It 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. Since the American manufacturers sold very few of these, 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, many Big Three auto executives had given up trying. "We figure that there is a fringe minority of 5% in this country that will always buy a foreign car no matter what," an unnamed Chevy exec told Motor Trend in 1965. "The VW appeals to those nuts, and we're not going to bother competing in so small a market."

By Detroit standards, the logic was unassailable. In America, goodness was synonymous with bigness, particularly in the 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 had a distinct loss-leader vibe. Loss leaders are essentially what they were; 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 as way to snare the kids so they would eventually trade up to an Impala or Caprice?

The flaw in that reasoning was that the lunatic 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 domestic 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.

As we have already discussed, the most complex and sophisticated of the earlier crop of domestic compacts was Chevrolet's 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. The Corvair didn't sell as well as expected, and the cost reductions exacerbated its inherent tendency toward dramatic oversteer. It provoked a rash of lawsuits against GM, attracted the unwelcome attention of Ralph Nader, and was finally overshadowed by Ford's far less innovative Mustang. Chevrolet let the Corvair languish, and it finally expired in 1969. Only General Motors could consider a car that sold 1.7 million units in ten years a failure, but the corporation was embarrassed enough by the Corvair that it actually disappeared for several years from the company's official corporate history.

This did not hurt the fortunes of Ed Cole, who 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 he was responsible for both of GM's most successful modern engines (the 1949 Cadillac OHV V8 and the 1955 small-block Chevy), as well as the air-cooled Corvair. During his tenure as president, he also championed the Wankel rotary engine, with which GM had an expensive and ultimately fruitless flirtation in the early seventies.

Cole had strong ideas about small-car design, and the XP-887 was very much his baby. Unlike the Corvair, which had begun as a Chevrolet project, the XP-887 was developed by the corporate Engineering Staff. At the time of Roche's speech, it was essentially a set of technical specifications and financial estimates, created mostly by extrapolating from various existing foreign cars. Styling VP Bill Mitchell and his lieutenants, Irv Rybicki and Chuck Jordan, personally directed its styling development.

This was a dramatic reversal of the usual order of things. Former chairman and CEO Alfred P. Sloan -- GM's patron saint -- 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 with the individual division, and were then "sold" to the corporation for approval. This time, however, the corporation was dictating product to the divisions that would have to sell it, principally Chevrolet.

Chevrolet, under the leadership of Pete Estes, 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 blueprints prepared by the Engineering Staff. This engendered considerable hostility on the part of Chevy engineers. Not only did they have an inherent disdain for NIH (not invented here) ideas, their former boss was effectively telling them that their own design wasn't good enough. By the time John DeLorean took over as general manager of Chevy in February 1969, he said the division had practically written it off.

As DeLorean and his disgruntled staff worked to turn the XP-887 into a production Chevy, he quickly discovered a bigger problem: a lot of the data the corporate engineers had used in laying out the basic design was inaccurate, outdated, or simply wrong. For starters, the body structure wasn't strong enough, and there was no provision for the side-guard door beams that GM policy would shortly require for all cars. The original cost projections turned out to be wishful thinking, and the cost situation got worse as the body was hastily beefed up. By the fall of 1969, it was clear that that the XP-887 would more than 10% over its design weight, and its cost had increased commensurately.

Trying to make the best of a bad situation, DeLorean ordered a marketing study for the XP-887. Since there was no time for a substantial redesign of the car, the study group recommended moving it upmarket, making it a "premium" small car in the manner of the early Nash Rambler. The corporation's Engineering Policy Group provisionally approved this plan, but the Pricing Review Committee later countermanded them, ordering Chevy to strip down the car to lower its price.

DeLorean also got Hank Haga's Chevrolet Advanced styling studio to revamp the XP-887's basic design. This proved to be more successful; in two-door sedan or hatchback coupe form, it looked like the product of an illicit liaison between a Ford Maverick and a Fiat 124 coupe, with overtones of the new second-generation Camaro. If it wasn't quite sexy, it was certainly pleasant enough to look at.


From the front, the Vega's resemblance to the 1970½ Chevy Camaro is most apparent, particularly the eggcrate grille and the shape of the bumper. (Photo © 2008 Robert Spinello; used under a CreativeCommons Attribution ShareAlike 3.0 license)

There was another battle over the car's name. The name that had floated around prior to introduction was "Gemini," which the 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 "GM Mini." Ed Cole, however, favored the name Vega, after a bright star in the constellation Lyra, and the corporation again overruled Chevy's own marketing staff.

