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| Stayin' Alive: The Chevrolet Monte Carlo |
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| Written by Aaron Severson |
| Saturday, 14 November 2009 00:00 |
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Certain cars become emblematic of a time and a place, perfectly encapsulating the values, priorities, and obsessions of their eras. For America of the fifties, it's the 1955-57 Chevrolets and the '59 Cadillac; for the sixties, the Mini, the Beetle, and the Mustang. For the seventies, we'd make a strong case for this week's car. Generally reviled by critics, staggeringly popular with the public, and much imitated, the Chevrolet Monte Carlo remains as powerful a symbol of the period as disco balls, platform shoes, and The Brady Bunch. THE BIRTH OF THE PERSONAL CARWe freely admit that we didn't really get this one. At the recent car show in El Segundo, California, where we spotted our white photo subject, our Baby-Boom-generation companions all agreed, with some conviction, that the Chevrolet Monte Carlo was "a really nice car." Frankly, it left us scratching our head. We're well aware, of course, that Chevy sold an amazing number of Monte Carlos -- close to half a million of the first generation, 1.6 million of the second -- so our friends were not alone in their appreciation. That a lot of people loved the Monte is obvious; the question of why is a little more elusive. The Monte Carlo was, as Car and Driver aptly (if rather derisively) characterized it, a sport-coatted Chevelle: a perfectly ordinary domestic intermediate, dressed up with exaggerated proportions and neo-Classical design cues. Not being overly fond of Chevelles to begin with, we were a little puzzled as to why so many people would pay extra for the fancy-dress version.
To understand the Monte Carlo's rationale, we must first go back to the 1958 model year, and Ford's introduction of the first four-seat Thunderbird. The Squarebird, as its fans have come to know it, inaugurated a new genre of American automobiles, the personal luxury car. (Ford had actually coined the term "personal car" with the launch of the original two-seat Thunderbird in 1955, but the concept didn't really find its métier until the T-Bird grew a back seat, putting an end to any presumption that it was a sports car.)  By 1970, when Chevrolet introduced the first Monte Carlo, the Thunderbird was in its sixth generation, sporting a beak-like proboscis apparently requested by former Pontiac general manager Semon "Bunkie" Knudsen, who was Ford's president for about 18 months in 1968-1969. The Thunderbird was far more expensive than the Monte Carlo, and did not compete directly with the Chevy until it was downsized in 1977. What's a personal luxury car? To answer that, we must first consider a more basic question: What is a luxury car? If we dispense with the press-booklet arguments about advanced engineering, meticulous craftsmanship, and lavish comfort -- all of which are nice, but not strictly necessary -- the ultimate aspiration of the luxury car is to make its buyers seem rich and successful, whether they are or not. Some buyers, though, are not content with merely looking affluent; they want their possessions to express their taste and distinction (and set them apart from their peers, who are trying to do the same thing). Before the war, the wealthy could always send off their new luxury cars -- or even a bare chassis, if they were feeling especially extravagant -- for custom coachwork. Such bespoke jobs were for the few, and with the Depression and the outbreak of war, the number of buyers who could justify such expense dropped sharply. After the war, European automakers like Alfa Romeo and Mercedes took advantage of a surfeit of underemployed carrozzeria to offer stylish, low-production coupe and convertible versions of their normal sedans. In America, automotive customization became a mostly amateur sport. In the early fifties, GM offered a couple of stylish, limited-production convertibles, the Cadillac Eldorado, the Buick Skylark, and the Oldsmobile Fiesta, that reflected the growing influence of the "Kalifornia Kustom" movement. The idea of a factory-built car with the flair of a custom job struck a chord, but the GM offerings were labor-intensive to produce, and sold in limited numbers, for daunting prices. Ford followed them in 1955 with the original Thunderbird, which looked not unlike an attractively shortened, sectioned, and chopped Ford convertible. The Thunderbird was attainably priced, if not cheap, but with only two seats, it was still not a practical proposition for most buyers. Ford finally put all the pieces together with the Squarebird. In four-seat hardtop form, it was reasonably practical, but it was in no danger of being mistaken for a mundane sedan. It was cheap enough to put it within the reach of middle-class buyers, but not so cheap as to seem common. Moreover, while its oddball mix of formal roof and sports car design cues failed to impress purists, it successfully bridged a wide array of tastes. The Squarebird quickly outsold its sportier predecessor, and became a lucrative profit-maker for Ford. Within a remarkably short time, it became a clearly established brand, even with the critics who decried its lackluster performance and extravagant styling. THUNDERBIRD RIVALSDuring this period, Ford and General Motors -- and most particularly Ford and Chevrolet -- were engaged in open war. Their battle for supremacy resulted in continual one-upmanship and aggressive sales tactics, which hastened the demise of many of the beleaguered independent automakers. Any move by one side was frequently met by a hasty counter-move by the other.
