When I was a teen, almost everyone I knew caught a case of “Fox Body Fever,” or FBF. While my first Fox car was a ‘79 Capri, I blame my initial case of FBF on the ‘82 Mustang GT. I was too enamored with pre-1973 cars to pay much attention upon its release. But, we all paid attention when Mike, one of my close high school friends, received one as a high school graduation present in 1985.
Ford said, “The Boss Is Back”! From first-hand experience, I agreed. / Hagerty
His car was black with a black vinyl interior, no A/C, no power options, and a rear-speaker-biased aftermarket stereo that blew the hair off the back of your scalp.
The stereo was of little interest to me. What was of interest was behind that square-jawed front end: Its 302 cu. in., or “Five-point-oh” V8, which in High Output (H.O.) trim delivered an earth shaking 157 (!) horsepower. Well, those horses must have been descendants of Seabiscuit. Saddled with a 356 CFM Motorcraft two-barrel carb and four-speed manual (essentially a three-speed with an overdrive fourth), this car was a mover by our 1985 standards, thanks to its light weight Fox platform and 240 lb.-ft. of torque.
One fringe member of our group naively exclaimed, “No cop can touch you!” after Mike took him for a ride around the block. Oh, how we roared with laughter in the Perkins parking lot over his reaction.
Graduation Day, June 1985. From left: Your author, Mike, Sean, John, and Mike’s ‘82 Mustang GT as the backdrop.
We dusted third-generation F-bodies; we dusted turbo Chryslers; we dusted Monte Carlo SSs; we probably dusted milk trucks and little kids on tricycles, too. Everywhere we went we burned rubber, accompanied by a most delicious exhaust soundtrack — a gutsy, visceral note that made all the right noises as the tach needle climbed, then crackled on the overrun as the tach wound down. A very different sound than the rumbly, resonant “blub-blub-blub-blub” of the new-for-‘82 GM F-bodies.
I could write a treatise on the ‘82 GT, but we’re here to take the Wayback Machine to March 1986 and my first Fox Body acquisition: a 1979 Mercury Capri. Technically, the Capri was my first car, but over the years, I’ve preferred to view it as “my dad’s car.”
Liking the Bling
My father liked the bling; he’d once had a ‘57 Turnpike Cruiser convertible (!) with cruiser skirts (!!). One day, as he took me to work (remember, only one car), we passed a red ‘79 Capri parked nose out with a “FOR SALE” sign. And my father was smitten baby, smitten! I, on the other hand, was lukewarm; the wheels alone said it was obviously not a 5.0L.
The Capri had these wheels. They don’t say “performance,” they say “Ghia,” as in “Mustang Ghia” shown here. / Hagerty
But, as the most car-centric member of my friend-circle, I was embarrassed to not have my own car. At this point, I would have taken a unicycle if I could have it all to myself.
This an ‘82 but similar to my ‘79 in appearance; mine had the same hood scoop as the 1979 Mustang Cobra. / StreetsideClassics.com
We gave it a closer look-see later, on the way back home. It looked a little forlorn in lightly chalky Bright Red, with the scooped hood and RS decals of the Mustang GT’s Mercury equivalent. And, that was all the “RS” it had. No 5.0 thunder here, nor any inline six or V6, either. Not even the 2.3L turbo four. Just the base 2.3L Lima OHC four cylinder, aptly nicknamed the “Shaker.” Delivering a (maybe when new) 88 hp and 118 lb.-ft. of torque, this bear’s porridge was most definitely too cold.
The red interior was saddled with giant houndstooth upholstery, the seating equivalent of a particularly loud pair of plaid pants I once tried to ruin.
Pattern is cruel enough in black. But red? Really? Who signed off on that? Steering wheel was good, though. / Facebook
Sigh, I sighed. But, its manual transmission and OEM sunroof were pluses. And, my father was smitten!
The 10-speed Bike Debacle
My father’s smitten-ness had multiple precedents. For example, in June 1976 we had a “family and friends” birthday party as I turned nine. I hoped for a 10-speed bike, and I got my 10-speed. But not just a regular 10-speed.
