(first posted here in 2011) They were both gorgeous in that all-American, wholesome, sexy, energetic way. Voluptuous, but athletic. Heartland traditional, but ready for a good time. Exhilarating and accelerative. And they were both mine, to do with as I pleased. So why was I, a healthy young man, having a problem with them?
I met Kim at a dance club in Iowa City in 1973. She was a university student from Burlington, where she’d been a high-school cheerleader. She was everything I dreamed of in a girl back in 1967, when I was in ninth grade: blonde, bouncy, sexy. She looked like she’d stepped right out of Playboy’s “The Co-eds of 1967” pictorial I kept under my bed. Kim drove her dad’s hand-me-down ’67 Buick Wildcat, which by 1973 was showing its age some.
The 1967 Wildcat coupe had occupied a similar special place in my ninth-grade fantasy life. And its entry there was also prompted by a magazine: spy shots of the 1967 Buicks caught unveiled at GM’s testing grounds. This was a first look at the much longer full-sized fastbacks GM was issuing for ’67. The Wildcat, with its seemingly-endless roof line, fender skirts and super-fluidic lines left me…aroused. Bill Mitchell’s playboys had somehow managed to make a big Buick sexy in 1967. But now it was 1973.
Kim was quite happy to have me to drive the aging Wildcat, and hard (I was car-less at the time). The high-compression 360hp big-block 430 V8 was still very much in its prime, brimming with thrust. It could really hustle the twin living-room size vinyl sofas down the road. It was everything the ’64 Beetle I had recently sold wasn’t. This cross-cultural experience was highly seductive.
The Wildcat’s accelerative surges could be sustained until they exceeded even my youthful comfort level for the balding white-wall rubber it rode on. Flooring it at seventy-five opened the secondaries, and with a deeply satisfying moan from under the hood, we were quickly probing territory new to both of us. And leaving us breathless.
But the numb steering, drum brakes and flaccid suspension meant that driving the big ‘Cat in anything other than a straight line was frustrating and highly unsatisfying. It was a lot like trying to have a half-way intelligent conversation with Kim. Therein lay the source of my problems – with both of them.
I was in my artistic-intellectual-wannabe phase. Through a rather unlikely turn of events, I had become an actor (paid, no less) in an experimental theater company connected to the University, part of the UI’s Center For New Performing Arts. We performed our avant-garde pieces in NY and other cities to the artsy elite. And even though our performances were more physical and gestural than verbal, Kim’s cheerleading background was not exactly a help in making our work comprehensible to her.
Outside of our youthful libidos and straight-line thrills in the Buick, Kim and I really had nothing in common. When I broke up with her after a month, she said “I could have married you”. By invoking that taboo word, she instantly removed any trace of doubt or regret.
And so it also went with me and GM’s land-yachts in the early seventies. The cracks had started years earlier, but I was still a sucker for a sexy bod – like the exquisite 1970 Camaro. Although I mostly knew better, I couldn’t totally resist the siren lure of GM’s new-car introductions. Was it a pheromone GM mixed in with their vinyls?
My artist friend Paul and I hit the Iowa City dealerships (both of us on my little Bridgestone 90, no less) and stood in awe (shock?) at the results of Bill Mitchell’s highly-fertile imagination. But now there was cynicism mixed with artistic appreciation of his powers. It had become increasingly difficult to see twenty-foot long coupes as viable transportation devices.
Mitchell’s XXXL-sized 1971 – 72 Buick Riviera epitomized the end of this era . It was a flamboyant mélange of borrowed elements: the fastback lifted from the Sting Ray, the Classics-era boat-tail and the blatant exploitation of an earlier GM classic, the 1953 Buick Skylark. It all worked brilliantly, as long as you didn’t take it seriously– a somewhat refined George Barris custom from the sixties. But now it was the seventies. And the energy crisis was just around the corner.
We literally couldn’t take them seriously. We took stacks of brochures home and out came scissors and glue— the photo-shop tools of the pre-digital age. We re-arranged, exaggerated and morphed Mitchell’s dreams into automotive nightmares. Or was it vice-versa?
Bill kept feeding us new raw material. The 1973 Colonnade intermediates were utterly amazing. We had a LOT of fun redesigning the Pontiac Grand Am Colonnade Coupe. Our version of the giant Olds Custom Cruiser wagon looked like a cross between the space shuttle and a double-decker bus.
