The combination of owning a FIAT in a harsh climate, being a bit crash prone and spending most of my time working or at college still left me driving the family cars on occasion. With absolute apologies to those of you who love big American Iron neither 1975 or 1976 were banner years for American vehicles in my book and I think a lot of people thought the same way in the early 1980s. A change in circumstances made two specimens that showed up at about the same time and departed at the same time the end of an era for my parents. And pretty much for me as well.
My parents were getting back on their feet after my Dad resumed work. An upcoming influx of foreign visitors and a Polara that was disintegrating from rust led to a very conventional purchase for my Dad, a big Mopar to replace those that had gone before. A 50,000 mile, 1976 Dodge Monaco 2 door, with a vinyl roof and a measly 318 under the hood. And I believe a 2:75 to one rear end just to take even more snap out of it. Europhile me, was, if not appalled, certainly unimpressed. I was old enough, and working enough to get out of family trips and had my own car so my exposure to it was minimized. I drove it to college on carpool days when it was too cold for the FIAT and it managed to do that well enough. The hood was so long it arrived at school 20 seconds before the doors did. I remember my friends and I putting a big cassette boom box in the back and cruising around with Blondie’s Eat To The Beat on heavy rotation one hot summer night and that was possibly my only fond memory of the car. The TorqueFlite packed it in at about 75,000 miles which really says something about Chrysler in the 1970s. With sandbags and snow tires it was driveable in the snow, it certainly didn’t have an excess amount of low-end power to worry about getting sideways. I don’t even want to write any more words about it. So I won’t.
Anyways one fine fall day there was a large Government Equipment Auction occurring in the next town. My Dad had the auction list clipped from the paper weeks in advance and he and his friend who often aided and abetted him in auction shenanigans had amped Dad up about a bunch of 1972 Fargo 1/2 ton 4x4s that had outlived their usefulness with the Ministry of Forests but still might make a good fishing truck. My Mom was very likely dreading yet another old green truck showing up that required a lot of paint maintenance. When auction day arrived I decided I was going to stay as far away as possible and would spend the day playing a pleasant game of pick-up football with my friends. As the game ran down I started thinking about my Mom and how vehicle decisions affected her so I grabbed a Slurpee, hopped into the FIAT and headed off to the auction to see if I could head off any potential catastrophes. I arrived to find that he hadn’t bought a Dodge or a Fargo or even one of the K20 Chevrolets as the condition of them had looked rough even to him. He was however in the process of bidding on an ex-Environment Ministry GMC C25 with a camperette that actually didn’t look too abused. It was kind of unusual in that it was a long box step-side 3/4 ton with a 350 and a 3 speed auto. I think he paid $1300 which probably wasn’t that bad a deal.
Even a contrarian like I fancied myself to be, knew that GM step sides were on the cooler end of the spectrum, certainly upper tier in the high school parking lot pecking order. Half-ton shorties that is, but this thing looked weird with the eight-foot box. The good thing about the box was that it had a wood floor, one of the three components along with the glass and the seats that couldn’t rust out. There was more than one gallon of Bondo Fibreglass Reinforced Filler and many cans of Color Match GMC Hawaiian Blue applied to the decaying bodywork over the years. The hood kinked liked they all did and the rust messed with the grounds for the tail lights. It was mechanically sturdy, ran well for the time and had reasonable power, even more so when the 350 grew tired and a 400 was swapped in. It could break a tire free leaving a light if you could stand to watch the fuel gauge move. The small tanks and terrible mileage of the day meant that a trip to the store could burn a quarter tank of regular and a pass on a three-lane hill would move the needle noticeably.
It was a good highway truck in the summer but for the other six months of the year it proved to be useless on any wet or slippery surface. It had 10-ply lugged tires on the back and highway rib on the front. Controlling it during winter braking could be quite frightful as no combination of steering or braking had much effect on ice. The FIAT 128 could embarrass it in any snow and ice situation with ease. It was a bit mortal in what it could haul as well compared to the old Coal Wagon F250 it replaced where the supposed maximum GVWR was just about where the springs started to move a bit. The GMC would sag in the back once you got near 2000 lbs in it. Not a bad thing when you’ve been sent with a shovel to bring back a big load of sand actually.