Curiously, however, Chevy consistently lagged behind Ford in product development. It took Chevrolet two years to respond to the Ford Ranchero car/pickup, two years to respond to the intermediate Fairlane, and two and a half years to respond to the Mustang. In the case of the Thunderbird, Chevy almost didn't respond at all. GM began making tentative stabs in the four-seat 'bird's direction from 1961 to 1963, with the Oldsmobile Starfire, Pontiac Grand Prix, and the Buick Riviera, but Chevrolet had nothing to offer.  A key design feature of both the Monte Carlo and Pontiac Grand Prix was a very long hood. From 1968 to 1977, GM's A-body intermediates had two wheelbases: 112 inches (2,845 mm) for two-doors, 116 inches (2,964 mm) for four-doors. The Monte Carlo -- offered only as a two-door hardtop -- rode a special version of the four-door frame, with the extra 4.0 inches (102 mm) of wheelbase inserted ahead of the firewall. The reason, curiously, was that the Chevrolet organization didn't want to play. Then-general manager Semon "Bunkie" Knudsen could have had the design that became the Buick Riviera, but rejected it on the grounds that Chevy already had too many cars. While Chevrolet dealers undoubtedly wanted a Thunderbird rival, the division's sales organization, led by Lee Mays, did not. Mays was an extremely conservative man, who bore considerable responsibility for the dated and ineffectual nature of Chevrolet's advertising and marketing in the mid-sixties. He was stubbornly resistant to what were then known as "specialty cars." (In this, he was not alone within GM; Pontiac sales manager Frank Bridge resisted the GTO for very similar reasons.) Chevrolet dealers became increasingly frustrated, but Mays dismissed their protests. Knudsen could not have been pleased, but he had his sights set on upper management, and he presumably chose not to antagonize the well-connected Mays. By 1967, however, Chevrolet was under new management. Pete Estes, the dynamic general manager of Pontiac, replaced Bunkie Knudsen as general manager in July 1965. Estes, who had made Pontiac #3 in the industry, was under considerable pressure to improve Chevrolet's market share and profit margins, which had been slipping badly. He was also more conscious than many GM executives of the value of high-profit image leaders. Estes and Dave Holls, then Group Chief Designer for Chevy Cars and Trucks, were well aware of the Thunderbird, and of the growing popularity of coupes in general. In the mid-sixties, two-door hardtops were the most popular models of most lines, even the family cars. The most popular car in America in the late sixties, by a substantial margin, was Chevy's Impala Sport Coupe. Furthermore, by 1967, Buick, Oldsmobile, Pontiac, and even Cadillac all had big, stylish personal coupes, each acclaimed for its dynamic styling. Chevy had the Camaro and Corvette, of course, but those appealed to a different audience, as did the intermediate Chevelle SS. Holls and Estes concurred that there would be a market for a stylish "personal" Chevy, especially if it were reasonably priced. The problem was that the division's tooling budget was already stretched thin. While Chevrolet had deep pockets, it also had an abundance of products, and more than two dozen different models. As Bunkie Knudsen had told Bill Mitchell six years earlier, it appeared that the last thing the division needed was another car. THE PONTIAC GRAND PRIXIn the spring of 1967, Pontiac product planning chief Ben Harrison proposed a radical revamp of that division's personal luxury car, the Grand Prix. The Grand Prix had previously been based on the B-body (used by the Pontiac Catalina and full-sized Chevrolets), but its sales had slumped badly, and Pontiac general manager John DeLorean was seriously considering axing it. Harrison suggested moving the Grand Prix to the intermediate A-body instead, but using the long-wheelbase chassis of the sedan, rather than the shorter wheelbase of the two-door coupes. Pontiac design chief Jack Humbert and designer Wayne Vieira developed an aggressive-looking coupe with a very long hood, a short deck, and a formal-looking roof with broad, flowing sail panels. It would share much of its structure with the intermediate Le Mans, but it looked distinctly different.
