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Christies statement on the Auto Union

Breaking news, Christie's explains the withdrawal of the $10,000,000 1939 Auto Union from their Retromobile auction



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HCC21

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1931 Chevrolet Independence Series AE Sport Coupe

Cast Iron Wonder
Chevrolet’s stylish Depression-era five window coupe

By David Traver Adolphus

Photography by Don Spiro

It may not look like it, but this is the birth of the modern automobile.

Its styling doesn’t presage the modern age, and there’s nothing revolutionary about the engineering (although elements of its engine design extended into the 1950s). But this line of Chevrolets includes a mixture of ideas and that changed the way people looked at best selling low-priced cars. The design was from the famed Harley J. Earl, who joined General Motors in 1927, even as a seminal new engine was being engineered. It bowed in 1929 on the eve of catastrophe, and proved almost prophetic in its combination of thrift and appeal. It created a mold different from that of the preceding people’s cars from Chevrolet, Ford and others. In it can be found the seeds of a revolution, which elevated the car from transportation to icon.

Those first mass market cars were built with one idea in mind: To get as many cars into as many hands as possible. Designed for everyone and anyone to a lowest common denominator, they were stark and plain. They were the first automotive revolution, the one that brought transportation to many, but they were no more than appliances. Luxury appointments were reserved for more expensive models, and were even looked on as inappropriate for a lower-priced car. After all, if the manufacturer was making enough profit to produce those comfortable touches, surely they were charging too much for the car. Cheap was supposed to be utilitarian. It took a dramatic change in the fortunes of the consumers to alter that perception, and that hour was nigh.

The Great Depression was a dark time, but it was also a whirling maelstrom of competition that forced manufacturers to adapt, or die. Throughout the Twenties, smaller and weaker marques, at both ends of the market, fell daily by the wayside. Some survived by consolidating or acquiring weaker brands, some survived by virtue of their size, and a few not only survived, but thrived, if they had the means and the foresight to persevere.

Maybe Chevrolet didn’t have a sense of the impending crash when it introduced a cast-iron six in 1929, a durable, low cost engine at a time when aluminum was increasingly regarded as a wonder material. The six itself made sense, a logical progression up the ladder of power, and after all, Chevrolets started out with big sixes in the early Teens, and Oakland and Pontiac had sixes in the Twenties. But it was ultimately dropped (as was an early V-8), in favor of light, inexpensive fours. Ford’s Model T dominated much of that low-priced field, and it’s impossible to mention Chevrolet in the 1930s without referring to Ford. Not only were the two locked in a sales struggle (one that Chevrolet consistently won), but also the products of the one drove the development of new features in the other.

It may seem as though the Depression would not have been good to a larger, more powerful engine, but it was. Demand was indeed falling across the board, but if Chevrolet wasn’t able to grow, they at least held nearly level, an Olympian feat for the time. The Independence, with sleek, modern styling and high-quality interior fitments, was able to grab sales from high-end models that rapidly became out of reach for many formerly aspirational consumers. These buyers brought with them ideas about quality and style that hadn’t previously been applied to this segment of the market.

Certainly, an Independence can’t be called luxurious; in many ways it’s simple, almost austere. But the Sport Coupe, especially, is jaunty and anything but dowdy. The bright exterior, with its stainless steel cowl strip, speaks for itself. The interior is subtler. A painted dash holds a traditional instrument pod, with each dial outlined with a nickel trim ring. Seats are elegant and tufted, matching the doors, and the rest of the cabin is upholstered in contrasting brown. The signature roll-down rear window serves the dual purpose of allowing communication with those ensconced in the rumble seat, and creating a terrific sense of openness and space in an otherwise close-coupled cabin.

From the bottom end of the market, the new six became a vehicle up to which owners of lesser fours could move. For the first time, drivers from all ends of society were looking at a vehicle that reflected not the lowest common denominator, but something that recognized that there were values in common for both rich and poor, and “inexpensive” didn’t have to mean you were being penalized.

“Lesser” fours included the Model A. Ford took some time to come up with a retort to the Chevrolet six, but they brought out the double-ought in ‘32 with their V-8. It made a big noise and is still sought-after today, but during the Depression people weren’t necessarily looking for a big engine, and Chevrolet still lead in sales for most of the Thirties.

