CarPort

October 3, 1963, is a red letter day for many car enthusiasts, but few of them know about it. It can be considered the birth date of the Pontiac GTO, as far as the public is concerned, but because the GTO was a stealth project its actual “birth” came unheralded on new-car-introduction day, a check-box for a seemingly unobtrusive option package.

The story of the GTO is well known, how Pontiac ad man Jim Wangers and chief engineer (and later division manager) John DeLorean gerrymandered a hot rod package past GM brass. General Motors had a dictum that what had become intermediate A-body cars could have engines no larger than 330 cubic inches. Wangers and DeLorean persuaded their bosses to allow the big 389 cubic inch engine as part of an option package for the 1964 Tempest. In a bit of automotive chutzpah they appropriated Ferrari’s “GTO” label.

The GTO option put the 389, heavy-duty suspension, bucket seats and “Tiger Paw” red-line tires on any two-door Tempest LeMans. It struck a chord with American youth, and virtually every red-blooded boy wanted one. More than 32,000 were sold in the first year and 75,000 in 1965. Car & Driver‘s David E. Davis conjured up a GTO vs. GTO faceoff for the March 1964 issue, pitting Pontiac against Ferrari and proclaiming the upstart the winner. It was actually a journalistic sleight of hand since the two were never together until the now defunct Pontiac Enthusiast magazine arranged an actual meetup 30 years later.

For 1966, the GTO became a model in its own right. From 1968, “The Goat,” as it was nicknamed, had a distinctive plastic “Endura” grille/bumper arrangement (this is a 1970). In 1969 came “The Judge,” a caricature of a car inspired by a comic routine on Rowan and Martin’s “Laugh In” television program. The competition quickly took notice. Oldsmobile countered with a 4-4-2 package for the F-85, and Buick with a GSX Skylark. Ford produced a Fairlane GT with a 390 and Plymouth came up with the cartoon-inspired Road Runner.

By this time, insurance companies had also taken notice, that the red-blooded boys were racking up plenty of claims in their “muscle cars,” as the pundits called them. By the late ’60s, a GTO VIN was an invitation for sky-high rates, so the GTO again became an option and another stealth model, the GT37, was introduced. This was a kind of a la carte GTO, which let one choose from a myriad of possiblities, including a 455 engine. GTO sales peaked in 1966, at slightly below 100,000, and then began to decline. The last version, in 1974, was little more than a dress-up kit on the compact X-body Ventura (Most people have forgotten the 2004 revival attempt, with an Australian-sourced Holden Monaro, and so shall we).

Unlike most of my peers, I never lusted for a GTO, nor any other V8 muscle car. I contented myself with building an ersatz Studebaker speedster, and had I been in the market for a new car in 1966 I’d have probably bought the Sprint version of Pontiac’s new overhead cam six – but that’s another story.

GTOs have long been darlings of the enthusiast market, so I was not surprised, a few years ago, to come across a sort of goat boneyard in central Massachusetts. Scattered about were all sorts of Tempest parts, and a couple of nearly-complete cars. Whether they were organ donors for genuine Goats or clones in the making I’m not sure, but they were clearly coveted by somebody. How else do you explain a grand for a rusty sway-backed LeMans?

Byron Carter was a clever guy. He patented a three-cylinder steam engine, and with two friends he organized the Jackson Automobile Company in Michigan in 1903. By September of that year he had built a two-cylinder runabout for himself using a friction-drive transmission of his own invention.

The concept was extremely simple: two large discs rotating at right angles to one another. One of them was mounted on an axle allowing it to slide in relation to the other. Wherever the discs were allowed to touch resulted in a new gear ratio – Carter called it a “car of a thousand speeds.” To reverse, one simply moved the sliding disc past dead center of the mating disc. Installed in a chassis, the concept became the Cartercar, introduced in 1905.