 The 1969 Pontiac Grand Prix shares a great deal with the Monte Carlo structurally, but other than the roof sail panels, they look quite different, and have different engines. The Grand Prix was significantly more expensive than the Monte Carlo, and it appears Chevy poached a fair number of Grand Prix sales in 1970. DeLorean loved the design, but the tooling costs of the roof were a stretch for his 1969 budget. Looking to drum up support for the idea with management, he showed the full-size model to various other GM execs, including Pete Estes. They were to some extent rivals, but they knew each other well; DeLorean had been chief engineer of Pontiac while Estes was general manager, and had been chief of advanced engineering while Estes was chief engineer under Bunkie Knudsen.  The 1970 Monte Carlo was 205.8 inches (5,227 mm) long, 8.6 inches (218 mm) longer than a Chevelle or Malibu coupe; 1971-72 Montes were 0.7 inches (18 mm) longer than the 1970 model. Curb weight with the small-block V8 was around 3,800 pounds (1,724 kg), about 150 lb (68 kg) more than a Malibu with the same engine. The Monte Carlo's fender skirts were optional. From the front, the Monte Carlo's flared fenders are readily apparent. According to Dave Holls, they were simply an exaggerated version of the theme already present on the 1970 Chevelle, which he likened to European rally cars. This is actually a 1972 car, identifiable by its eggcrate grille. Estes was very impressed with the "A-Special" Grand Prix concept, and decided it was the solution to Chevrolet's coupe problem. He made a deal with DeLorean to share the cost of the Grand Prix's roofline, giving Pontiac a one-year exclusive on it for 1969, but allowing Chevrolet to develop its own "G-car" (as the Grand Prix was known internally) for 1970. (According to former Pontiac ad man Jim Wangers, Oldsmobile general manager John Beltz tried strenuously to get a similar car for Olds, but the corporation refused.) MONTE CARLO DESIGNThe design Dave Holls selected for Chevy's answer to the Grand Prix was the work of a young designer named Terry R. Henline. Henline had made an impression at GM while still in high school, through the Fisher Body Craftsman's Guild Model Car Contest, a program sponsored by GM's Fisher Body division from 1930 through 1968. The winners received scholarships, and were brought to Detroit to tour the GM styling studios and meet some of the designers. About a third of the Craftsman's Guild participants went on to careers in the auto industry, including Bob Cadaret (who designed the 1956 Corvette), Virgil Exner, Jr., and future GM styling VP Chuck Jordan. Terry Henline, then a high school student in Lincoln, Nebraska, was a finalist in both 1957 and 1958. He joined GM Styling in 1961, and by 1967, was part of the Chevrolet studio under Dave Holls.
Taking the Cadillac Eldorado as a starting point, Henline's design had bulging, flared fenders that evoked the separate fenders of prewar cars. Those fenders ended in sharply pointed caps, which at the rear incorporated thin, inset taillights and a "floating" bumper. The jutting grille, inspired by Rolls-Royce, was offset by single headlamps, rather than the quad lamps of the Chevelle and other contemporary GM cars.  The Monte Carlo's sail panels and deep-set tail lights help to camouflage the fact that both the backlight and the decklid are identical to those of the two-door Chevelle. The tail light design later appeared on the 1973 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme, a direct competitor to the Monte Carlo. Pete Estes immediately loved Henline's rendering. Holls ordered a full-size clay model, which, painted a restrained shade of gunmetal gray, he subsequently presented to Estes and Styling VP Bill Mitchell for formal approval. Both okayed it with no changes, a great achievement for any designer, particularly one as young as Henline. The Monte Carlo's design was later criticized by some observers as retrograde, too reminiscent of prewar design. In a 1998 interview with John Katz of Special Interest Autos, Holls chafed at that characterization, and at Car and Driver's charge that the Monte was less modern than the contemporary Dodge Charger or Buick Riviera, which Holls felt were out of touch with the tastes of coupe buyers of the time. Holls saw it not as a retro statement, but as a cheaper Cadillac Eldorado. JOHN DELOREAN AND THE MONTE CARLOWhile Pete Estes and Bill Mitchell loved Henline's design, which was dubbed Monte Carlo at the suggestion of Campbell-Ewald, Chevy's ad agency, there was still great resistance from sales manager Lee Mays, who didn't like the new coupe, and apparently didn't grasp its purpose.
