1982 Chrysler LeBaron Convertible – How The Convertible Came Back (And Why It Never Really Went Away)

 

In January 1982, Chrysler introduced one of its most important cars of the ’80s: the Chrysler LeBaron convertible, the first factory-authorized U.S. ragtop since the 1976 Cadillac Eldorado. The drop-top LeBaron was greeted with interest and excitement, but it raised some questions: Why had domestic convertibles disappeared, and how is it that they were able to come back?

When the LeBaron convertible debuted in January 1982, Car and Driver — not notably a fan of Chrysler’s recent efforts — put the new model on the cover with the headline, “CONVERTIBLES COME BACK! And Chrysler’s leading the way (no kidding).” It was great publicity for the struggling No. 3 automaker, which did wonders for Chrysler stock prices, although it aggravated some buyers of the 1976 Cadillac Eldorado, whose maker had previously proclaimed it “the last American production convertible,” with 200 identical final models “for loyalists and collectors alike.”

In the January 1982 cover story, C/D editor/publisher David E. Davis Jr. offered this explanation for the convertible’s surprising Lazarus act:

Apparently, the reason that convertibles went away in the first place was a spurious one, based upon the mistaken belief that the NHTSA—grinding slowly, but exceeding fine—would enact and enforce a rollover-protection standard that would make soft-top cars illegal. This never happened, but that didn’t prevent manufacturers here and abroad from dropping convertibles the way you’d drop a hot rock.

It’s too bad that convertibles went away as they did, running scared from a monster that never materialized, but a few years spent without open cars will now make it possible for us to welcome them back with rekindled enthusiasm.

This explanation has been repeated over the years in various forms — I’ve been guilty of doing so myself, in the mistaken assumption that DED knew what he was talking about — but it’s not true. The threat was neither spurious nor illusory, and it took some time before it was actually removed.

The Convertible’s Near-Death Experience

The short explanation goes like this: In March 1971, the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) issued greatly expanded occupant crash protection standards (under FMVSS 208), including rollover injury protection, which were supposed to take effect for passenger cars with the 1976 model year. Later in the year, the NHTSA also added a roof crush standard (FMVSS 216), effective for 1974 and later models. These standards incorporated a convoluted exemption for convertibles, but it came with a ticking clock: The exemption would expire on August 15, 1977. Once it did, convertibles would have to meet the same rollover protection and roof crush requirements as any other passenger car, which was unlikely without drastic changes, such as adding a roll cage or pop-up rollover bars (like the ones later used on the Mercedes-Benz R129 SL-Class).

 

For the domestic automakers, the imminent extinction of convertibles was probably the least worrisome aspect of the new safety standards, which several companies, led by Chrysler, sued the Department of Transportation in hopes of blocking. Convertible sales had dropped off sharply after a mid-’60s boom, and a growing number of domestic model lines no longer offered them, so U.S. automakers weren’t worried about the future of the open car. The attitude in Detroit was summed up by Cadillac general manager Ed Kennard when the last Eldorado convertible rolled off the line five years later: “Like the running board and rumble seat, the convertible is an item which history has passed by.”

 

Aside from the shrinking sales volume, building a convertible, especially based on a unit-body or perimeter-frame car, was becoming more trouble than it was worth. Unless a model is designed from the outset as a convertible, it requires significant structural reinforcement to compensate for the loss of the fixed roof, which increases cost and weight. Also, just adding those reinforcements on the production line is a hassle, requiring considerable extra time and labor. If the convertible isn’t selling in large numbers anyway, it quickly becomes not worth the bother.