The Cartercar enjoyed enjoyed a pleasant rise in popularity, sales reaching 325 in 1908. That April, however, Byron Carter died of pneumonia. In October 1909, the Cartercar Company was one of 30 firms bought by Billy Durant and folded into General Motors. Cartercars grew in size and stature – a four-cylinder model replaced earlier singles and twins in 1910. Along the way, Durant was ousted from GM and the modest annual sales of 1,000-2,000 cars failed to impress the directors. Production was halted in 1915 and the Cartercar plant re-purposed to build the Oakland Six. A few other automakers used friction-drive transmissions, among them Lambert, Metz, Petrel, Sears and Simplicity, and the idea was revived later in the 20th Century for lawn mowers.

This 1913 Cartercar appeared in the Historic Preservation of Original Features class at Hershey in 2010. Owner Michael Witt had discovered it barn-fresh, and mechanically resuscitated it to operate as it should, while leaving the patina of body and upholstery alone. Aside from some unobtrusive oxidation it was humbly handsome, and possessed of charming period features like a radiator-neck license plate bracket. The friction mechanism was exposed for all to see, along with the car’s simple controls. Only the tattered top spoiled the mood, and Witt could be excused for disregarding its provenance and replacing it with distressed modern canvas. With better weather protection it would be a thoroughly-practical original “oily rag” car for touring with a thousand speeds.

Yes, the CarPort has re-awakened, after a ten-month, Google-induced coma. The owner of Blogger.com, Google ceased supporting FTP publishing back in the spring, making it impossible for me to post any features to my server since February.

My son Nick, neuroscientist by day and impresario of WeFunk Radio by night, has rebuilt and relaunched the CarPort, now running under WordPress on my own server. Take a look below at the post you should have seen last February, and check back often for (usually) weekly features. We’ll catch up on events of the past winter, spring, summer and autumn, explore some of the vehicles encountered during our vacation in Kenya, and highlight a few of the serendipitous creatures we stumbled upon during the year.

Many of you said you missed us; thanks for being patient. The CarPort originally launched six years ago today. With this better control over our operations and content we should be with you for years to come. Here’s to an exciting time in “Twenty-Leven.”

About three years ago I told the story of my first car, a 1937 Ford convertible sedan. It’s been a while since the subject came up, but recently Dennis David, the CarPort’s western Connecticut scout, sent me a photo of his first car, a 1963 Mercury Comet.

The Comet, of course, was basically a stretched Ford Falcon with fins. Introduced in March 1960, its prices started at $1,998, just $86.00 above Falcon. First season sales, while not approaching its cousin’s 435,676, were a respectable 116,331 units, particularly considering the mid-model year start. Moreover, the new “companion” model pumped up Mercury’s overall sales by 80 percent.

Body styles were the same as Falcon’s, a two-door sedan, a four-door sedan, a two-door station wagon and a four-door wagon. The wagons,which used all Falcon sheet metal from the cowl back, were devoid of fins. (These are all 1961 models, which received a new grille.) Engine choices were taken from Falcon, the basic 144 cid six and its larger 170 cid brother. The instrument panel, too, drew from the Falcon parts bin.

Nineteen-sixty-two brought yet another new grille, and a cleaner-looking rear end with taillights moved from the fins to the fenders. Wagons, too, got new taillights. The big news, however, was the S-22, a dressed-up two-door with bucket seats.

For 1963, Comet, like Falcon, gained a convertible, then, at mid-year, the new fastback hardtop and a 260 cid V8. In 1964, there was new sheet metal, a top-line Caliente series and an available 210 hp 289 V8, christened “Cyclone.” A 200 cid six became the base engine in 1965, when the Cyclone was boosted up to 225 bhp.

Thus ended the first generation Comet, since the 1966 models were based on the 116-inch-wheelbase Fairlane. Comet sales had remained fairly steady between 135,000 and 193,000, significantly adding to Mercury’s bottom line.

Dennis’s Comet rode a bit high in the front, because the engine was an optional extra. He finally did get it running, unlike my Ford, which lacked some vital parts. Neither of us, though, ever put his first car on the road.

Do you have some pix of your first car? Send them to the CarPort.

