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| Falling Star: The Checkered History of the Chevrolet Vega |
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| Written by Aaron Severson |
| Saturday, 10 October 2009 00:00 |
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It sounded so promising at the time. After years of dismissing imported compacts as cars for kooks, GM was finally going to build an attractive, sophisticated subcompact, featuring the latest advances in manufacturing technology. To follow that, Chevrolet going to offer a sporty version with a racy twin-cam engine built by the legendary English firm Cosworth. It was the car that was going to save America for American cars -- that is, until it all went wrong. DÉJÀ VU ALL OVER AGAINIt all had to sound very familiar. Back in the late 1950s, the Eisenhower recession had provoked a sudden flurry of interest in economical compact cars, of which American manufacturers of the time sold very few. As a result, the market for imported cars, previously negligible, suddenly climbed to a worrisome 5% or so of the U.S. market. Each of the domestic automakers (except AMC, which already had them) hastened to develop their own homegrown compact cars, which were supposed to drive the foreign invaders from American shores.
These not-terribly-small domestic compacts sold well, but they failed to reduce the growth of imported cars, which by the late sixties included Datsun and Toyota, as well as the ubiquitous Volkswagen. By the middle of the decade, Detroit appeared to have given up. An unnamed Chevrolet exec told Motor Trend in 1965 that they felt foreign cars appealed to a "fringe minority" that Chevrolet was happy to leave to Volkswagen. By Detroit standards, the logic was unassailable. In America, goodness was synonymous with bigness, particularly in the collective minds of the Big Three. They had considered compacts back in the forties, but abandoned the idea when they realized that they couldn't build small cars any cheaper than full-size models. Other than AMC's George Romney, most auto executives couldn't imagine why anyone would want a smaller car if they could afford a big one. Even when Detroit finally, reluctantly introduced smaller cars, the resultant products tended to have a distinct loss-leader vibe. It was no great surprise; Chevrolet made $200 more on each midsize Chevelle than they did on a compact Chevy II, and the big Impala had a $400 greater per-car margin than the Chevelle. Who needed small cars, except perhaps to entice young buyers who would eventually trade up to an Impala or Caprice? The flaw in that reasoning was that the fringe kept getting bigger. By 1969, small cars (including both imports and domestic compacts) accounted for 29% of the U.S. market. The imports owned nearly half of that segment -- 13% of all U.S. auto sales. Like it or not, the Big Three were going to have to respond, and soon. In October 1968, GM chairman James Roche announced to the press that in two years, GM would build a subcompact car codenamed XP-887. He promised that it would be priced like a Volkswagen Beetle, weigh less than 2,000 pounds (907 kg), and feature new advances in both engineering and assembly. It would stem the tide of imported small cars, and show the world what General Motors could do. COLE'S CORPORATE COMPACTAs we have already discussed, the most complex and sophisticated of the earlier crop of domestic compacts was the Chevrolet Corvair. Shepherded by Chevy general manager Edward N. Cole, the Corvair was radically engineered by American standards, featuring an air-cooled, rear-mounted aluminum engine, swing-axle rear suspension, and unitary construction. Unfortunately, it was expensive to build, and GM ordered a last-minute cost-cutting program to bring down its list price. Despite those cuts, the Corvair didn't sell as well as expected, and some of the cost reduction measures exacerbated its inherent tendency toward final oversteer. A series of accidents involving Corvairs resulted in lawsuits against GM, attracting unwelcome attention from consumer advocates like Ralph Nader. Later iterations, although much improved, were overshadowed by Ford's popular far less innovative Mustang, and the Corvair was left to languish, finally expiring in 1969. Only General Motors could consider a car that sold 1.7 million units in ten years a failure, but the corporation was apparently embarrassed enough by the whole situation that ithe Corvair disappeared for several years from the company's official corporate history.