It was a Ross BICENTENNIAL ‘76 10-SPEED! Its numerous “BICENTENNIAL ‘76” decals, red/white/blue color scheme, and tri-colored seat with Liberty Bell knockouts said so. Utilizing a shorter, curved frame with 26-in. wheels, Ross called it a “compact.” From its corny (to me) color-coordinated theme to its “tweener” size, this selection had my father’s fingerprints all over it.
Ross’s Bicentennial models brochure. Even Ross was too chicken to print it in color. Black and white does not do it justice. / Facebook
I hated this bike the moment I saw it. It was a rolling pair of loud plaid pants to me.
However, having inadvertently spotted it in the basement earlier in the party, I was prepared to fake the “surprise-and-delight” response in front of our party guests.
I could not locate the boys model in color. Other than seat and handlebar wrap, it looks pretty tame today. But to me, in 1976, it was like riding a neon sign for Bozo the Clown. / Facebook
When my father was smitten, you risked his annoyance with you if you were not equally smitten. He’d always get over it, but sometimes being honest just wasn’t worth it. The 10-speed was one of those times. Years later, when I shared my dislike of the bike, he asked (in a mildly irritated tone) why I didn’t say anything then about not liking it.
”Because you’d get mad about it!!” my mother and I simultaneously exclaimed, which got him laughing pretty hard. Sounded like he knew the answer before he asked us.
My Very Own Car
We visited my Uncle John and Aunt Patty in Unadilla shortly after discovering this shit heap car. My father immediately gushed to my uncle about this great sporty red car we’d seen. Mentally, I rolled my eyes; it really wasn’t that great. Since our family credit ranged between terrible or non-existent, the only way I was buying this car was if my uncle co-signed for me, which he kindly did.
Unlike the 10-speed, this was a time I should have been honest. Instead, I bought (and financed) my first car for $1,400. What a value! Get your popcorn and read on.
Where to Begin
We spent a father-son day with polishing compound and wax to shape up the exterior. My father was good at making things look good — he liked the bling. And, that was the ownership “high” point of this car, folks.
My aunt and uncle soon visited, in part to see this car. My uncle peered under the hood of the Capri for about three seconds before he gestured to the corroded front frame rails, near the strut towers. “You need to keep an eye on those,” he told me.
Frame rail and strut tower rust is common on Fox body vehicles, particularly earlier models driven in climates where road salt is used. My Capri looked nothing like this. / Reddit
His tone also told me, Uh-oh. Maybe Uncle John should have looked at the car before we bought it. At 19, I was somewhat long on (car) book smarts but extremely short on hands-on car smarts. The body panels were clean; I never thought about corroded frame rails. Actually, I never thought about the car at all; it was a seven year-old Fox body Capri with a stick (good), OEM sunroof (good) and the spanky 2.3L engine (bad). It was my car whether I liked it or not.
A couple of my friends, and the father of one of them, did look it over before we bought it. No one mentioned the frame rails. I wanted a pre-purchase inspection at a garage. Conveniently, the seller had turned in the plates so the car was off the road. And, remember, smitten! My father is smitten! What a great car, so sporty and red, even. From here on, although neither we nor the Capri left western New York, the story goes very south.
Headed South . . . Towards Antarctica
Next, I took it to our trusted local garage for inspection . . . and Ska-Booom!!! The first bomb (one of many) detonated. My father arrived unexpectedly at my mall job looking quite concerned: The car won’t pass inspection due to the aforementioned frame rails. “We’ve got a real problem here,” he tells me. Smitten!man had suddenly run out of smitten. Unsure of our next step, I drove the car home from the garage.
My Capri’s frame rails were on their way to looking like this. / LMR.com
Arriving at Antarctica
Shortly after the inspection whiff, I got in the car to go to work. The gruff 2.3L four started, then stalled. And did it again, and again, and again. So, I gave it plenty of accelerator to rev it up. And . . . Ska-Booom!!! The timing belt broke. When the car was towed to our other trusted local garage (not where it failed inspection for the frame rails), we learned the true extent of the damage.
While the 2.3L is a non-interference engine, extra Ska-Booom!!! was revealed when the garage disassembled the engine’s top end. Chief among these was some seriously abnormal camshaft wear. Below is the closest image I could find to what the Capri’s cam wear looked like.