The Overland car, volume seller from John North Willys‘s Willys-Overland Corporation, held a steady second place to Ford during the ‘teens, but sagged measurably in the early 1920s. So in 1926, Willys came up with an inexpensive car, the Whippet. Small and swift, like the canine whose name it bore, the Whippet caught on quickly, helped by the Model T’s old-age decline. It’s visual cue was a gently-rounded radiator shell, topped with a bounding dog mascot. Some cars were badged as Overlands, but most bore the Whippet emblem.

Body styles included coupe, coach and sedan, and sales of 253,000 cars, helped by prices as low as $610, pushed the make to third place in 1928. Power came from a 134 cubic inch L-head four, and later a six was added to the mix. The flagship sleeve-valve Willys-Knight continued in production, but drew few buyers.

In 1929, though, Hudson’s Essex nudged past Whippet for third place, and 1930 was no better. Total Willys-Overland sales sank below those of Pontiac and Oakland. For 1931, the Whippets gave way to Willys sixes and eights, but sales slipped to sixth, then tenth. For 1933, John Willys decided to concentrate on the low end of the market, and discontinued the large cars in favor of the Willys 77. In a time when the Terraplane was helping Hudson out of the doldrums, you’d think it might have been a tonic. Alas, sales fell still further, to 15th place, and stayed there for most of the thirties, despite updated models. The Whippet’s little four cylinder engine, though, went on to become a hero. Re-engineered and refined, it went on to power the immortal Jeep.

Stutz was the “Car that made good in a day,” turning in a creditable performance in the inaugural Indianapolis 500 in 1911. It is the Stutz Bearcat, of course, that became best known, despite the fact that there were Stutz sedans and touring cars throughout the car’s life. In the 1920s, the “Safety Stutz,” with its low-slung chassis and iconic “Vertical Eight” overhead cam engine made its mark in America. Although the low-priced companion make Blackhawk of 1929-30 was not a success, the four-valve DV-32 engine and Super Bearcat model kept marque in the public eye until 1934.

Then, alas, the money ran out and production stopped, although a few chassis sent to England were bodied there and sold as 1935 cars. Finally, in 1938, the remains of the company were sold at auction.

But motor vehicle production did not stop there, not quite. In 1932, Stutz acquired the Pak-Age-Car, a compact rear-engine delivery van, which had been distributed through the Stutz dealer network. Re-engineering the Pak-Age-Car to use a four-cylinder Hercules engine, Stutz put it into production at its Indianapolis factory. It was a stand-and-drive vehicle, with the engine mounted to the rear transaxle, the whole power train easily removable for servicing.

When Stutz bankruptcy loomed in 1938, the Pak-Age-Car moved to Auburn factories in Connersville, Indiana. Auburn, too, was in trouble, so off-loaded Pak-Age-Car marketing and distribution to Diamond T, which continued to sell the little vans until March 1941, when war preparations took over the Connersville plant.

According to The Stutz Club, only about four Pak-Age-Cars survive. I snapped this unrestored example at the National Automobile and Truck Museum of the United States in Auburn, Indiana, next to the Auburn Cord Duesenberg Museum. As it happens, there was once a Pak-Age-Car operating near the CarPort’s headquarters in southeastern Connecticut. John M. Russ of Norwich purchased a new Pak-Age-Car from John P. Nielsen & Sons, the Hartford Diamond T dealer in April 1940. An independent route man, he delivered products for Thumm’s delicatessen. I’m grateful to John’s widow, Pauline Russ, for these photos.

This year marks the 35th Rétromobile show held in Paris at the Porte de Versailles. Rétromobile, the largest indoor old car event in Europe, occurred a fortnight earlier than in the past, due to scheduling conflicts at the exposition grounds.

Rétromobile is not just a European Hershey held indoors. The formula does not really translate to any other venue. To be sure, there are vendors of automobile components and ephemera: tools, polish, car covers, leather outfits, pedal cars and model cars. If you’re restoring a French car, you’ll be happy to find an engine for your Chapuis-Dornier or a radiator for your Citroën. You can even buy an electric power steering kit for your Delahaye.

