Almost a half-century ago, Dave Barnes was in the right place at the right time when the right car showed up right in front of him.

“In 1972,” said Barnes, whose 1938 Ford Standard Tudor is featured here, “I was teaching auto mechanics over at Delhi Tech and one of the guys who worked with me had a ’37 Ford and he was going to car shows. Well, I’d never thought about that. His car was pretty neat, dark blue and I liked that, so I was looking.”

He didn’t have to look far, as he was driving near his home in Oneonta, N.Y., when “a crazy story” began to unfold near a service station.

“I looked up,” Barnes said, “and there was this ’38 Ford pulling over to the curb. A guy got out and came across and he said, ‘I just bought this from an estate. I have Model Ts. The thing quit.’ (The service station owner) didn’t want to monkey with it. I went across and I looked at it and I said, ‘You’re getting no spark.’”

The owner of a nearby service station agreed that the Ford could be parked there and Barnes gave its driver a ride home. After the car had cooled, removing the distributor “low” position became much easier and Barnes soon had the Ford running. He called the owner, who returned with his wife.

“Well, she liked Model A Fords,” Barnes said, “and she hated that thing. She did not want it. She told him that, right in front of all of us.

“He said, ‘How much do I owe you?’ I said, ‘I’ve got a question for you. You bought it from an estate and you bought a new battery. I’d like to own it.’ He said, ‘You would? Well, you heard my wife. Get me home, give me $1500 and it’s yours.’”

While unfortunate for her husband, it was lucky for Barnes. The car was, after all, very much like the Ford owned by Barnes’ colleague and it’s not exactly a challenge to see its appeal.

A short history with V-8s

Ford in 1938 was proud of the V-8 it had introduced just six years earlier as “the greatest thrill in motoring.” The Ford V-8 was “a great new motor car” and if Chevrolet had claimed that its 1929 six-cylinder was “everywhere regarded as marking an epoch in the development of luxurious transportation for everybody, everywhere,” it was now “not too much to say that the new Ford is a revolutionary automobile, for it is a new motor car, made to meet today’s new conditions.” Naturally, the key was the V-8, a 221-cid flathead producing 65 hp, and Ford was able to state with a completely straight face that its new engine “for the first time brings into the lowest price field the V-8 type of engine.” It was “remarkably smooth in operation and … unusually quiet.” The bodies, though, were the other half of the new Ford in 1932.

The V-8 — as well as its four-cylinder stablemate, the Model B — maintained continuity with the Model A while updating the general look, but it lasted only a year. The 1933 Ford was redesigned so that all but the faintest traces of boxiness were gone and after a gentle update for 1934, “every line and outward detail of the 1935 Ford has been made to contribute its rightful share to the car’s pleasing personality.” The four was gone and “the space-economizing V-8 engine was moved even farther forward in the chassis … the entire frame was redesigned for car bodies which would seat all the passengers farther forward.” Another update followed for 1936 and things began to change in 1937.

Enter the V-8 ‘60’

The new models were instantly recognizable as Fords, continuing the trend away from the sharp, vertical styling of just a few years earlier, but something else was introduced in “the new Ford V-8 cars for 1937.” Advertising explained that “the Ford V-8 for 1937 is powered by a modern V-type, 8-cylinder engine. But this year, two sizes of this engine are offered — an improved 85-horsepower size for maximum performance — a new 60-horsepower size for maximum economy. It is still one car, one standard of size and comfort. With the smaller engine optional in several body types, a new low price is brought to the Ford line.”

Ford didn’t merely de-tune the 85-hp V-8 to create the V-8 “60.” With nothing nearby to provide a sense of scale, the 136-cid V-8 “60” didn’t look much different than the 221-cid “85,” but the reality was that “the engine in the new Ford ‘60’ is a V-8 through and through. It is almost exactly the same as the well-known 85-horsepower Ford V-8 engine, except for size, weight and horsepower.” It was “optional in the 5-window coupe and in closed sedan types without De Luxe equipment.” The part about models “without De Luxe equipment” hinted at what was ahead. Ford was on a two-year styling cycle, so the 1938 model was given a new look.

Unless it was a Standard.

De Luxe? Or Standard?

