“Judges?”
If you ask me to identify my first car, I will answer with no hesitation: A 1990 Subaru Legacy LS wagon. But as I give that answer, I can picture the late Alex Trebek glancing peevishly off to his right and saying: “Judges?”
My dad bought the Legacy—actually two nearly identical cars in succession—in 2001 for his wintertime use. When he purchased the first Legacy that May, I was drafted to drive it home from the dealer. The Subaru’s entertaining personality stole my heart immediately, and I spent a starry-eyed summer taking it everywhere I could, much to my dad’s mounting consternation. Ironically, my dad hardly got behind the wheel of that first Legacy at all; it met an early demise in a collision at my brother’s hands (though not through his fault), months before the first snowflake fell.
’90 Legacy brochure image: the car I’d rather be driving.
When my dad lined up a second Legacy to replace the first, he realized he would need a piece of automotive chaff to throw me off the Subaru’s trail. He found a ready solution from a much younger co-worker looking to unload his college car for a pittance ($750).
As I recall, my dad made no mention of this four-wheeled diversion beforehand, and then one day, it appeared in our driveway: a 1990 Dodge Spirit ES. The car wore the burgundy color (Claret Red) ubiquitous in early Spirit advertising. At first glance, this car presented a passable façade, but a lingering look revealed numerous rough edges. The trunk lid, pockmarked on top as if it had been through a hailstorm, latched but sat proud of the rear quarters, looking eternally popped. The airbag had deployed, and the deflated bag was simply hacked off. Consistent with a quick-and-dirty collision repair, Claret Red overspray was everywhere in the engine compartment. Numerous rattly plastic fascia bits did not seat securely.
Not my car, but virtually identical (though in much better condition). (Credit: Paul Balze)
Even ignoring the car’s shabbiness and trying to visualize it in 1990 showroom condition, the entire ES package just did not gel for me. The underlying Spirit’s dowdy lines and upright rear glass seemed kindred to the A-body Centuries and Cieras popular among my grandmother’s cohort, yet the excessive body-colored trim suggested “Euro” pretenses. The dashboard’s heavy rectilinear lines and upward cant toward the driver recalled certain American cars of the ’70s, certainly out-of-step with its contemporary competition—even many domestics. The more common base and LE models struck me as a purer expression of the Spirit’s true essence: a more refined Aries for K-car devotees.
Brochure image; my Spirit’s interior was identical. Except, of course, for the shift lever.
Snapping my mind back to 2001 as I stood in the driveway and took in the well-worn Dodge parked before me, I accepted it as graciously as I could, thanking my dad for his generosity. But try as I might to look on the bright side—after all, it was a car that I could drive anytime without asking, and it wasn’t a total disaster—I could not look at the Spirit without catching a glimpse of the Legacy behind. Apparently, teenage limerence can be as strong with cars as with other teenagers.
Oil pressure…volts… John Davis is happy, at least. (Credit: Daniel Stern)
Within weeks, the Spirit endured a careless mishap that kicked it several steps down the stairway to heap-dom. Arriving home from school one afternoon with my younger sister in the front passenger seat, she playfully opened her door while I was still backing down the driveway. Her laughs were halted by a loud crack; the door had caught on the corner of our family minivan’s bumper, hyperextending it to nearly 90 degrees. The door’s sheet metal was deeply creased and the hinges bent; the door would close under heavy force but not latch. Discovering the damage after arriving home from work, my dad was as furious as I had ever seen him. After slamming the door a hundred or so times in a fruitless attempt to close it (and venting frustration in the process), he devised a solution. He had me lean heavily into the door while he drilled through the lower B-pillar into the front door. Then he sacrificed one of his punches, hammering it through the pillar and door like a permanent deadbolt.
Hyperextended door; my Spirit’s damage was similar. (Credit: Flickr user Robin Kearney)
This incident instantly killed one of the prime reasons a 17-year-old wants a car. Imagine picking up a date:
“Hi Amanda…great seeing you outside of English class! Wow…you look stunning tonight! Yeah…that is my car. Sorry, but you’ll have to sit in the back seat. We can’t open the passenger door. Well, one day my sister…it’s a long story. Or you could climb over the console if you want…”
As if simply being seen in the car wasn’t embarrassing enough.