But there are also high-end collector car dealers with some mammoth motorcars, and auto manufacturers as well. At one time, the French Big Three were stalwarts, but Renault pulled out some years ago. Peugeot and Citroën are faithful followers, though, the former showing off a 602 Eclipse and the latter touting 40 years of the SM and GS. Mercedes-Benz celebrated the legend of the gull wing (which the French call “butterfly doors”). BMW/Mini pulled out this year, replaced by Mazda, which had some seldom-seen models on display. Alfa-Romeo, too, was a welcome surprise, celebrating its centenary. Also with a presence was the German gearbox maker ZF.

It’s the clubs that add enthusiast depth to Rétromobile, organizations like Amis de Delage and Club Vedette, the latter with a V8-engined Simca Chambord. Morgan France had a strong presence, but their kinship to the 124 Spider group was somewhat of a mystery.

There’s always an auction at Rétromobile, in recent years conducted by Bonhams. This year’s headliner was the Bugatti from the Lake, a Brescia rescued from the depths of Lake Maggiore near the Swiss-Italian border. An incomplete car, it was nonetheless sold for €260,500 ($375,120), to a buyer who has promised to preserve it.

There are always centerpiece displays at Rétromobile. This year celebrated two centuries of urban transportation, corraling a flock of microcars and a vintage DeDion bus. Another display demonstrated the intricacies of filming action scenes with automobiles.

My favorite, however, was La Baleine, the whale-like creation of French artist Paul Arzens. Constructed in 1938 (take that, Harley Earl!), it shows subtle clues of its origin as a 1926 Buick.

I’ve heard it said that in the upper reaches of collector car circles it’s considered coarse and crass to refer to a Rolls-Royce as a “Roller,” although “Rolls” is generally acceptable. The same goes for Hispano-Suiza: “Hispano,” certainly, but never “Hisso.” Why, then, does everyone refer to a Duesenberg as a “Duesie”? In fact, the nickname is so ingrained in the language that it now describes anything that is grand or large or immense, either good or bad. I’m not sure about “Bug” for Bugatti.

Why is a Cadillac called a “Caddy,” while a Lincoln is never a “Linky”? A Chevrolet can be a Chevy (in fact the manufacturer promotes it as such), but Mopar mavens recoil when a Plymouth is called “Plymmie.” “Studie” (or “Stude”) is all right for Studebaker, but a Packard is never a “Packy.” If someone tells you he’s got a “Merc,” you need to know what continent he’s on. It could be either a Mercedes or a Mercury.

Somehow it’s frequently okay to shorten car names to a single syllable: Jaguar to “Jag,” Oldsmobile to “Olds,” but why is a Daimler never a “Dame”?

The single syllable cars, Ford, Cord, Dodge, Nash, Stutz, escape nicknames entirely, but how about the two-syllable makes: Hudson, Buick, Marmon, Edsel, Franklin, Saturn, and even three-syllable DeSoto? I’ve never heard any of them abbreviated.

It seems logical to make Pontiac into “Ponti,” but Pontiac partisans apparently prefer “Poncho” instead.

If you can shed any light on the above mysteries, please direct it to the CarPort, or perhaps you have similar questions of your own.

Finally, a couple of notes on pronunciation. Porsche is a two-syllable word, and Willys does not rhyme with “Phillies.” I knew John North Willys’ grandson, and he told me the family name was always pronounced “Willis.” So, too, did the company’s television commercials call the Aero Willys car back in the 1950s.

When I was young I used to wonder why a company called Autocar built only trucks. One frequently saw Autocars then. They were as popular as Federals and Brockways, if not as common as Reo or White. My father explained that once upon a time Autocar had done just that: built cars.

The Autocar Company was established in 1900 in Ardmore, Pennsylvania, a suburb of Philadelphia. It was said to be the first American car with shaft drive, and Autocars pioneered other features like left-hand drive and controls on the steering tiller or column. At first the cars were of two-cylinder configurations, but in 1905 the Type X twin was joined by a four-cylinder Type XI.

In 1907, Autocar began to build commercial vehicles. These were of cab-forward design, and included buses as well as trucks. This 1912 model once belonged to high-profile collector Henry Austin Clark, Jr. By 1911, the trucks were so successful that Autocar ceased to build cars.

