The University of Iowa’s reputation for intellectual excellence lured my family away from Innsbruck (it sure as hell wasn’t the skiing). Despite the fact that my elementary school education was a lot less than enthralling, I decided to jump on the academic bandwagon. I threw myself into the study of all things automotive, harboring a secret hope that the University might award me an honorary degree in Autology. The fact that it hasn’t come yet may explain a few things.
Through incessant showroom visits and compulsive brochure hoarding, I quickly mastered the identification of contemporary cars. So I extended my studies into vintage-auto taxonomy. In a dusty service shop, I uncovered the Rosetta stone: well-worn factory documents identifying the minute differences between similar cars– such as the virtually identical 1950 and 1951 Chevrolets– and other such automotive doppelgangers going back decades.
My ability and desire to recognize the make, model and year of vehicles from a distance increased arithmetically. On long-distance journeys, I’d identify every on-coming car or truck with a pencil and pad, keeping a running tally of each make’s contribution to the automotive ecosystem. I felt it my personal duty to confirm the legitimacy of Chevrolet’s Number One sales claim. And in case you’ve been wondering all these decades, White semi tractors were the best selling of that time, according to my careful records.
During my father’s futile attempts to recreate alpine hiking, he made us hike along the flat country roads. The farmers would perpetually stop and ask us if we needed a ride, assuming our car broke down. No one ever walked there otherwise.
So we started walked along Iowa’s many rivers. I occasionally encountered the fossils of vehicles dumped on the banks decades earlier. No rusting, rotting hulk– not even a frame with a lump of an engine– could be left in anonymity. I would climb, scratch and poke while my family anxiously waited for the amateur automotive archeologist’s positive identification.
My grade school had a single book chronicling the life and times of Henry Ford. When I wrote a letter to the Chevrolet Motor Company asking for some historical background to the company’s products, a quite thorough book, The Chevrolet Story, arrived in the mail a few weeks later. My GM Death Watches and Deadly Sins probably weren’t exactly the kind of long-term interest in the company GM was hoping to inspire with their investment in me.
I finally tumbled on the library downtown, and devoured section 629.2xx. Author Floyd Clymer’s contribution to this little island of automotive knowledge was disproportionate and hopelessly out of date (e.g. “Those Wonderful Old Automobiles”). But I made do, and through Clymer, I absorbed and relished the unbridled creativity of the industry’s early years, a dot-com-esque boom that spawned everything from two to eight wheeled cars, and all manner of propulsion systems.
The public library offered a very limited introduction to the world of automotive journalism. But one winter day, I took advantage of my height, puffed out my ten-year old chest, and boldly walked into the University Library, wondering if I would be busted by the Campus Police. Thankfully I was left utterly alone, and uncovered a veritable treasure trove: Automobile Quarterly. Savoring the profundities of the Duesenberg, Hispano-Suiza and Bugatti was like discovering an enormous oasis in a vast desert. I drank deep from the well of knowledge, and I was very late for supper that evening.
I pondered and probed the deeper mysteries of automotive design. So many questions; so few answers.
How and why had the small change in the Falcon grill from concave in 1960 to convex in 1961 created such a different response in me? What was the designers’ underlying motive? Was there some positive shift in the group-mood in Dearborn that was reflected in the obviously greater levity and optimism of the ‘61? And I wondered: were there other scholars asking these important questions? Would I ever find others with whom I could share and discuss these deep mysteries?
I sought the actual spirit of a car, the overarching design leitmotif or inspiration that had inspired its creators. If I squinted in a certain way, avoided focusing on surface detail, and made a conscious effort to clear my mind of preconceived thoughts or prejudices about the subject car, I could often see it in its essence, for better or for worse.
Some spoke their design genesis clearly to me, such as the 1963 Riviera. Raymond Lowey’s Avanti was more challenging to decipher. I’m still working on it, which is a good thing.
Others left me confused, like the ’59 Mercury. There was one on the way to school; it often made me late as I stared and squinted. The woman in the living room window stared and squinted at me. I told the teacher I was doing my homework, but I had nothing to show for it. I still don’t get it.
The only thing I saw in the 1961-1963 Rambler American was a poorly designed child’s toy car; the Tonka 440.
I also obsessed about automotive interiors. Walking to school, I left a tell-trail of smudges on the windows of dozens of cars parked en route. My favorite was a 1960 Imperial; its dash looked like a sci-fi depiction of a future Mars colony (as depicted by Popular Mechanics). Those giant dials were glass domes under which various human activities could be discerned, if one looked long and hard enough. The steering wheel hovered over the whole colony like a rotating space station, where the colonists could experience proper gravity. The squared-off wheel only added to the surreal effect.