Social stigma aside, the Spirit proved to be a durable workhorse. The 3.0L Mitsubishi V6, common to so many Chrysler products, provided strong power, reasonable smoothness, and respectable economy of about 27 MPG highway. Of course like every such Mitsubishi engine I have seen, it both leaked and burned oil at an incredible rate. Keeping the crankcase full was a daily chore. As with all V6-powered Spirits in ’90, the engine was mated to Chrysler’s frequently problematic Ultradrive four-speed automatic, although the transmission was entirely trouble-free in my time with the car. The Dodge merely shrugged off the abuse I occasionally heaped on it, dutifully providing reliable transportation despite my disdain for it.
Mitsubishi 3.0L V6 as shown in a Chrysler LeBaron. A voracious oil consumer in my Spirit. (Credit: Jason Shafer)
Ultimately, my reluctance to take the Spirit on dates sealed its fate. With my dad driving his fair-weather car through the summer of 2002, I stole the Subaru for many road trips and countless romantic encounters. Yet a foreboding prospect loomed: Winter was coming. The inevitability of my dad cutting off access to his winter car drove me to find some kind of a replacement. Flush with summer job earnings, I bought a 1991 Mazda Protegé that I deemed to be “good enough”.
And the battered Spirit sat in the driveway—unused, unloved, and unlamented. Then one day, as unexpectedly as it arrived, it was finally junked.
“Could I take “Curbside Recycling” for $100, Alex?”
The Spirit and Acclaim were roomy cars and were a decent value in their day in a Dodge Dart of the 1970s sort of way. They were comfortable, drove well, and road well. They were proven technology except for the troublesome Ultradrive. They sold well for Chrysler but seemed like a revised Aries and Reliant. Still people bought them. They “classy” looking in an American car kind of way. They still had full gages which was nice. Not a bad first car. Something to drive as a first car. Not the best and not the worst from a high school parking lot point of view. Not a Camaro or Mustang but still not a Pinto or Festiva. Middle of the road. A “hand me down” car from a parent. Hope it has some good memories besideds the damaged door and oil consumption.
I would argue that these were modern Darts only during the first 3 or 4 years of ownership. Darts and Valiants showed their inner goodness after 10 years and 100k hard miles, when they would keep running despite the abuse thrown their way. In my experience (as an onlooker, not an owner) these did not age nearly as well as the old A body, and certainly not as well as, say, a Cutlass Ciera or Buick Century.
The heart wants what it wants. And vice versa.
Every chance I got, I’d take my father’s car over my first heap.
“limerence”
A CC COAL that teaches me a new word is always welcome. The word’s definition does ring familiar and is something I have experienced more than once. Indeed, one of my own COALs has the term “Love At First Sight” in the title and more than once in the text.
In 1990 we found out that a new red Dodge from Avis was a very nice ride. Time and heavy use can take the bloom off any new car, but clear abuse and an accident can make a car an instant junker. A cut out airbag, beaten up trunk lid, and red over-spray all over the engine compartment means not much more can be expected other than unending trouble.
A permanently sealed right front door doesn’t help matters. It’s cute on the Duke boy’s Charger, but in your funny note, not cute if you’re going on a date.
Memories like this are best visited from the comfort of the present, even when we know that one’s past forms the foundation of who we all are in the present.
I recall a work email from about twenty years ago that was sent to me and some colleagues and being impressed that the sender managed to use both “limerence” and “compersive” in a business context. I was familiar with limerence (the word, not the concept which I’ve never experienced though I’ve seen others so inflicted), but was surprised it only recently showed up in dictionaries and spell checkers; I’ve heard it used at least since the ’90s.
A new word to me, too,
Oh boy, a permanently bolted passenger door will turn a car into a heap faster than about any other issue. If life was fair, your sister would have had to drive the Spirit since she was the one whose foolishness caused the door problem in the first place.
I remember really wanting to like these when they came out, but they were a hopeless combination of modern and stodgy. As you say, that dash design looked right out of 1979. In retrospect, the really funny part of this story is that the one thing that gave everyone else problems on these cars (the Ultradrive) was fine, while the stuff most people never had problems with (the bodies) was terrible on yours.
