Streetside Survivors
A Carspotter’s Guide to New York City’s Unique Forms of Personal Transportation
Short Stop: Custom Mercury Grand Marquis
Whoever said “Size Matters” clearly hadn’t run into the twisted genius behind this bizarre Mercury Grand Marquis. Parked unassumingly in a quiet residential neighborhood in the Bronx sits this magnificent, fun-size beast that could quite possibly be the ultimate answer to all of New York City’s driving problems. Stop me if I sound crazy, but this Grand Marquis seems like the perfect daily driver for the pothole infested, bumper-busting, double-parking hell that is New York City. If the handiwork of the mad scientist behind this creation is as solid as it seems (those door gaps look better than the Tesla Model 3’s), then the combination of cushy, american, land-yacht ride with a footprint around the size of a ‘90s civic hatch has me ready to trade every motor vehicle I currently own for the keys to this thing.
While chopping off the rear passenger section of a Grand Marquis might seem like a surefire way to reduce any semblance of practicality a car like this might have, the builder of this now micro Mercury has taken into account the lack of seating by installing a custom front bench seat, so you and two of your buddies can ride in short-wheelbase style. Interestingly, it appears that no sheetmetal has been taken out of the massive rear overhang, leaving the mafioso-specification trunk intact. That means that technically, even after the removal of the backseat, there still is room in the back for some folks who may have, uh, how you say… “gone to the great cannoli shop in the sky.” As I drove away from this glorious stunted sedan, I couldn’t help but wonder who would devote the blood, sweat, and tears necessary to pull off such a build, presumably done in a home garage nearby. A few minutes later, lost in thought, I pulled over to check directions, and as I did, glanced to the left and discovered a second(!) short stop custom, this time a cadillac of the same vintage, sandwiched in between a rusty Camaro and a chain link fence in the driveway of what must be the humble abode of the greatest mind to grace the transportation world since Henry Ford himself.
Snubbed: Custom Ford N-Series
Ford’s F-Series pickup trucks are some of the best-selling, most recognizable and well known vehicles ever manufactured. Even those among the population with zero vested interest in the automotive landscape could pick an F-150 out of a crowd. The Ford N-Series (a.k.a. the Snubnose)? Not so much. I, for one, had forgotten these trucks even existed until I stumbled upon this big, brash beast. At some point in its nearly 60 years of life, this particular example was modified with the addition of a modern GM long bed, presumably pilfered off a mid-80s to early-90s pickup. Aesthetically, this modern modification is far from handsome, yet ultimately turns this truck into something almost useable for daily use.
Judging from the badge on the fender denoting this particular truck as a 500 model, this N-Series presumably began life as a medium-to-heavy duty workhorse, something like a dump truck or flatbed hauler. The reason these N-series are so rare is because they were essentially a segment filler in between the extremely popular F-series pickup trucks and the long-lasting C-series Cab Over Engine heavy duty trucks. The N-Series had a production run of less than a decade, while the C-series had an insanely long run, virtually unchanged from 1957 to 1990. Over time, the F-series trucks have become collector’s items and some C-series trucks, battered and bruised, can still be seen on the job today. The N-series, on the other hand, has been almost completely forgotten, leaving behind examples like this, to stand out amongst a sea of bland, boring “crossovers.” This thing is the real crossover: in between light and heavy duty.
Toxic Rat: 1940 Chevy Pickup
If you ask any New Yorker what the city’s mascot is, most will undoubtedly respond with the “Subway Rat” (formally known as the Norway Rat). Known to strike fear into the heart of any self-respecting deli cat, the rodents of New York are some of the City’s toughest residents. The hardscrabble Norway Rat can “squeeze through holes or gaps the size of a quarter, jump a horizontal distance of up to 4 feet (1.2 m), survive a fall from a height of almost 40 feet, and tread water for three days”. These sorts of supernatural abilities are something you’d expect from a character in a Marvel movie, perhaps having obtained their powers by exposure to radiation or some haphazardly placed toxic waste, which leads us to the suspicion that perhaps our resident rodents have a little help from some performance-enhancing glowing green goop.
One such radioactive rodent can be found emblazoned on the door of this 1940 Chevy Pickup, dubbed the “Toxic Rat”. Parked casually among bland modern sedans and crossovers on a quiet street in Park Slope, this fender-less flat green former hauler is bold, unapologetic, and tough, just like New York City’s “toxic” rats. After noticing the For Sale sign held up by the single windshield wiper, I couldn’t help but daydream of all the possible uses of this rat-rodded rig. Perhaps an exterminator will purchase it and turn it into the most badass work truck, complete with one of those giant inflatable rats strapped to the bed. While the asking price of $14,500 seems like a lot for a vehicle with only one windshield wiper and no modern safety amenities, I hope the seller finds an enthusiastic buyer, because whoever buys something this cool has to be equally as cool, and the world can always use more cool people.