Pete Estes had coexisted with Mays, despite his reactionary attitude, because Mays had the patronage of GM chairman Jim Roche. In February 1969, however, GM promoted Pete Estes to group VP of the Car and Truck Group, and made John DeLorean the new general manger of Chevrolet. DeLorean and Mays butted heads almost immediately. In his 1979 book with J. Patrick Wright, On a Clear Day, You Can See General Motors, DeLorean claimed that shortly after his arrival, Mays told him flatly that the division's marketing and advertising programs were none of his business. DeLorean appealed to executive vice president Roger Kyes for help, and a few weeks later, Mays was promoted to general manager of Buick. DeLorean and Mays' replacement, Bob Lund, promptly initiated an overall of Chevy's marketing and advertising strategy. It was overdue; when DeLorean met with Chevrolet dealers, he said, he encountered a torrent of open hostility. Dealers were annoyed that Chevy lagged behind Ford in product development, and complained that they had been promised new products and features that never materialized. To those dealers, who'd been watching helplessly as their Ford rivals sold thousands of very profitable Thunderbirds, the introduction of the Monte Carlo was an undoubted relief. DeLorean proclaimed that he would restore Chevrolet to the 30% market share it had enjoyed at the beginning of the decade, declaring that the Monte Carlo would be the first step.  The broad sail panels of the Monte Carlo and Grand Prix were stylish, but caused significant blind spots, and made the rear seat feel even more claustrophobic than it was. (Despite the Monte Carlo's ample bulk, interior room was far from generous.) This car's bare roof is unusual; many Monte Carlos had the optional padded vinyl top, a $126 option available in a choice of five colors. Optional rear fender skirts make it look lower than its 52.9 inch (1,344 mm) overall height. At the very least, the Monte Carlo became one of the most profitable cars Chevrolet had yet introduced, a thorough validation of Estes' and Holls' original concept. SHAKE YOUR MONEYMAKERThe main reason the Monte Carlo was so profitable for Chevrolet was that it had a great deal in common with the A-body Chevelle/Malibu intermediates. In fact, the Monte Carlo differed from the Chevelle only in its front clip, rear fenders, sail panels, and outer doors. Even the upper roof panel was shared with the Chevelle hardtop.
The dashboard was cribbed from the Chevelle, as well, but to make it seem more like a luxury car, Chevrolet interior designers covered with woodgrain appliqué, whose grain was a Photostat of the burled-elm trim of the contemporary Rolls-Royce. While bucket seats had always been part of the Thunderbird's image, the Monte Carlo came standard with a bench seat in front, mostly to keep the price down; buckets were a $121 option. The Monte Carlo did have somewhat nicer upholstery than the Chevelle, with slick nylon, vinyl, or a combination of the two, available in a variety of color schemes. Mechanically, the Monte Carlo was almost pure Chevelle. The Monte's base suspension was slightly stiffer, to account for the extra weight of the longer nose, but it had extra sound insulation, making the ride seem smoother than that of its A-body siblings. Monte Carlos also had standard front disc brakes, which still cost extra on most Chevelles. The engine lineup, too, was similar to the A-body line, although the Monte's base engine was a 350 cu. in. (5.7 L) V8 with a two-barrel carburetor, a $26.35 option on V8 Chevelles.  Engine options on first-generation Monte Carlos included a four-barrel version of the base 350 cu. in. (5.7 L) engine and, curiously, two different 400 cu. in. (6.6 L) engines. One, the Turbo-Fire 400, was a 400 cu. in. (6,555 cc) version of the familiar Chevy small block, essentially a 350 with a longer stroke. The other, the Turbo-Jet 400, was actually 402 cu. in. (6,589 cc), an over-bored version of the big-block 396 (6.5 L) engine introduced in 1965. The top option, rarely ordered, was the 454 (7.4 L), with 360 gross horsepower (267 kW) in 1970 and 365 hp (272 kW) in 1971. For 1972, Chevy switched to net horsepower ratings, which were 165 hp (123 kW) for the base engine, 175 hp (131 kW) for the four-barrel 350, 170 hp (127 kW) for the 400, 240 hp (179 kW) with the 402, and 270 hp (201 kW) with the 454. The upside to all this parts-bin engineering was a reasonable price tag. Starting price for the 1970 Monte Carlo was $3,123, about $200 more than a similarly equipped Chevrolet Malibu hardtop. With automatic transmission, power steering, and radio -- almost always ordered -- most Monte Carlos listed for at least $3,600, while a loaded SS454 could approach a hefty $5,500. On the other hand, the Ford Thunderbird, which had its own body and chassis, shared only with the Lincoln Continental Mark III, started at around $5,000, and very few went out the door for less than $6,000. Pontiac's Grand Prix, meanwhile, started at just under $4,000. In short, not only did Chevrolet finally have a personal luxury coupe of its own, it was the cheapest car in its segment. THE MONTE CARLO SS454The public responded enthusiastically to the Monte Carlo. It sold well from the beginning, and dealer discounts were hard to come by, a rarity for any American car, much less a Chevrolet. Sales remained strong in 1971, despite production lost to a protracted UAW strike, and climbed nearly 50% for 1972.
