Checker in High Ghia

A few years ago at Beaulieu Autojumble, I bought some interesting photos. Filed in a folder labeled "Checker" and stamped on the back as Ghia publicity pix, they showed four views of a very un-Checkerlike car. There was no nameplate visible, but a small checkered emblem on the grille exhibited a small section of the characteristic checkerboard pattern seen on many of Checker's operating cabs.

The conventional wisdom at the time was that it was a design study for a stillborn new-generation Checker cab. In fact, the car, bodied by Ghia, had been described as a Checker in several publications at the time of its 1968 appearance at the Paris Auto Salon. Most writers were uncomplimentary about its looks.

It turned up again at the 1969 New York Auto Show, this time described as the Ghia Centurion. It was exhibited by Rowan Industries (page 2) (page 3) of Oceanport, New Jersey, manufacturers of electrical equipment and, at one point, a small electric car also styled by Ghia. The Centurion's journey to New York was a bit convoluted.

In 1967, designer Tom Tjaarda was working for Giorgetto Giugiaro at Ital Styling, forerunner to Ital Design. Tjaarda, son of Dutch-born designer John Tjaarda, whose Sterkenberg designs were the inspiration for the original Lincoln-Zephyr, had been with Pininfarina before joining Giugiaro. His first project at Ital was drawings for the aforementioned Checker. Shortly thereafter, Tjaarda was summoned to Ghia to speak with its then-owner, Alejandro de Tomaso. He ended up being offered a job, and was assigned to the prototype model for the Checker project.

It seems the order had come in through de Tomaso's brother-in-law, an American named Amory Haskell, head of Rowan Industries. The exact nature of the original commission has never become clear. Some in the Checker enthusiast community insist it was ordered by a Middle-Eastern sheik. Others think it was Ghia's attempt to independently enter the limousine market after cancellation of the Ghia-built Imperial limos of 1957-1965. Still others believe it was Checker who coveted the limo trade. In any case, after appearing at the '69 New York show, the car remained unsold, and was not claimed by Checker. It was subsequently used by a Rowan official named John Corson Ellis at his home in Florida.

Ellis finally traded the car for some land in Washington State. Not long afterwards, he died in a plane crash, along with fellow passenger Haskell. The new owner registered the car, using its original manufacturer's certificate of origin, and drove it for a short time. By the mid-1970s, it had been relegated to storage under a tarpaulin, where it was discovered by a meter reader, who recognized it as an unusual vehicle and thought it might fetch an astronomical price on the collector market.

Unfortunately, the ensuing years had not been kind to it. Three coats of paint were beginning to chip off, and the interior, ravaged by northwestern dampness creeping past deteriorated door seals, was in an advanced state of decay.

Steve Contarino of Haverhill, Massachusetts, bought the Ghia Centurion in January 2006 and commenced a total restoration, undertaken by Martel's Classic Carriages of Fitchburg. Completed in the summer of 2007, it now sports its original color of Cobalt Blue and an interior faithfully re-created in broadcloth to the correct pattern. It rides a Checker A-12 chassis, with 327 cid small block Chevy power and a Powerglide transmission. Unusually, and this was part of the original commission, it has "suicide" rear door on the left and a conventional forward-swinging door on the right - the rationale for this remains a mystery. It has aft-facing jump seats in the rear compartment, and a liquor cabinet with fine crystal decanter. The instrument panel has metric gauges, which suggests it was not intended for use in the U.S.

Some ask "If this was really a prototype, why did it never reach production?" The naysayers cite its unattractiveness, echoing the pundits of 1968-69. Perhaps, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder. To my eye the Centurion is a good deal more attractive than Checker's standard A-12.

The Tall Taurus

There's a new Taurus at your local Ford store. You may have noticed, however, that it's pretty much the same as the car Formerly Known as Five Hundred. Depending on whom you believe, the new Taurus has been improved in 300 or 500 ways from the old Five Hundred, itself based on the architecture of the Volvo S80, but the most noticeable difference is a new grille derived from the 1948 F1 pickup.

Apparently Alan Mulally, Ford's new boss, is down on alliteration (Ford Focus, Fusion, Five Hundred...), but thinks heritage names like Taurus and heritage hallmarks like the grille will improve the company's fortunes. Indeed, Taurus was a trendsetter when introduced for 1986. With smooth styling that made competitors Chevrolet Celebrity and Plymouth Caravelle look dowdy, it sold well from the start, by 1987 outselling the comparable Celeb models (Caravelle was off the low end of the chart). A sibling Mercury Sable presented a slightly more exotic outlook with full-width light bar in front and a modest hemline at rear. Station wagons accompanied both cars' sedan models.