Advertising announced “the two new Ford V-8 cars for 1938 … the Standard Ford V-8 and the De Luxe Ford V-8 … People liked our 1937 cars so well that they bought more of them than of any other make. We have improved on that car in the newly styled Standard Ford V-8 for 1938. But some folks asked also for a bigger, finer car with the same Ford advantages in it. For them, we designed the new De Luxe Ford V-8. The De Luxe sedans have longer bodies with more room and finer appointments. De Luxe cars are equipped with the 85-hp engine. They give added motoring satisfaction at low Ford prices. The Standard is even lower priced than the De Luxe. It has pleasant new lines and well-tailored interiors. It offers again a choice of V-8 engine sizes: the powerful ‘85’ or the thrifty ’60.’”

What’s less than clear in that text is that the 1938 Standard looked very, very much like the 1937 De Luxe. Ford would follow that pattern through 1940, but the first-year version explains why Barnes’ finding the feature car — a 1938 — was just about the same as finding one like the 1937 Ford owned by his friend. It’s next to impossible to determine with certainty whether the rather basic nature of Barnes’ Ford played a role in its original sale, but what he knows about its past does suggest a careful and perhaps frugal owner.

Making an old Ford last

“She never drove it in the winter,” Barnes said of the first owner. “In fact, she had wooden blocks made for her garage and the Ford dealer here sent a mechanic up every fall and he’d jack that car up and he’d put the wooden blocks under it for her and set it back down.”

That saved the Ford from the worst driving conditions that upstate New York has to offer. Barnes said that the odometer showed about 48,000 miles when he bought it and besides paint, the body needed only minor work.

“Hardly any,” he said. “One fender had a little scratch in it and we fixed that up … . Those fenders stick out and they were scratched up, but they were repairable.”

A partial repaint seemed to suffice, but showing the car, he realized that new paint all around would be better appreciated. It was repainted once and after about 10 years, repainted again about 15 years ago. The Ford’s interior was in about the same condition as the body and Barnes has worked on it only when absolutely necessary.

“The inside could be redone,” he said, “but I like it. It’s still original. I had to put one patch on the seat and the doors are a little rough and dirty, but I said, ‘You know, to me, that’s more what that car should look like.’”

All of the Ford’s trim was intact when he bought the car, an important point since the Standard’s trim is not identical to that on the 1937 De Luxe it mimics.

“It’s harder to find,” Barnes said, “and I can’t understand why they’d make them different, but they did.”

The Ford’s mechanical condition was a close match to that of the body. Barnes recalled that the engine — the ‘85’ in his Standard — “smoked like the devil” when he bought it. But he had a plan.

“Working at Delhi Tech, teaching auto mechanics,” he explained, “ … I took it over to the school and the kids yanked the engine out of it. We went through that engine to see why it was smoking. She didn’t drive it that much, but the rings were all gummed up and they were seized right inside the piston, so they weren’t washing the oil off of the walls.

“It was just ‘tear it down and put it back together.’ We put in new timing gears and rings and I think that was about it as far as the rebuild goes, no new bearings. I had the crankshaft at a machine shop. They checked the crank out, polished it up and put all standard bearings in.”

The only other mechanical work that the Ford required was boiling out its radiator and since the car went back on the road, it’s been almost trouble-free. The sole exception to its otherwise perfect record was a fuel pump failure. Its longest trip has been about 75 miles, but Barnes said he has no reason to believe that it’s not ready for something more. Even from its relatively short trips, he knows that it’s noticed and many who see it want a closer look.

“People spot it all the time,” he said. “It stands out in the parking lot. Get out of it and they’ll come over. Most say ‘what year is it?’ They don’t know the year exactly. They look it over and talk to me. It makes it interesting … You’ll hear them saying things back and forth to each other. Someone’ll say his grandfather or uncle had a Ford about that year.”

And some will notice that it’s a Standard.

“Yeah,” Barnes said. “They look it over pretty good.”

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The post A 1938 Ford Standard lives the deluxe life appeared first on Old Cars Weekly.

Story and photos by Bob Tomaine

Ed Kratil wasn’t the only one to notice an online classified for a 1959 Dodge Royal four-door. As he later learned, several of those who saw it had plans very different than his own.

“(The ad) was basically a one-line description with a really bad picture,” Kratil recalled, “but it was an original car as part of that description, and I went up there to take a look.