As covered before in these stories my Dad had a bit of patience with automotive mishaps which was only fair as he was one of the prime perpetrators of automotive catastrophes at our house. But one time he seemingly ran out of patience. My siblings and I went cross-country skiing on some trails off a local back road. Since it was a family trip I took the GMC. When I got to the parking lot and started to turn around I ventured a bit too far down a slight slope and the truck bogged down in the snow which was a bit softer than it looked. I shoveled for a while and couldn’t get it unstuck. My former high school science teacher happened along and mentioned he had done the exact same thing the previous week and the slight grade was deceptive. That’s what he eventually said anyways, I’m sure the first thing was to point out that I didn’t seem to be getting much smarter despite my time in college. We all tried to push it out and the truck went back a bit unfortunately running over his skis. He said they were cracked anyways and that this was one of the last times he would use them so he wasn’t angry. I went to a phone and called my friend who had a new black S10 4X4. He showed up and without checking out the situation drove up behind the GMC and also promptly got stuck. My Dad then showed up to the unfolding disaster featuring two stuck trucks, a bunch of bystanders and some broken Nordic ski equipment. He got me shoveling again and he was already less than happy. A few minutes later we heard the unmistakable sound of a 3-53 Detroit Diesel which was powering a big orange TimberJack log skidder in use by a logging crew in the area. The skidder hooked a line to the S-10 and tugged it out only somewhat altering the rather flimsy rear bumper. It did the same to the GMC minus the bumper bending, and all the participants retreated to my house for hot drinks. My Dad went absolutely mental on me as we worked to straighten the bumper on the S-10, and he used all of the seven words you couldn’t say on television way more times than once. My friend was killing himself laughing about it later as he thought it was one of the best rounds of swearing he had seen in his life. Since I was finished with high school the science teacher couldn’t mock me in class for running over his skis and my friend still took me ice fishing in his S-10. I wish I could say I never got stuck again but that would be far far from the truth.
Around this time I was driving lots but always to the same places. I had a camp job for the summer which involved the same long, half highway, half gravel trip a few times a week. We had a 1966 International Travelall ambulance with a 304 and three on the tree which allowed me to experience firsthand the miserable shift linkage that had bedevilled my Dad with his 1962. We had a 1972 Dodge School minibus which had the S and H covered so it was the C OOL BUS. The crew only let me drive it on Mondays on the 2-hour trip out to camp as I was the slowest driver. On the way in at the end of the week the trip was only 1 hour and 45 minutes with a speedier colleague driving. My boss gave me the long distance assignments in a new C20 Chevrolet hauling construction materials on a large trailer, just to spite the couple of fellows who believed they were the first choice in competent driving. With all the repetitive driving and the fact that I was about to transfer to a University in the City it seemed like a good choice to finish work a week early and to go some places I hadn’t gone before. Taking enough provisions, supplies and equipment to circumnavigate the globe my friend and I took the old GMC for a 2000 mile adventure, a huge chunk of it on gravel. The warm and bug-free camperette was way better than a tent. We saw a lot of sights that I did end up seeing again, but the first time is always more adventurous. Other than adding considerably to Shell Oil’s profits the blue truck gave not a hint of trouble.
My Dad eventually calmed down about me getting the truck stuck and I will allow him to make a few more appearances in these stories. Right at this time he got a new job working away that paid significantly more than his old job had. My Mom joined him and they soon had enough money to do whatever they wanted. He put up with the Monaco for another year as he wasn’t driving much. Then one trip to town it had a flat tire which apparently was the last straw. He went down to the Toyota Dealer and bought my Mom a brand new Tercel and gave the Monaco to a friend. A few months later also tired of the GMC, he told me and my brother to sell it and keep the money. He went to the truck store and bought himself a new Dodge W100 Power Ram. There were a few more bargains, old habits die hard, one of these purchases will show up in an upcoming story. And after this I started down a path that I thought I would never deviate from. And with only a couple of exceptions for 15 years I was right.
I too grew up with a GMC C25 in the family. By the grille, and lack of a V8 engine callout on it, I’ma guess yours was a 1976? Ours was a 1975. There’s little difference, except that 1975’s (along with 1973-74’s) are even worse for rust. It was the more common non-fendered (Wideside, in GMC parlance) bed, and painted white over construction yellow over metallic lime green with layers of body filler between, with a 350 and an automatic, and a single fuel tank(!). Useless in snow. Slightly less useless when loaded, but you can also bury the rear axle even faster with another 2,000 pounds on it. Exact same fuel gauge shenanigans as yours. The extra cost Sierra Grande trim flapped in the breeze and eventually departed as the panels dissolved out from under it, but the truck almost never broke. FWIW- It was produced in the same plant that Teslas come out of today.
My big learn was that 2wd pickups are a right pain in the ass in northern winter conditions, and though you *can* finesse your way into many places with one if you’re stubborn enough, I no longer possess the patience to do so.
Not elaborating on the Dodge Royal Monaco (hidden headlights) was a smart move. My dad had one and it was total junk. His had a 360 and it also moved the gas gage quickly when accelerating.
The CC effect… as it applies to housing. Have loved A-frame housing design, since I was a kid. Was looking at several designs early this morning, before reading your article.