These were great looking cars. Smoothed edges, but still clean lines with angular features. None of the jellybean foolishness that would come later in the 90s. I have a poster of one just like this on my wall as a 14 year old boy.
The seats look similar to what was available in the Lumina APV. My dad test drove an APV with this same stripe scheme in the early 90s, though I can only find a photo in blue.
https://cs.copart.com/v1/AUTH_svc.pdoc00001/HPX31/8399338b-c6b3-4feb-a3fe-c0e3895a0d1f.JPG
As far the Ultradrive, well there’s always gotta be something bad. At least standard was the 4 cylinder with 3 speed, though at the time the Ultradrive issues were probably not widely known yet.
We had the “cousin cars” . Mom had a “91 Acclaim”, brother had a “90”. Mom’s cousin got a “Plymouth Breeze” , later into the decade.
I’m with John Davis on oil pressure and voltage gauges. Both have given me early warning of impending major problems.
I mostly liked these; the squared-off shapes may have been unfashionable but they also made for a roomy car that was easy to get into and out of, with good ergonomics and outward visibility. Still, some things bothered me. Like, did whoever designed the rear door panel not realize there was going to be a speaker in it? It looks like an incredibly amateurish aftermarket installation, not something that came that way from the factory. A few other interior bits were like this, although mostly it was well executed.
Somewhere around 2002 a car dealer buddy of mine came into two 1992 Spirits.One a black ES in really nice shape with a hurting engine and the other a wrecked ’92 with a good engine. Both were at the 120K mark
About $325 later they were at my place. I put the good 3.0 on my engine stand and replaced the timing belt and a few other small things, dropped it into the nice one and drove it for a few years. I really liked the car and it was 100% reliable.
While sitting in my driveway one summer a friend really wanted it so I sold it to him. He drove it another couple of years then sold it to a third friend. The third friend got a couple of years out of it and one day the heater blower switch caught fire. He got the fire out with no damage but the car was getting ratty and he lost interest in it. So about 2010, it went to the junk yard, still running great. By then it was up to around 170K miles.
Another stodgy old car I like .
-Nate
“…..“Hi Amanda…great seeing you outside of English class! Wow…you look stunning tonight! Yeah…that is my car. Sorry, but you’ll have to sit in the back seat. We can’t open the passenger door. Well, one day my sister…it’s a long story. Or you could climb over the console if you want…” (especially if in a dress or skirt!)
I’d venture to say that your dad probably didn’t love the Spirit any more than you did. His repair/solution seems more of an act of anger than a rational one. Not that I haven’t been there myself – confronted with some device that needs mechanical (or sometimes electrical/programming) repair where frustration suggests a solution of “just rip the damn thing out” rather than “fix it so that it’s actually still functional” – but some solutions are pretty much not solutions. As others have said, disabling the passenger side front door of a car is kind of a death sentence.
A better solution would have been for him to get you to go find a door at the junkyard, and then to either get you to learn how to pull the hinges into some kind of alignment…or if you got truly inspired, to learn how to weld in new hinges. (Pulling would work, and would likely leave things just janky enough so that you’d be reminded of the incident constantly…which is the kind of thing that some dads who have an enduring faith in “lessons” would do. Ask me how I know… 😉 ).
But I get it, he was pissed. And neither of you thought much of the car.
What I’ve learned over time is that no piece of machinery really deserves mistreatment. That’s a lesson that took quite a few decades to sink in.
Thanks for another thought-provoking chapter!
I hope you and your sister found a way to laugh about this episode later! When I was a teen, it wasn’t unusual for kids to have quirky car problems, but a non-functioning passenger door would probably have been a major red flag for any date.
Brian, have you read Daniel Stern’s COAL on his Spirit R/T? A very different experience from yours, for many reasons.
Sorry for the late response. Yes, I did see that entry—in fact, it was where I found the instrument cluster photo shown above. (Somehow, I do not have a single photo of my Spirit.)
In those relatively early days of finding car information on the Internet—around the time I came into possession of my Spirit ES—the R/T dominated what little was written about the AA platform cars. As a result, I had considerable familiarity with the R/T despite never having seen one.