Nonetheless, Ed Cole continued to thrive. He was promoted to group VP of car and truck operations in November 1961, elected executive vice president in July 1965, and named president and chief operating officer in October 1967. Cole was an engineer by training, and besides the Corvair, he had played a key role in the development of GM's most successful modern V8s, Cadillac's 1949 OHV engine and the famous small-block Chevy, introduced for 1955. During Cole's tenure as president, he would also champion the Wankel rotary engine, with which GM had an expensive and ultimately fruitless flirtation in the early seventies. According to John DeLorean, who was general manager of Chevrolet during its development, at the time of Roche's speech, the XP-887 was little more than a set of technical specifications and financial estimates, created by extrapolating from the specifications of various existing foreign cars. However, Ed Cole had strong ideas about small car design, and the XP-887 became very much his baby. Unlike the Corvair, the XP-887's original mechanical package was designed by the corporate Engineering Staff, probably with a great deal of input from Ed Cole. Its exterior design, meanwhile, was developed under the direct supervision of Styling VP Bill Mitchell and his lieutenants, Irv Rybicki and Chuck Jordan, rather than in the Chevrolet studios. This was a dramatic reversal of the usual order of things. Former GM chairman and CEO Alfred P. Sloan had always advocated giving the different divisions as much autonomy as possible, subject to the overall financial control of upper management. Most new products began at an individual division, and were then pitched to the corporation for approval. This time, the corporation was dictating product to the division that would have to build and sell it, namely Chevrolet. Under the leadership of Pete Estes, Chevrolet had actually developed its own subcompact, a smaller counterpart to the Chevy II/Nova, powered by an all-new cast-iron four-cylinder engine. Ed Cole rejected this proposal out of hand, and ordered Chevrolet to build the XP-887 according to the specifications prepared by the Engineering Staff. The reaction of Chevrolet engineers was predictable -- their former boss had effectively told them that their own design wasn't good enough. According to John DeLorean, by the time he took over as Chevrolet's general manager in February 1969, the division's engineering staff was all but refusing to work on the XP-887. PASSING THE BUCKAs DeLorean tried to reinvigorate his disgruntled staff, he discovered a bigger problem: many aspects of the XP-887's design were outdated, off-target, or simply wrong. For example, there was no provision for the side-guard door beams that GM policy would shortly require for all passenger cars, and the strength of the body structure left much to be desired. By the fall of 1969, it was clear that a production version of the XP-887 would be more than 10% over its design weight, with a commensurate increase in its projected costs; DeLorean claimed that most of the original cost projections had been wishful thinking to begin with.
While the engineers were beefing up the XP-887's body structure, DeLorean ordered a marketing study to determine how best to pitch the new car. Since it was going to be difficult or impossible to meet the original price target, Chevrolet's marketing staff recommended moving the XP-887 upmarket, making it a "premium" small car in the manner of the early Nash Rambler. The corporate Engineering Policy Group provisionally approved that plan, but the Pricing Review Committee later countermanded that decision, ordering Chevrolet to de-content the car to bring its price closer to the original target. DeLorean also ordered Hank Haga's Chevrolet Advanced styling studio to revamp the XP-887's exterior design, giving more resemblance to other Chevrolet models, particularly the new second-generation Camaro. That effort was considerably more successful than the marketing plan. If the revised design wasn't quite sexy, it was certainly pleasant enough to look at, with overtones of both the Camaro and the Fiat 124 coupe.  The Vega's resemblance to the 1970½ Chevy Camaro is most apparent from head on, particularly the eggcrate grille and the shape of the bumper. (Photo © 2008 Robert Spinello; used under a CreativeCommons Attribution ShareAlike 3.0 license) Another political battle ensued over the car's name. The moniker that had floated around prior to introduction was "Gemini," which the division's marketing study had strongly endorsed. It evoked the highly successful Project Gemini space missions of a few years earlier, and it sounded like a clever play on the words "GM Mini." Ed Cole, however, favored the name Vega, after a bright star in the constellation Lyra, and the corporation again overruled Chevrolet's own marketing staff. To build the Vega, Chevrolet invested heavily in expanding and modernizing its factory in Lordstown, Ohio. As James Roche had promised, the modernization included a high level of automation, with Unimate robots to perform most of the 3,900-odd welds on the Vega's unit body. The plant update revealed the corporation's expectations for the Vega's sales volume: Lordstown now had an annual capacity of 400,000 units. ENGINEERING THE FUTUREIn size, the Chevrolet Vega was halfway between the Ford Maverick and the Volkswagen Super Beetle, 169.7 inches (4,310 mm) long on a 97-inch (2,464 mm) wheelbase. It was quite low-slung; the two-door sedan had an overall height of 51.9 inches (1,318 mm), only half an inch (13 mm) taller than a 1969 Camaro. The Vega had unitary construction, a conventional front-engine/rear-drive layout, and recirculating-ball steering. A three-speed manual gearbox was standard, with a four-speed manual or two-speed Powerglide optional. Front suspension was a conventional double wishbone arrangement, while the rear suspension was a live axle located by four trailing arms, essentially a miniature version of the Chevelle's rear end. Front disc brakes were standard equipment. At launch, the Vega weighed about 2,300 lb (1,043 kg), nearly 400 lb (181 kg) more than a Beetle and 235 lb (107 kg) more than Ford's rival Pinto.