This back-and-forth typifies the Chevy-Ford relationship of the time. The Model A had been introduced in 1928, and Chevrolet quickly devised a response. Luckily, Ford didn’t seem to be able to meet its orders for the A, so Chevrolet was able to gain some ground with that year’s National Series AB. The second year of their new naming convention that began with 1927s Capitol Series AA, the AB was a larger car, which in a two-door sedan (or coach) configuration was 1928s bestseller. In the engineering labs, a six was already brewing, and the stretch from the Capitol to the National came mostly in the hood section, in preparation for the larger engine. Oldsmobile and Oakland already had new sixes, but they were unrelated to the upcoming Chevrolet engine.

Work on a straight-six had begun in November, 1925, under the direction of Chevrolet’s Ormond E. Hunt, who would became a GM corporate vice-president for engineering and sales in ’29. Hunt had been exposed to L-head designs at Pontiac, and because of his influence, development work focused on side-valve designs up through 1928.

At the same time, there were proponents of overhead-valve designs in two very different areas of the company. One of the selling points of the four had been its OHV design, and sales chief Richard Grant had been touting this, expensively, for years, with slogans like “Valve-in-head, ahead in value.” He had also made hay from Ford for using side-valve engines, and went looking for allies. He found one in assistant chief engineer James M. Crawford, who had also been lobbying hard for an OHV engine. The argument made its way up to Chevrolet division head William S. Knudsen, who left the decision solely in the hands of Hunt. Hunt ultimately signed off on an OHV design on January 30, 1928, eight months before it was scheduled for introduction.

The 194-cu.in., 46hp engine, borrowing many elements from the abandoned side-valve designs, debuted in the 1929 lineup of commercial vehicles, and was found in the International Series AC passenger cars later that same year. The cast-iron design led to initial ridicule, and it was called a “cast iron wonder,” and “stovebolt six” by its detractors, terms of scorn that later turned to affection as its virtues became apparent. There was some truth to them, though, as because of the tight initial schedule, as well as to keep manufacturing costs close to that of the four, it was not built as robustly as it should have been.

The Fisher composite-bodied Universal Series AD cars became still sleeker for 1930, although a close family resemblance was still easily apparent, an obvious effect of a new Depression-era conservative way of thinking. Impressively, additional investments into the quality of the engine were made, which helped to address some of the problems caused by the rushed production of the year before. The bottom end was strengthened through the use of larger crankshaft bearings and webs, and valve diameters were adjusted, helping output rise to 50hp. The rear axle was beefed up, and four wheel Delco-Lovejoy hydraulic shocks and “weatherproof” mechanical brakes were a real improvement. All these improvements carried over to ’31.

We might look at the 1931 Independence Series AE cars as a further evolution of the Universal design, at least as compared to ‘32s, but key differences make it stand out to an observant eye. Wheelbases went out almost two inches, to 108 9/16^ths, and head- and taillamps became fully chromed (interior fittings were nickel), with an elegantly arched bar supporting them in front. Standard wire wheels replaced signature, still optional steel discs and hood louvers almost doubled in area. Unseen improvements were made throughout the drivetrain, resulting in stronger, smoother operation. New worm-and-sector steering was also adopted. It was all capped off with the addition of new Cabriolet, Landau Phaeton and five-passenger Coupe bodies. Most distinctively, a bright, arched radiator surround set off a crosshatched radiator screen, in bright chrome on all DeLuxe models, a styling fillip from famed designer Harley Earl.

The Sport Coupe was a slightly transitional model, fitting in between highly optioned Deluxe models and the rest of the Standard trim. If this car looks a little spare to modern eyes, a little lacking in options, it’s because technically, there weren’t any for 1931 or 1932. Sure, sidemounts (midyear), trunk racks, trunks and so forth were available from Chevrolet, but they were all accessories sold and installed by the dealers, not the factory. Feature car owner Dale Dixon’s Sport Coupe did come standard with stone screen, cowl lamps and the rumble seat, but even the two-bar bumper that identifies it as being from sometime in the early part of ’31 (a single-bar bumper appeared partway through the year, and the two were probably offered side-by-side until stocks of the two-bar were exhausted) wasn’t there when it left the factory. It does have the eagle radiator cap, which “typifies the speed and strength of the Great American Value.” Nineteen-inch wire wheels were standard for ’31, but Dixon got it with 18s, almost certainly from a ’32.