 

It was a different story for non-U.S. automakers like British Leyland (parent company of MG and Triumph, among others) and Alfa Romeo. For them, convertibles were the mainstay of their U.S. business, which they weren’t eager to lose. They didn’t attempt to sue DOT, but a consortium of foreign automakers used the Chrysler suit to petition the court for review of the rollover and roof crush standards, arguing that applying those rules to convertibles would unfairly outlaw a whole category of cars. In December 1972, a federal appeals court agreed (472 F.2d 659 (6th Cir. 1972)), and sent the matter back to NHTSA to figure out, ordering the agency to ensure that the standard “does not in fact serve to eliminate convertibles and sports cars from the United States new car market.” In early July 1977, the NHTSA finally revised the rules to effectively make convertibles permanently exempt from both the rollover injury and roof crush standards.

 

In the meantime, the domestic automakers had all decided to just let their remaining convertible models die a natural death before the NHTSA ticking clock ran out. There would probably have been enough demand to keep the Eldorado convertible alive through 1977, or even the end of the model run in 1978, but in 1976, Cadillac still had no idea when (or how) the NHTSA would get around to complying with the court order. I assume Cadillac didn’t want to run the risk of saddling dealers with leftover cars that might become unsalable after August 1977, so they shut down production in April 1976 after a final run of 200 cars. All other domestic convertibles were gone by then.

 

Non-U.S. automakers probably had some nervous moments into the early months of 1977, but they kept right on importing convertible models. This is why it was still possible to buy new examples of antiquated British and Italian roadsters into the early 1980s, while buyers who wanted an Eldorado convertible now had to go to a coachbuilder for a pricey aftermarket conversion.

The Convertible Returns

The auto industry is like an endless race with no pit stops, so many Detroit designers, executives, and product planners didn’t immediately notice the results of the court ruling. Given the lead times involved in developing new cars, convertibles had long since dropped off the radar for most U.S. automakers.

 

However, once the regulatory issue was settled, it really didn’t take that long for domestic automakers to begin thinking about convertibles again. At the 1980 Detroit Auto Show, Chrysler showed a Plymouth Horizon-based, Ferrari-esque Turismo Spyder model, which Bob Marcks, a Chrysler senior product planner at the time, said was both a trial balloon and a potential production model. A year later, they showed a Plymouth Reliant convertible, which was essentially a preview of the forthcoming production ragtop (which were offered in both the Chrysler LeBaron and Dodge 400 lines, though not as a Plymouth). At launch, Car and Driver said the new models had been pitched about two years earlier, which would probably have been around or just after the 1980 Detroit show. Market research showed strong interest, so development proceeded briskly.

 

The main holdup was that building convertibles was still a big hassle — too much of one to make it practical to just add ragtop models back to the regular assembly lines. Chrysler considered several possible subcontractors, but finally settled on Cars & Concepts in Brighton, Michigan, which had also done the Turismo Spyder. Buick turned to the American Sunroof Corporation for its forthcoming Riviera convertible.

 

How much hassle did these convertibles represent? Car and Driver presented a two-page item by Don Sherman explaining the Cars & Concepts conversion process, which was so elaborate that it’s worth presenting in full:

You might reasonably ask why Cars & Concepts took the trouble to remove the windshields, windshield wipers, and door trim rather than just having Chrysler ship cars without those parts. The answer is probably that it was logistically simpler; with manufacturing businesses, any variations that slow down the assembly line are undesirable and costly. It was easier to build cars with those parts, let Cars & Concepts remove them as needed, and ship any unused parts back to Chrysler.

The LeBaron and Dodge 400 were K-cars, so they had lightweight unitized construction. To make up for the loss of the roof (which was a major load-bearing element), the convertibles needed a metal “skeleton” to reinforce the floorpan side rails and longitudinals. The A-pillars and windshield header also had to be reinforced, along with the mounting areas of the front shoulder harnesses. All this was before the installation of the actual top and top mechanism. Surprisingly, the conversion didn’t add that much weight — the Chrysler specifications claimed the base convertible was only 68 lb heavier than the two-door sedan.

