One day I decided to go back to grad school, and a 1970 Cutlass suddenly became a luxury. When one is trying to make it as a grad student, and gas goes from $1.75 to over $4.00 a gallon, there won’t be many pleasure cruises happening in a car that gets 13 MPG. The car was stored with my brother during this time. He had garage space, I didn’t. The philosophy of care for the car differs between the two of us. I wouldn’t have an idea about that until after the car came back to me. The car didn’t come back as a beat-up wreck. It came back… well, see the next chapter.
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All posts for the month January, 2014
I purchased the car in 1997. Owning a convertible was in my blood. My dad got his drivers licenese at 13. His first car was a ’48 Plymouth. In his words, “the reason I never bought another Chrysler”. Every car after that, up until the day my older brother was born, was a convertible. Usually Chevys, and he always talked about them. I had fond memories of our ’62 Delmont 88, and I always preferred the stylings of Oldsmobile over Chevy. My original intent was to find a 1968 Cutlass or 442. A few years previous I had purchased, along with my brother, a 1968 Cutlass S convertible. In hindsight, the car was a mistake and should have been sold as a parts car, not a project car. But while working on that crappy old hunk of junk I learned everything I needed to learn to properly own a car of this vintage.
While doing my homework I found that the 1970 model year was a better year in terms of performance. And they were more plentiful on market than the 1968 model year. After six months of searching I came across the car I now own. At the time, it was an estimated 85% original. And much of the car showed it. The interior was pretty much beat to Hell. The seats were what you’d expect, covered with duct tape and bath towels. The carpeting, or rather what was left of it, was worn to the backing. The door panels were cut to accommodate speakers for an aftermarket radio. The top has a couple of coin-sized holes in it. There had been a repaint of the original azure blue, mainly to repair a rust hole in one of the front fenders. The car was still in decent working order. It originated in New Jersey, then made it out to Arizona. The lack of winter was of help to its survival.
It’s a numbers matching car, which is to say every drive train component is original. Under the hood, most of the usual tune-up parts were not: ignition, alternator, windshield washer pump, the things that typically go bad on a GM car of this vintage. I am the fourth owner, technically the third driver. The third owner bought the car from an estate sale for purposes of flipping it. The second owner decided to jazz up the car with a few upgrades. Thankfully, he kept all the upgrades (except the radio) Oldsmobile-centric: standard wheels with hubcaps were replaced with SSII wheels. A dual exhaust was put on, along with a 442 cut-out bumper and chrome trumpet exhaust tips. Air shocks were put on the rear end; why, I don’t know. There’s no evidence that a hitch was ever installed.
Based on my old receipts, here’s what I did to the car when I first got it:
- Re-covered seats
- New carpet
- Refurbished interior trim
- Replaced key warning relay
- Tune-up
- New convertible top
- New convertible boot
- New top well bag
- Refurbished exterior trim
- Re-painted car
- Replaced rear suspension bushings
- Replaced front control arm bushings
- Replaced front and rear coil springs
- Replaced glove box liner
- Replaced defroster duct
- Upgraded to AM/FM factory radio
- Replaced dash speaker
- Replaced weather stripping
This was my Golden Age with the car. I didn’t restore it to be a show car. I restored it to what I called “pleasure driver” status. It won’t win at a concours show. But people will look at it. The best moment I had with the car was at a gas station while on vacation, in 1999. An older couple was filling up a couple of rows over and kept looking at the car. Finally they came over. They told me that he used to own a blue 1970 Cutlass convertible just like mine, and he picked her up for their first date in that car. I had them get in the car to take a picture of them. Those were good times.
Death Mobile? What ARE you talking about? The Death Mobile is a nickname born from a long-ago date. I showed up one night to pick her up. Typical response to a date showing up in a vintage convertible with the top down: “Wow, what a sweet ride!” (This is the late 1990s. I think that’s how we talked back then.) Instead, the response I got was this. The dialog is not exact. The Fog of Time has clouded my recollection.
DATE: Where’s the seat belt?
ME: There’s no shoulder belt, just a lap belt. It’s an old car. Seat belts weren’t high on the priority list in 1970. Much like today, no one listened to Ralph Nader when he said bad things would happen. Until the bad things happened.
DATE: You want me to get into a car with no airbags. In Chicago.
ME: It has all the top safety features available in 1970. Which is to say it has disc brakes. If it was good enough for Nixon it’s good enough for me. Not like I drive this thing like an insane maniac.
DATE: Disc brakes…
ME: We weren’t thinking about crumple zones or side impacts or anything.
DATE: So what happens if there’s an accident?
ME: The bupmpers are pretty sold and bolted to the frame. The car will be OK. I might get my chest crushed by the steering wheel if it’s going fast enough. It’s a 2-ton battering ram in the hands of an idiot.
DATE: You’re going to meet your death in this thing.
ME: Yep, it’s a regular Death Mobile alright.
That was our last date.