Despite its weight, the Vega's body was not terribly robust. Prototypes continually broke during testing, requiring considerable reinforcement. Snow-belt owners soon found that its corrosion resistance also left much to be desired, and cost cutting had left the Vega with unlined fenders, easily damaged by road salt.  The first Vega off the assembly line. (Photo © 2005/2010 Robert Spinello; used under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported license) In most respects, however, the Vega was a perfectly conventional small Chevrolet, not terribly different from its larger Nova and Chevelle cousins. Its most unique feature -- and its real Achilles heel -- was its engine. THE ALUMINUM ISSUEThe Vega's engine was an all-new inline-four, with a single overhead camshaft -- a first for Chevrolet, and a rarity for American engines of the period. With a displacement of 140 cu. in. (2,286 cc), it was big for the economy-car class, with undersquare dimensions for strong low-end torque. More significantly, as GM had promised and Ed Cole had insisted, the new engine featured an aluminum cylinder block, something GM hadn't offered since it sold its all-aluminum V8 to Rover in 1964.
While aluminum cylinder heads were relatively common on non-U.S. engines, aluminum blocks still very rare in those days. The main reason was cost. Although aluminum is significantly lighter than iron (a very attractive quality for passenger vehicles, in which the engine is usually the largest single mass), it is also substantially more expensive to produce, to buy, and to machine. Furthermore, cast aluminum is significantly softer than cast iron, creating problems with premature wear of the cylinder bores. Adding iron or steel cylinder liners mitigates the wear issues, but raises costs even further. Since the late fifties, GM's Engineering Staff had been looking for ways to make aluminum cylinder blocks that would not require cylinder liners. To that end, GM and Reynolds Aluminum had devised a new aluminum alloy called A390, developed in the early 1960s. When properly finished, A390's high silicon content provided a much harder bore surface than most aluminum alloys -- hard enough and durable enough to make cylinder liners unnecessary. Ed Cole was very enthusiastic about this process, which he thought would be cheaper and simpler to assemble than engines with cast-in or pressed-in iron liners. (It's unclear if it actually was or not; GM said it saved $8 per engine, but John DeLorean later claimed that it cost more than iron sleeves.)  The Vega's engine had a 3.50 in. (89 mm) bore and 3.63 in. (92.1 mm) stroke, giving a displacement of 140 cu. in. (2,286 cc). At introduction, its rated output was 90 gross horsepower (67 kW) with a single-throat carburetor and 110 hp (82 kW) in optional L11 two-barrel form. (Photo © 2009 Robert Spinello; used under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported license) There was nothing conceptually wrong with the Vega's linerless cylinder block; Cosworth later found that it wasn't strong enough for serious racing use, but it was adequate for street use, and except for some early casting problems, bore wear was normally very low. Indeed, linerless aluminum blocks are very common today, with few problems. However, the aluminum block made the Vega's engine particularly sensitive to overheating -- particularly in combination with the cast iron cylinder head, specified for cost reasons. (Curiously, the Vega's iron head actually weighed more than the engine block, making the engine somewhat top-heavy.) Among their differences, iron and aluminum have very different heat-conduction and expansion rates. If an aluminum/iron engine overheats, the aluminum side will expand faster than the iron side, putting considerable stress on the head gasket (which mates the head to the block) and eventually causing it to fail. Since aluminum is softer than iron, severe overheating can also cause the aluminum side to warp, resulting in permanent damage. That issue was by no means unique to the Vega -- engines with aluminum heads and iron blocks run the same risk -- but the Vega's aluminum cylinder block was also vulnerable in another way. Severe overheating would break down the silicon content of the A390 alloy, leaving soft areas in the cylinder bores that would be quickly scuffed and scored by the pistons. As long as the engine remained within normal operating temperatures, none of these concerns would usually be a problem. However, the cost-cutting binge had left the Vega with an undersized radiator, inadequate for strenuous duties like climbing a long grade on a hot summer day. Worse, there was no coolant overflow tank, so if the engine did begin to boil over, it also lost coolant, eventually running itself dry. As a result, any serious cooling system problems, like a failed thermostat, were a recipe for serious engine damage. Compounding this problem was the engine's high oil consumption. According