Contrary to the assumptions of some modern enthusiasts, the Monte Carlo was not a muscle car, and Chevrolet didn't market it as one. As Dave Holls pointed out later, Chevy already had the Chevelle and Malibu SS for Supercar fans; the Monte Carlo was not aimed at that audience. An SS454 package was available on the Monte Carlo in 1970 and 1971, but less than 6,000 buyers opted for it. Even with the SS package, the Monte was no match for the hottest contemporary Supercars, since it weighed about 150 pounds (68 kg) more than a comparably equipped Chevelle. The Supercar market was dying by then, anyway, and about half of all Monte Carlo buyers were content with the mild-mannered base engine.  SS454 notwithstanding, most Monte Carlos were equipped like this one, with one of the small-block engines, Turbo Hydramatic, fake wood appliqué, and no instruments other than speedometer, clock, and fuel gauge. Comfort, not sport, was the watchword. The Monte Carlo's main enticement was not performance, but the fact that it looked and felt more expensive than it was. Car and Driver's October 1969 review dismissed the Monte's styling as a rehash of familiar cues from Buick, Cadillac, and Oldsmobile, but in those days, each of those brands still carried considerable prestige, far more than any contemporary Chevrolet. Furthermore, however many pieces the Monte Carlo shared with the Chevelle under the skin, it didn't look like a Chevelle, and its higher price brought a quieter, better-trimmed interior. For customers who aspired to a Thunderbird, but couldn't afford even a Grand Prix, the Chevy Monte Carlo was just the ticket. GOING FOR BAROQUE: DESIGN OF THE 1973 MONTE CARLOThe second-generation Monte Carlo was originally supposed to bow for 1972, along with the next-generation A-bodies, but the lengthy UAW strike in the fall of 1970 delayed it for a full year. It finally appeared in late 1972 as a '73 model.
While the design of the first-generation Monte Carlo was largely the work of one designer, the second generation was a team effort, led by Chevrolet Assistant Chief Designer Dave Clark. For the revamped Monte, the designers took the original's flared-fender, formal-roof themes to new and exaggerated extremes. The front end, the work of designer Charles Stewart, still had round headlights, but they were now carried in Jaguar-like blisters that extended back into the heroically long hood. The previous car's fender bulges now swept dramatically into the doors, reminiscent of the "suitcase fenders" of GM's early-forties cars.  Designer Charles Stewart believes former colleague Ted Polak (later a designer on the Buick Reatta) may have developed the "bas-relief" side sculpture of the 1973 Monte Carlo. They were also used on the Buick Century Luxus and Regal coupes. A new feature, shared with the other G-cars, was a small, fixed "opera window" on either sail panel. The origins of the opera window are somewhat obscure. Irv Rybicki, who later became GM's Styling VP, recalled that they originated with the Monte Carlo design team at Chevrolet. Designers Bill Porter and Charles Stewart thought they might have been conceived by Gordon Brown's Advanced Studio 1 or by Olds designer Len Casillo. Casillo, in turn, believes they may indeed have originated with the Monte Carlo. In any case, the windows first saw the light of day on the 1971 Cadillac Eldorado hardtop. In a 1985 interview with Dave Crippen, Irv Rybicki said that he convinced Ed Cole and Bill Mitchell to put the opera windows on the Cadillac first, in order to boost the image of the intermediates, giving them a luxury-car aura. Critics tended to abhor the opera windows, but they were amazingly popular, and subsequently appeared on a wide array of mid-seventies cars. A MONTE CARLO FIT FOR MONTE CARLOLike the original, the second-generation Monte Carlo won management approval with minimal changes, thanks in part to a dramatic presentation. Irv Rybicki displayed the beautifully finished black-and-silver model with great flourish to John DeLorean and a group of onlookers as they toured the styling studios one afternoon. DeLorean's guests applauded wildly, and DeLorean gave Rybicki his immediate approval, urging him not to tamper a bit the final design. Unlike ordinary rear quarterlights, the G-cars' opera windows were fixed, saving money and adding structural rigidity. They didn't do much for rear visibility, however, which was still poor. This car has the sail panel medallion of the top-of-the-line Landau model, but it's missing the Landau's key identification feature, the padded vinyl top. DeLorean didn't tinker with the new Monte Carlo's exterior design, but he called for a complete overhaul of its suspension. He was enamored of European luxury cars like Mercedes, with their firmer damping and sharper steering response. Detroit had always resisted the Mercedes approach, out of a near-religious conviction that a cloud-like ride and effortless steering would sell more cars than confident handling, but DeLorean was determined to give the new Monte better road manners. At DeLorean's insistence, Chevrolet engineers