To build the Vega, Chevy 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.

In size, the Vega was halfway between the Ford Maverick and the Volkswagen Super Beetle, 169.7 in (4,310 mm) long on a 97-inch (2,464-mm). It was quite low slung: overall height of the two-door sedan was 51.9 in (1,318 mm), only a half-inch (13 mm) higher than a 1969 Camaro. It had unitary construction, a conventional front-engine/rear-drive layout, and recirculating-ball steering. A three-speed manual transmission was standard, with a four-speed manual or two-speed Powerglide optional. Front suspension was a conventional short-long-arm arrangement, while the rear suspension was a live axle located by four trailing arms, in principle a miniature version of the Chevelle's rear end. Front disc brakes were standard equipment. The Vega weighed about 2,300 lb (1,043 kg), nearly 400 lb (181 kg) more than a Beetle and 235 lb (107 kg) heavier than Ford's rival Pinto.

Despite its weight, the Vega's body was not terribly robust. Prototypes kept breaking during testing, requiring considerable reinforcement. The cost pressures resulted in poor anti-corrosion measures, and early Vegas were extremely prone to rot, thanks in part to unlined fenders. Rustproofing was not a strong point of contemporary imports, either, but snow-belt owners soon found that the Vega's body panels disintegrated with unseemly haste.


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)

Other than the corrosion problem, the Vega was in most respects an inoffensive, agreeable small Chevy. It handled well, its ride was reasonably good, and it had passable room for four. It was noisy, but so were most of its competitors. Its Achilles heel, however, was its engine.

The Vega's engine was an all-new SOHC inline-four. It was big for the economy-car class, at 140 cu. in. (2.3 L), and somewhat undersquare, with a 3.50-in (89 mm) bore and 3.63-in (92 mm) stroke, for good low-end torque. As GM had promised, the Vega's engine did indeed have an aluminum cylinder block, largely at Ed Cole's insistence.

Aluminum is popular for automotive engines because it is significantly lighter than cast iron. It's more expensive, however, and it is softer, which presents a problem for engine blocks. Unlike cast-iron blocks, you can't run the pistons in a bare aluminum cylinder without causing rapid wear of the cylinder walls. For many years, the solution was to add iron cylinder liners, which works, but raises assembly cost even further.

In the mid-sixties, GM's Engineering Staff and Reynolds Aluminum developed new aluminum alloy called A390, with a high silicon content. If properly finished, it allowed a much harder cylinder bore surface, durable enough to allow the engine block to run without cylinder liners. Cole was very enthusiastic about this process, which he thought would be cheaper and simpler to assemble than engines with 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.)

There was nothing conceptually wrong with the Vega's linerless A390 cylinder block. The block wasn't strong enough for serious racing use, but it was adequate for street use, and, despite some early casting problems, bore wear was normally very low. Indeed, linerless aluminum blocks are very common today, with few problems.

The engine's problems began with its cylinder head, which for cost reasons was not aluminum, but cast iron. Aluminum-head/iron-block engines were common in those days, but the reverse was very unusual. The Vega's iron cylinder head actually weighed more than the block, making the engine somewhat top-heavy.


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.

Among their differences, aluminum and iron have very different expansion rates as they get hot, and their heat-conduction characteristics are totally different. If the engine overheats, it tends to warp the head gasket -- which mates the head to the block -- and then the aluminum. In the Vega engine, severe overheating also broke down the silicon of the A390 alloy, leaving a soft aluminum bore surface that would scuff easily.

As long as the engine remained within normal operating temperatures, this was rarely a problem, but the cost-cutting binge had left the Vega with an undersized cooling system that was barely adequate for normal use. Worse, there was no coolant-expansion tank (more cost cutting), so if the engine did begin to boil over, it also lost coolant, and would eventually run itself dry. That was bad news under severe conditions, like climbing mountain grades on a hot summer day, and it meant that any cooling system failure (a bad radiator cap or failed thermostat, for instance) could be fatal in short order.

Compounding this problem was the engine's tendency to high oil consumption. The culprit here was not usually the block, but the valve stem seals, which tended to be brittle, causing them to leak oil into the cylinders. The engine's propensity to run low on both oil and coolant did nothing to help its vulnerability to overheating.