to Vega historian Robert Spinello, the primary culprit was not the block, but the valve stem seals, which tended to be brittle, causing them to crack and leak oil into the cylinders. Since engine oil is partly responsible for engine cooling, as well as lubrication, the Vega engine's tendency to run a quart low only exacerbated its vulnerability to overheating. Beyond that, the Vega engine was not a very pleasant companion. It had adequate power, but it was disturbingly noisy when revved, and quite rough. Four-cylinder inline engines have an unbalanced coupling force that causes the engine to rock up and down; the bigger the displacement (in particular, the longer the piston stroke), the greater the shake. Modern fours generally quell these forces with twin counter-rotating balance shafts, but that technology was in its infancy when the Vega was designed, and even if it had been readily available, it might have been deemed too expensive. Instead, Chevrolet used very soft engine mounts, hoping to isolate the shaking from the passenger compartment. According to Robert Spinello, the soft engine mounts contributed to another problem. Since they did little to restrain the engine's shaking, the magnitude of that movement was enough to gradually loosen the mounting bolts for the carburetor body, occasionally causing bursts of raw fuel to spray into the cylinders, producing dramatic backfires when the unburned fuel hit the hot exhaust system. This problem was eventually fixed through an expensive recall campaign, which cost Chevrolet both money and credibility.  This battered, primer-gray '71 Vega GT is missing one of its taillights, but gives a good sense of the original rear profile. Slots on the hatch are the exhaust vents for the flow-through ventilation system. The GT included a heavy-duty suspension, front and rear anti-roll bars, bigger tires (although not as big as the fat boots on this heavily modified example), and a new instrument cluster with a tachometer. A four-speed manual transmission, Positraction limited-slip differential with 3.23 axle ratio, and the up-rated L11 engine completed the package. LATE, LATE FOR A VERY IMPORTANT DATEWhen the Vega was introduced to the public in September 1970, the cost and weight overruns had pushed the base price of the cheapest two-door sedan to $2,091, a substantial $192 -- almost 10% -- more than the Super Beetle that had been its original target. The Vega was also $172 more than a basic Ford Pinto, and $293 more than a Toyota Corolla. Despite its price, the Vega was perhaps the most Spartan car in its class, and it took another $150 worth of options to bring it to the same level of equipment and trim as its import rivals.
On a strictly statistical basis, the Vega compared well with most rivals in areas other than price. In January 1971, Car and Driver clocked a manual-shift base Vega from 0-60 mph (0-97 km/h) in just over 12 seconds and recorded an average of 27.1 mpg (8.7 L/100 km), making it faster than most of its competitors (other than the AMC Gremlin, which was far thirstier) and almost as thrifty as the less-powerful Toyota Corolla and Datsun 510. The magazine also judged the Vega the only car in its class capable of civilized highway cruising, and praised its handling, which was nimble by American standards.  In addition to the two-door sedan and the three-door hatchback coupe, the Vega was offered either as a Kammback two-door wagon or as this two-door Panel Express (essentially the Kammback wagon without side glass). The wagon was more than $200 more expensive than the sedan, so it accounted for relatively few sales. (Photo © 2008 Robert Spinello; used under a CreativeCommons Attribution ShareAlike 3.0 license) Despite its objective performance, the Vega left many critics with mixed feelings. Numbers aside, it suffered from various minor lapses, from its poorly spaced gearing (which Car and Driver compared to a five-speed missing two of its intermediate gears) to the dreariness of its standard trim. Its interior space was also unimpressive, particularly considering the Vega's size and weight. Nevertheless, Motor Trend inevitably named the Vega its 1971 Car of the Year. Unfortunately for Chevrolet, capitalizing on that praise -- and the Vega's multimillion-dollar ad campaign -- would not be easy. Shortly after the Vega's public debut, GM was hit by a lengthy UAW strike, provoked in part by internal union conflicts following the death of UAW leader Walter Reuther in a plane crash that fall. As a result, production halted for weeks, and Chevy dealers had only about 24,000 Vegas to sell until mid-January of 1971. The strike limited first-year Vega sales to 277,705 units, which was well below the 400,000-unit target. Sales for 1972 climbed to 394,592, which was more what Chevy had in mind. Early Vegas were reasonably well assembled by American standards, whatever their design flaws and engine-casting issues, but quality took an ugly turn in 1972. The