retuned both the suspension and steering, adding radial tires and a rear anti-roll bar. The changes were modest, but they eliminated much of the first-generation Monte Carlo's nautical ride and numb steering. DeLorean wanted the changes to be standard on all Monte Carlos, but Chevrolet's accountants balked, so base models had only the steering improvements; the radial tires and anti-roll bar were limited to the pricier Monte Carlo S and Landau models. GROSSE POINTE GOTHICDeLorean was promoted to group VP of the Car and Truck Group in October 1972, but his instincts regarding the Monte Carlo were quickly validated. Although the enthusiast press was generally aghast at the new Monte's styling, they admitted that the ride and steering feel were much improved. No one claimed that the Monte Carlo was a sports car, but its body control was now quite respectable for a Detroit product, a vast improvement over its soggy predecessor.
 The 1973 Monte Carlo was 210.4 inches (5,344 mm) long, 3.9 inches (99 mm) longer than before, on the same 116-inch (2,946 mm) wheelbase; the '74, with stouter bumpers front and back, was 212.7 inches (5,403 mm) long. Curb weight was now around 4,075 lb (1,849 kg) with the base engine, a hefty 4,400 lb (1,995 kg) with the big-blocks. Customers, meanwhile, adored the Monte's new styling. If its firmer ride did not necessarily move them, they were not dissuaded by it, either. Buyers snapped up 290,693 Monte Carlos the first year and over 312,000 the second, outselling Chevrolet's cheaper Malibu Colonnade coupes by nearly two to one. Business slumped a bit in the 1975 model year, reflecting buyer unease following the 1973-74 OPEC oil embargo, but sales climbed to more than 353,000 for 1976. The Monte Carlo's continuing success was in spite of inflationary pricing, which took the base price from $3,415 in 1973 to nearly $5,000 in 1977. By then, the gap between the Malibu and the Monte Carlo had grown from around $200 to more than $700. Nevertheless, a whopping 411,038 Monte Carlos rolled out the door for 1977, about 25% more than the combined sales of all of Chevy's other '77 intermediates. The comparison suggests that many customers were simply buying Monte Carlos instead of Chevelles or Malibus, accepting the higher price for the Monte Carlo's flashier styling.  The 1973 Monte Carlo's front and rear styling was developed by Chevrolet designer Charles Stewart, who recalled that Dave Holls took a definite fancy to his airbrushed, full-size concept proposal. The 1974s, like this one, have a different grille and larger parking lamps, but are otherwise similar. The Monte Carlo's image also benefited from its domination of stock car racing during this period. Monte Carlos claimed the NASCAR Manufacturers Championship for Chevrolet seven times between 1972 and 1979. The connection between the racers and the street cars was tenuous -- by 1976, many civilian Montes had an anemic 305 cu. in. (5.0 L) V8 with only 140 net horsepower (104 kW) -- but with gasoline and insurance still expensive, raw performance was not a high priority for most contemporary buyers. Strong sales of the increasingly flabby Corvette, Camaro, and Firebird make clear that looking fast was a greater priority to mid-seventies buyers than actually being fast. Style, of course, was the Monte Carlo's raison d'être. As Car and Driver observed in its September 1972 review, "that is why people buy it -- for its looks, its 'Classic lines,' the immense, horizon-grasping length of its hood and the incredible Grosse Pointe Gothic thrust of its fenders." Vulgar though it may have been, it was a hugely popular aesthetic, encompassing not only the Monte Carlo and its G-car cousins, but also the contemporary Dodge Charger, Ford Torino Elite, and Mercury Cougar, as well as the new Chrysler Cordoba (which adopted its own version of the Monte Carlo's front-end theme). By the late seventies, though, the Monte Carlo was clearly the leader of the pack, eclipsing even the Thunderbird. Perhaps the most dramatic evidence of its influence came in 1977, when Ford transferred the Thunderbird name to the midsize LTD II line (replacing the lackluster Torino Elite) and cut its base price to within $100 of the Monte. Thunderbird sales sextupled, although they still fell shy of the Monte Carlo by around 90,000 units.  Speed was never really the Monte Carlo's forte, and its performance eroded throughout the seventies. By 1974, the base 350 (5.7 L) engine was down to 145 hp (108 kW), and even the 454 (7.4 L) V8 had only 235 hp (175 kW). The 454 was rarely ordered, and disappeared after 1975. California cars, like this one, were offered only with a four-barrel 350, with 160 hp (119 kW), or a four-barrel 400 (6.6 L), with 180 hp (134 kW). THE 1978-1988 MONTE CARLOThe Monte Carlo was downsized in 1978, along with the rest of GM's A-body intermediates. It now rode a 108.1-inch (2,746-mm) wheelbase, and was 13 inches (330 mm) shorter and some 700 pounds (318 kg) lighter than before. Although it retained the basic design themes of its predecessor, it was marginally more restrained in both size and décor.
