In the fall of 1972, my hitchhiking adventures and motorcycle riding came to a sudden halt as the result of an unexpected happy event: my older brother bequeathed me a 1963 Corvair as he was heading off for a job in Greenland. It was as if I had the chance to order it new in 1963: a four door Monza in white, with the up-rated 102 hp, Turbo-Air engine and 4-speed manual. I suppose I might have gone for a turbocharged Spyder coupe back then, but this was certainly a close second. I felt very lucky.
Of course it was far from new and had a few issues, but that didn’t stop me from savoring one of my all-time favorite cars. And I never got tired of looking at it. The gen1 Corvair is a gem, even when it’s not running.
The Corvair already had a special place in my heart before my brother suddenly showed up in Iowa City in one. It arrived in 1960, the same year we arrived in the US, and I was quite surprised that such a car was being built in the US: rear engine, air-cooled, very low and with such sleek and clean styling that started a global design revolution.
I’ve vacillated about my feelings for the 4-door sedan versus the coupe, but ultimately I always end up back preferring the sedan. It’s what the designers first had in mind, and it’s just more organic and balanced than the coupe. But that’s not to say I don’t like it too.
Anyway, there it was: a 1963 white Monza four-door with black interior (pictures not of my car). When he told me he had bought it from an old lady in Towson for $75, I instantly thought “Powerglide”. Wrong! There it was, that lovely little curved chrome stick shift with the white cue-ball on top (this one is not on straight), poking up between the black vinyl bucket seat. And just to be sure, yes, it had the four-speed pattern on it. And the four speed turned out to be an accurate predictor of there being the higher performance 102 (gross) hp Turbo-Air out back. Old lady car? Maybe her son talked her into it, or her now deceased husband had a sporty streak.
The body was in very good condition except for the near-inevitable rust pin-holes on the top of the fenders right over the headlights. There must have been some kind of trap for water or salt there, because it was so common, and there was no rust anywhere else. Wouldn’t have been that hard to fix, but I was in a hurry to hit the road.
The black interior was like new; complete with very high-quality vinyl and genuine metal bright-work. (GM’s molded Rubbermaid interiors were still some years away). I was blown away; not quite a ’63 Riviera, but very nice indeed. What did I do to deserve this, especially since this was a bit uncharacteristic of my brother? He and I always had a complicated relationship (still do); I’d diagnose it as a classic case of sibling rivalry as well as some other pathologies. I spent much of my life having to put boundaries on our relationship, and unfortunately, still do.
I got my answer as soon as I started it up: an ominous knocking sound from the engine. I didn’t say anything, seeing it was a gift, and drove him to the airport with that engine rattling away.
Seeing a rectangular gallon can (remember those?) of ultra-cheap Pep Boys non-detergent oil in the trunk (my brother is a cheapskate), I quickly drained it and treated the air-cooled six to some quality vital fluids. Lo! The knocking disappeared almost instantly, and the flat six purred its appreciation from then on.
My rother recently told me that he still holds it against me that I wrote about this incident, saying I was ungrateful for the gift. Not at all; just pointing out the facts.
A celebratory road trip was definitely in order: I mapped out a 2,500 mile back-roads scenic loop to the Appalachian Mountains and back, via southern Indiana and Kentucky, stopping in Towson to say hi to the family on the way. The highlight was Skyline Drive and the Blue Ridge Parkway, a virtually deserted (back then) 600 mile driving nirvana. I followed the last fall colors south into the Smoky Mountains, where I lost a staring contest with a bear intent on my dinner.
The Monza was in its element on the endless winding roads. It wasn’t really an American Porsche, since its ride was a bit too soft and the steering too slow. Of course, those could both be easily fixed. Its acceleration was hardly impressive. But it eagerly gobbled up the endless curves, and hour after hour, day after day, I delicately probed the Corvair’s outer limits. Never got myself into trouble once, but the roads were smooth, the tire pressures were optimized, and I knew not to touch the brakes if I did take a turn a bit fast: let the gently-oversteering rear tires scrub off the extra speed.