The 2.3L’s lobes were basically worn flat across one side, including the undamaged lobe edges shown here (I assume the pictured cam used roller tappets). All this bizarre wear sent shards of shredded metal merrily through the engine. / GrumpysPerformance.com
When I saw the cam, I couldn’t understand how the car had run at all since we’d owned it. One side of the intake lobes were so worn that the lobe peak was more of a point; the exhaust lobes weren’t much better. Suddenly, the former Smitten!man became Litigation!man — we were going to court!
I knew taking the seller to small claims court was a waste of time. Even in 1986, New York law was clear about private party used car sales. That’s what pre-purchase inspections are for. But Smitten!man saw no need, because red and sporty, sunroof, stick shift, etc.
So far, vehicle ownership was an aggravating and expensive affair. I had no car per se, but had a car payment ($79 and change monthly) and an upcoming (big) repair bill. Before this Freedom-to-FUBAR Failure flyer, I also had no car, but also no car payment and no looming repair bill.
I have no idea what the garage did to get it running again. A new cam and timing belt were obviously needed; probably tappets and valve springs, possibly some minor head work and a valve replacement. Atypically, I wasn’t interested; just call when it was ready.
The Ford Lima OHC four-cylinder: 2.3 liters of “meh” in my case. / ClassicCars.com
The repair cost a hefty $600 in 1986. This was a storm for a family in the middle of a sea of bad times. My mother was on disability for a repetitive motion injury that rendered her right hand essentially useless. She had just received a paltry Workers Compensation settlement. My father was still unemployed. My mother wanted to use some of her settlement money to pay for the repair. I was not happy about it but had no other option.
By the end of May 1986, I was back on the road, sort of. I used the car only to go to work and school; the rest of the time, I drove the big green LeSabre. I never really trusted the Capri. That distrust was well-founded, as you’ll see.
Ownership Highlights From The Hall of Shame
Other memorable gems endured while owning the Capri included:
Door Hinge Hell
The holes in the top hinge of the driver’s door, where the pin went through, somehow became elongated before my ownership. One day, when I opened the door, the hinge gave up, leaving the door supported by only the bottom hinge. As in the LeSabre, I locked the driver’s door and crawled over from the passenger side, taking extra care around the gearshift to avoid any spontaneous prostate exams. These acrobatics went on for a year, until I got rid of the car.
Carburetor Conundrum
While the garage “fixed” the cam/timing belt issue, the carburetor was tired. With no new carb budget, the “fix” was setting the idle speed to 1,100 RPM to prevent stalling. However, the longer the excursion, the higher the “idle” RPM mysteriously climbed; I was usually at about 1,700 RPM by the time I made it home from work or school. An entertaining benefit of this was frequent “dieseling” after shut off. Once, it concluded its dieseling convulsions with a Ska-Booom!!! backfire that startled me and must have awakened the whole street.
Radiator Revolt
Well, radiators do fail over time. That’s not something to really squawk about, just another thing to fix. I replaced it myself.
Clutch Collapse
While driving one day, I noticed that any substantive gas pedal application (relatively speaking) sent the RPM higher with no corresponding increase in road speed. When I got dusted by a ‘70s Beetle (the shame!) on Townline Road, I knew the clutch was really slipping. We returned to AAMCO, where my father’s former co-worker was the manager, and he took care of it.
Oil Orgy
After driving it for six months post-“fix” I took the car for an oil change. The garage called and told my father that the car was really low on oil (like three quarts low) when I brought it in. This discovery earned me a bitch out from my father, as if I’d gone 11,000 miles without checking the oil. I was pretty sure I had checked it a week or two after I got the car back. But, considering my father’s legendary rep for NEVER checking or changing the oil, I didn’t want to hear it. Especially because over the preceding six months, I had only traveled 1,900 miles. Approximately 74 miles a week of travel for school and work.
So, I replied with, “Obviously I haven’t checked it lately. But, I barely drive it anywhere. It’s not leaking out. Where the hell did three quarts of oil go in 1,900 miles?” My guess was right out the exhaust and into the catalytic converter, which then ate it, thereby destroying any visible evidence. Afterward, I regularly checked it and added if needed.