Early Autocar trucks had the engine under the seat, initially a twin-cylinder but fours from 1920. In 1927, a conventional line, with the engine up front under a hood, was added. Six-cylinder trucks of five-ton capacity came in 1928, and by the mid-30s a pattern of sustained sameness set in, with a simple upright grille with prominent nameplate and squared-off cab. A streamlined cab-over-engine model was offered as well.

Autocars were big trucks – there were no pickups as offered by Reo or even Mack. They were found in over-the-road service as well as on city streets. By the 1960s, diesels had become the mainstay of the fleet.

Financial woes in the early ’50s resulted in acquisition by White in 1953. The trucks didn’t change much as they became the top-line model in the White catalog. This continued through the 1960s, ’70s, and the White-Volvo-GMC period of the 1980s and ’90s, The Autocar name was finally dropped in 2000.

But Autocar lives. In 2001, Grand Vehicle Works of Highland Park, Illinois, purchased the name and now builds Autocar Xpeditors for the refuse collection industry.

Last month while on an errand to southern Vermont I came across this field of Autocars beside the road. Parked long ago, they basked in the afternoon sun, a flatbed, a stake body and a dump truck. Old Autocars never die – they just sit and watch the traffic.

Buicks for 1959 were all new. The baroque behemoths of 1958 were replaced by a clean, finned motif reminiscent of a supersonic airplane. The design had been presaged by the attractive 1957 concept XP-75, also known as Skylark II. The only holdover was the square-buttons in the grille. The brochure called them “Buicks so new even the names had to be new.” The time-honored series of Special, Century Super, Roadmaster and Limited were tossed aside and replaced by new series designations.

The entry level car, named for the 1951 concept car, was called “LeSabre” and took the place of the Special. Taking the place of the Century and Super was “Invicta.” The LeSabres and Invictas were on a 123-inch wheelbase. At the top of the range was the “Electra.” Three of the six Electras were more or less equivalent to the former Limited and were called “Electra 225,” for their overall length.

With a design this fresh and new, you’d think Buick would have come up with a marketing name, something like Nash’s “Airflyte” and Chrysler’s “Forward Look.” Instead, the cars were pitched to the public on the basis of affordability: “The car within reach of two out of three new car buyers.” And so the LeSabre was sold as the “Thiftiest Buick,” the Invicta with short wheelbase and big engine the “Most Spirited.” The Electra was, naturally, the “Most Luxurious Buick.”

Engines were two versions of Buick’s famed “nailhead” V8. New “Alfin” front brake drums combined iron braking surfaces with finned aluminum drums. A portable transistor radio could be removed for use at a picnic or on the beach. Best selling, not surprisingly, was the “thrifty” LeSabre with the greatest number of body styles, amounting to more than half of total production.

Curious, however, was GM’s corporate strategy. Alfred Sloan’s “Car for Every Purse and Purpose” was thrown to the wind, as Oldsmobile virtually paralleled Buick’s market segment, or vice versa. Buick prices ranged from $2,740 to $4,300, Olds’ from $2,837 to $4,366. Given Olds’ fussier styling and slightly higher price, I’d have thought Buick would sell better. But Olds at least made a big deal of the new styling, and in the end sold 100,000 more cars than Buick. Go figure. For The General, however, it was win-win, as the two divisions’ sales locked up 77 percent of the upper-medium price segment, far overpowering Mercury and DeSoto.

Dennis David found a bargain Buick of his own several years ago. Discovered behind a farmer’s logpile, the car had been parked when the elderly owner found it difficult to drive. He had purchased it new many years earlier and had specified a very basic Buick: LeSabre hardtop coupe, with automatic transmission and heater, but no power assists – nor even a radio.

Dennis had it towed home, rebuilt the braking system and gave the engine a tuneup. The car started easily and ran well. He spiffed it up with new carpeting, and drove it for about five years. He finally sold it in a spate of collection-thinning. It had been, like the new 1959 Buick LeSabres, quite a bargain. You, too, can buy a bargain Buick. The Krause Collector Car Price Guide says that 1959 Buick LeSabres are still less expensive than comparable Olds Dynamic 88s.