We were like kindergarten kids cutting out paper snowflakes, tongues sticking out. Or maybe we were just divining what GM would have built in 1980 if there hadn’t been an energy crisis, or two. And today, Paul is still at it, in digital form, and the Wildcat continues to play a role in it. No rubber cement to have to rub off the fingers.
Trying to imagine where American cars were headed stylistically and otherwise in the fall of 1972 was as easy as divining the future of our respective lives. As much as the cars were trying hard to exude optimism and confidence, there was a fin de siècle feeling in the air. America’s exceptional period was ending, and the energy crisis would bring the point home, if there was any doubt. The term “coming of age” was doubly relevant, to both us and the country. It might take a while for the reality to become universally accepted, but a giant Cadillac sedan would never again have quite the same meaning.
And just how was it that I had found a big ’67 Wildcat sexy? Well, in ninth grade, discrimination on that subject isn’t exactly very refined. By 1973, we were a bit further down that road, hopefully. And by the time we really came of age (and money) in the eighties, our automotive lusts had plenty of scope in terms of variety, ethnicity and personal preferences. But Wildcats were not among them.
The Wildcat was long extinct, a construct of an era when some flowing lines and a pretty girl could turn a staid banker’s Buick into something…wilder, even if it was pure Mad Men BS. Which it was.
There was growing up to do, or at least to try to figure out what that actually means. Minivans and Mercedes were part of that process. Now we’re old enough to indulge the Wildcat memories; it’s not like there’s new ones at the Buick dealer ready to whisk us off into a wild new future. So we’re left looking into its (optional) rear view mirror, struggling to find the right words: They were both gorgeous in that all-American, wholesome, sexy, energetic way…
Early in our marriage, we rented a tiny apartment on the south side of Atlanta. There were six units in the aging building, and we shared an open carport out back.
Most of our neighbors were elderly widows (a blessing when our first son was born), and one was a 4′-10″ little fireball who drove a light tan Wildcat, which barely fit between the carport posts, with several feet left out in the breeze, even with the massive bumper kissing the back wall.
We were frequently treated to the delicious roar of her warming up the massive engine by racing it for a good long minute or so.
My great uncle warmed up his Buicks that way also. Race the engine for a good long while before selecting a gear. We thought he was crazy. Was there some valid reasoning?
Terrible way to warm up an engine then or now!
My Dad used to shut off our old ’53 Dodge Hemi 241 by giving it gas and then shutting off the key….he didn’t know engines, but someone had told him “that will get oil to the top of the engine.” They didn’t tell him “and the extra gas will wash the oil off the cylinder walls!)
Now this is a car that just screams Buick even if it didn’t have any logos or emblems. Back when Buicks were buicks, I guess. Now Buicks have nice products, but they’re Opels.
Road & Track magazine flipped a Chevy around it’s frame in the late 70s. This was done by a way-out-there designer by the name of Phil Garner, who later had a sex change and became Filipa Garner, later , Pippa.
Didn’t she also adapt one of these Buicks into a literal land-yacht, complete with a bridge to control it?
Yes. It was featured in R&T in 1987.
Very nice Wildcat pictures. 🙂 I did once a sketch of a Camaro based Buick Riviera then I posted on Deviantart. Maybe I should try to do one of a modern Wildcat. 😉
My BIL had one of these. IMO, very little generates fear like a half tanked Kansas farm boy on wide open two lane blacktop who thinks his only limitatations are the 455 cubic inches up front and the amount of miles to the nearest beer joint. You can be brave if you want to but the starving teacher of that day drove a 1966 VW and thought he wanted to stay in this world a while longer.
I’m glad I wasn’t in that car with you Paul.
Me too! Although there would have been plenty of room.
I love these Wildcats. When I was growing up, it was kind of an exotic beast. Normal people in Fort Wayne, Indiana and environs bought dowdy LeSabre sedans in subdued colors. But if this car was the Buick that the admen were pitching, then yes, I would really rather have one.
The front end of the 1965 Buick arguably represents the high water mark of GM’s war on straight lines. The W-shape of the fascia gave the big Buick a dramatic look even with the LeSabre’s vertically flat grille. But then the Wildcat was given its own “shaver” grille that had more extreme angles than the 1963 Rambler’s.