Production was over 600,000, but at last count, the Vintage Chevrolet Club of America had only 668 in their roster. Dixon found his in his local Tucson, Arizona, classifieds, and bought it for “recreational use.” It had been nicely restored by the previous owner, but some engine work was needed to get it into the condition that now allows him to use it on most weekends. Twelve-volt ignition, a common conversion from the stock six-volt, is a common concession to modern driving—and batteries.

WHAT TO PAY

Low Average High

15,000 $20,000

CLUB SCENE

Vintage Chevrolet Club of America

PO Box 5387

Orange, California 92863-5387

www.vcca.org

Dues: $30/year; Membership: 8,000

Owner’s View

--Dale Dixon

PROS & CONS

Pros

One of the all-time great engines

Spiffy five-window styling

Rumble-seat coolness

Cons

No luggage space

Fords get the attention

Hard to find style and parts

SPECIFICATIONS

1931 Chevrolet Independence Series AE Sport Coupe

Specifications

Base Price $575

Options on dR car Double bar bumpers, $20; eagle radiator cap, $3.50

ENGINE

Type Valve-in-head six-cylinder

Displacement 194 cubic inches

Bore X stroke 3.3125 X 3.75 inches

Compression ratio 5.02:1

Horsepower @ rpm 50 @ 2,600

Torque @ rpm 122 @ 800

Valvetrain OHV, mechanical lifters

Main bearings 3

Fuel system Carter 150-S single-barrel updraft carburetor

Ignition system Delco-Remy coil, distributor and electrolock

Lubrication system Gravity, pressure to center main bearing, vane-type oil pump

Electrical system 12-volt, negative ground

Exhaust system Single cast-iron manifold, steel exhaust pipe, muffler and tailpipe

TRANSMISSION

Type 3-speed selective

Ratios: 1^st 3.32:1

2^nd 1.77:1

3^rd 1.00:1

Reverse 4.20:1

DIFFERENTIAL

Type Spiral bevel, banjo-type semi-floating rear axle

Ratio 4.10:1

STEERING

Type Worm-and sector

Ratio 12.0:1

Turns, lock-to-lock XX

Turning circle 20 feet (right)

BRAKES

Type Four wheel mechanical, internal expanding pressed steel

Front 11.5 inches

Rear 11.5 inches

CHASSIS & BODY

Construction Composite, steel over wood framing, channel-section frame, 4 crossmembers

Body style Two door, four-passenger rumble-seat coupe

Layout Front engine, rear-wheel drive

SUSPENSION

Front I-beam axle, Delco-Lovejoy hydraulic shocks, semi-elliptic springs

Rear Solid axle, Delco-Lovejoy hydraulic shocks, semi-elliptic springs

WHEELS & TIRES

Wheels Steel wire

Front/rear 19 inches

Tires Garfield bias

Front/rear 5.25/5.50 x 18 inches

WEIGHTS & MEASURES

Wheelbase 109 inches

Overall length 165.5 inches

Overall width 67.25 inches

Overall height 70.875 inches

Front track 56 inches

Rear track 56 inches

Shipping weight 2,565 pounds

CAPACITIES

Crankcase 5 quarts

Cooling system 12 quarts

Fuel tank 11 gallons

Transmission 2 pints

Rear axle 1 quart

CALCULATED DATA

Bhp per c.i.d. 0.26

Weight per bhp 51.3 pounds

Weight per c.i.d. 13.22 pounds

PERFORMANCE

Top speed 61 mph

Fuel mileage 22.5 mpg at 25 mph

PRODUCTION

1931 Chevrolet Independence Series AE Sport Coupe

28,379

HCC18

Drivable Dream

by DTA

Photos by Don Spiro

One Of a Million

“It’s just a neat old car” to the owner of this 1950 Packard Super Eight

For most people, buying a 1950 Packard is a memorable experience, even if it is an ageing, unrestored car. But when Scott Cawly acquired his Super Eight it was just like any other day. So much so, in fact, that at first he can’t remember exactly when he bought it. “Four years ago? Five?” he muses. The rare 23^rd series Standard two-door Club Sedan was still in the hands of its original owners, in Camp Verde, Arizona, about 115 miles north of Cawly’s compound in Chandler. He says that the faded Turquoise Blue was a special spring color that year, and has endured more than half a century of scourging Southwestern sunlight surprisingly well, oxidizing gently and showing only traces of rust. It has resisted the omnipresent desert’s attempts to burnish the front fenders with dust- and sand-laden wind.