Lordstown plant had previously been run by Fisher Body, but in the fall of 1972, GM turned over control to the GM Assembly Division (GMAD), looking to reduce costs. GMAD immediately laid off some 700 workers, while upping production from 60 cars an hour to 100 an hour. Workers protested that they no longer had time to do a good job, but it was to little avail. According to John DeLorean, GMAD exacerbated the situation by taking an extremely heavy hand with discipline, sending workers home for infractions like being a minute late or taking a restroom break during their shifts. The quality-control inspectors DeLorean had put in place were among those laid off, and assembly quality began to drop. Accusations of deliberate sabotage led workers to call another strike, which ultimately earned them nothing. The Vega soon became one of the worst-built models in the Chevy line-up. Moreover, owners complained that Chevrolet dealers often did a poor job of preparing the cars for sale, and seemed unprepared to fix them if something went wrong.  The Vega sold well for much of its lifespan; this is the millionth Vega, a 1973 GT coupe. If you look closely, you can see that the front bumper is stouter than that of the 1971 above. In 1973, it was beefed up to meet federal crash standards, adding 179 lb (81 kg) to the Vega's weight. The 1973 models had various detail improvements, including revised gearing, improved shift linkage, and a certain reduction in engine noise and thrash. The 1974 models had even stouter bumpers, a new slanted grille, and a bigger fuel tank, raising curb weight an additional 150 lb (68 kg). (Photo © 2008 Robert Spinello; used under a CreativeCommons Attribution ShareAlike 3.0 license) Still, neither these woes nor customer complaints about rust, overheating, and backfiring seemed to affect sales. Chevrolet sold 427,300 Vegas for 1973 and an impressive 460,374 for 1974, bolstered by the OPEC oil embargo that began in late 1973. THE COSWORTHWhatever its other foibles, the Vega coupe was a fairly sporty piece, particularly with the optional 110-hp L11 engine, four-speed transmission, F41 handling suspension, bigger tires, and optional Positraction limited-slip differential. It was clear that the basic package could handle more power than the standard engine provided.
In March 1970, John DeLorean and Chevrolet assistant chief engineer Lloyd Reuss (who had recently succeeded Jim Musser as the Vega's chief project engineer) contacted Britain's Cosworth Engineering about the possibility of developing a racing version of the Vega engine. Established in 1958 by Mike Costin and Keith Duckworth, Cosworth was one of the world's preeminent builders of racing engines, prominent in Formula One. Up until that time, Cosworth had been most closely associated with Ford, but Keith Duckworth was intrigued by the Chevy proposal.  The Cosworth Vega carried its identification on the tail, inboard of the taillights. Reuss assigned Chevrolet performance engineer Cal Wade to work with Cosworth on the project. Wade ultimately made 13 trips to England, where he and Cosworth engineer Mike Hall set about wringing more horsepower out of the Vega engine. They ultimately developed a high-performance 16-valve DOHC aluminum head, which promised as much as 270 hp (201 kW) in racing trim. The Cosworth engine was initially intended strictly as a competition engine, but Cal Wade thought a street version would turn the standard Vega into a formidable sports coupe. In the summer of 1970, Wade built a full-size wooden mock-up of the twin-cam engine and presented it to DeLorean, along with his ideas for a production version. Chief engineer Don McPherson was extremely skeptical, but DeLorean was intrigued, and told Wade to keep working on it. In the summer of 1971, Wade approached the Bendix Corporation about developing an electronic fuel injection (EFI) system for the street Cosworth. At his behest, Bendix pitched the idea to DeLorean, suggesting that the high-performance Vega would be a great testbed for a system that might eventually be added to all Vegas. Around the same time, the first street version of the DOHC engine was dyno tested in the U.S., to the reported amazement of Don McPherson, who had doubted it would run at all. DeLorean ordered a marketing study on the feasibility of a performance Vega. Chevrolet marketing analyst Gertrude McWilliams's report concluded that if the car had adequate performance, there would be a market for at least 30,000 units a year, a respectable figure. DeLorean presented that report to Ed Cole in the spring of 1972, allowing Cole and Corvette chief engineer Zora Arkus-Duntov to drive a prototype. Cole approved DeLorean's plan for an initial run of 5,000 cars, originally set to debut in mid-1973, and DeLorean signed an agreement with Cosworth for the rights to use the Cosworth name on a production car. Here, the trouble began. Cosworth had hit the wall in its efforts to turn the DOHC Vega engine into