“The gentleman I met with said he had some interest from overseas, Sweden and Germany. He did not want to arrange shipping and I said, ‘Look, if this is truly an original car’ — I couldn’t get under the seat at the time — ‘underneath the seat there’s a build sheet, under the dashboard, on top of the glovebox, there’s a build sheet and they should match whatever you have.’ He called me later that night. ‘I’ll sell you the car since you’re interested in it and you know what you’re talking about.’”

The deal was closed and instead of a making transatlantic crossing, the Dodge made a trip of roughly 50 miles to Kratil’s home in Ithaca, N.Y. That was in 2012 and the odometer showed 17,735 miles at the time, a fact that goes far toward explaining the car’s condition. Kratil doesn’t know where the Dodge spent most of its life, but if it lived in upstate New York where he found it, someone either devoted a lot of time to washing the winter road salt off on a regular basis or — more likely, given the mileage — stored it inside during the winter months. No matter which of those possibilities was the case, the car obviwously had a strong appeal to an owner or owners willing to go to such lengths to protect it.

From top hats to space suits

The appeal is understandable, as Dodge in 1959 was wearing its own interpretation of the Space Age and was a far cry from its ancestors of just 10 years earlier. Dodge had resumed production after World War II’s interruption by introducing mildly updated 1942 models for 1946. It was the universal formula among the “Big Three” and the few Independents that had survived the war. Reintroducing slightly updated prewar vehicles enabled the industry to quickly begin building cars and gain time to come up with new designs.

True postwar cars began trickling out with the 1947 models from Studebaker, Kaiser and Frazer and others followed for 1948. By 1949, new designs were in every showroom, although Chrysler Corp. had gotten off to a late start and launched its new Second Series 1949 lineup after having continued its 1948 models as the First Series 1949s. At Chrysler, cars had low fenders and high roofs, because Chrysler Corp. president K.T. Keller required enough headroom to wear a hat.

Across the industry, the new cars were obviously more than reheated versions of their predecessors, but with a few exceptions, they carried styling that reflected prewar thinking. The real difference — where there was one — was under the hood, as Cadillac and Oldsmobile introduced their similar but unrelated modern overhead-valve V-8s in 1949. The engines’ oversquare design meant the bore’s diameter was greater than its piston’s stroke with resultant benefits ranging from higher revs to smaller size. Combined with the OHV configuration, the GM engines represented the future and the competition knew it.

In 1951, Studebaker and Chrysler Corp. were first to respond with a 120-hp 232 and a 180-hp 331, respectively, but there was more to the story than just numbers. Chrysler’s FirePower V-8 was the start of what would become known as the Hemi engines for the engine’s hemispherical combustion chambers. More important in 1951, though, was the fact that Oldsmobile and Cadillac now had competition and that was just the beginning.

At Chrysler Corp., De Soto received a 160-hp, 276-cid version of the Hemi in 1952 and called it the Firedome. It continued its flathead six alongside the V-8 for a time, as had Chrysler, while the Dodge Division went another year with only its six. When its turn came in 1953, the Dodge was on a modern body with nearly every trace of prewar styling gone. Dodge was now “powered for action, with surging new V-8 performance” from its “new 140-horsepower Red Ram V-Eight (which) packs more punch per cubic inch. Most efficient engine design in any American car, with more speed than you’ll ever need!” The 241-cid Red Ram didn’t banish the six immediately, but the older engine was living on borrowed time.

Chrysler Corp. was on a roll with the rest of the industry, as 1955 saw only Kaiser and Willys lacking modern V-8s and they were exiting the domestic-passenger-car business anyway. Dodge by then was “a car that fairly breathes adventure” with its “aircraft-type V-8 engine” and completely new styling. Buyers now had a choice of V-8s up to a 193-hp, 270-cid Super Red Ram — the horsepower race that never officially existed was well underway — and smooth new bodies wore wraparound windshields and backlights, plenty of brightwork and the beginnings of fins. The 1956 update raised the fins and introduced overt performance in the D-500 option that Dodge promised “digs out like a demon, handles like a dream, corners like a chopped-down ‘rod,’ with a load of sand. It features a hefty 260-horsepower mill” displacing 315 cubic inches, and driving it would show “why guys who really know cars call it the hottest thing on wheels!”