Took a long ride as a little kid, in the back seat of a four-door Royal Monaco, in the summer of 1978. From Ottawa to past Toronto. Heard Baker Street by Gerry Rafferty too many times on AM Top 40 radio. Was one of the most peaceful and isolated car rides, I ever enjoyed.
It was common practice for decades here in Southeastern Ontario, to place several bags of sand in pickup truck beds, before late November. It helped some. Chains and studs were banned by the early ’70s.
As a young kid, I was bicycling with my best friend in the middle of nowhere, when I came across my first A-frame home. I loved it. Road was gravel back then, but the house design is basically the same, as then.
https://www.google.com/maps/@44.7482743,-76.2932525,3a,37.5y,56.68h,86.43t/data=!3m7!1e1!3m5!1sUG_1dO4v1mn0jDH9NbLm_w!2e0!5s20120701T000000!7i13312!8i6656?authuser=0&entry=ttu
Owning a 2WD truck where it snows is a PITA. Having passed my personal era of “bargain” vehicles a few years ago, I can’t say I miss the adventures. My wife sure does not.
Love the stories. One theme I’ve noticed in the pictures. It seems it was perpetually winter when you were growing up, just judging by the family photos.
Excellent raconteur! I happen to like the 1974 to 1976 full-size Dodge cars for their comfort. Most of them in the New York area were ordered with the 360 V8. It made a difference.
Life in snow country before near-universal 4WD; well, probably in that part of the world, it is likely very close to 100% now?
I was amazed at how well my Corvair did in the snow; I surprised a few other folks too, on an unplowed road where only a couple of snowmobiles were on it. But its low ground clearance could be a problem.
Not a surprise that the Fiat was much better in the snow than those rwd trucks. With snow tires, that thing was a beast in the snow. Plus, if you did get it stuck, it didn’t take much to extract it. As long as one doesn’t need to haul more than yourself or a couple of people, it would be the thing to have in any winter where eventually the roads are plowed.
We used to weigh the trucks down with a couple 1/2 tractor tire inner tubes made into big non-sliding sandbags. I still like a small front drive for snow and ice more than my 4X4. I rarely see a 2WD truck now. Studs are still legal here and I make use of them.
I would of course rock that Royal Monaco now that I am old and enlightened!
So much here. Your father’s Monaco was proof of how much Chrysler could screw up by the mid 1970s. At least yours was a 76 and not a 77, so you avoided the dreaded Lean Burn.
You lend credence to a brother-in-law’s longtime belief that a Ford 3/4 ton truck and a GM 3/4 ton truck were two very different things when it came to carrying weight. The long bed stepside was never very common.
All of the US pickups were available with a number of different spring specs, even withing their general classification (C10, C20, etc.) My owners manual for my ’66 F100 has at least four spring/tire combos, for various GVWs; and the F250 has five, IIRC. These 1/2 and 3/4 and 1 ton “ratings” did not reflect their actual capacities, which were strictly dependent on the specific spring/wheel/tire combination. There was quite a spread available, and a high weight rated 3/4 ton rode very substantially harder then a low or standard one. This was across all brands.
At the first tv station I worked at, the engineers bought a new Chevy C30 4×4 pickup with the max capacity springs, in order to haul up a large and very heavy load of distilled water bottles up a long and steep gravel and dirt road to the transmitter. It was absolutely unbearable to drive empty.
These 1/2, 3/4 and one ton weight classifications were in reality just common marketing nomenclature; their actual carrying capacities varied considerably depending on the springs, wheels and tires specified.
My ’66 F100 owners manual even shows a 17″ wheel/tire combination available on the F100, to increase ground clearance.
A good story well told .
Parents, some are a PIA, others less so .
At least you were able to bond with your father, that’s a great thing, I missed with mine but bonded well with my son .
Snow ~ ugh I don’t miss it one bit , I left snow country about the time I began driving legally .
Those “Peg leg” rear ends were well named, in farming country those who had $ were always looking for wrecked rigs with a locker or limited slip rear end to swap in, didn’t really care about the ratio as long as it drove both wheels when the going got slippery, this was often year ’round .
Way back when (1978 IIRC) a close friend in Mass. bought a ’76 (?) Dodge Royal Monaco cop car and loved it ~ never had a bit of troubles out of it .
? Did / does anyone ever use the park brake lightly to force both rear wheels to move when stuck in snow ? .
-Nate
I have a real love hate relationship with snow and sometimes with my dad as well though in both cases the love part really outweighs the hate.
I remember tractors with a fiddle brake where you could apply a brake to one side only. I have tried the dragging a brake trick with a rear wheel drive as really that’s essentially what my newer cars do with their fancy traction control do with varying results. How we went so long without pushbutton lockers boggles me.
I think that was the issue with Chrysler for a whlle, Get a good one and it was great. Even this one was OK. But the 1960s ones just seemed better/