Frame Rail Freedom Fight
Part of the right frame rail, with an attached sway bar bushing bracket underneath it, broke free and rode the bracket down the sway bar towards the engine fan. On every right turn, the frame rail hit the fan, producing a “clang-ka-clanga-langa-kang” racket.
I asked a welder in East Rochester about tacking it back up. “Sixty dollars,” he croaked after he looked under the hood.
Sixty dollars? I thought. Jesus. But it needed to be done.
When I returned, he had welded in multiple pieces of what looked like 3/8” or 1/4” steel plate to span the compromised areas on left and right frame rails, and connected the still sound areas together. He’d done way more work than I expected.
“How much do I owe you?” I asked.
”Sixty dollars,” he replied, as if I had listening comprehension issues. The car was now quieter, tighter, and just felt more substantial.
Fox body frame rail repair kits are available from multiple vendors. This speaks to the enduring popularity of these cars . . . and the prevalence of rusty frame rails. / LMR.com
Departed Door
In nine months, we’d spent about $1,200 in repairs on top of the $1,400 purchase price. And the headlights still went out intermittently. And the driver’s door hinge was still broken. And I still had no heat. This car needed to go away. No way was I selling this as a used car to anybody. It needed to die in a salvage yard, like Christine the ‘58 Fury.
If I had my way . . . crushed and cubed, like Christine. / ForwardLook.net
In June 1987, a salvage yard offered me $600 for the car. Luckily, our family financial outlook had improved substantially in 1987, presenting an opportunity to unload the Capri. Shortly after the salvage yard’s offer, I broke off the driver’s side mirror backing out of the garage. Anxious to preserve my salvage yard deal, my friend Sean and I drove one hot, humid day to another salvage yard to buy a replacement mirror.
So much work for a stupid mirror, but I was taking no chances on missing out on that $600. / eBay
We got the mirror, then stood sweating in the yard lot and pondered how to attach it. The driver’s side door only had one working hinge. We tried installing it with the door closed. No luck. So, we opened the door a little. Sean held the door up; I tried to put the mirror on. No luck. We swapped—Sean tried to put the mirror on; I held the door. No luck. We wrestled with installing this stupid mirror in the sweltering sun.
Then, suddenly the bottom hinge failed, leaving the door free to roam. Or lay on the ground. At the same time, the yard guy who sold us the mirror walked up.
“Yep, that’s one way to put that mirror on, just take the door off,” he said as he passed by.
As I stared at the door, I got a plan. A plan born of anger, but still a plan. First, I picked up the door and tried to sort of press it into place. No luck. Next, I picked up the door, ran directly at the driver’s door opening, and slammed that door into the opening like a tackling sled. It mostly caught but was not 100% secure on the hinge side. I backed off slightly and, as hard as I could, hit the door again. Success! The top hinge must have wrapped around something, maybe the pin. With the door “secure” at both ends and locked, we returned home.
I like to picture the Capri sitting in the former Victor Auto Parts log, looking like this. / Teitsworth.com
I took the car to the salvage yard the next day and, title and lien release in hand, got that $600. Then I kissed that SOBin’ car goodbye. And yes, we did put the mirror on before I slammed the door back on the car.
What’s Next
With the Capri in the automotive graveyard where it belonged, I looked forward to my next vehicle. Things were finally looking up for us, and it was about damned time. While my first Fox foray was a bust, I had a different type of car in mind for the next car; this one would be purchased my way. At this point, I could only go up. Stay tuned to find out more.
Related CC reading:
Curbside Classic: 1980 Mercury Capri RS – The Fox Mustang’s Alter Ego
1981 Mercury Capri “Two Door Sedan” – No Wonder It Never Took Off
Your initial assessment was right. You got bullied into that car. I didn’t get into your situation because my father didn’t help me at all. He did buy my younger brother several cars. One was 66 Ford Galaxie with a nice pretty blue paint job. Underneath was a pile of rust. The power convertible top didn’t work consistently. The steering was just a suggestion. My brother lent it to his girlfriend and she totalled it. Best thing that ever happened to that car. My brother got pressured into another junker by my father. And another and another. He had three cars in the driveway and none worked. Conversely, I saved and bought my own car. My father’s solution was that I should share my car with my brother, with no financial remuneration. And he thought it was reasonable that I pay for the gas. Can you tell who the favorite son was? He was great at sports and almost failed out of college. I got almost straight A’s but couldn’t play sports. So I was the disappointment.