If undisturbed, the Corvair’s swing-axle suspended rear stayed low, and the body’s moderate roll meant that the fairly fat rear tires (for the times) would stay almost ideally perpendicular to the road, or even with a bit of negative camber.
But hit the brakes, and the weight shifted forward, unloading the rear tires, which would then tuck under the car with massive positive camber, jacking up the rear end, and further unintended consequences (here shown on a Spitfire).
That was the Corvair’s potentially deadly bite. Americans used to front-heavy understeering cars simply didn’t understand that the Corvair had to be treated differently at the limit, not that hitting the brake in a fast curve is a hot idea in just about any car. But that could literally be explosive in a Corvair, like hitting the hydraulic lifts in a low rider.
I seem to remember setting out on that month-long trip with $125. On the way home, I stopped in Galesburg, Illinois because I was out of gas. I turned my pockets inside out, and came up with $2.63, just barely enough to get me home (hungry) on 35¢ gas. My budgeting was cutting it a bit tight.
The Corvair’s exaggerated rear-weight bias was a cornucopia of winter amusement. Every new snowfall was my cue to cut fresh tracks on deserted streets and indulge in oversteer hi-jinks. Eventually, my endless quest to test the traction limits of the Corvair progressed to the ultimate rear-engine winter thrill/stupidity.
Driving around unplowed park roads by the large Coralville reservoir, I came across a nice long boat ramp. I looked at it and the light of brilliant stupidity went off. I shot down the ramp, hit the ice at about 50, and flicked the steering wheel while giving the emergency brake a good yank. The Monza pirouetted across the reservoir in a crack-the-whip blur, thanks to that heavy engine out back. It was just like the Tilt-A-Whirl at the carnival; I strained to keep my head upright as it spun seemingly endlessly across the ice.
While diligently practicing for the prospective new Winter Olympic sport of Corvair-curling, I saw a distant figure on the far shore beckoning me to him. Brain scrambled from all the spinning, I drove over to him. This easily-avoidable encounter resulted in a death-invoking lecture and my first-ever ticket. I decided never to be more obliging to the law than necessary.
My next Corvair misadventure was straight out of a silent movie, and so stupid and corny, I’m almost embarrassed to retell it. The starter was out– I procrastinated fixing it out in the cold – so I just parked on hills. Coming home late one night from a bar, the still-cold Monza stalled right on the main-line Rock Island tracks of a deeply-rutted railroad crossing. All my heaving and swearing wouldn’t free it.
Seeing the control light down the tracks away change, I switched to plan B (I was a bit under the influence). I retrieved a screwdriver from the trunk, removed the plates and hid nearby. Seriously, I was going to sit behind a bush and watch my car be obliterated by a train.
Hearing the actual train whistle triggered a sudden surge of regret, or just adrenaline. I jumped from the bushes and gave the car one final push. She left the tracks and started downhill. I just managed to jump in before it rolled away.
Corvairs rode low to the ground, with something less than 5 1/2″ clearance. I found this out the hard way when I suddenly encountered a highway sign laying in the middle of the road. It was mounted on a 6×6 wood pole, and it was right in the middle of the lane, long ways and parallel to the road. I came on it pretty quickly, and made the split-second choice to drive over it rather than risk a sudden sharp maneuver. I figured the car would clear it. I figured wrong.
The pole wedged under the middle of the Corvair, and now we were riding it, with little or no steering control. The poled Corvair skidded to a drifting halt off the side of the road. I had to use the jack to extricate it. A trickle of gas from the ruptured tank was the only damage. I made it home, and discovered the magic of JB Weld.
There were other trips and memories made, but I did end up having to drop the engine out of it twice to fix a noise from the flywheel– alone, in a barn, with one scissors jack, some blocks of wood and a John Mayall album playing over and over. That’s part of another story yet to come. But let’s just say it dampened my enthusiasm for the little Chevy and Mr. Mayall. And after a long hard year, the engine noise started to come back; good oil was just a temporary Band Aid. I felt terrible about it at the time, but I essentially walked away from it, and bought my first VW.