Power and performance continued to increase and the two-year cycle brought a completely new “Swept-Wing” 1957 Dodge. Long and low with bigger fins and no shortage of flash, advertising boasted that “everything is new from road to roof.” Meanwhile, the top engine was now a 340-hp 354. The next year, a fuel-injected 361 produced 333 hp while the top carbureted engine generated 305 in a freshened body. The look continued through a subtle restyling in 1959 when the Super D-500 option was a carbureted 345-hp 383, but although the highest-performance version — then as now — got the glory, not everybody really wanted it.

Dodge knew that and offered not only lesser V-8s, but even the flathead “Get-Away Six.” Its entry-level Coronet was “your low-cost invitation to luxury motoring” even as its Custom Royal at the opposite end of the range was “a car completely satisfying in every respect.” Between those two extremes, Kratil’s Royal “gives you more of what you want. If a man were looking for ‘buying justification,’ he could certainly find plenty of reasons in the Dodge Royal Series because the list is both long and impressive … Whatever the reason, the conclusion is clear. There’s more of what you buy for in a Dodge Royal.”

It was, in effect, everyman’s Dodge. With its 295-hp 361 and PowerFlite automatic, Kratil’s Royal sedan is probably a typical example. It’s not his first.

Just the right Dodge

“I’ve always liked the Dodges,” he said, “the ’59s specifically, because they look mean from both ends. The Dixie Cup taillights in the back are ridiculous-looking and the front just looks aggressive. The styling on some of the newer Chargers and such still has that eyebrow and it’s very similar. I’ve always liked the body style, I don’t care if it’s a two-door, four-door. That really doesn’t matter to me.”

Liking the Dodge that much gave it a few points to start with and fortunately, Kratil soon found that it had no real problems. “It needed new tires,” he said. “It had the original bias plies on it. The original. The original bias ply spare is still in the trunk.

“When I went to pick up the car, it ran really poorly. Once I got it home, I looked in the shop manual and for some reason, some of the plug wires had been switched. As soon as I did that, it purred … It didn’t need a spec of bodywork, it didn’t need anything on the interior. I put seat belts in.”

He said that it had run well on the 75-mile trip he’d just made to the Rolling Antiquers show in Norwich, N.Y., and that it’s ready for much more than that. He knows the reactions it would get on such a trip.

“I’ve heard, actually this morning from somebody who pulled up behind me at the gas station, ‘I don’t know much about cars, but I like what I see,’” Kratil said. “A lot of people don’t know what it is, but they say, ‘I think my grandfather had something similar to that’ or, ‘Is that a Cadillac?’ I do get a lot of older folks, if I’m driving down the road, who turn their heads and then kick a light bulb on, and also the little kids who have watched ‘Cars.’ They like things with fins. It has a lot of ‘shiny’ to it and they get a kick out of it.”

And while it’s not the Super D-500 engine, he said the 361 has no problem keeping up with traffic.

“It will not beat anybody off the line,” Kratil said, “but it will sure get you there with a smile on your face.”

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The post Car of the Week: 1959 Dodge Royal sedan appeared first on Old Cars Weekly.

Story and photos by Bob Tomaine

Kaiser-Frazer was unhampered by tradition when its cars began arriving in 1947, and while that fact mattered little in the end, it did allow for some freethinking.

Henry J. Kaiser and Joseph W. Frazer had established the company two years earlier. Kaiser was best known for the Liberty Ships he’d churned out during World War II; Frazer was a car man through and through, having worked everywhere from Willys to Packard before ending up at Graham-Paige. On paper, the two seemed a formidable team and naturally enough, such successful figures would name their cars after themselves. The Kaiser would be medium-priced while the Frazer would be the upscale version and initially a Graham-Paige product. An early ad explained that “Willow Run, world-famous war plant, will soon be serving the peacetime needs of two most vital industries, civilian transportation and agriculture. Within a few weeks, production will have commenced here on Graham-Paige’s great new Frazer motor car.”

Describing Willow Run as a “world-famous war plant” was anything but hyperbole. Ford had built it from scratch in 1941 to produce Consolidated Aircraft’s B-24 Liberator bomber. The 4.7 million-sq.-ft. operation that, at its peak, completed one B-24 per hour became available after the war, and Kaiser-Frazer jumped at the opportunity. Thinking big and intending to become a major player, it advertised that “only once in a decade comes a distinctly new trend in automobile styling. A trend so clearly in accord with public preference, it is only a matter of time until all manufacturers fall into line. The Kaiser Special and the Frazer, America’s first 1947 motor cars, have set a trend in body styling, passenger comfort and driver convenience that will be reflected in other automobiles in the years to come.”