Great CC! I enjoyed the story, the HS photo, complete with “the car” in the background, the 80s shorts, and the beers in hand.
I was also 302-four-speed Fox Mustang fan, though I did not use the “Fox” name then. At 18 in 1983, I managed to convince a car salesman my father would be getting a car if my report card was good enough (it was not, and my father was not getting me a Mustang or any car, in any case), and I got a chance to drive a Capri RS V8-manual. Up to that time, it was one of the most glorious drives of my life.
In 1985, I did get a Fox body! A four-speed too!. But unlike Chris, it was not a Mustang. No, my dad gave me the “tin can”, our family car, a Fairmont 4-cyl, 4-speed, which I kept for about 18 months, and put around 15k miles. As I read the above, what my car lacked in power, it made up for in reliability. The issues I had with under my ownership, the original exhaust rotted and separated from the muffler (I was able to crawl and use a coat hanger to align the pipe with the muffler), and later, a stuck front brake piston… Even before, it was not bad for a Detroit vehicle–the engine ran poorly when cold, sometimes, the car went through a clutch, and the water pump leaked and was replaced. Numerous paint flaws when new, and the rear axle had to be replaced under warranty because… the wheels could not be removed…Good thing we did not get a flat. But the car never left us stranded, and transported us, and later me, reasonably efficiently across a good chunk of the Eastern US.
I had an early Fox Capri rental once, with the straight six. It was not memorable, in either a good or bad way. At least this red car gave you plenty of memories, even if it took a few decades to appreciate them. Good stories, thanks for posting.
This was tremendous. And that Capri does indeed sound like an absolute pile.
The bike story reminds me of my father buying a bike for me (and my sister). He had obviously picked them out as they were matching his/her bikes from Sears, both three-speeds and as heavy as your Capri. With my father’s infatuation with anything having three manually chosen gears, those bikes had him written all over the place. I, too, didn’t like it as I did not want such a bike and who wants to have a matching bike with their sister? He may have comprehended my memo as neither of us ever rode those bikes.
Please keep these coming.
And I thought I’d owned troublesome cars. I took to calling one of them “the Antichrist.”
And here I thought my new ’76 CHUVETTE was bad, it was, but nothing like your Foxy Capri. I do hope your next car RAN! 🙂 DFO
Yikes, sadly this is very typical of first vehicles, sorry you got bit so hard .
-Nate
My sympathy for your teen years is growing by the chapter. Relieved to know things apparently got a bit better. We shall see…
Never had a Capri – but I do have a similar bicycle story.
My dad liked to go to auctions and find bargains. One of those bargains was a kids bicycle that he bought for my son. My family visited the parents over Thanksgiving in Wisconsin and my dad proudly presented the bicycle.
It had 2 flat tires, 2 bent wheels, the brake cables were broken, the seat torn, no chain, worn sprockets and a thick coat of rust that made the bike look like it had spent the past 2 years in a salt water bath.
As I looked at the bike, my dad was telling me a great mechanic like me (an erroneous belief only a non-mechanical person would hold) would have no problem fixing the bike up in time for it to be a Christmas present to his grandson. Talk about being smitten with a bargain. My dad had many good qualities, but he was always smitten with the idea of saving money – no matter what it cost.
Great. I had to cram that turd of a bike on top of all our luggage and carry it back to Arkansas. The trunk on our Eagle Premier wouldn’t close, so I strapped it down. Unfortunately for our luggage and clothes, we hit a rainstorm in Missouri. The luggage was coated with road spray and everything inside thoroughly soaked. Luckily it could not make the bike any worse than it already was.
I took the bike to our shop at work and got the frame bead blasted. Multiple trips to local bike shops got me replacement components. On Christmas morning, my son was absolutely thrilled with Grandpa’s present. Even I thought it was probably worth it.
A few days later we were shopping at Walmart (where else would you go in Arkansas) and the boys ran off to the toy section. My son returned all excited. He had found a bike just like his and wanted me to see it. There it was – retailing for all of $49.95.
