In the current American automotive scene, many of you are too young and rascally to be able to look back far enough to know what things were really like in say, 1960. The Musclecar era is hyped today to the point where one tends to think that most people drove around in such cars. They didn't. You might also think that they were faster than most performance cars produced today. They weren't. Then perhaps the bulk of cars produced were crude hulks merely waiting for the junkheap? Nope.
The generic spread of vehicle niches was somewhat similar, ranging from economical people-movers to carefully marketed examples of wretched excess. The same subconscious ploys used today to get you to identify with a car model and overbuy were popular then. Over the years though, the difference is that the average new car, niche for niche, has become vastly better equipped, safer, faster, more economical, and more reliable than anything made in 1960. I should hope so. In the same way, cars produced in 1960 were absolute marvels compared to those built in 1910, too.
But along with the cars, the environment they operate in has changed, too. In 1910, the vast majority of roads were little more than rutted wagon paths. Only cities and prosperous towns had paving of any sort, usually brick. Skinny tires worked to cut down through the mud to try to get grip on the firm undersurface, making generous ground clearance essential. Most cars were serviced and maintained by either their owners or by local general mechanics or blacksmiths, so Rube Goldberg-style mechanical complexity was death. A 1960 automobile would quickly be abandoned in the muddy ruts on 1910 roads.
One environmental difference that the automobile made was that, unlike horse-drawn wagons, they caused a rapid deterioration of the road surface. If you can find a segment of gravel road to drive on today, you'll notice that within a couple weeks after smooth grading, the road turns to a rippling washboard. That's because of automobile traffic. So the effect of the early automobile was to force a methodical paving of major roadways over the years. Better roads made the purchase and use of cars more attractive, and in time, the multi-lane highway was born, slicing through neighborhoods in order to allow people to live far away from where they worked.
Sidenote here: What we now call the Highway Infrastructure was largely built with Federal funds. You can note that the cost for later maintenance was never federalized. That's a local responsibility, mostly State. So if you're wondering who's going to repair that potholed atrocity you have to drive on every day, it's your local and state governments. You know, the ones who admit they never budgeted for that. In Illinois at least, that's not exactly true. It is budgeted – legislators just spend that money on unrelated items. It's just like creating the state lottery, promising that profits will go to education. Nuh-uh.
President Eisenhower's big push to lay down interstate highways as a 1950's national security issue succeeded, enabling much faster transport of goods across the country via truck, and decreasing deaths and maiming from cars passing each other (badly) on two-lane highways. The interstates were engineered to the goal that any idiot could travel safely from end to end at 80 MPH. The actual limit implemented turned out to be 70 MPH, and if I remember correctly, a mix of 75 MPH and no limit in Nevada. Even mundane cars of the time were easily up to the task – 80 MPH was no stretch even with soft suspensions and brakes of the period – because they were only marginally needed. Big power was unnecessary since the only need for acceleration was on the long entrance ramp. Assuming that the car was in good repair, the main limitations became the heat resistance of tires, and the nut behind the wheel. The typical attitude of cars traveling at 70 MPH was nose-up. Airflow usually lifted the front of the car, and the effect was exaggerated when it was loaded with people and a trunk full of vacation gear. Just as pure opinion, a big percentage of 1955-1960 cars were fully able to safely cover the interstates at 100 MPH. It wasn't unusual to drive at 85, that speed being chosen to have half a chance of avoiding a speeding ticket from a marauding patrolman.
Police cars equipped to cash in on this speed potential typically had the largest engines available in their highest output form. Outfitted with an additional speedometer in the form of a calibrated 140 MPH Stewart Warner speed recorder, they represented the fastest iron available. From the beginning right up to the early sixties, the way to get the fastest production car available was to get the largest one. They offered the biggest engines and the most power, enough to overcome the additional weight penalty.
Cornering ability was not much needed nor appreciated then by the general public. A smooth ride on bumpy roads was much more in demand. After all, corners were just sporadic 90-degree limitations that merely served to connect long straightaways where you could let out the throttle. I have to say, while the ability of a car to accelerate was appreciated by many drivers then, it was not worshiped as it is today. It was referred to and used as “passing power” on the multitude of two-lane highways still existing. Stock car racing popularized it throughout the fifties and sixties. Once the Baby Boomers conceived after WWII became old enough to get driving licenses, NASCAR and drag racing in the early sixties began to popularize pure acceleration. With some initial limitations, manufacturers began offering larger engines in new “intermediates” and even “compacts” starting with the 389 Pontiac Tempest GTO option in 1964. Prior to that time, the only way to get the big engine/small car combination was to roll your own. Quick V-8 intermediates like the Tempest already existed, but the GTO option upped the ante a bit and opened a new category that later became the Supercar/Musclecar. Still, even this new marketplace movement applied only to those with significant financial resources. Determined kids of more modest means still had to get old cars and shoehorn in large engines.