It’s not entirely truthful to say that Cawly’s Packard came directly from the original owners; a friend actually owned the car for about a week before calling up Scott and offering it to him. He never drove, or even retitled it, so Cawly received it with the original 1950 title intact. It didn’t come with any other documentation of any kind, so its history was a blank slate, aside from a conviction that it had spent the previous half-century in the center of the state. It didn’t come with much else, either: It appears to have only one option, fender skirts, which came with the car, in the trunk. “They’re kind of a pain when you have to do tire stuff,” says Cawly, who has left them exactly where he found them. It does appear that they were on for most of the car’s life, as they have weathered to the same shade as the rest of exterior, possibly, they were only removed when the time came to prepare it for sale. The car even had the radio deleted, which with the presence of the skirts averages out to exactly zero options.

Inside, he found an entirely original interior, down to a large hole in the seat fabric where the driver’s shoulder, presumably the same shoulder through the decades, had rubbed when getting in and out. “The seats are actually fairly decent,” he says, aside from a spring that pokes the driver in an…uncomfortable place. During the car’s storage, it appears that the passenger side front window may have been left ajar, and Arizona’s scant rain made its way in, discoloring the door panel on that side. The frame is solid and the exterior belies its first appearance; the trim is entirely complete and a couple of small patches of surface rust are the most serious trouble. Super Eights are easily identified by the pair of chrome trim lines along the sides, one from the base of the windshield extending to the middle of the rear fender, and a spear from above the front wheel well almost to the rear lamp. Super Deluxes have a nice eggcrate grille, but Standard Supers use our Drivable Dream car’s horizontal slats. With less trim around the opening as well, it’s a slightly plain, yet busy, front end with many intersecting lines which doesn’t make it everyone’s favorite car, but the “bathtub” fastback shape is distinctive and alluring, and they have many fans.

It was the wear, inside and out, combined with the car’s fundamental soundness, which sold Scott (to the tune of $8,500) on it. “You rarely see one, and it’s a neat color. It had a lot of appeal because of its originality—it hadn’t been monkeyed with, it wasn’t all rusted out and patched up.”

Scott likes all his cars to be drivable, so the Packard was treated to some work. “It had been sitting a lot of years, and wasn’t running well at all,” he said. “The carburetor was plugged up, and the brakes were pretty bad.” Rebuilding the brakes was the only major challenge, as the old fluid had more or less congealed in the lines, which he was ultimately able to flush out and reuse, along with some reproduction hardware from Kanter. The patched-up radiator was recored, a new starter was installed and some suspect wiring attended to. For many of us outside of the sunbelt, the notion that nothing was particularly hard frozen is almost inconceivable, but he says, “With this Arizona stuff, you can take every bolt and nut out of it with a screwdriver. I grew up in Chicago, and after two years we were cutting bumpers off with a torch.” He left the aesthetic elements of the car untouched. “It was just the stuff you have to worry about to drive it around, so it was drivable and dependable.” Four or five days later, it rolled out of his shop, Scott’s Autobody.

Rolling is what these cars do best. As equipped with a three-speed manual with overdrive, as opposed to the optional Ultramatic automatic, they’re fine highway cars, with good torque from the long-stroke 150hp 327-cu.in. straight-eight. “It doesn’t have a lot of get up and go. That overdrive helps a bunch—the first three gears are pretty close,” says Cawly. “But once you get it into overdrive it runs along pretty well. It’s just a neat old car.” Ride quality of the 3,640-pound car on a 127-inch wheelbase is also good, now with a set of radial tires for comfort and safety, but it’s not up to that of some of Packard’s competitors. “I have a 1951 Cadillac that doesn’t compare to it at all,” says Scott. Ed Franko, the Packard Club’s chief judge, says that, “They’re nice driving & handling cars. You can drive them at highway speeds without hurting them. It is a lovely car to drive. Whether you like the styling or not, it’s an easy car to drive, a comfortable automobile.”