K-F versus the competition

The two really were distinctly new. While the competition had resumedpostwar production by mildly updating prewar models, K-F had begun with a blank sheet because it hadn’t been around in prewar times. Elegant rather than ostentatious, the new cars were slabsided, clean, minimally trimmed and available only as four-door sedans. Under the hood, a 226-cid flathead six generated 100 hp in the base models and 112 hp in the Frazer Manhattan and the Kaiser Custom. Flatheads were fine in 1947, but in the Frazer, a six was another matter.

A four-door Lincoln offered the last American V-12 at $2554 in 1947 when the least expensive Cadillac four-door was the $2324 Series 61 with its flathead V-8. The entry-level Frazer sedan cost $2295 and if a driver was happy with a six, then a Packard Clipper four-door was a relative bargain at $1745. Those comparisons are fair, as advertising headlined “for those who can afford the ultimate — America’s newest fine car” explained that “the Frazer Manhattan is built for those who can afford the ultimate in personal transportation.” Setting its sights on Cadillac, Packard and Lincoln owners was a serious goal and the open-mindedness that accompanied Frazer’s lack of tradition apparently overlooked the connection between a high price and a big engine.

Still, the Frazer sold fairly well in the beginning. It was a good car and the sellers’ market helped, but there were problems. By 1949, the Frazer seemed dated among truly postwar cars. Cadillac now had a modern overhead-valve V-8, Lincoln had a flathead V-8, Packard had gone to all eights and yet Frazer continued with its six. It was now “the most distinguished value* in the luxury car field … the hand-crafted Frazer Manhattan. The Pride of Willow run.” The asterisk was telling: a footnote stated that the price had been “revised downward” to $2595, almost $200 below the Cadillac, but about $20 above the base Lincoln four-door and $50 more than the Packard.

Two utilitarian Kaiser-Frazers

Things were not going well at Kaiser-Frazer. Joseph Frazer soon left and the product line was shuffled. Among the new models were Kaiser’s basic Special Traveler and its better-finished Frazer Custom Vagabond. Essentially modified four-door sedans, the Special Traveler and Vagabond featured rear liftgates and dropgates that provided access to a cargo area expandable to 130 cubic feet by folding the rear seat. They were not only “cars that lead a double life,” but “the world’s most useful car” and in an ad showing one serving as an ambulance, “the car that answers a cry for help.” It was an excellent idea and while it was a reach to claim that the “Traveler obsoletes (the) conventional station wagon,” Kaiser could honestly state that “with the hinged rear panels closed, the Traveler looks just like a standard four-door sedan.”

K-F, though, just couldn’t win. A new body arrived for 1951 Kaisers, but Frazer was now on its way out and would have to make do with what it had. New front and rear clips gave the original body shell a completely different look. The previously staid and dignified design was now sleek, modern and a little bit flashy even as the new Frazer Vagabond. In Traveler form, Kaiser had shown it holding a pony and a bale of hay in one ad and a bear in another. It was “for farmers, small businessmen” … “salesmen, retailers … everyone who wants the prestige of owning a big, beautiful, luxurious sedan, but needs a car that can also earn its own way.” As a Frazer Vagabond, it was “for you … sportsman, estate owner or commuter.”

Still the Pride of Willow Run, “the Frazer Vagabond fills the needs of all who require a handsome sedan on one trip and a large-capacity carrier on the next. For merchant, farmer, technician or professional man, the Vagabond serves double use in transporting products or equipment. With its new Supersonic Engine (Hydra-Matic Drive optional at extra cost) and handcrafted quality, the Vagabond has the performance and value to make it the year’s smartest buy for smart people.” The automatic was new, the Supersonic Six bumped horsepower from 112 to 115 and the car was practical and undeniably attractive, but it was over.

Creative thinking had produced the Vagabond’s original design and it worked well enough with the updated front and rear sheet metal to produce about 2900 sales — one third of the 1951 Frazers. One Vegabond was sold in Port Byron, N.Y., and Bruce Green of Cato, N.Y., now owns it. He said that his father bought it around 1980 as a barn find.

