Modesty Cruisers

When the topic of 1960s American cars arises, talk invariable turns to tire-shredding Motown muscle;  Boss Judge 596 Super Cobra GTXO/SS PolyHemis with the rare factory Meatgrinder 4-speed 8 track 12-pak trak-lok package, covered in Psilocibin Magenta Rallye stripes. Sure, we all love those. But what about the yin to that youth car yang? I speak of that genre of American automobile I call the Modesty Cruiser.

The story of the modesty cruiser begins in 1958. A mild recession that year, coupled with a gasoline price spike, caused the first postwar drop in new American car sales while creating a mini-boom for cheap imports like the VW Bug. In response, Detroit hastily designed a new generation of 4- and 6-cylinder economy compacts to compete against the looming overseas tide. The first to appear in 1960 was the Chevy Corvair, followed quickly by the Ford Falcon, Mercury Comet, Pontiac Tempest, Chevy II, Plymouth Valiant, and Rambler American. Unlike the riotous cartoon muscle cars on the other pages of the dealer brochures, these boxy, small, no-nonsense  commuter hardtops had a certain stoic nobility borne of  vinyl bench seats, rubber floor mats, blackwalls and dog dish hub caps.

With little appeal to drag racing Baby Boomers or status-conscious swinger adults, they tended to end up with equally no-nonsense owners; crewcut civil servants in Towncrest short sleeve dress shirts and clip-on ties,  stern spinster librarians in Dacron sack dresses. No flashy day-glo Hugger Orange here, thank you, I'll take mine in the light beige metallic.

As a result of that appeal, many modesty cruisers have survived remarkably well. Just ask my friends Mssrs. Coop and Jalopy, who have purchased a number of pristine specimens in the past few years. The hopelessly responsible Squares that bought them new in the '60s tended to keep them a very long time and saw to it they were meticulously maintained. Open the door and you're likely to find a service sticker in the jamb documenting a religiously-followed schedule of filter changes and wheel bearing packing; the interior will be spotless, with an official AAA compass and a litter bag on the vent window crank.

So here's an overdue salute to the American Modesty Cruiser, and the anal-retentive middle aged nerds who loved them. Now get off my lawn!

Comments

[COOP]

I get more unsolicited compliments on my pristine '65 Falcon than I've ever gotten on any of my hot rods or customs.

[iowahawk]

At all the downhill gas stations.

[ryannon]

Those hoopties certainly bring back some good memories to Professor Jonathan: the first car he ever bought as a callow Chicago youngster was a 1960 Nash Rambler very similar to this one, but in a very tasteful factory-painted white:

http://newmand.oldsgmail.com/carshow4/'60%20Rambler.jpg

I got it second-hand and pretty much in impecable shape from a totally non-descript Hyde Park type in the late '60s for a little over a hundred bucks.

It ran like a top and ultimately took me all the way to a new life of drugs, dregs and debauche in the East Village several years later.

After accumulating a record-breaking number of unpaid parking tickets, I was obliged to change addresses just to keep one step ahead of the law; in the process, the little Rambler got sold to an Asian dude.

I can still remember watching it disappear forever up West Houston Street one chilly Autumn afternoon....

Damn!

[Dave]

Please be advised: The Chevy II offered an extensive smörgåsbord of power plants - everything from an anemic four banger to a romping stomping 409 cu inch behemoth guaranteed to wrap the stock single leaf rear springs into artistic configurations every time you stuck your foot in it.

[Marc]

My parents' first car after they got married was a '64 Dodge Dart like the one in the bottom picture -- except a 4 door and not as well equipped. Blackwalls, dog dishes -- hell, it was so stripped it didn't even have a radio. (My mom thought it would distract her when she was driving.) It did have the push-button automatic, though. My folks finally sold it in 1979, a couple of years before I was old enough to drive it -- meaning I got to learn to drive on a much less stripped down '77 Cutlass. My dad was indeed a crew-cut civil servant when they bought the Dart -- but he always had decent shirts and ties!