It joined a fleet of about 50 cars that Cawly drives regularly, one being swapped for another on a daily basis. The first day we spoke to him, he was using his perfect black unrestored 1958 Studebaker Golden Hawk, which he had also bought from the original owners, in Hollywood, California. The day before? An original 18,000-mile 1970 Chevelle SS396. But don’t get him started on those Studebakers.

“I lived in South Bend for a while. Therefore, the Studebakers.” Almost every one from 1947 on. You could also say, ‘therefore the Packards,’ as after 1954 all Studebakers were technically a Packard brand, but that’s a different story. In 1950, the “Golden Anniversary” Packards were built in Michigan by a company still in the hunt for America’s high-end car buyers, although with a model now dating to the 22^nd Series introduced in 1948, they were losing ground rapidly. Fewer than 5,000 of all Supers were built for the year. “If they would have kept the Clipper design, it might have been a better choice,” said Franko. “They also had trouble filling orders—couldn’t get steel.” Subtle and not-so-subtle pressure was being applied to all the independents from GM, Chrysler and Ford, and it didn’t bring tears to their eyes to see a competing luxury marque such as Packard start to flounder.

While this is the first 23^rd series Packard he’s ever owned, as you may have gathered, it’s not his only old car. We can’t tell you how may cars Scott has, but here’s a hint: Think of a number, any number. That number is too low. Out in the scrub of Chandler, Arizona, cars are crammed into warehouses, sheds, outbuildings, garages, in huge and magnificent profusion. If we didn’t suffer from the same malady, we’d say the man had a problem. But we do have the same compulsion, so we think he has a treasure trove. “99 percent of them run and drive,” Scott says. “They’re all drivable dreams.” Except for the 17 cars he currently has apart in his garage, in various stages of restoration. One of those is the oldest car he owns, another Packard, this one a car from 1941 that once belonged to Ronald Reagan. “I’m a car nut—I told you. I never changed—I’ve just been buying cars ever since I could. I tried to hold onto everything I could, although there were a few I let slip through my fingers. Back in the ‘70s I had a 1970 Hemi ‘Cuda…I traded it off for a Dodge Colt in 1974.”

“The first car I can really remember…my uncle John was a doctor and he came home in a brand new 1957 Thunderbird, coral. He always had the neatest new cars, I can remember it like it was yesterday, I can remember every car he ever had. I just bought him a new Thunderbird—red. With a white top, so it looked like his old car. As a kid, I spent every waking hour in the garage. I once had to go through the whole house wiping the baseboards off because I left the vents open when I was painting a car.

“I used to ‘borrow’ my parents’ cars…all those things you shouldn’t do. My aunt used to come and visit, and I’d borrow her 1964 Custom 880. I wrecked it one year, took it out in the snow, I was 13 or 14, and I spent a lot of years in trouble for that.

“I’ll never quit. There’s nothing else that excites me. I’m not into sports, I don’t do basketball, I just look at cars, work on cars. I like the whole restoration process, but I really love painting. And putting it all back together, taking all the little pieces and seeing it all come back together.

“It’s just a love—I’ve been doing it all my life. I roll out of bed, walk next door, and go to work. Not many people get to do what they love every day of your life.”

HCC #19

1931 Durant 614 De Luxe Sedan

Never anything like it

By David Traver Adolphus

Photography by Roy D. Query

General Motors’ old building in downtown Detroit has a series of stylized capital “Ds” cast into a decorative exterior frieze. They’re not there for the city or its dilettante founder; they’re there for the man who built GM and lost it twice, William Crapo Durant.

A young Robert Redford could easily have played him on screen. He had the same cocky twinkle, the same confidence and swagger that made Redford a natural for the Sundance Kid, Jay Gatsby and Bob Woodward. Such a film could have been one for the ages, because Billy Durant’s story is a classic American rise and fall.