a racer. Its 270 hp (201 kW) output was still at least 20 horsepower (15 kW) shy of what they wanted, but it was all the stock block could withstand without splitting. Strengthening the block would require extensive production changes, which Chevrolet refused to make. Cosworth finally concluded it was hopeless, and abandoned the racing engine in 1973. Chevrolet's street version wasn't faring much better. Its development had been promising, and Cal Wade had initially hoped for 185 hp (138 kW) with fuel injection. Emissions and noise regulations trimmed that to about 130 net horsepower (97 kW) (although some early press reports promised 140 hp (104 kW)), and even at that level, Wade and Don McPherson were dubious about its ability to pass the EPA's 50,000-mile (80,500-km) durability test. They decided to delay certification until they'd had more development time.  The Cosworth Vega Z09 twin-cam engine. The production engine was ultimately far more Chevrolet than Cosworth, although it was very sophisticated for its time. GM would not offer another DOHC 16V fuel-injected four-cylinder engine until the ill-fated Quad 4, more than 20 years later. Eager to bring some positive publicity to the Vega Chevrolet general manager Jim McDonald (who had replaced John DeLorean in October 1972) nonetheless decided to announce the Cosworth to the press in mid-1973, saying it would be ready midway through the 1974 model year. The announcement generated great excitement, both in the automotive press and with other automakers. GM's foreign subsidiaries Holden and Opel both expressed interest in buying Cosworth engines for use in their own products, as did Jensen's Kvell Qvale. Dealers started taking customer deposits for Cosworth Vegas, and waiting lists began to form. Unfortunately, by the summer of 1974, the car still wasn't ready. The twin-cam engine had failed its EPA durability tests that spring, sending Wade back to the drawing board. Since Don McPherson was reluctant to commit more manpower or resources to what he already saw as a lost cause, the retuned engine, now fitted with a catalytic converter and "Pulse Air" air-injection system, did not complete its durability test until January 1975. It finally received its EPA and California certifications that March, and the Cosworth Vega made its public debut on April 17, nearly two years after the original announcement. The Cosworth engine's technical specifications were impressive. It retained the aluminum block, but it had an entirely new cast aluminum cylinder head, with dual overhead camshafts and four valves per cylinder, giving 50% more total valve area than the standard Vega engine. It had been de-stroked to 3.16 in. (80 mm), reducing displacement to 122 cu. in. (1,995 cc), but it was notably smoother and more eager to rev than its plebeian parent. With a dry weight of 305 lb (138 kg) for the complete engine, it was also about 40 lb (18 kg) lighter. Bendix electronic fuel injection was standard, another first for Chevrolet. Despite all that, the Cosworth engine's output was disappointing. Chevrolet initially claimed 120 hp (90 kW), but that was hastily revised to 111 and finally 110 net horsepower (82 kW) at 5,600 rpm. (On paper, the Z09 Cosworth sounded no more powerful than the carbureted L11 engine of 1971, but the latter's 110 hp was an SAE gross rating; by 1975, the L11 was rated a more realistic 87 net horsepower (65 kW).) The Cosworth's 110 hp was certainly not bad -- in fact, it was almost spot on the similarly sized engine in the BMW 320i, which appeared the following year -- but it was not the junior Supercar Chevrolet had been promising.  The "engine-turned" dash appliqué was standard on the Cosworth Vega, as was a tachometer and voltmeter; for some reason, the stock car still only had an oil-pressure warning light. (The accessory gauges to the right of the main cluster are not stock.) This car has the Borg-Warner five-speed manual, which was added to the options list in 1976. The five-speed included a shorter final drive ratio (4.10, versus 3.73 with the four-speed) for better acceleration. Only about half of the 1976 Cosworths were so equipped. A DECLINING MARKETDespite the mediocre output -- and the fact that the Vega had picked up more than 300 lb (136 kg) of curb weight in the past four years -- the Cosworth Vega was reasonably quick. In March 1975, Car and Driver's early-production test car ran 0-60 mph (0-97 km/h) in 8.7 seconds and did the standing quarter mile (402 meters) in 17.6 seconds at 80.1 mph (129 km/h); they recorded a top speed of 107 mph (172 km/h). Road & Track couldn't match those acceleration figures, but in July 1976, they clocked a top speed of 112 mph (180 km/h). Those were not muscle-car times, but they were quite good for the performance-challenged mid-seventies. Thanks to a new three-link/torque-arm suspension, the Cosworth's handling was even better than the standard Vega, a match for almost any sporty coupe of its time.