I was a bit less excited than my son. I figured I had spent about $75 in parts, had to throw out 2 suitcases my wife said were no longer usable and put in about 10 hours of my time into fixing up that old bicycle.
Today a favorite memory of my son is the Christmas his Grandpa gave him this splendid new bicycle. As he tells the story to his own kids, I sometimes dream of pulling the same stunt with him. Luckily sanity returns before I can act. Unless he somehow reads this and recognizes the story, I’ll let him keep this happy memory of his Grandfather.
During our early years as car guys, we usually let our enthusiasm run far ahead of practicality and common sense. Of course, at this stage of our lives, we usually don’t have much, if any, actual life experiences to draw upon. Usually we have adults, mostly our Dads, available to put the brakes on our impulses. However in your case, it seems that your Dad wasn’t one to be deterred by practicality and common sense!
Despite that you had some memorable, if not pleasant experiences, and learned some important lessons.
This was a very entertaining read and I could definitely feel your pain. Looking forward to reading further episodes.
Quite the story! I never had a junker; my first car was new, but my experience with it was hardly rosy.
I had saved up about $1,000 for a first car in 1975, which I thought would be enough for a 3-4 year old Olds Cutlass or equivalent. Unfortunately like rust, inflation never sleeps, and a grand was no longer sufficient. I recall a ’68 Plymouth Valiant being advertised for $800 in the classifieds and didn’t want something that old (and prosaic).
So I asked my mother if she could loan me another grand for my desired Cutlass. She emphatically didn’t want me to buy a used car (someone else’s problems and all that) and offered up enough to buy a new one! My choice was a VW Rabbit, which turned out to be a reliability disaster. No doubt that Cutlass would have been a better choice as it turned out.
I had a couple of friends who just couldn’t seem to buy a car that wasn’t a basket case. One of them bought the first Fox body I ever sat in, a ’80 Mustang with the 2.8 V6. It was maroon with a white stripe, dealer added, I suppose, it sure wasn’t factory. This was in 1984, I was 28, he was 23 and had never owned any car before, and he knew absolutely nothing about them, not even how to check the oil. He never had the car looked at before he bought it from some guy who had it parked in his driveway front end out with a huge FOR SALE, and a phone number, in white shoe polish, on the windshield. So my friend shows up with the car at my house a few days after buying it, and he wants me to look it over and to show him how to check the oil(Couldn’t his dad have shown him?), and to put on some new wiper blades, the originals (I’m pretty sure) were totally rotted out. If only the other rotted out stuff on that could have been fixed so easily. We put the wiper blades on and opened the hood up to check the oil. OK, the oil was clean, which gave me a little hope, but even from the top, the rot of the frame rails could be seen. I called a friend who worked at a nearby garage and we took it over to check out how bad it was in better light. It was reallly bad. Like if Ohio had inspections, instant fail. It was going to have to be fixed, soon, or it wouldn’t be drivable at all, let alone safe to drive. He took it to a neighbor of his body shop, and the neighbor, who knew him from birth, yelled at him, “WTF didn’t you bring it here to have me look it over before you bought it? You idiot!”. I don’t know how much the neighbor charged him to do the repairs, but the car was gone for a couple of weeks, and came back looking great. They had replaced most of the front end of the car with what appeared to be new parts, and the frame rails looked much stronger than they even originally did. At least the car was safe to drive, but it wasn’t running for long before the transmission took a dive, the radiator cracked, alternator bearing started screaming (It had a recently replaced rebuilt one on it when he got it, and they often had bearings that were or soon would fail at that time). And of course, the A/C compressor failed. He and I did the radiator and alternator replacements, but the other stuff was a never ending “Mustang’s in the shop for_____”, but he just couldn’t seem to want to let it go. He actually bought some other Ford full sized car, it was mint green with a wooden rear bumper, as a back up car for $50. It was like an anvil and he had it over 3 years and only put a battery in it. His girlfriend, now his longtime wife, put the Mustang “to sleep” when she made a bad lane change into the side of a flat bed drywall delivery truck. She bounced off the truck, went into one the guardrail, and spun into a Lincoln MK IV. End of Mustang, and for a while, end of bad cars for my friend, but later on, he would get back into the bad car game, and “win” at it.