Beyond that, the engine was simply not a very pleasant companion. It had adequate power -- 90 gross horsepower (67 kW) with a single-throat carburetor and 110 hp (82 kW) in optional L11 two-barrel form -- but it was disturbingly noisy when revved, and quite rough. Four-cylinder inline engines have an unbalanced coupling force, which 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 Chevy wouldn't have had the money for it in any case. They settled for using very soft engine mounts to try to isolate the shaking from the passenger compartment.

The soft mounts caused yet another problem. The magnitude of the engine's shaking 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 in the hot muffler. This problem eventually led to an expensive and embarrassing recall campaign, which cost Chevrolet both money and credibility.


An early ad for the Chevrolet Vega hatchback. (Ad courtesy Productioncars.com)

When 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. While that sounds cheap today, it was $192 more than a Super Beetle, $172 more than a basic Ford Pinto, and $293 more than a Toyota Corolla. Despite the Vega's price, it was perhaps the most Spartan car in its class, and it took $150 or so of options to bring it to the same level of equipment and trim as its import rivals.

On a strictly statistical basis, it 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 kph) in just over 12 seconds and recorded fuel economy 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 adjudged the Vega the only car in its class capable of civilized highway cruising, and praised its handling, which was good by American standards.

Subjectively, though, the Vega sometimes stumbled. Critics chided its poorly spaced gear ratios,  depressing interior trim, and unimpressive interior room for the car's size and weight. Nevertheless, Motor Trend inevitably named the Vega its 1971 Car of the Year.


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)

Unfortunately for Chevrolet, capitalizing on that praise -- and their multi-million-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 well into January 1971. First-year Vega sales were 277,705, 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 weren't assembled any worse than usual by American standards, despite 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 their complaints fell on deaf ears. To make matters worse, GMAD took an extremely heavy hand toward 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. GMAD accused workers of deliberate sabotage; the workers responded with another strike, which ultimately earned them nothing. The Vega soon became the worst-built model in the Chevy line-up. Moreover, Chevrolet dealers often did a poor job of preparing cars for sale, and seemed unprepared to fix it. 

Still, these woes, combined with growing customer dissatisfaction with the rust, overheating, and backfiring problems, did not immediately affect sales. Chevrolet sold 427,300 for 1973 and an impressive 460,374 for 1974, bolstered by the OPEC oil embargo that began in late 1973.

Whatever its engine woes, the Vega coupe was a fairly sporty piece, particularly with the optional 110-hp L11 engine, four-speed transmission, F41 handling suspension, Positraction, and bigger tires. It was clear that the basic package could handle more power than its 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.



Reuss assigned Chevy performance engineer Cal Wade to work with Cosworth. 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 build a full-size wooden mock-up of the twin-cam engine and presented it to DeLorean, explaining 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. Meanwhile, the first street version of the DOHC engine was dyno tested in the U.S., much to the amazement of Don McPherson, who hadn't believed 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 a year. 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, 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 every time they exceeded that threshold, the block would split. Chevy refused to make the production-line changes that would have been necessary to strength the block, and Cosworth finally abandoned its efforts in 1973.

Chevy's street version wasn't faring any 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). Even at that level, Wade and Don McPherson were skeptical about its ability to pass the EPA's 50,000-mile (80,500-km) durability test, and decided to delay certification until they'd had more development time.


The Cosworth Vega 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.

Jim McDonald, who'd replaced DeLorean as general manager in October 1972, was desperate for some positive publicity for the Vega. Although sales were strong, the car's reputation was already becoming a sore point, and its high warrant-repair costs were cutting into the car's already marginal profits. McDonald decided to announce the Cosworth Vega in the summer of 1973, saying it would go on sale 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 expressed interest in buying Cosworth engines for their markets, as did Jensen's Kvell Qvale. Dealers started taking customer deposits for Cosworth Vegas, and waiting lists began to form. Unfortunately, the car wasn't ready. The engine failed its EPA durability tests in the spring of 1974, sending Wade back to the drawing board to develop a catalytic converter and "Pulse Air" air-injection system. McPherson was very reluctant to commit more manpower or resources to what he already saw as a lost cause, so the returned engine did not complete its durability testing 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 was a technically impressive piece. Its stroke had been reduced to 3.16 in (80 mm), dropping displacement to 122 cu. in. (1,995 cc) and making it both notably smoother and more eager to rev than its more mundane parent; at 305 lb (138 kg) complete, it was also about 40 lb (18 kg) lighter. Its aluminum head had dual overhead camshafts, four valves per cylinder (with about 50% more valve area than the standard Vega engine), and Bendix electronic fuel injection.