Reviving a stalled project

“I don’t really know why he decided to buy it,” Green said, “but that was 1980 and I was maybe two or three years old at the time … When Dad got it, he towed it home and he said that the engine was seized and he had my uncle come and help him free up the engine. He drove it maybe two-tenths of a mile and said, ‘It needs a valve job.’ He tore the engine apart, put the head into the back of the car, put the car sideways in the back of the garage and it sat there from 1980 until 2009.”

His father had long planned to get the Frazer running, but until that happened, it sat on jackstands in the garage and as most cars do in such situations, became storage for anything that would fit. That ended when the engine came out to be rebuilt and not long after, the car was back on the road and Green’s father was enjoying it.

“During that one year,” Green explained, “he had it done enough to drive and he did take it out to a few shows before he passed … The first time I drove it would’ve been in early 2010. My father was in the hospital, getting treatments for leukemia and he said, ‘While I’m not there to worry about it, why don’t you go home and take the car out of the garage and teach yourself to drive on it?’ I’d driven a stick, I’d driven a tractor, I’d driven his (1947) Buick once, but I never really got out and just drove. That’s what I did. I backed this thing out and I just started driving it.”

By 2015, he was confident enough in the car to drive it to Gettysburg, Pa., for a Kaiser-Frazer Owners Club meet. While not quite “The Trip From Hell,” various fuel problems conspired against him on the 400-mile drive, but a replacement fuel pump bought at the meet plus some expertise from other owners got the car home with nothing worse than some minor vapor locking. After that, problems ranged from a broken motor mount to a broken wire and now Green knows that the Frazer is now ready for any run. More to the point, none of those difficulties changed his mind and he still likes the car that much.

“Yeah,” he said, “mostly because of the hatchback. It’s such an unusual vehicle. It gets a lot of attention … To me, it’s all about what they did when they customized this car. They customized it. It is factory, but they said that there are 200 changes that they made from just a Frazer Manhattan or Frazer standard (model) to make it into the Vagabond.”

Obviously, there are the hatch and the tailgate, but the left rear door doesn’t open because the spare tire is there. Wood skid-strips protect the trunk floor and the seat back flips to extend the floor, all of which show some wear because the original owner had used the Frazer to carry a boat on Adirondack camping trips. The exterior isn’t perfect, either, which leads to the question that every owner confronts. Restore it or drive it?

“I’ve got (other) cars,” Green said. “I’ve got an old house that needs restoration. It’s all about priorities.”

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The post Car of the Week: 1951 Frazer Vagabond appeared first on Old Cars Weekly.

Chase Motor Truck Co. operated in Syracuse, N.Y., from 1906 to 1917 and like its far-more-famous neighbor, Franklin, it used air-cooled engines of its own design. Putting aside arguments over the relative merits of air-cooling versus water-cooling, it was an era when the automobile in a sense was still being invented and to many visionaries, anything that even seemed like a good idea was worth a try. Aurin Chase’s approach was nothing, if not interesting.

A 1910 Chase is given the once-over by spectators. It’s been in the same family for more than 80 years.

Just as there was no solid consensus on engine cooling, there was also no real convention as to design; a two-, three- or four-cylinder – all of which Chase would offer – was entirely acceptable. The Chase engines were two-strokes, and although four-stroke engines have been the norm in American cars for decades, that hasn’t been true in other parts of the world. Saab and DKW sold their three-cylinder, two-stroke models here in the 1950s and 1960s, but only at the lowest level did they have anything in common with the Chase. The connection was in those engines that reflected similar thinking. For the Chase shown here, that resulted in the first of the flukes mentioned above.

“It started its life as a fire truck in Almond, N.Y.,” said its owner, Stan Herdman of Newark, N.Y. “[With] a two-cycle, three-cylinder engine, it wasn’t too good in starting and they didn’t understand it. Then, they had a fire and it didn’t start, so they got rid of it. It floated around Alfred and Almond for a number of years and then it got to the point where it was 1924 when it went up for auction.

“At that time, nobody wanted it. It was an old truck and by that time, they had self-starters. It would’ve been sold for a farm wagon and they could not get a bid on it, so my father hollered ‘50 cents!’ He was a serious man … my father was a real dealer. He never paid much for anything, but he wanted it because it was odd and the auctioneer struck it down to him, so we’ve had it ever since then.”