The shrunken Monte Carlo sold strongly at first -- nearly 360,000 units in the first year, 317,000 the second -- but then dropped by half in 1980, a decline that a 1981 facelift only partly redressed. Bob Lund, who had become Chevrolet's general manager in December 1974, tried to steer the Monte Carlo in a sportier direction, adding a new SS model and later a semi-fastback Aero Coupe for NASCAR homologation purposes, but annual sales never again topped 200,000 units. The G-cars (including the Buick Regal Grand Nationals) were profitable enough to survive until 1988, six years after the rest of the A-body intermediates switched to front-wheel drive, but by 1987-88, sales were fading rapidly.  The last of the rear-wheel-drive Monte Carlos still bore a general resemblance to their 1973-1977 counterparts, but they were tidier in size and less extravagant of curve. Base LS Monte Carlos of this vintage had either a 262 cu. in. (4.3 L) V6 or the mild Chevy 305 (5.0 L) V8, but SS models like this 1988 car had a high-output 305, with 180 net horsepower (134 kW). The Monte Carlo name lay fallow until 1995, when Chevy resurrected it for a rather ordinary front-drive coupe, based on the W-body Lumina. Although it was wholly undistinguished -- and largely ignored by the automotive press -- it managed to survive the collapse of the big-coupe market in the nineties, which claimed even the venerable Thunderbird. The FWD Monte Carlo sold well enough to earn a rather heavy-handed restyling for 2000 and an optional V8 engine for 2006, finally expiring at the end of the 2007 model year. Sales hovered around 70,000 units for a while -- the peak was 2001, with 72,596 -- but by the end, the Monte had become a niche item, appealing mostly to old-school Chevy fans. STAYIN' ALIVEThe Chevrolet Monte Carlo neatly encapsulates the two great themes of mid-seventies American culture: hedonism and ostentation. The seventies were not a particularly happy or pleasant time for America, with a shaky economy, rampant inflation, and the lingering malaise of Watergate, Vietnam, and the energy crisis. That gloomy climate created a bull market for symbols of opulence, and the Monte Carlo in its heyday was certainly that. It's difficult to resist the parallel with Tony Manero, John Travolta's character in Saturday Night Fever: a working-class guy struggling to transcend his roots through sheer flamboyance.