Since Paul mentioned mixing and matching parts of car designs, I’d slap the Wildcat’s front end on the 1965 Pontiac Grand Prix. I think that’s a better match because the Wildcat’s horizontal grille is the inverse of the Grand Prix’s back end and better fits the “coke bottle” side crease.
I like GM’s late-60s fastbacks much better than Ford’s. For example, whereas the 1968 XL fastback is so flat you’d think Ford designers lost their french curves, from 1965-68 the GM big cars had a lovely tapered look.
My grandparents got new Electras in 61, 65, and 69. Loved riding with them, since they didn’t drive slow. They were relatively young in their 50’s and loved road trips.
I was little kid and wanted to get a Wildcat “when I grow up”, but then we all know the name died in 1970. I was sad when the Centurion took its place.
Buick really seemed to have forgotten what the point of having another model series was when they created the Centurion. They were indistinguishable from LeSabres outside except for not having ventiports. Inside, there was nothing that indicated this was supposed to be the big Buick with sporting intentions. According to the ’72 Buick literature I happen to have handy, Centurions were available only with the 455 whereas LeSabres could be had with a 350. However, the same 455 drivetrains as in the Centurion were available in LeSabres too.
My first car was a ’69 Wildcat bought for $300 and not nearly as sleek as the ’67 above.
It had the 430-4 and was quite fast and comfy, at it’s best while cruising on a long road trip to the beach or mountains.
It didn’t like turns too much. It had the grill framing bumper like many GM’s of ’69.
That was my one and only car that had a bench seat with arm rest.
Beautiful car. And a good comparison to the girl.
Paul, you are beginning to channel Jack Baruth. I was waiting for a mention of a Baruthian Thrust, although a Niedermeyerian Thrust does not quite have the same ring to it…
Beginning? I wrote this five years ago, several years before I’d heard of JB.
BUICK when it was a BY GOD BUICK. Gime the Wildcat, and I’ll keep the girl I have now with brains, body, and cheerleader flexibility. (She was a cheerleader but that was 10 years and 5 dress sizes ago – and I’m perfectly fine with that, I like bold rear designs just like Mr. Mitchel did.)
I had a similar experience with a woman and a ’67 Pontiac Executive. I miss that car.
Wow, that is a beautiful car. I especially like the side profile, it looks like a custom or show car, but it’s stock. Paul, was the one you drove red too?
What a lovely car,Buick were at the top of their game then.I saw a blue one with tattoo style pin striping on the bonnet & boot in Manchester a few years ago when on my way to a Nightwish concert.When it comes to full size muscle it’s a Wildcat,300L or Marauder X100 for me.
Wildcat. What a great name for a car. And these were worthy of the name.
Isn’t that the truth? ‘Wildcat’ is my favorite car name of them all. It so fits these beautiful machines too. I love the script on the ’65 particularly: much more so than the block letters of the ’66 through ’68 models.
I’m very thankful that Buick killed the nameplate in ’71 and did not attempt to revive it later on unworthy candidates. The 1965 through 1968 Wildcats are my favorites — the ’67-’68 fastback lines are mesmerizing while the front and rear stying of the ’65 – ’66 models are razor sharp.
I even love the advertisements… the beautiful models accentuating these ads would have likely influenced my subconscious had I been of age back then.
One day I will own one of these. Ever since I was a little kid, I always wanted the chance to truthfully answer the “what kind of car do you drive” question with, “I drive a Buick Wildcat”. Nothing sounds cooler to me.
“Uh, yeah, my car’s the Wildcat”.
Someday….
Mrs. Falcone our neighbor growing up had one of these. Mr. and Mrs. kept it forever and when it was time to replace they went with a 79-ish Chrysler LeBaron the one with the upside down headlamps. No imports ever for the Falcones.
Anyway she used to take us to school in the Wildcat. It was a gold 4-door and I remember having to climb into the back seat. When she fired it up the dual exhaust sounded like machine gun fire muzzled by a silencer. It had a tilt wheel and she always drove with it fully tilted up.
I think the car was the most exciting thing in her life. When she would tap that humongous accelerator the thing lurched like a wild bull. It was one of those cars that would do just fine with a one speed transmission.