The 50-cent bid was in 1924 dollars, of course, but buying it for the 2008 equivalent – about $6 – would be about as much of a fluke today and Herdman’s statement that the truck has been in the family since the auction is true, only because of yet another fluke.

“But in 1931,” Herdman continued, “he got short for money and was going to sell it. A guy up the road said he’d buy it to build into a tractor, if it’d pull a plow. Dad said he thought it’d pull a plow, but he wasn’t sure and after he took it and paid him $25, Dad was hoping it wouldn’t and it didn’t. So it came back and Dad never put it up for sale again. That was the way it was.”

Herdman estimated that he invested about 3,000 hours in the Chase’s restoration during the 1970s and 1980s. The important pieces were there when he began, he said, but they didn’t include the body. That raises another point about the Chase’s time, namely that trucks and cars weren’t always very different. Aurin Chase understood that and designed his trucks for a smooth conversion to cars and back as needed; being high wheelers, they looked perhaps a little strange when configured as cars, but when wearing truck bodies as “expresses” or “runabouts,” they looked much like early Brockways. That’s unsurprising, given that the already established Chase was apparently involved with early Brockway production in 1910 and later supplied components to the Cortland, N.Y., firm.

Beyond the body, Herdman replaced his truck’s drive chains and the engine required only new rings and pistons. The frame and wheels are original, other than paint, and although he said it’s an easy truck to drive, it does ride on solid tires.

“I’ve driven quite a lot of old cars, very early cars,” Herdman said, “and this one is probably one of the nicest driving. If I could drive it on a (grass) field like this, with the hard rubber tires, it’d be wonderful. But on the road, no, it’s a little rough. On a soft road, it would do quite well.”

With that qualifier, he said the Chase is safe and reliable enough for a 25-mile trip, but in the real world, it doesn’t get out often. While its two-speed planetary transmission is fairly simple, starting it is another matter. The combination of a long series of preparatory steps and infrequent use means Herdman checks his memory against a step-by-step sheet that he’s prepared.

“I try to go down through that list,” he said. “If I don’t get it just right, what happens is that it gets flooded, and when you get the plugs on this thing wet, it won’t run. And if it does, it won’t run good and you might not even be able to get it to run long enough to clear out the gas.”

The Chase is not alone among its contemporaries in being complicated to start, but as Herdman said, it’s reliable and drives well. His experience with the truck is probably representative, as he was able to track down several former Chase-owners who spoke well of them. An area funeral home had several, a family member learned to drive on one that provided good service and a hardware store’s owner recalled his as the toughest truck he’d ever had. The latter’s sole problem arose from its inability to run on molasses; unknowingly attempting to do so forced a complete teardown, but notwithstanding such unusual incidents, Herdman found that owners liked their Chases.

“Many of the others (that) had one of these cars, the truck or the car, they had really good luck with them,” he said. “That’s probably what sparked me to go ahead and do it because I heard nothing but good things from those people.”

One source places Chase production at 5,000 or more units and Herdman estimated that 40 to 50 remain today.

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The Imperial was one casualty, so when a mid-size Chrysler Corp. was launched in 1977, it was given a name long tied to an Imperial series: LeBaron. Although the Imperial had rarely provided serious competition for Lincoln and Cadillac, its failure to return for 1976 surely pained the company.

A LeBaron station wagon appeared in 1978 and was given another name long associated with upscale Chryslers, Town and Country. This one is a 1979. (Bob Tomaine photo)

And if it was embarrassing to admit defeat in the luxury market, it was equally so to watch quality problems appear soon after the Aspen/Volare’s 1976 introduction. It also must have been at least a little frightening to any manager or executive paying attention, since the Aspen and Volare were as replacements for Dodge’s Dart and Plymouth’s Valiant, respectively, and the two older models were generally well regarded as solid, dependable cars.

Despite all of that, there was reason to hope. Chrysler’s big success of the time was the Cordoba, introduced in 1975. The downsized luxury coupe perfectly followed the classic long hood, short deck formula, but with its twin at Dodge, the Charger, each wore styling fresh enough to distinguish it from the competition. The Cordoba really was smaller – its 115-inch wheelbase was 9 inches less than that of a New Yorker, and its overall length 11 inches less, but it still weighed in at 2 tons, and that left an opening for another model that would be smaller yet.