Like most first cars, thinking of the Corvair brings back a flood of memories– good and bad. Driving to the quarry on summer days to go skinny-dipping with friends. Walking five miles down a frozen moon-lit country road at one in the morning, lugging its heavy flywheel. Watching the sun sparkle on the freshly waxed hood, pinholes and all. Gobbling up endless curves on Blue Ridge Parkway. Reluctantly saying goodbye to it.
And most of all, knowing then that I should have found a barn to save it for my middle age.
Related CC reading:
Auto-Biography: I’ll Be Home For Christmas (In My ’63 Corvair) by me
Automotive History: How The 1960 Corvair Started A Global Design Revolution by me
Curbside Classic: 1962 Corvair Monza Wagon (Lakewood) – Why Did We Go Ahead And Build This? by me
Curbside Classic: 1963 Corvair Monza Spyder Convertible – The Turbo Revolution Started Here by me
Curbside Classic: 1963 Corvair Monza Coupe – A Coup For Chevrolet; A Sedan For Me by me
Automotive History: 1960-1963 Chevrolet Corvair – GM’s Deadliest Sin? by me
Once again, Paul and I agree on a car.
Having owned several LM and EM Corvairs; I still wanted a turbocharged Vair…..until I finally drove a few.
Unless you smashed your foot into the front bumper and waited a few heartbeats; the turbo model was slower and more sluggish than the 102/110 horsepower models were!
At first I thought that the one I drove “had sumpin’ wronggg wid it”.
Then I drove two more. Same results.
My most “Real World Pleasant” Corvair was a 1966 Model, base 95 horsepower engine, Powerglide and factory air conditioning. Not the fastest; but the easiest one to live with. As smooth a curb idle as any Corvair ever made and ran just fine on the cheapest Regular (Non-Premium costly stuff) gasoline,
As for the often maligned throttle lift off oversteer that Nader “made his bones” on: The same generation early Porsche 911 was a MUCH more sudden and dramatic transition example. As I found out at age 19 when Dad was out of town.
I had a co-worker who actually rolled a brand new 1963 Corvair. He had just received it, as a high school graduation present, three weeks earlier. As he told me the story, some 30 years later, he had exited a newly built freeway cloverleaf at too great a speed. The sweeping downhill curve, and hitting the brakes much too hard resulted in the car rolling over several times. He was banged up, but otherwise unhurt. The car was a total loss.
His replacement car was a new VW bug.
Yes, hitting the brakes when going fast in a curve is bound to cause an ugly reaction. Need to just let the rear come around a bit and scrub off the speed.
My next car was a Beetle too.
I found my 1960 VW “bug” a MUCH more squirrelly and sloppy handling car than any early model Corvair that I owned or drove.
Just me?
Stay tuned; my VW post is coming in two weeks.
The Corvair was heavier and felt somewhat more stable, but the VW had much quicker steering. I put radials on my ’64 Beetle and the handling became significantly improved. I’ll go into more depth in that post, but ultimately I preferred my VWs for several reasons.
I look forward to reading your thoughts and impressions on this “VW vs Corvair” comparison, Paul.
Perhaps the passing of far too many years has fogged my memory, or maybe it was as something as simple as the tires that I had on my 1960 Type 1, but I recall my Bug as being quite the uncertain, twitchy and treacherous car if pushed beyond a normal & sedate pace.
I found my Corvair a much more stable and safe handing car than the V-dub.
Paul, I agree with you on the design of the sedan vs. coupe. As you said “It’s what the designers first had in mind, and it’s just more organic and balanced than the coupe”. The first gen. coupe greenhouse has always looked a bit too short to me, but the proportions of the sedan are lovely. Same with the turbo motor – that lag would be so annoying!
The second gen. is the other way ’round for me: the coupe is absolutely beautiful and one in metallic blue with a 4 carb 140 and 4 speed occupies a place in my dream garage.
Sweet story!
A joy to read.
When I meet new guys and we’re comfortable, I ask, “What did you do as a young man that almost killed you?” There’s always incredible stories of male stupidity gone wrong. Lots of laughs.