HI,
Its a great car and I want one, but its also a quick way to point out that the American car industry needed to adjust to the real world environment from 1973 on.
20ft coupe that basically can’t corner, with a huge V8? Its not really the best answer is it?
Depends on the question being asked…
fantastic article Paul!
Thanks for that essay, Dear Paul, and holding on to those wonderful car-surgeries.
(Whatever happened to Rubber Cement, anyway?)
Hey, The model leaning on the Buick with the square hat was Wilhemina, a major model in the early 60’s. She died at age 40, after a wild, wild ride of a Life.
Hi Paul! Yes, Wilhemina was in that very lavish 1967 Buick brochure, along with a slew of other models and stars. They don’t make brochures like that anymore! Here it is: http://www.oldcarbrochures.com/static/NA/Buick/1967_Buick/1967_Buick_Brochure_1/dirindex.html
Thought you might be amused to see this Buick. Her mother had an affair with a
Plymouth.
Perfect. I was hoping to find a Wildcat from you, an updated one. But I didn’t see this at your site. It just got added to the article.
And I love the Will you found on Malta; must get that up here too.
True story: As an only child of an only child and both my parents and grandparents living on the same farm, I was very close to my grandparents. In 1967 my grandparents ordered a new Wildcat Custom. The first weekend they owned the car they went to dinner one night only to come out of the restaurant to find someone had hit the driver’s side rear fender. A few weeks later my grandmother was in our small town when a car backed out of a parking place and hit the passenger’s side rear fender (it was her sister-in-law, yes, small town). Weeks later my grandfather had a massive heart attack and was in the hospital for weeks. One night when my grandmother was on the way home from the hospital a large dog jumped into the front grill of the car damaging it. Perhaps weeks after that my grandmother and I were going into town during a rain storm when the car hydroplaned and sent us into the ditch damaging the passenger side of the car. My grandfather had recovered somewhat by then and had the owner of the local Buick dealership order them a 1968 Wildcat Custom. The 68 was never dented for as long as they owned it.
Fast forward to the 1980’s. My parents gave me a new Buick when I turned 16. When I was at the dealership one day the owner asked me did I ever hear about the doomed 67 Wildcat my grandparents owned. I said yes, I remembered the stories. He went on to tell me what I had never heard: When my granddad traded the car in on the 68 Wildcat a local couple bought the car. Within weeks they had an electrical fire at their house and the car burned in the garage. The dealership owner told me all this happened before the car had it had 5,000 miles on it. It was just not meant to live a long life.
Because I was a small child I remember the 68 much better than the 67. The 68 Wildcat was one of my favorite cars. After that my grandparent bought Electra’s, my favorite of which was a 77 that was fast!!
Sounds a lot like a well known red and white 58 Fury.The VIN plate didn’t have 666 in it did it?
Paul, this is a beautiful little essay. Appreciated.
We used to travel to the city from the country in late sixties to go to any circus in town.In 1967 we went to one of the two major Australian circuses,lion,tigers,elephants,monkeys etc and parked in a prominent position outside the big tent was a 1967 Wildcat,bright red,whitewalls,GS wheels,exactly the same as the car featured here.We were told that the car was owned by the family which owned and operated the circus.Even though as a 10 year old boy I was fascinated by the animals,that red Wildcat kept drawing my eyes back to it,beautiful.
Sometimes mere words can be inadequate to capture a particular car. In this case, the writing is far superior to the car.
Your skills with old-school photos and tape would do The Insolent Chariots proud.
I had a sexy ’64 Wilcat convertible from 1985-2000. It was white with a black top. It was totally reliable, started everytime (sometimes with a spray of ether).She seemed fast, or maybe a lot of feeling of speed was only the sound of the 4 barrels sucking air. One summer a friend and I drove all the hell over central Oregon with the top down. Damn the heat was hot in the high desert air. My only bad memory of the car was the moment after I sold it and the new owner drove away. As I walked away all I could think was, “don’t turn around, don’t turn around.”
Beautifully written; it brings home how close together are the brain centers of young men regarding young women and cars. For whatever reason, my car lust for Buicks leaned more toward Skylarks in the late 60’s and early 70’s – a bit smaller and more lithe. Same with young women. I have fond memories of both.