That was where the LeBaron came in. With dimensions comparable to those of the Aspen/Volare to which it was distantly related, the LeBaron weighed 400 to 500 pounds less than the Cordoba. It did offer one big similarity to the Cordoba, though, in that the LeBaron had a Dodge derivative ‘ the Diplomat ‘ that barely differed from it.

Among the shrewder parts of the planning behind the LeBaron was that it did not target those seeking basic or mid-level transportation. Instead, it was carefully aimed at luxury-car buyers in the same kind of thinking that had created two of its contemporaries: Cadillac’s 1976 Seville and Lincoln’s 1977 Versailles. All three felt small when compared to their respective full-size brethren and were touted with descriptions like “international-size” and “precision-size,” most of which were simply ways to say “Mercedes-like” without actually saying it. The Versailles is so obviously based on the Granada/Monarch that it could easily be taken for one of those less-expensive cars, but the Seville and LeBaron disguised their roots well; a Seville looks little like a Nova and the LeBaron’s resemblance to the Aspen/Volare is effectively one of family identity.

The LeBaron today would be described as “nicely equipped” with its 318-cid V-8, automatic transmission and power assists. But since its option list included such items as air conditioning, power windows and seats, road wheels and a sunroof, it would probably also be called a “near-luxury” car. Hair-splitting aside, the Le-Baron soon proved its planners right; it sold about 46,000 examples in its short first year, and that figure rose to about 128,000 in 1978 before falling to about 96,000 in 1979. However, nothing is free, and it fell to the Cordoba to pay. That model’s first-year sales had hit about 150,000 and the number reached about 168,000 in 1976, but dropped off slightly to about 163,000 in 1977 when the LeBaron appeared. That might not have caused panic at Chrysler, but the trend intensified with just some 108,000 Cordobas sold in 1978 and about 73,000 in 1979. That was the last year for the original Cordoba and the down-sized, restyled version that followed never produced anything like the enthusiasm generated by its predecessor. It continued only through 1983, even as the LeBaron pressed on.

Certainly one of the more curious additions to the LeBaron came in its second year, when buyers were given a choice of not only the 318 and a newly available 360 cid, but also one of Chrysler’s most enduring engines, the 225-cid “Slant Six.” If that wasn’t enough to surprise potential customers, the standard transmission was now a four-speed with an overdrive top-gear, but changes weren’t limited to drivetrains.

Beyond normal year-to-year differences, the LeBaron sedan and coupe were joined by a station wagon. It made good sense; the full-size Chrysler wagon had sold poorly in recent years and was therefore dropped, freeing up another important name so that the new LeBaron wagon could become the Town and Country.

When the new LeBaron debuted in mid 1977, it was the lightest Chrysler ever produced and was available as a coupe or sedan. This red LeBaron coupe hails from 1979. (Jeremy Tietz photo)

It was a smart move. While the merits of simulated wood versus the strengths of genuine wood can be debated and usually are, the Town and Country name, even in 1978, recalled to many the high-end Chrysler woodies of the 1940s and early 1950s. Few commented on the fact that the LeBaron Town and Country wore its side paneling bumper to bumper, like most wagons using plastic wood trim, and unlike true woodies. However, a non-plastic-wood-trimmed wagon became available in 1980.

That change was part of a restyling that reduced the roundness of its body panels and edges to give the car a more angular quality. It added up to a fairly different ‘ but clearly related ‘ look that would continue through 1981 on the LeBaron and then, via one of the era’s more complicated reshufflings, on the New Yorker Fifth Avenue. The explanation is that Chrysler dropped its full-size models at the end of 1981, placed the LeBaron name on a new, smaller model and moved the New Yorker name to the former LeBaron sedan. Names continued to bounce around, and for 1984, the one-time LeBaron was simply a Fifth Avenue and still looked about as it did in 1980.

In its final identity, it would run through the 1989 model year with few visual changes. By the end, it was a decidedly low-tech survivor of an earlier age and easily found buyers who wanted exactly that: a large, rear-wheel-drive luxury sedan with a V-8. After some 43,000 sales in 1988, though, Chrysler just couldn’t find enough of those customers, and with about 17,000 Fifth Avenues sold in 1989, the design was retired and the name ‘ like LeBaron and New Yorker ‘ found itself on a new car.

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