Yesterday, a buddy of mine had just finished a week of recuperation from leg surgery. He’s almost 50 now. I told him, “Damn, I wish we were 20 years younger, so that we can do something really stupid and reckless in your boat!” “We’d be drunk, right?”
Oh the joys of young masculinity! Lord we got lucky, didn’t we? LOL!
My first car was also a ‘63 black over red Monza coupe, a hand me down from my Mom in its 10 year and a total of 33 k on the odometer.
Loved it but in scant 6 months, I had finally snagged a ‘68 blue over blue Monza coupe that I had been pursuing for a good three years from a lady who had a ‘65 Cadillac convertible ( her deceased husband’s car), a ‘73 Monte Carlo to go to her cottage and the Corvair for city duty.
Kept it through undergrad and graduate school till many things were going wrong at the same time and was a bit overwhelmed with the sudden expenses and regrettably at least sold it to a Corvair afficiando.
The two most memorable cars I’ve had in 53 years of car ownership.
Ah to be young, dumb and indestructible again. I’d probably settle for less fragile…
Good stuff, Paul. I too have had my share of frustrating and unsafe car fixes usually to mix tapes that grew tiresome after the fourth go around. There’s a special one that had a bumper jack or was it two maxed out dead of winter. What was I thinking? Oh. I wasn’t.
I saw a very nice red 2nd Gen corvair a couple days ago. It was striking in the late Summer sun. I think my favorite Corvair is the one most recently seen.
“Americans used to front-heavy understeering cars simply didn’t understand that the Corvair had to be treated differently at the limit, not that hitting the brake in a fast curve is a hot idea in just about any car.” That won’t do.
As you might recall, I really love the Corvair (and agree the sedan is the better looker in 1st gen). But a huge corporation can’t produce a mass-market machine and avoid responsibility for what was (in the final analysis) poor design, or at minimum, a design beset by poor effects from cost-driven omissions, especially in asking for front tyre pressures so low it’s a wonder the tyres didn’t roll off their rims in the initial understeer (or overheat on a freeway and pop). It’s been on this site before that when analysed by a professional racer, he found the the standard car hard to control.
I vaguely recall that your car had the handling kit, or updated settings (or somesuch) that gave it a touch of negative camber at rest? That’d make a really big difference to things.
I don’t recall the level crossing story. That out-mads my male idiocy of youth, which I survived only through the wind blowing the fates in my favour on too many occasions – even though I thought then it was my quick reactions. My arse it was!
Almost every time my Mother drove my Dad’s Corvair to a “Full Service” gasoline station the pump jockey would clean the windshield and adjust the front AND rear tire pressure to 24 psi. I assume this was the “default” number these guys used?
After the fourth or fifth time of adjusting the Vair’s tire pressures back to the correct 10 pound front and rear difference (using a hand pump, no less!) Dad told Mom not to bother having his car gassed up in the future; that he would take care of it.
I am not sure whether it had the sports handling option or not, as I didn’t fully understand the main difference (camber limiting straps) which in my mind’s memory eye I am having trouble seeing. But it did have a touch of negative camber which might have just been from the springs sagging a bit.
I love these 1st. generation Corvairs and think my ’61 Coupe was beautiful in white with red upholstery .
-Nate
These first-gen Corvairs were quite common in the 60s into the early 70s — I rode in a number of them, from nearly new, to hand-me-down, and then beater status but only drove one very briefly — a 1964 Monza coupe with Powerglide.
I still recall walking up to one of these that was for sale a few years ago, and being bowled over at how low the whole car sat. The ground clearance and the roof – both so much closer to the ground than anything made in the last 30 years.
My 59 Fury was developing those same signs of rust-through over the headlghts, and I got under it with a screwdriver and dug maybe 2 cups of tightly packed dirt out of each one. Decades of muddy water being flung by tires packed a bunch of it in there. Inner fender liners were a great invention.
Caught my first Corvair not long ago, after a lot of waiting and hoping. Might write it up soon. Best US compact of the 60s, but I still can’t decide whether I prefer the first generation or its successor.