Dune Buggy - Assembly Required

"The Hillbillies," as my parents referred to the family that lived in the duplex across the street from us on Long Island, not only changed automobiles with fascinating regularity, but they also built some of their own cars as well. Well, not exactly built—more like assembled. They built "dune buggies," just like our 1969 Meyers Manx, from kits.

The elder "Hillbilly," a mechanic by trade, bought fiberglass bodies from a Meyers Manx distributor and would bolt them to the running gear of junked Volkswagen Beetles. He and his sons, the youngest a good five years older than me, would dismantle the junked VW, cut out a section of the chassis to shorten the wheelbase, and bolt the whole thing together. All in their backyard over the course of several weeks. Amazing.

That was, in fact, pretty much how the Manx was designed to be built. The original kits used the mechanical components and chassis of a Volkswagen Beetle, with the chassis shortened by roughly 14¼ inches to reduce the wheelbase to about 80 inches. The fiberglass body then mounted on the modified VW floorpan.

He'd sell the finished buggies soon after, but not before we neighborhood kids would get rides in them. My first ride in one, with the windshield laid down flat, was as thrilling as the first time I rode a motorcycle. While my myriad traipses across the street to watch—and sometimes even help with—a project mortified my mother, the wonderland of car parts, tools, sweat, grease, blowtorches, and the sound of an exhaust-free, air-cooled VW engine was far more interesting than anything I could ever find in a book.

I don't know if it was my mother's inexplicable disdain for those people or contempt for people who made a living working with their hands in general that irked her as much as it did. Any interest I had in anything that wasn't some sort of intellectual pursuit irritated her to no end, and my time spent "across the street" would be the first of many points of consternation between the two of us.

My brothers never stepped out of line, and they've done quite well for themselves; my older brother is a real estate tax attorney, and my younger brother is a CPA. Me? Well... My mother either did me the greatest service or disservice by ultimately dissuading me from a life she sarcastically referred to as a life "in the pits." Jury's out on that one.

She may have dissuaded me, but she couldn't douse what has become my lifelong interest. I sure would like to try and assemble one of these myself. That would be fun.

While VW Beetle chassis are about as hard to find in junkyards today as a Model T, Meyers Manx continues to offer kits and complete buggies based on the original concept. The company's modern Classic Buggy uses restored Volkswagen chassis, while its current lineup also includes the Manx 2.0 EV and other modern interpretations of the original.

Remember: assembly required. I'll take a "Kick-Out" in sparkly blue, please.