Durant was instrumental in the rise of the American automobile. He had already built a fortune in the carriage industry when he met David D. Buick in 1903, accepting management of the rudderless Buick Company the next year. Having survived one of the many panics that characterized the pre-war stock market, by 1908 he was at Benjamin Briscoe’s (of Maxwell) suggestion attempting to purchase the Ford Motor Company. It was part of a grand scheme, reminiscent of the supposed post-war Grand Alliance between Studebaker, Hudson, Packard and Nash. The four largest car companies of the time—Buick, Reo, Maxwell-Briscoe and Ford—would merge into one giant International Motor Car Company, or, as Durant called it after Ford and Reo pulled out of the deal, the General Motors Company. Durant started it anyway, and managed to hold onto GM for two years, pulling in Buick, Oldsmobile, Cadillac and Oakland. After trying to buy Ford again in 1910, GM’s creditors, concerned about red ink during a recession, removed him from leadership in late summer of 1910, leaving him a position on the Board of Directors.

By that winter of 1910 he was starting from scratch, with nothing but his famously persuasive ways and a massive personal fortune. By all accounts, he was happiest during times like this, when he could start something and bring to bear his entrepreneurial skills. One of his first purchases during this time was a small car company run by William H. Little. Little stayed on, as did his race driver, an engineer named Louis Chevrolet. The new company took Chevrolet’s name when it was incorporated and by mid-1916, Durant, Pierre Du Pont and associates owned 450,000 of 768,733 total shares of GM, which allowed Durant to absorb GM into the smaller Chevrolet.

Four years later, Durant was out of GM for the second time, this time for good, having made up stock losses after the first post-WWI stock market crash in 1919 out of his own pocket. Much of Durant’s first fortune had been erased. But his drive and desire to create had not been, and neither had his friendship with the Du Ponts. With their backing, Durant Motors was incorporated on January 12, 1921. Six weeks later, the first Durant Four debuted, going on sale in May of that year.

While the stock market was often his primary focus, Durant stayed involved in the company, and his affiliations during these years included Star, Rugby, Flint, Locomobile, Mason, Eagle, Princeton, Mathis, DeVaux, Continental and Frontenac. The Durant brand briefly disappeared in 1927, with volume production being left to Star and Flint. In 1928, it was revived as a higher-end brand, and Flint production ended. Durant was to have all six-cylinder cars, and Star would have four cylinders; to that end, the Star R became the Durant 55, with new 65 and 75 models positioned above it. But the Star line was also destined for history, and when it was cut in April of 1928, the still-popular four-cylinder M became the Durant M2, which was replaced with another four-cylinder, the M4, before the year was out.

The year 1929 started well, with four new models in the range. The 40, 60 (with a new engine), 63 and 70 (replacement for the 75) were joined by the 66 before the end of the year. Unbelievably, an entirely new lineup was announced for 1930; the four-cylinder model 407 and the straight-six 614 and 617. In the fall of 1930, the 610 and 612 were introduced. Things were looking pretty shaky, though, and big cracks appeared. In December, California magnate Norman DeVaux bought the California portion of Durant from Billy Durant’s son, producing DeVaux-Hall cars in Oakland and Grand Rapids, Michigan.

Despite advertising that claimed, “1931 will be a Durant year,” it wasn’t. Sales were gone, and with so much of Durant’s personal fortune tied up in the stock market, he lacked the resources to bail out the company; some accounts suggest he personally lost as much as $40 million after the 1929 crash. Competition from Chevrolet’s new OHV Six was fierce, and sales fell to 7,270 cars, down from an already-mediocre 20,261 the year before. As a result, the ’31 Durants were mostly carryovers from the year before. The 401 and the model 614 were retained, although a new mid-price, six-cylinder 618 was introduced. Later in the year, the 71hp model 619 was introduced. The company was falling apart at this point: New cars were introduced in 1932, but it is thought that there was no production run of the 621 and 622. On January 27, Durant Motors went into receivership and on January 30, 1932, filed for bankruptcy. Various bits and pieces stumbled along after the head had died: Dominion lasted until the end of 1933; DeVaux until 1932; and Continental (which replaced DeVaux) until 1934.

While the 58hp 612 was priced to go head-to-head with other low-priced sixes, the 614, starting at just under $1,000, was hundreds more than the competition. A huge list of standard equipment helped explain the cost; the only option on Standards was dual sidemounts, and De Luxes came with them, and chromed head- and taillamps. Fourteen versions of the 614 had been offered in 1930, but in ‘31, choices were limited to a Business Coupe, Standard Coupe, Standard Sedan and De Luxe Coupes, Sedans and Phaetons. The 612 was down to just a Tourist Sedan (with reclining Pullman bed).