At a University football game, I had a close encounter of the parking lot kind with a mid-fifties Bentley R type. It was not the kind of car one normally found in Iowa. I was so absorbed by the combination of wood and leather that a campus patrol officer detained me for suspicion of attempted theft. I was flattered actually that he thought I could possibly drive it, considering I was ten years old. In a rare moment of parental understanding, my father laughed the Campus Police off when they called our house.
I spent the majority of my time in school doodling cars (or reading). I burned through endless reams of 500-count loose-leaf paper. But try as I might, none of my artistic endeavors were worth saving. My desk bulged with wads of paper, as crumpled as my hopes of becoming the next Bill Mitchell.
I also failed at model building; my creations always seemed to end up looking distinctly cancerous. They were duly liquidated in balls of fire and foul black smoke, victims of carefully staged “accidents” in the driveway.
I knew my advanced degree work in Autology wasn’t quite within reach yet. To round out my studies, I sought more applied, practical experience: field work. In Iowa, that goal was well within the (corn) field of possibilities.
The dark blue lower Chevrolet: 1950. The Silvery Upper, the 1951. Good luck on me telling a 1951 from a 1952 tho….
Well, there’s the answer to the curbside classic clue. 1961 Ford Falcon.
I understand your passion only too well as my childhood was filled with similar though not quite so extensive studies. Growing up in western PA between 1944 and 1962 I quickly learned to identify all American autos on sight and even by sound. I could and still can discern exhaust sounds of all American autos of that time as well as starter sounds. I discovered Mechanix Illustrated, and Consumer Reports at the library though Auto Quarterly was later after arriving at college. I had no access to a college library in my home town. Between 1955 and 1962 I rode my bike to all local car dealers and developed an extensive collection of brochures that I still have. My dad was not exactly a car guy but he was a process equipment design engineer so our 1949 Kaiser Special had a homemade cruise control that he used on a family vacation to California during June of 1949. In 1963 as a college freshman, my dad sent me to the local Chevy dealer to negotiate a deal on a new Chevy Corvair Monza. I ordered one with beige/gold exterior, red vinyl bucket seats and 4 on the floor. Everybody in the family liked it and then later he traded it for a 65 Monza 4 door hardtop totally gold inside and out. My Mom once put one of the Corvairs on its side in a snow bank but other than that they were cool little machines.
Sounds at least or more extensive to me. How I wish I’d kept all those brochures and magazines! I forgot to mention old MI and Pop Sci magazines. My first car was a 1962 Monza; I’ll tell all the details in a chapter to come…
That bare frame is from mid-60s Chevy or GMC truck.
My automotive curiosity put me in a similar predicament as you when I was around 11 years old.
This was around 84 when there were still “old” cars on the streets where I lived. I found a beautiful Lincoln Mark V. I want to say it was a 79. Black on black, built in CB radio, This thing must have had every single option on it.
I must have been drooling over it a bit too long as the owner called the local PD and I wound up getting a chauffeurred ride home in a blue and white LTD..
Closest I came to that was at the Peterson Museum in LA. After I tripped the proximity alarm on the Chrysler Turbine display twice, a security guard showed-up an followed me around for awhile.
Given that my father was a John Deere salesman, I started with tractors and then at about age 12 moved on to cars.
I think I’ve got the Avanti mostly figured out: One thing that strikes me is the blend of knife-edge bumpers, favored by Virgil Exner, with body styling that makes the car look large in a side profile, via the protruding fender edges. The latter was an Elwood Engel trademark (1961 Lincoln, 1965 Chrysler, 1966 Dodge Charger) but also appeared on the 1966 Olds Toronado.
I recall reading that Raymond Loewy tried to integrate “European influences” when designing the Avanti. The Avanti side profile dipped slightly at the door, giving it a bit of Coke-bottle look, predictive of American cars introduced in the later mid-60′s. This could have also been European-influenced however, from sports cars such as the E-Type Jag.
The grille-less front with large headlights and glass covers evoke the look of rear-engine cars such as VW and Porsche. There is also the asymmetrical styling of the hood, which is generally avoided by American stylists.
The roofline looks somewhat European too, with it’s triangular C-pillar and large back window, although I can’t place a particular car that it most resembles. The 1966 Jensen Interceptor certainly comes to mind. I have often thought that the Avanti roofline didn’t match the car well from some angles, and may look better with a notchback-style rear window.
I also think that the body was raised-up too much at the back, and would look better sectioned so the distance from the top of the wheel arch to the fender top is reduced. The dimensions were probably a limited by the Lark chassis that was used.