Even through the sixties, the vast bulk of vehicles purchased by the general public were cars with sixes or small eights, stripped of most options. It seems surprising today that a heater would need to be ordered instead of being standard, but plenty of cars in the country simply didn't need them, and buyers were loath to pay for something they didn't need. Same for automatic transmissions, radios, and power steering. Sure, they were popular, but a frivolous expense for many. Air conditioning was available decades earlier, but it wasn't very durable and was impressively expensive. Most people opted to roll down the windows and open the floor vents.
Practically speaking, you will be lucky to see any examples of mainline cars today, either at car shows, museums, or private collections. One might occasionally see one behind a shed or barn, nestling slowly into the earth. They are easy to spot because they are something other than a Chevy or Ford, are in an odd color, and are bereft of chrome trim. Some, you need to study for a while and look for insignia to have a clue as to what they are. Nearly all of the mainline cars are gone forever, unloved because they would be very difficult to restore and be worth little if they were. Lacking the chrome trim and multitude of taillights of their higher-line brethren, were they junkyard fodder when they were made? Nope. They were the mainstream, cars made to maximize their value for cost and provide long service lives. Like Volkswagen Beetles, these cars were used up completely as they were handed down and continued service with new, younger drivers. They were run until nothing usable was left.
So what you see today isn't really what once was. It's only a very skewed remnant brought back to life as a financial hedge. It would appear today that everybody in 1960 owned a GM product, or sometimes a Ford. It looks that way because these are the most popular today, and trade for the most money. The few mainline examples found get the highline treatment because those are worth more. Tempests and Delrays become GTOs and Impalas. The orphans like Studebakers, Kaisers, and Packards that suffered waining sales at the time rarely make an appearance today despite the fact that they appreciate in value faster than more popular cars. That's because a higher percentage of their production volumes were less admired at the time and so suffered the same fate as mainline cars. Now safely in the hands of collectors, you'd be very lucky to find an original-condition one at a show or cruise night. Many more low-volume makes can't be seen anywhere, regardless of trim level. Without popularity or prestige to pull their fat out of the fire, they're effectively gone, and so we're left today at the mercy of publishers printing only the few makes we now choose to celebrate. In a way, it's like rewriting history to suit our preferences today. It doesn't reflect what really was.
Despite comparatively cheap gas, fuel economy was a big interest. Manufacturers bragged heavily when their cars won the Mobil Economy Run, an exercise in driving techniques not legal or practical in everyday driving. They never mentioned in their ads what chicanery they used to get their winning mileage of course, but the results made good copy. In the end, the extent of the mechanical tweaks and the impossible driving techniques made the Mobil Economy Run irrelevant.
Overall, the wealthy and pretentious aside, most folks liked a comfortable car but basically wanted to spend as little on automobiles as possible, not minding 3-speeds with clutches, heavy steering, modest acceleration, and hot weather. They weren't seen as problems to be solved. Most of these people had survived the Depression and World War II, so making do with less was no problem in regard to cars. When it was hot weather, you were used to being hot, and ambient air circulation inside the vehicle was far better than it is now. Full-size cars were valued for their comfort and spaciousness, while smaller variants were prized for their greater economy. Despite marketers' sincere efforts to promote snobbery and vice, cars were still more viewed as a way to get somewhere, rather than a rolling residence that reflected the aspirations of its owner. The greater popularity of low and mid-line models without many options was the result of a cultural view that didn't see much point in squandering extra personal resources on something temporary that was intended to pamper or impress. The excesses of extravagance and chrome in the late fifties was trimmed by backlash from this viewpoint. Sheer size would not be limited however, until the late seventies following the oil shortages.
What has been dubbed “planned obsolescence” was popularized in the fifties, but was actually most in force at the dawn of the automotive age. Since the initial market for automobiles was strictly the wealthy, and major improvements (or at least changes in the hunt for mechanical superiority) were made every year, you were considered a listless dabbler if you didn't replace your horseless carriage at least every other year. The viewpoint was that as a member of the elite club of New Technologists, either you stayed on the cutting edge with this visionary new machine, or you fell into lockstep with those entrenched men without dreams or vision. In practical terms, there was only a vestigial middle-class. Before too long, the hundreds of automotive startups hoping to cash in on this new fad began to crowd this tiny market, and then had to widen the target to those who could actually put an automobile to use: farmers and professionals, like doctors. As today, horses cost substantial money for upkeep, regardless of how much or how little they were used. In fact, there are many more horses in the U.S. today than there ever were – an irony considering that only a sparse few are used for anything more than pleasure riding.
The reason why doctors needed a potential solution like the automobile may not be apparent in today's context. Many of you may not be aware that, from the beginning of time, doctors would come to see you, because you were the one who was sick in bed or camping out in the bathroom. It is only a recent phenomenon that when you are ill and experiencing extreme digestive upset or perhaps more polite symptoms, you will be ignored unless you find a way to travel to the doctor's office, where you will wait for most of an hour for your allotted three minutes of attention. This new scheme maximizes efficiency and profits, but poses serious problems for the infirm elderly and handicapped. I can vouch from my work that in these times of letting elderly parents fend for themselves, not all ailing retirees have the financial means or physical ability to hop into their Caddies to get to a medical clinic.