Despite all that, it was not very powerful. At its introduction, Chevy initially claimed 120 hp (90 kW), but that was hastily revised to 111, and finally 110 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 hp (65 kW).) The Cosworth's 110 hp was 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 Chevy 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 are not stock.) This car has the Borg-Warner five-speed manual, which was added to the options list in 1976. It 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.

Despite 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 for the performance-challenged mid-seventies. In March 1975, Car and Driver's early production car ran 0-60 mph in 8.7 seconds and did the standing quarter mile (402 meters) in 17.6 seconds at 80.1 mph (129 kph); they recorded a top speed of 107 mph (172 kph). Road & Track couldn't match those acceleration times, but in July 1976, they clocked a top speed of 112 mph (180 kph). These were not muscle-car times, but they were decent by contemporary sporty-coupe standards. Thanks to a new three-link/torque-arm suspension, handling was also excellent, even better than the standard Vega.

Unfortunately, the Cosworth Vega was not priced like a sporty coupe. 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-kph) 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 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 potential customers learned the car's $6,000 price. Many were eventually sold at steep discounts. Orders for 1976 were a dismal 1,446, about half what Chevy had expected. At that point, general manager Bob Lund (who'd replaced Jim McDonald in December 1974) decided enough was enough. The Cosworth Vega was discontinued, and most of the remaining batch of 5,000 engines were scrapped.

All Vega sales were dropping by 1975, partly because of the mounting bad publicity and partly because of the introduction of the new H-body cars -- the Chevy 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 not as economical, but more reliable. Overall Vega sales slumped to 207,764 for 1975. The following year, there was yet more internal competition, this time from the new Chevette. Vega sales slid to 160,524.

By that time, Chevrolet had at least partially addressed 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 were down 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 Vega's only notable styling changes; we find it decidedly less attractive than the original eggcrate grille.

As with the Corvair, any statements about the Vega's failure have to be carefully qualified. Chevrolet sold just over 2 million of them during its seven-year lifespan. 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 made money on the Vega itself, but if we factor in the sales of the derivative H-body Monza, they probably came out ahead. In the short-term fiscal sense, the Vega did all right, but its cost in customer goodwill was far higher.

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, its flaws were significant, but would not have been insurmountable if not for the corporation's ill-advised, last-minute penury.


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; we find this more effective than the original rear clip, looking more European and less like a Maverick.

The Corvair and the Vega (and, for that matter, the 1980 X-body cars) reveal GM's profound ambivalence toward compact cars. In the collective mind of the corporation -- as distinct from its division managers, engineers, and designers -- compacts were an unprofitable sideline, useful only as a promotional device to lure young and/or low-income buyers into showrooms. Since they could not be as profitable as big cars, making them intrinsically desirable was bad for business; the goal was for buyers to trade up. 

It would be nice to say that GM learned its lesson on that front, but the evidence suggests otherwise. One need only look at the long-neglected Cavalier and Cobalt or the ghastly Daewoo-engineered Chevy Aveo to see what GM still thinks of compact cars. None of these models has been as disastrous or embarrassing as the Vega, but they're all clearly half efforts, displaying none of the attention to detail that GM now lavishes on its more-profitable truck and SUV lines.

There is a similar ambivalence about technical innovation. Individual executives like Ed Cole or John DeLorean could occasionally push through a pet project like the Vega's aluminum-block engine, but the results usually ended up so compromised that they might have been better off not bothering. Worse, the lesson that the corporation took from the failure of those innovations (insofar as GM acknowledged failure at the management level, which was not a lot) was that innovation was bad for business. Thus, from a technological standpoint GM's products seem to alternate between the archaic and the overly ambitious, with little in between.

As of this writing, GM is hastily preparing 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 torturous development at all, the pattern of the Corvair and Vega starts sounding distressingly familiar: grandiose promises, cutting-edge technology, alarming cost and weight overruns, and confusing executive ambivalence. Once-and-future product czar Bob Lutz, at whose behest the Volt show car is being hastily transformed into a production vehicle, has made no secret of his preference for thirsty V8 muscle cars, and he's declared publicly that global warming -- reduction of which is the Volt's ostensible raison d'être -- is "a crock of shit." The Volt is of undoubted technical and social interest, but looking at GM's history in this area, all we can say is caveat emptor.

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Our 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 "those nuts" -- perhaps the most pointed statement we've ever heard of Detroit's attitude towards imports -- came from Eric Dahlquist, "Declutching the BUG," Motor Trend, July 1968 (Vol. 20, No. 7), pp. 70-73.

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