The Avanti brought together a diverse collection of then-new styling ideas which came together very well. Since it was introduced in 1962, before many of the cars that I believe it shares design traits with, I wonder what was predicted by Loewy and his team versus what was influenced from other designs they had seen?
I can describe the Avanti much more easily:
A flashy, space-age body, fiberglass to cut tooling costs…that would readily mount on a Lark frame and drivetrain. A factory “kit car” – and a desperate move on Sherwood Egbert’s part to create a model with some excitement…while he was blocked with funding limitations on one hand and the close-it-down Studebaker board on the other.
It was a frantic last gasp…and it’s a credit to Lowey’s people that they put that panic rush-job’s lines and folds together so well.
JustPassinThru, the point of this article was:
I sought the actual spirit of a car, the overarching design leitmotif or inspiration that had inspired its creators.
You have described the economics that produced the Avanti, and touched on the fact that Lowey was constrained by the limitations of fibreglass construction, the Lark chassis, a tight budget and time schedule, which are valid points. However, those constraints do not go very far towards describing why the car looks the way it does. They could have wound-up with a Homermobile.
I’ve decided that this site is more like a car addict support group. So much of what I read in these posts and blog entries are like what goes through my mind…
I, too have spent my time trying to decipher the intents of different designers based on what I saw on city streets. Also, I started this activity at a young age, and it continues to this day. I started out in industrial (transportation) design in my college years, but was lured by the (then) easy money and matriculation requirements of graphic and publication design.
It’s fascinating to me that so many of us have this same obsession. I’d bet that most of the posters on this board have at least three cars to their disposal. I’d also bet that the three are either ALL different or the same. In my case, they’re the same.
What about the rest of you folks?
EDIT: And I’ve gotten at least three nephews and my own daughters into this same obsession…
SECOND EDIT: I finally made it over to the GM World HQ a few years back, there’s a museum in the basement of the towers. I spent all of my free time there, soaking up the history and the examples on the floor. I was there for a seminar with my wife. To say the least, she was less than thrilled…
We actually have six at our fingertips. 2 Corvairs, 1 ’60 olds, another olds woodgrain wagon, a trans am and a Sebring. Kind of a gm theme, none the less.
You really are a kindred spirit Paul. I used to draw cars on my bedroom wall, and my elder sister would try her hand as well. With her cars you could never tell which was the front – a bit like your sketch above.
Paul – you rock! You’re like me/I’m like you in that I was fascinated with cars – ALL cars – from my very earliest memory of being aware of cars. First auto-memory: The Doctor’s housecall (as a toddler I was very sickly with a myraid of respiratory ailments and suffered from pneumonia frequently from birth through age four). The car that I now know as a ’61 Coupe de Ville (even at two I remember the twin round tailgights, the small fins and how LONG the car was – in metallic fuscia!) – was what I remember the Doctor pulling up curbside had. I remember that day from age two because I received a series of painful shots!
In Kindergarten, my school was about a block and a half away from my house. I knew what every one of my neighbors drove and noted the other cars that dropped off and picked up my 5-6 year old classmates. This would’ve been 1964/65. Neighbors immediately to our left – the DeCarlo’s had a white over pink over black ’55 Dodge Royal. Round the corner – The Austins had a ’55 white over yellow Bel Air coupe, the Murphys – a green over yellow ’58 Biscayne and a white ’57 Olds 98. Miss Nielen next door to them had a ’57 tan over brown Ford Custom 500 which I remember her trading for a blue over blue ’65 Olds Cutlass!
By the time I started first grade, I’d made good friends with Peter Bernadoni. His mom seemed to get a new T-bird every other year and I remember riding in that cavernous (for a six/seven year old me) car. His dad I remember had a black w/red leather Imperial Crown. Christmas 1965 was when I got a remote control Mustang coupe that drove itself and whose head/tailights lit up. Lots of car memories.
Your research Paul is meticulous – spot on! Your car stories are informative and amusing and strike a chord in me. Thank YOU!
P.S. Looking forward to the Ford Courier/B series Mazda truck article!
Thanks; and welcome to the CC long strange trip.
After getting my undergrad and grad degree from U of I, I left with my piece of junk 1990 Lumina there, and told myself I would never to buy another Chevy. Now knowing the even the Chevy Equinox has a engine made in China, I swore that I would never buy a Chevy. Well, so now I go VW – but who knows, maybe that’s made in China too! There should be a degree in Autology; afterall, I am so amazed about the cars they build in the late 1950′s (and the ads that go along with them!)..and those “X” cars that never made it to market. I miss my Rambler already….