 

One curious point is that Car and Driver described the new convertibles as two-seaters, with the back seat sacrificed to allow room for the top well in order to preserve trunk room. However, the Chrysler launch releases from January 1982 describe the LeBaron and 400 convertibles as “four place” cars, and they came through with rear seats and rear seat belts. I didn’t find any indication that this was an early production change, so I’m assuming that Chrysler must have hedged on the two-seater idea between when the early launch articles were written (which was obviously well before launch) and actual new model introduction.

 

The back seat wasn’t very big, and the convertible deleted the rear quarter windows (although Cars & Concepts had recommended adding some), so sitting in back was rather claustrophobic with the top up. Nonetheless, having four-seat capacity became a central part of the appeal of these cars. There were still some imported open sports cars in 1982, but most were two-seaters or cramped 2+2s, so being able to carry four adults, even uncomfortably, was a useful selling point.

 

There was adequate trunk space too. Obviously, if you really wanted passenger and luggage room, the LeBaron wagon made more sense, but the convertible had enough space for year-round use for a single person or couple, which helped keep the LeBaron commercially viable into the ’90s with a few styling and mechanical updates.

 

Other than the lack of roof and rear quarter windows, the LeBaron and Dodge 400 were typical K-cars, with struts up front, a dead axle on trailing arms in back, rack-and-pinion steering, disc/drum brakes, and a choice of 2,213 cc Chrysler or torquier 2,555 cc Mitsubishi MCA-Jet fours. The 2.2-liter engine was theoretically available with a four-speed manual transmission, but the 2.6-liter Mitsubishi engine required TorqueFlite, which most of these cars had anyway. Turbo engines and V-6s weren’t available until later, although you could have a stiffer sport suspension for $55.

 

There were initially two models, a base LeBaron convertible and the better-equipped Medallion. The Mark Cross Edition was originally an option package, another of the popular “designer editions” with which domestic automakers had been fascinated for the past decade. It included leather upholstery, a full load of extra equipment (including air conditioning), the Mitsubishi four, and the regrettable wire wheel covers as well as a dashboard plaque with the original owner’s name.

 

Because it was an option, I don’t have production figures for the early Mark Cross version, but Chrysler sold 12,825 LeBaron convertibles and 5,541 Dodge 400 convertibles just in 1982. For a while there was a three-month waiting list, which hadn’t been true for any Chrysler product since before the company’s financial crisis.

 

Car and Driver lamented that the convertibles still weren’t very sporty: The standard suspension was floppy, the steering was numb, the brakes were mediocre, and automatic transmission sucked a lot of the life out of either engine. However, these weren’t sports cars except in the sense of (to borrow a phrase from Car Life) being cars for sports. They looked pretty good, they were about as practical as such cars can be, and even the Mark Cross Edition was under $15,000. (When the Riviera convertible became available later in the year, it started at almost $24,000.)

 

I’ve never especially liked these LeBarons — I hate convertibles, and even later LeBaron ragtops with better engines and more equipment didn’t impress with their comfort or their fit and finish — but they’re hard to criticize too much because they make perfect sense.

 

As he often had at Ford, Chrysler president Lee Iacocca saw a niche and seized on it, adding some profit-spinning pizzazz to store-brand underpinnings. This wasn’t the most impressive new car even by early ’80s standards, but it was clear in what it was offering, and most of the people who bought (or rented) one got exactly what they were paying for: seats for four and fun in the sun, for a palatable price.

Related Reading

Curbside Classic: 1982 Chrysler LeBaron Convertible – One Had To Be There (by Joseph Dennis)
Curbside Classic: 1986 Chrysler LeBaron Town & Country Convertible – Some Things Just Don’t Translate (by J P Cavanaugh)
Curbside Classic: 1988 Chrysler LeBaron Convertible – Dressed For Success? (by Eric703)
CC For Sale: 1992 Chrysler LeBaron GTC Performance Convertible – This One Was Clearly Not A Florida Rental (by Brendan Sauer)
Curbside Find: 1982-83 Dodge 400 Convertible With Continental Kit (by Rich Baron)
Did Air Conditioning Kill The Convertible? (by me)