Unfortunately, the Cosworth Vega was not priced like other sporty coupes. With a starting price of $5,979, it cost twice as much as a regular Vega hatchback, over $2,000 more than a V8 Camaro, and $300 more than a Datsun 260Z. Chevy advertising called it "One Vega for the Price of Two," which was not an enticing tag line for previous Vega owners who'd already had their engines replaced under (or out of) warranty.  By 1975, federal 5 mph (8 km/h) bumpers had added 6.7 inches (170 mm) to the Vega's overall length, bringing it to 176.4 inches (4,481 mm). Curb weight had also swelled considerably; the Cosworth Vega weighed 2,760 lb (1,252 kg), about 320 lb (145 kg) more than an early Vega GT coupe. Chevrolet built a total of 2,061 Cosworth Vegas for 1975. Dealers initially resisted selling them, preferring to use them as showroom draws. They quickly discovered, however, that buyer interest evaporated when customers learned the car's $6,000 price, and many Cosworths were eventually sold at steep discounts. Orders for 1976 were a dismal 1,446, about half what Chevy had expected. At that point, Chevrolet general manager Bob Lund (who'd replaced Jim McDonald in December 1974) decided that enough was enough. The Cosworth Vega was discontinued, and most of the remaining batch of 5,000 engines were reportedly scrapped. All Vega sales were on the decline by 1975, partly because of its increasing spotty reputation and partly because of internal competition from the new H-body cars: the Chevrolet Monza, Buick Skyhawk, Oldsmobile Starfire and Pontiac Astre. The H-bodies shared the Vega's basic body shell, but had fresher styling. They could also be ordered with V6 or V8 engines, which were less economical but more reliable than the Vega's four. Overall Vega sales slumped to 207,764 for 1975, falling to 160,524 the following year, when Chevrolet introduced the new subcompact Chevette. By that time, Chevrolet had addressed many of the Vega's more serious problems. An expansion system with a low-coolant warning light was added to the radiator, rust protection was improved, new valve-stem seals reduced oil consumption, and a new Holley-Weber carburetor eliminated the backfire problem. Chevrolet even offered a five-year, 60,000-mile (96,600-km) engine warranty, a very expensive attempt to regain consumer confidence. Still, sales fell to 78,402 for 1977, the Vega's final year. The derivative H-bodies survived through 1980, but in their last three years, the previously standard Vega four was replaced by Pontiac's 151 cu. in. (2.5 L) "Iron Duke" engine.  The 1975 Cosworth Vega was available only in this black-and-gold livery (although this car lacks the original gold-painted aluminum wheels), although there was a choice of black or white vinyl upholstery. In 1976, Cosworth Vegas were available in any standard Vega color. The three-slat grille, added in 1974, was one of the only notable styling changes during the Vega's lifespan; it was revised a bit in 1976. Either way, we find it decidedly less attractive than the original eggcrate grille. POSTMORTEMAs with the Corvair, any statements about the Vega's failure have to be carefully qualified. Chevrolet sold over two million of them during its seven-year lifespan, which is excellent by almost any standards. During the difficult period of the OPEC embargo -- which briefly made big cars almost unsalable -- Chevy sold all the Vegas they could build. We're not sure if the division actually made a profit on the Vega itself, particularly considering its high warranty costs, but if we factor in the sales of the derivative H-body Monza, they probably came out ahead. What it cost the division in customer good will is harder to measure.
The Vega story is eerily reminiscent of the Corvair's history in many respects. Like the Corvair, it walked an uneasy line between high-tech sophistication and cheap-and-cheerful basic transportation. Like the Corvair, it embodied a number of perfectly sound concepts that were tarnished by slipshod execution. And, like the Corvair, it had significant flaws that probably wouldn't have been insurmountable had it not been for short-sighted, last-minute cost-cutting.  The 1975 Cosworth Vega introduced a new rear suspension that was subsequently adopted for all 1976-77 Vegas. Instead of four trailing links, it located the live axle with two trailing arms, a single torque arm, and a Panhard rod. All Vegas had front-disc/rear-drum brakes, although Cosworths had heavy-duty semi-metallic pads. Note the simpler one-piece tail lamps, added for 1976. In contrast to the front end, we find them more attractive than the original shape, looking more European and less like a Ford Maverick. As of this writing, GM is preparing to launch the Chevrolet Volt, a plug-in hybrid intended to demonstrate GM's engineering mojo and trump the Toyota Prius and Honda Insight. If you've followed the Volt's somewhat torturous development, there are disconcerting echoes of the Corvair and Vega: cutting-edge technology, grand promises, and significant cost and weight overruns, married with a curious sense of executive ambivalence. (Product czar Bob Lutz, at whose behest the Volt show car is being transformed into a production vehicle, has made no secret of his preference for thirsty V8 muscle cars, and has declared publicly that global warming is "a crock of shit.") The Volt is of undoubted technical interest, but given GM's track record in this area, we only hope that its story has a happier ending. # # #
NOTES ON SOURCESOur primary sources for the story of Vega's troubled development history were John DeLorean's account in John DeLorean and J. Patrick Wright, On a Clear Day You Can See General Motors: John Z. DeLorean's Look Inside the Automotive Giant (Chicago, IL: Avon Books, 1979) and Robert Spinello, "Complete Vega History 1970-1977" (date unknown, H-body.org, http://www.h-body.org/library/vegabob/vega-history-complete.html, accessed 27 August 2009).