Odus Raymer, the owner of our feature car, acquired his Durant in Detroit in 1965, from an ad in Hemmings. “I’m pretty partial to the heavier car, and the big car,” he says. “I like them pretty well. Down through the years, I always liked the ride of them, and I liked the design.”

Durant ads boasted of the ’31 that there was “Never anything like it,” but there was. Construction is probably better than the competition, if still conventional. The Hayes body is mostly steel, which Odus found out to his benefit when restoring the car in the ‘70s; the only wood which needed replacing was in the roof bows above the driver. The biggest selling point, 75 years down the line, is the channel-section steel double-dropped frame. With five crossmembers, it’s both relatively low and stiff.

Stepping up to the car, suicide doors open to reveal a well-designed “form-fitting” mohair interior. The flat floor allows stretch-out foot room, and hunkered down on the frame, the sedan is almost as wide as it is tall, leaving fedora room above. Resplendent in its original faded brownish green, a chrome grab bar assists in exiting the distant recesses of the rear seat. If you’ve never seen a Durant before, but the body looks a little familiar, it’s because versions of the Hayes-built body were in circulation for several years, used for DeVauxs—as well as the Marmon Roosevelt.

While the car is capable of modern speeds, it is more comfortable at a smooth and still-respectable 45 or 50 mph, tracking straight and true. Even in the corners, the double-dropped frame helps control lean. At 2,955 pounds, it’s heavy for this class of car—substantial 19-inch 550-series Lester tires do help constrain all that mass. Helping the ride substantially, when Odus restored the car in 1975, he added tube shocks to the rear end, mounting them between the frame rail and axle. He does mention that the steering effort seems higher than in his ’29 Durant, “But maybe I’m not as strong as I was. And steering like that was all you knew back then.” Four-wheel Midland mechanical brakes are vastly superior to some of the competition, and are outstanding for the era. Raymer’s only real complaint is the lack of a four-speed gearbox, as was found in his ’29. Actually, the four-speed was only in 6- series cars, and only in 1929. Known as a very sophisticated unit, it was probably quieter and smoother than the three-speed, which is noisy in low gears.

Dual sidemounts (which lock with the ignition key; while our feature car lacks them, some period materials indicate that hard covers for the spares were included on De Luxes) and snappy fender-mounted American flags bracket the radiator and fully chromed lamps and bumper. The chromed trunk rack was another standard feature, but the unmarked trunk is a period aftermarket accessory that came with the car in 1965. Combined with the distinguished body lines, it’s an impression of elegance so convincing that, combined with the resonance of the name, it has led people to believe it’s a Full Classic. Really, it’s anything but. Components were mostly farmed out—transmissions from Warner, Midland brakes from Bendix, Continental engine and body by Hayes. The car was supposed to be on an even footing with Chevrolet, Ford, Plymouth or Essex, distinguished by above-average engineering and an appearance of value engendered by the high level of trim. Instead, the price moved it far above the value leaders, into a realm where it became a fish out of water.

They say that Durant was happy in his final years, running and promoting a bowling alley in Flint, Michigan, in the shadow of Buick. He said they were the next big thing. He had finally lost the last of his fortune, declaring bankruptcy in 1936. When the 25 millionth GM car was built on January 12, 1940, GM Chairman Alfred P. Sloan brought his predecessor on stage to credit his contributions to the company, and industry. Durant said to his wife, “Well, they took it away from me, but they cannot take away the credit for having done it.”

A stroke sidelined him for good in 1942. It must have been a bewildering experience for a man who was known as a dynamo, and bitterly resented the rare occasions ill health slowed him down during his life. His widow Catherine said she sold off her jewelry piece by piece during the war to pay for his nursing care. By the time of his death at age 85 at his Gramercy Park apartment in New York City, on March 18, 1947, he was destitute, and outside of Flint, Michigan, already almost forgotten. A titan of a man, without whom names such as Charles W. Nash, Walter P. Chrysler, Alfred P. Sloan, Louis Chevrolet and David D. Buick would not today be remembered. Almost certainly, there would have been no Oldsmobile or Oakland, and Buick, Chevrolet and Cadillac would be but dim memories, if they had ever existed at all.

