1967 Chevrolet Impala Station Wagon: Another Pleasant Valley Sunday

Photo of a blue 1967 Chevrolet Impala station wagon at a car show

The Monkees’ famous single “Pleasant Valley Sunday” made it all the way to number three on the Billboard Hot 100 in 1967 on the strengths of its up-tempo beat and strong lead vocal track by Micky Dolenz. Written by the accomplished songwriting duo of Gerry Goffin and Carole King, the song’s message was, however, in direct contrast to its attractive presentation. It spoke of a suburbia where middle-class guys sleepwalked through their days, keeping up their meticulously groomed lawns in front of “rows of houses that are all the same.” In front of some of those houses undoubtedly sat 1967 Chevy Impala station wagons such as this one, built the same year that the Monkees released their catchy hit. But is there anything really wrong with living in “status symbol land?”

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Photo Credit: Ultimate Classic Rock

The Monkees have probably earned some vindication over the course of the last 60 years. Derided as a paint-by-numbers boy band by many, they actually had some really good albums; my favorites are Headquarters and Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn & Jones Ltd., the album where you can find “Pleasant Valley Sunday.” The song’s intention was to skewer American consumerism and conformity, how our identity is based on our perfect houses, perfect lawns, and our “TV[s] in every room.” The lyrics certainly paint a picture of boring, unfulfilling, inauthentic lives for those who have chosen the nine-to-five world of a family man (or woman), but I think that is a cynical viewpoint. What’s left out is that the average American isn’t necessarily all that adventurous, and we can’t all be topping the charts or writing hit after hit like Goffin and King did. Millions were perfectly satisfied tinkering in the yard and putting a Saturday coat of Simoniz on the Chevy.

Rear cargo area of a blue 1967 Chevrolet full-size station wagon

Whoever bought this ’67 Impala new certainly did that once or twice, or indeed every weekend. There were no placards or historical documents surrounding it when I saw it at Sloan Museum’s Auto Fair in June 2025, but it had the trappings of a nearly-original V8-powered station wagon that happily carried so many families to the movies, ball games, church, and school. It’s truly as American as apple pie.

Screenshot of a dark red 1967 Ford Country Squire station wagon
Photo Credit: imcdb.org

Although Chevrolet was the perennial number-one automaker, Ford always made it a tight race in the wagon department. The 1967 Country Squire seen here was a favorite from across town, or perhaps across the driveway from “Mr. Status Symbol.” The still shot above is from the 1968 Steve McQueen caper The Thomas Crown Affair. Crown, a bored millionaire from Boston, hires a group of random ne’er-do-wells, who never actually see him or knowingly interact with him, to rob a bank. One of the guys could easily be the guy from “Pleasant Valley Sunday,” a henpecked husband looking for a little adventure (and a little cash on the side). McQueen’s character tells his to go out and buy a Ford wagon, “the kind with wood on the sides”; after all, what blends in more after a robbery than a suburban middle-aged male in one of the most common wagons on the road? It could have easily been an Impala.

Rear view of a blue 1967 Chevrolet Impala station wagon

No offense intended to the Ford fans in our audience, but I’ll take the Impala any day over the Country Squire. While you could get wood sides on your Caprice Custom Wagon, I prefer the flanks unadorned. The Impala’s new-for-1967 styling was as typical of Chevrolet as the Country Squire was of Ford, but for some reason, I think it looks a little more lively, and that counts when you’re trying to show off to your neighborhood.

Right front fender of a blue 1967 Chevrolet Impala station wagon

Our featured wagon shows the bumps and bruises (K-Mart rash, or so it was called in the magazines I read as a kid) of its time spent as a family hauler, maybe being hit once or twice by a ladder or a bicycle in traditional spot in the one-car garage. It doesn’t have a humdrum 283 under the hood, but rather the 10:1 compression ratio, 275-horsepower 327 coupled to either a Powerglide or a Turbo Hydra-Matic (which would have been a TH400 in 1967). While this 327 was no Duntov-cammed fuelie of song and legend, it breathed through a big Quadrajet and would have performed its daily duties nicely, even with tallish 3.08 or 2.73:1 rear end gears (depending on whether it has the Powerglide or the Turbo 400).

Front view of a blue 1967 Chevrolet Impala station wagon

I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that it was the color (Emerald Turquoise, most likely) that drew me to the big wagon out on the show field. Well, the color and the ten-footer original condition. OK, the color and the condition and my long-standing “thought about buying one (or two) when I was young” sentimental attachment (another story entirely). I’d be quite content owning an Impala exactly like this, and I wouldn’t care at all if a couple talented songwriters and a famous boy band thought I was nothing more than another guy in the suburbs.

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