“Rich Corinthian Leather”: 1976 Chrysler Cordoba
What do New Jersey, Spain, Argentina and Ancient Greece have in common? Here’s a hint: Star Trek. Confused yet? You should be. The story of these odd pairings stems from a bit of marketing magic. In 1975, advertising agency Bozell debuted what would become one of the most memorable automotive marketing campaigns in history. Faced with the difficult task of selling the Cordoba, a massive, guzzling land yacht during the height of the 1970s oil crisis, Chrysler decided to turn upscale, and approached Bozell with a tall order. In order to make what was essentially a lumbering, ancient, body-on-frame coupe seem more exotic, Chrysler gave it the name of a Spanish city and a hood ornament inspired by an Argentinian coin. Bozell’s job? Market this Latin imposter with a foreign spokesperson that exuded esteem and class.
Now, you might be wondering why the hint to my original question seemed peculiar. What would the futuristic world of Star Trek have to do with a very un-futuristic 1970s luxo-barge? Well, the classy, esteemed gentleman that Bozell chose to represent the Cordoba was none other than Ricardo Montalban, known among many other things for his role as the super-villain Khan in the original Star Trek. Montalban became a well known name in the automotive world for his commercials with the Cordoba, touting its “rich Corinthian leather” and dubbing it the “new small Chrysler.” Neither of these statements were particularly truthful. While the Cordoba was a bit smaller than Chrysler’s previous offerings, it was by no means small compared to the increasingly popular fuel-sipping Japanese options flooding the market due to the oil crisis. Calling the Cordoba “small” was just a part of the whole smoke and mirrors act Chrysler tasked Bozell with creating. More notorious than the claims of the Cordoba’s size was the emphasis on the “Corinthian” leather interior. Why an ancient city in Greece had anything to do with leather is beyond me, especially because the vast majority of Chrysler’s interiors in the 1970s were sourced from Newark, New Jersey which is a long ways away from Greece both in distance and certainly in culture.
Identity Crisis: The Buick/Opel by Isuzu
In the early 1970s, American automakers were in trouble. Gas prices had reached an all time high and threats of competition from new on the scene, thrifty Japanese manufacturers were encroaching. With increasing pressure to build cars that were smaller and more fuel efficient, companies like GM, Ford, and Chrysler began to incorporate what is usually seen as a lazy marketing tactic: Badge-engineering. While this strategy of selling essentially the same car under a different name and slightly different trim in an effort to appeal to various markets was not necessarily new to companies like GM, by the time the Oil Crisis reached its peak, automakers were desperate. Typically, a badge-engineered car would begin life as a model that was already being sold in the American domestic market, and until the early 1970s, these models usually also came from the same parent company. This parent company would decide if the model required certain additions to appeal to a different crowd (i.e. something like leather seats, chrome trim, upgraded stereo added to appeal to a more luxurious demographic), and then slap on a different badge (hence the term badge-engineering) and call it a day. In the early 1970s however, American automakers had a complete lack of small, fuel efficient cars in their lineups, and not enough time to design, develop and build entirely new models. The market for small vehicles in America was lucrative, and was rapidly being taken up by promising Japanese manufacturers like Honda and Toyota. So what was a company like GM to do? The answer to this question is what spawned this strange find, a Japanese car with a German name tacked on, sold as an upscale American car.
As you might now realize, GM, instead of developing their own small car, sold a rebadged version of the Isuzu Gemini, a spritely Japanese car from a smaller manufacturer that had yet to gain traction in the U.S. market. The reason they decided to give this car half the name of one of GM’s upscale divisions (Buick), and half the name of GM’s european branch (Opel) is beyond understanding. Perhaps they were hoping buyers would be attracted by pretending that the Buick/Opel was a trifecta of American quality, German engineering, and Japanese reliability. In reality the Buick/Opel was just a badge-engineered bargain basement Japanese car with a visibly lazy attempt at rebranding. If you look closely you’ll even see that the badge on the back that says Buick/Opel displays the two company names in two different typefaces. For a car that basically defined badge engineering you’d think that they would have paid attention at the very least to the most important thing, the badge.