For 1992, both Taurus and Sable were given a new, slightly crisper, skin. This second generation Taurus, built through 1996, was the best-selling single model in the US auto industry. An SHO performance version, with Yamaha-tuned 220-bhp V6, was introduced for 1989, available only with 5-speed transmission, which limited sales. The second-gen SHO finally made an automatic optional in 1993, and sales doubled.

Hoping to recreate the buzz that accompanied the first Taurus, Ford pushed the enveloped with the third generation, rolled out for 1996. Unfortunately, the car displayed an obsession with ovals, both front and rear, and in the wagon nearly absurd. Apparently evoking the oval corporate logo, this icon pervaded the entire line, showing up in unlikely places like Escort dashboards. Thankfully the Sable eschewed the oval backlight, and sales did hold at 1995 levels, but the hoped-for surge never arrived. A fourth-gen for 2000 brought a nose- and tail-job to both Taurus and Sable. The magic, however, was gone, and Asian manufacturers had long since run away with the market segment. Whereas in 1986 only the Honda Accord directly competed with Taurus, today every Japanese and Korean manufacturer has a contender and the rather bland Toyota Camry is the best selling passenger car in the United States.

Some blame the Five Hundred's tall stance for disappointing sales, though its owners, and those of the matching Mercury Montego, praise the driver visibility it provides. Henry J. Kaiser is said to have quipped that his star-crossed cars would have sold like hotcakes if they'd had a Buick badge. Whether retreading old names (the Montego has been redesignated "Sable") can resuscitate Ford's fortunes remains to be seen. So far it's not encouraging: September sales of the new Taurus were 30 percent behind those of last year's Five Hundred. If names controlled sales, wouldn't Oldsmobile still be alive and well and selling Cutlass Supremes?

Hershey Treasures

We go to Hershey in search of treasures, and some of us find them. This year, Joris, popular proprietor of PreWarCar.com, the intriguing website dedicated to pre-1940 cars and their knowledge, found a treasure of his own: a 1918 Canadian-built Model T roadster. Complete and running, albeit with burlap upholstery, Joris's new car will make him the envy of all his fellow Dutchmen.

If you didn't fancy a Model T there were plenty of other interesting cars available: a '58 Ford Courier sedan delivery, a Lincoln Town Car pickup, a Mercury panel truck or a Ford dodgem car (for $5,250). You could buy lenses, carburetors, a 1947 Ford truck heater or a rim for your artillery wheels. Although Thursday started wet with ominous skies, on Friday things were brighter and on Saturday positively delightful.

Saturday's car show is one of my weekend favorites. Unusual entries this year included a 1908 Alco, Jordan Speedboy, a Thorne Gas-Electric, and a Brewster Ford without a heart-shaped grille. I had never before seen a White Jesus, but was familiar with the one-off 1935 White sedan built for an influential company stockholder. The age limit for cars keeps creeping forward, so recent models like the Lincoln Versailles, a Ford Granada with a bustle, are starting to appear. Unless you grew up in California you may never have ridden a Crown Coach school bus, with underfloor diesel engine. And of course there were '57 Chevys as far as the eye could see. All of them came under the steely eyes of discriminating judges. I took lots and lots of pictures.

I was struck by things that appeared in pairs: South Wind heaters, '39 Chevy station wagons, Hemmings' Japanese twins (which were neither sporty nor exotic) and separated-at-birth 1937 LaSalle and Cadillac.

Talk of the meet was Friday's RM auction, where an unrestored 1911 Oldsmobile Limited made Duesenberg money at $1,650,000 (including buyer's premium) and all early cars soared beyond estimates. Actually there was at least one bargain at the sale; a '72 Chrysler Town & Country wagon sold for just $550.

By Saturday afternoon, cars were lining up to be loaded for transport to their new owners. The sad state of the US dollar meant that many of them were headed overseas.

Many applaud the paving of Hershey for putting an end to mud. Perhaps, but as a country boy I can't get used to trudging the miles of tarmac, or the floodlights that burn all night. It's like camping at Wal-Mart.

Spridgets

The years 1963 to '68 are what I call my "sports car period." That interval of youth might, for reasons I'm about to impart, also be called the "Spridget years." During the winter of 1964-65, my younger sister bought a well-used Austin-Healey Sprite. One of first to reach our shores in 1959, the Sprite had belonged to a family friend who, in the process of logging about 100,000 miles, had spun a bearing. The car ran, and we drove it home, but required a complete engine overhaul (note I don't say "rebuild" - it wanted rebuilding, but an overhaul was the best two kids could do in a weatherbeaten barn). She paid $75 for the car, and I've never doubted she got her money's worth.