Once car designs stabilized and the middle-class market emerged, the expected car lifespan lengthened considerably. Annual car styling changes amounted to slight facelifts, going heavy only when competitive pressures threatened to make a model obsolete. Most of the design efforts went toward improving mechanical features for functionality, convenience, and decreased maintenance. This last factor was no small potato; cars in the early years needed significant work even at 500-mile intervals, so the rate of technical advance of the automobile nearly justified buying a newer one every few years, in an attempt to escape the sobering frequency of repair and rebuilds older ones needed. Since the automobile became mechanically “good enough” by 1925, inducements to buy replacements had to come from somewhere other than pure reliability. That motivation tended to come from the comfort of closed bodies (which were initially resisted by buyers) and features making operation more convenient. Starting in the early fifties, the relative economic wealth if the times led to major sheet metal changes each year in order to induce people to upgrade. Many did, buying a car every three years in order to get the new look. But it wasn't only styling. Starting before 1950, cars gradually got wider until three-across seating became almost comfortable. This annual major redesign trend lasted for nearly two decades, until economic realities forced car makers to end the styling race. Few people could afford the toll that depreciation took on such frequent buys. Few manufacturers could afford to sustain the engineering staff and tooling costs either, especially with safety and emissions legislation approaching. The extra sales it spurred weren't enough to justify keeping up the process.
Ford was the early exception to the march of technical progress and the movement to a market with rising expectations. Because of the Model T remaining relatively unchanged over its two decade run, Henry Ford is often portrayed as a curmudgeon, psychotically resisting change. I believe that his choice of path was merely a market decision, and one taking full advantage of the economies of scale he had developed. The starting 1909 Model T was an advanced automobile: lighter, tougher, simpler, and more reliable than most. Ford was thinking big when he designed it, using what is today called “design for manufacture”, or designing it for assembly line manufacture. Within a few years it was already technically obsolete, but his belief that there would be a continuing market for a car with those qualities at the lowest price point was valid. Sales kept climbing over the years, and the prices kept plummeting as he made his manufacturing economies compound. For quite a while, the Model T outsold every other brand combined. If your only goal was to get there and keep most of your money in your pocket, the T fit the bill nicely. Only when times were good in the 1920's did sales of the humble T finally slide downward. By 1927, an incredibly affordable car designed in 1907 had very limited appeal. It could be repaired by your neighbor's kid, but its limited service life and required maintenance regimen could no longer compare. Henry Ford finally agreed to kill it, and came out with a more contemporary car, the Model A. It's undeniable that Henry Ford did hang onto the Model T too long, letting it go only when he finally became convinced that sales just weren't going to recover, ever. With its incremental improvements and an incredibly low price, it did still fit the bill for many buyers, but the market had moved on and left him as a niche player. If some consider Henry Ford myopic or crazy, then they ought to think about the only other car that came remotely close to matching its sales record, albeit in a much more heavily populated era: the Volkswagen Beetle, designed in 1936. Though it had a few quirks, it accepted abuse cheerfully, was especially economical, and had an enviable build quality. Beetles often seemed to develop ailments, but nothing that would strand you on the side of the road. Along with a host of decent competitors, emissions laws were the major contributor to its end, the last one being produced for the US market in the late seventies. Production in Mexico went on into the nineties.
As another sidenote, the perception of pickup trucks was always that they were intended solely for work. The utilitarian virtues of these lethargic hulks held firm from their start until the seventies. Their only buyers were related to agricultural pursuits and others who had to haul what a station wagon could not accommodate. Thus they were always dowdy, plain, and did not take much investment to keep on the market. Even in the sixties, with all the interest in hot rods and Supercars, the thought of putting mag wheels on a pickup, let alone installing a big motor, seemed patently ridiculous. Up to 2008 when the oil price surge ballooned, pickups had eventually become more popular than cars - but this is a fairly recent phenomenon fueled by gradually making them as comfortable and luxurious as cars, widening their appeal. Up to the mid-eighties, no self-respecting suburban youth buyer would want to be seen dead in one.
The decided superiority of current automobiles has come about, as always, from better metallurgy and manufacturing processes. Electronic controls and more complex combustion studies have also allowed much greater power from smaller engines. Weights have increased dramatically size for size, thanks to safety systems, aerodynamic aids, and elaborate wiring. In the U.S., the smallest cars now weigh nearly as much as full-size cars did in 1960. But their decreased wind drag and more efficient powertrains yield better fuel economy for the remaining few comparable size classes. Their one fault is that although they rarely need service or repair, when they do, it tends to be a financial blockbuster. And their extreme sophistication can make problem diagnosis very difficult, even with specialized shop devices. Previous cars nickled and dimed you frequently, while newer cars just run like refrigerators until something fails. As much as I love driving old cars, the economics don't justify using one seriously. The liberating roominess of old sedans may be gone forever, as well as the ability of parents to turn around and take a swing at misbehaving brats in the back seat, but 10,000 mile tuneups and blue smoke at 100,000 miles are gone, too. Automotive times were good them, but with the exception of gas prices, they're better now.
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