Ultimate Patriot: The AMC Eagle 4x4
I’m not ashamed to say this is one of my favorite cars of all time. It’s maybe not the prettiest thing on the block, but it sure is ultra cool. All those pseudo-adventuring, patagonia-wearing, hydroflask carrying “trail” parents in their Volvo XC70 cross countrys, Subaru Outbacks and Audi Allroads have this beige beast to thank for their “outdoorsy” lifestyle vehicles. All the way back in 1979, AMC (the American Motors Corporation) famous for the Pacer and the Gremlin (honestly some of my favorite cars also, fight me!), came up with an idea for a light off-road capable vehicle with the comfort of a smaller passenger car.
While initially confused, the public warmed up quickly to these quirky haulers. While the most popular bodystyle was the wagon for it’s rugged practicality, AMC produced a 2 door and 4 door sedan, a “Kammback” hatchback, and amazingly enough, a liftback coupe. All of these models were immensely popular in adventure friendly places like Colorado and snow-wracked places like Michigan and Wisconsin, places that now are overrun by the Subarus, Audis and Volvos that wish they could live up to the cool factor of this thing. It’s rare to see any vehicle from the 1980s surviving on a Brooklyn street, pretty much free of rust, let alone such an all-weather beater like this Eagle. After admiring this find on a quiet Gowanus street, I’ve decided to start my hunt for the perfect badass Eagle wagon before they all fall victim to the evil throes of the rust belt.
Where Old Iron Sleeps: Treasure Hunting at The Bronx Terminal Market
Since New York City isn’t exactly known for its abundance of barns, those of us gearheads who love to hunt down barn finds must resort to a rather peculiar method of exploration: public garage finds. On a recent trip to the Home Depot in the Bronx Terminal Market, I came across quite a few interesting vehicles tucked away, forgotten under tattered tarps and covers. With most New Yorkers lacking private spaces to store project cars, many public garages across the city offer long term storage options for anything that “ran when parked”, “needs TLC”, or is “rare & collectible”. Seeing as these garages aren’t cheap, all of these cars that follow must have at one time been someone’s pride and joy they deemed too good for the ranks of street parking. While initial intentions I’m sure were pure, over time these relics have been left to languish in the dark, dusty corners of the multi-story garage, their deep sleep interrupted only by the occasional shopping cart love tap.
1970 Ford Mustang
Although arguably better than its follow-up, the despicable Mustang II, by 1970 the Mustang had gone the way of Elvis around the same time (bloated and outdated). Oddly enough, the looks of this generation, especially the more pedestrian coupe are sort of growing on me. Unlike its predecessor, and besides the Boss versions, the 1970-73 Mustangs are not as cherished and often seen. This makes this example, at least to me sort of desirable simply because it’s not the one everyone knows and loves. I could see myself driving one of these, but never a Mustang II.
1966 Chevrolet Impala
I can find something I love in every model year of Impala. Maybe I’m biased since the big, brawny, boat-like sedans and coupes have captured my interest since I was a child, but there’s something so respectable about these land yachts. They’re not flashy like a Corvette, nor steroidal like a Camaro. They’ve got clean, stately lines, and an imposing yet familiar presence. I know at some point in my life I’ll own an Impala, thats easy. The hard part is figuring out which year I like the best. This menacing looking example lurking in the Bronx Terminal Market might convince me to go ‘66.
1982 Datsun 280zx
Was this a botched attempt at covering up notorious East Coast wheel arch rust or a Bosuzoku in progress? Whatever it was, they should have at least thrown some paint on those handmade over-fenders to stop the advent of rampant oxidation. The 280zx is another one of those cars that if it weren’t for the Radwood effect, would be duly overlooked. The rising popularity of 80s and 90s sports cars and the simultaneously rising prices of the magnanimous 240z have the 280zx, (albeit one in better condition than this one) looking pretty sweet right about now.
1971 Ford Thunderbird
The Thunderbird, unlike the Impala, is not a car I love every year of. The original Thunderbird, the 3rd, and the 4th generation cars are in my opinion, some of the most beautiful American cars ever penned. Boy did they fall hard after that 4th generation. This example, a lethargic late 5th generation, is a gawky mish-mash of proportion and angles, a lazy attempt at making a normal sedan seem interesting. After this generation the Thunderbird became even more bloated and forgetful, a sad shadow of its former self.
1960 Mercedes 190
Perhaps the most desirable of this boogie-down bunch, although that’s not saying much. In this condition, this broken Benz might only fetch a hair over five or six grand, which I think is undervalued. Vintage Mercedes have such clean, classic lines and fairly stout mechanicals compared to the overly complicated electronic messes of today. While these bulbous ‘ponton’ series cars aren’t my favorite of all Mercedes designs (that honor belongs to the pagoda SL or the AMG Hammer wagon), it deserves more attention than its currently getting.