The Sprite was Donald Healey's encore to the Austin-Healey, a marque we'll explore more fully in the future. In contrast to the "Big Healey," the Sprite was an entry-level sports car, retailing for $1,795 in the US. A bit basic, it lacked any external access to the "boot" and was short on weather protection. Powered by a twin-carburetor 948 cc version of the venerable A-series British Motor Corporation engine, developed for the 1951 Austin A30, it was built on a monocoque chassis with independent coil front suspension and quarter elliptics at the rear. The Brits named it "frog eye" for its bulging headlights, sometimes known as "bug eye" abroad. The whole front clip served as the car's hood or bonnet.

In 1961, BMC came out with a MkII version of the Sprite. Less endearing, having lost its frog eyes, the MkII was more practical with an opening boot, sliding plexiglass side curtains and close-ratio transmission. Coveting the fun of my sister's Sprite, I bought a used MkII in the summer of 1966. It was my only car for about 15 months, by which time I had also acquired a boat. Since the Sprite wouldn't tow the boat and since I was becoming paranoid from the lack of respect shown by drivers to a small black sports car, I overreacted and bought a Cadillac. With sanity restored, I replaced both the Caddy and the Sprite with a new Volvo the following spring.

BMC followed the MkII Sprite with an MG Midget version, reprising a prewar name with sporting heritage. The Midget had a full rear bumper, soon adopted for the Sprite, a unique grille and the same plastic sidecurtains. In 1968, a MkIII Sprite brought roll-up windows and was accompanied by a similar MkII Midget - thus the nickname "Spridget." BMC had become British Leyland and their contract with Healey ended in 1969, so the last models were called simply "Austin Sprite." The Midget continued into 1979, by which time it had rubber bumpers, headrests,a one-person top, "safety switch" dashboard and a Triumph engine.

Although its time with me was brief, my Spridget was faithful. Amazingly, even Joseph Lucas behaved himself, whether in sunshine or in the pouring rain. It was, without a doubt, the most fun of all my cars and, by my calculation, cost the least to own.

Car with a Conscience

Today we instinctively think "green" at the words "car with a conscience," something like a Toyota Prius hybrid or one of GM's much-ballyhooed Flex Fuel vehicles. In 1911, the car with a conscience was the Oakland, a thoroughly conventional four-cylinder gasoline car, part of Billy Durant's new General Motors empire. Oakland explained to its employees that each car should have a "good, clean 'Mechanical Conscience'," and that they should bring it about by doing their very best at all times.

Oakland introduced a six in 1913, along with a vee-shaped German Silver radiator. In 1914, it offered five models, the Six-Sixty and Six-Forty-Eight, along with three four cylinder cars, Models Forty-Three, Thirty-Six and Thirty-Five. Interestingly, the sixes had left-hand drive while the fours were right-hand driven. By 1916, sales had risen to some 30,000, at prices from $795 to $1,585, between Buick and the new Chevrolet.

In 1918, to concentrate on quality, a single-model policy was adopted, with six-cylinder cars built on a 112-inch wheelbase. Significant changes were made in 1924: a new L-head six, automatic spark advance and DuPont's new Duco nitrocellulose lacquer in a shade called "True Blue." The biggest news concerned four-wheel brakes, which the company demonstrated by having a new, four-wheel-brake car supply all the stopping for itself plus a 1923 two-wheel-brake car in hilly San Francisco.

Body styles included a touring car, roadster, coupe and sedan, priced from $1,095 to $1,645. Sales rose to nearly 57,000 by 1926 and stayed above 40,000 through 1927 and 1928, the year of the All American Six." In 1929, however, Oakland sales sank by nearly half. The problem was Pontiac, Oakland's lower-priced "companion car," launched in 1926. Pontiac, a six, had sold like gangbusters from the outset and moved nearly 200,000 cars in 1929. Management tried to give Oakland its own niche, with exclusive V8 power in 1930 and '31, at a reduced price, just above Pontiac's. It didn't help; sales continued to slide.

In 1930, Pontiac, while suffering in the deepening depression, still cranked out three times as many cars as Oakland. For 1931, Pontiac differed from Oakland only in wheelbase and engine. In 1932, the remaining V8s were badged as Pontiacs and Oakland became a memory. By 1934, Pontiac had a new straight eight that set the pattern for the next two decades, along with sixes that returned the following year. By 1937, sales had risen above 200,000 and Oakland, the Car with a Conscience, had all but disappeared from everyone's consciousness. Pontiac had become not only the most successful "companion make" but also the only one to kill off its parent.