The Monte Carlo's popularity makes much more sense when considered in the context of its time. In the mid-seventies, the choices available to a new-car buyer looking for style and distinction were not abundant. There were the F-bodies (Chevrolet Camaro and Pontiac Firebird/Trans Am), but their minuscule passenger and cargo space made them impractical for many customers. The same was true of the Corvette and the Datsun Z-car, whose prices were a long stretch for a working-class breadwinner, in any case. There was the Pinto-based Mustang II, which also sold well, and a host of tape-stripe pseudo-performance models like the latter-day Oldsmobile 4-4-2. For would-be urban cowboys, there was also an assortment of pick-up trucks and sport-utility vehicles, like the Ford Bronco or the Monte Carlo's coupe-pickup cousin, the Chevrolet El Camino. The high-end imported cars so beloved of the automotive press were out of reach for the masses, while most low-end imports were frugal and utilitarian, not stylish. It's little wonder, then, that so many customers ended up with 48-month notes on personal luxury coupes like the Monte Carlo. In the eighties and nineties, the market for cars like the Monte Carlo did not so much disappear as disintegrate, divided amongst smaller sporty coupes, symbols of Yuppie affluence like the BMW 3-series, and a number of increasingly posh middle-class imports. A buyer looking for automotive distinction had a much broader array of choices in 1985 than in 1975, and the personal luxury cars enjoyed an ever-smaller share of that business. All of the traditional American personal-luxury nameplates are dead now. While some of them may reemerge sooner or later (we're confident there will eventually be another Thunderbird), we're not sure that they will ever again be as iconic. There will be image cars for as long as the automobile survives, but the market has become even more balkanized than it was in the eighties. Modern customers presume a broad range of choices, from "cute utes" to fashion statements like the smart fortwo and MINI. We wonder what future generations will consider the leading automotive icons of our era (our money is on the Toyota Prius). Whether those icons will be remembered with nostalgia or faint embarrassment is harder to say. Perhaps, like the Monte Carlo, it'll be a little bit of both. # # # NOTES ON SOURCESOur sources on the development of the first-generation Monte Carlo included John Katz, "1970 Chevrolet Monte Carlo: Grand Illusion," Special Interest Autos #167, September-October 1998, reprinted in Terry Ehrich, ed., The Hemmings Book of Postwar Chevrolets (Hemmings Motor News Collector-Car Books) (Bennington, VT: Hemmings Motor News, 2001); Robert C. Ackerson and Beverly Rae Kimes, Chevrolet: A History from 1911 (Automobile Quarterly, 1986, Second Edition); and Robert Genat and David Newhardt, Chevy SS: 50 Years of Super Sport (St. Paul MN: MBI Publishing Company LLC/Motorbooks, 2007). Jim Wangers clarified the relationship between the Pontiac Grand Prix and the Monte Carlo in a phone conversation with the author on 18 September 2009, while Terry Henline provided a few additional details in a brief phone conversation on 1 October 2009. Information on John DeLorean's days at Chevrolet, including his confrontations with Lee Mays and Chevy's angry dealer body, came from 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).
Irv Rybicki's remarks on the development of the second-generation Monte Carlo came from his 1985 interview with Dave Crippen of the Benson Ford Research Center (David R. Crippen, "The Reminiscences of Irvin W. Rybicki," 27 June 1985, Automotive Design Oral History Project, The Benson Ford Research Center, http://www.autolife.umd.umich.edu/Design/Rybicki_interview.htm (transcript), accessed 30 September 2009). The recollections of designers Bill Porter, Leo Casillo, and Charles Stewart came from e-mail correspondence with the author and designer Gary Smith of Dean's Garage between 1 October and 7 October 2009, as well as George Mattar, "New Frontier," Hemmings Muscle Machines, November 2005, http://www.hemmings.com/mus/stories/2005/11/01/ hmn_feature7.html, accessed 1 October 2009. We also consulted "Car Life Road Test: Monte Carlo SS454, Car Life, February 1970, reprinted in R.M. Clarke, ed., Chevrolet Muscle Cars, 1966-1971 (Brooklands Road Tests) (Cobham, Surrey: Brooklands Books Ltd., 1981); "Preview Test: Chevrolet Monte Carlo," Car and Driver, September 1972 (Vol. 18, No. 3), pp. 30-32, 80, which coined the term "Grosse Pointe Gothic"; "Chevrolet Monte Carlo," Road & Track, June 1973 (Vol. 24, No. 10), pp. 150-152; and Terry Cook, "Chevrolet Monte Carlo: Still a bonbon for the masses but now with twenty percent fewer calories," Car and Driver, January 1978 (Vol. 24, No. 1), pp. 70-74. Some additional information came from Auto Editors of Consumer Guide, Encyclopedia of American Cars: Over 65 Years of Automotive History (Lincolnwood, IL: Publications International, 1996) and the Chevrolet Monte Carlo Wikipedia page (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chevrolet_Monte_Carlo, last accessed to correct image captions 30 September 2010). Production figures are primarily from the Productioncars.com Book of Automobile Production and Sales Figures, 1945-2005. This article's title was suggested by the 1977 Bee Gees song "Stayin' Alive," written by Barry, Maurice, and Robin Gibb for the soundtrack of the film Saturday Night Fever (produced by Robert Stigwood, directed by John Badham, written by Norman Wexler from a magazine article by Nik Cohn, United States, Paramount Pictures, 1977). THE "WHERE ARE THEY NOW" DEPARTMENT
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did chevy put pontiac motor's in 1970 monte carlo since it was build on same frame.