We also consulted the following period articles: "Ford Pinto and Chevrolet Vega 2300: Detroit's Compact Commitment," Car and Driver, September 1970 (Vol. 16, No. 3), pp. 25-30; "A Small World to Conquer: Six-Car Comparison Test: AM Gremlin, Chevrolet Vega 2300, Ford Pinto, Simca 1204, Toyota Corolla, Volkswagen Super Beetle," Car and Driver, January 1971 (Vol. 16, No. 7), pp. 20-29; "1973 Chevrolet Vega," Road & Track, June 1973 (Vol. 24, No. 10), pp. 90-91; and John DeLorean, "Vega 2300"; Bill Sanders, "Vega: 2300"; Jim Brokaw, "Basic Sedan"; Bill Sanders, "GT Coupe"; and Jim Brokaw, "Wagon" all from Motor Trend, August 1970 (Vol. 22, No. 8). Information on the Cosworth Vega came from Arch Brown, "1975 Chevrolet Cosworth Vega: Twin-Cam, Quad-Valve Pace-Setter," Special Interest Autos #129, May-June 1992, pp. 38-45; John Dinkel, "Cosworth Vega for the Road," Road & Track, August 1973 (Vol. 24, No. 12), and "A Cosworth Vega History" (author and date unknown, CosworthVega.com, http://www.cosworthvega.com/cosworth_vega_history.html, accessed 28 August 2009). The infamous 1965 quote from a Chevrolet exec who characterized import buyers as "nuts" -- perhaps the most pointed statement we've ever heard of Detroit's attitude towards imports during that period -- came from Eric Dahlquist, "Declutching the BUG," Motor Trend, July 1968 (Vol. 20, No. 7), pp. 70-73. Bob Lutz's comments about global warming were originally reported in Glenn Hunter, D Magazine, 30 January 2008, http://frontburner.dmagazine.com/2008/01/30/gms-lutz-on-hybrids-global-warming-and-cars-as-art/; we originally read it in Frank Williams, "Lutz on Global Warming: 'It's a crock of shit,'" The Truth About Cars, 12 February 2008, http://www.thetruthaboutcars.com/lutz-on-global-warming-its-a-crock-of-shit/, accessed 12 February 2008).
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My first car was a 1971 Vega coupe, Mediterranean Blue with a four speed. Dad bought it used in 1972, and by the time I got it in 1978, had already rebuilt the engine once and it was needing another rebuild at 80,000 miles or so.
We had a second Vega ('73 GT Kammback) by this time which had been in an accident, so I swapped engines (the '73 had steel sleeves already), and drove it all through college, getting up to 30 mpg on the highway at times. Rust around the windows was probably the biggest problem, and I got in the habit of pulling the front and rear glass out every three years to sandblast and repaint...
By the time I traded the car in on a new Suzuki Samauri in the 1980s, it had 220,000+ miles on it and I had rebuilt or repaired every major subcomponent on the car at least once, including replacing the base trim dash with a GT trim one and dropping a Buick 3.8 liter V6 and 3 speed automatic in it. I also cut the coil springs to lower it a bit and cut the center out of the front bumper for that Camaro SS look.
I always thought the car looked and handled great, and in hindsight, it was a great car to learn auto repair on (due to the frequent opportunities to practice). It was a great idea, poorly executed.
Oh, the 1973 bumper was the same as the '71-72, just with longer supports and a filler plate. I guess the thinking was to minimize sheet metal damage by moving it out a bit.
Great article - thanks for the memory trip.
es