One of the very last chapters of Durant’s history was written in the spring of 2005. Durant Motors Verlinden Avenue plant in Lansing, opened in 1920 and was purchased by GM in 1935. It became the home of GM’s Fisher Body division and later the main Buick, Oldsmobile and Cadillac plant, eventually known as Lansing Car Assembly. A victim of GM’s latest round of cost cutting, 3,500 people lost their jobs when it was closed on May 6, 2005, after a final Pontiac Grand Am rolled off the line.

If the young Durant was right for Redford, surely at the end of his life it should have been Marlon Brando’s broken-down boxer Terry, in On the Waterfront. Sitting in the back of a (Chevy) cab with Rod Steiger, you can almost hear him say, “I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody…” Durant was certainly never a bum. He was always somebody, he was always a contender. Because at the same time that he was a fighter who stepped back into the ring over and over, only to pick himself up off the mat, smiling for the next knockdown punch, he was also Johnny Strabler in The Wild One, who, when Mary Murphy asks him what he’s rebelling against, replies, “Whaddya got?”

SIDEBAR:
Ages of Durant

Billy Durant’s history is as old as the auto industry, but the car bearing his name was rolling on March 1, 1921, 61 days after Durant left GM. By the time production ended in 1932, more than 80 models had been produced, with the brands sometime using the same platforms.

1921. Only Durant vehicles produced.

1922. The Star is introduced. Durant buys the bankrupt Locomobile, and establishes the Flint Motor Car Company

1923. The Princeton is announced, and a prototype built, but enters production as a Flint. The Mason Truck Company is established to produce heavy trucks, Flint production begins. Stars go on sale in Australia under the Rugby name.

1927. Mason truck, Flint and Durant production ends. Eagle prototype produced.

1928. Durant reappears. Star production ends and is transferred to Durant. Durant trucks become Rugby.

1929. Durant announces production of the French Mathis car. Last Locomobiles built.

1930. Norman DeVaux purchases Durant Motors of California.

1931. DeVaux-Hall Motors Corporation builds cars in California and Michigan. Durant Motors of Canada reincorporated as Dominion Motors Limited, produces Frontenac. Mathis announced but never built; successfully produced in France for many years.

1932 Durant, DeVaux-Hall Motors file for bankruptcy. Continental Motors Corporation purchases assets of DeVaux-Hall, introduces Continental-DeVaux.

1933. Final bankruptcy for Durant, Dominion production ends.

1934. Continental-DeVaux production ends.

OWNER’S VIEW

Sometimes people end up with cars for seemingly mysterious reasons…and sometimes they don’t. In 1936, when Odus G. Raymer was 16, his father promised him that if he worked for free that summer in their small family haulage and road construction business, he’d buy Odus a car. “I worked all summer hauling gravel, raking roads—they didn’t put blacktop down back then,” he says. His father was as good as his word, and bought him a 1929 Durant 66. “I loved that car as this one. But I traded it in three, four years later for a Rockne, which was a big mistake. I thought I wanted a more modern car. But the Studebaker engine didn’t hold up…which could have been me.

“But that Durant did hold up and boy, did we drive it hard.” He found work in a machine shop, where he worked through most of the war, until the Department of the Navy found him. Briefly. Sworn in in Indianapolis, “I had four days of being in the Navy. Things changed—it was the end of the war.”

The Mulberry Maroon ’31 Durant came into his life though an ad in Hemmings in 1965. When he went up to Detroit to pick it up, “The man I bought it from had turned back the odometer, and wouldn’t tell me anything. I managed to get a few details out of his father.” The car had come from California, but not from the Durant factory there: It was built in Flint, Michigan.

Odus drove his Durant until 1975, when he restored it for the Bicentennial (it appeared in Logansport, Indiana’s parade). “When I restored it, I’d had trouble with it overheating, so I tore the engine down, boiled it out. When I put it back together, it has bearing inserts that were still the same gauge as the original, so the mileage wasn’t too high.

“I’m not much of a fan for collecting a lot of information, I just like to drive them. It’s not for sale, no matter how long I’m alive. I’ve got a daughter who wants it, and one who doesn’t care about old cars. It’s enjoyable, and has been down the years.”

CLUB SCENE

Durant Motors Automobile Club

P.O. Box 2248
Vancouver, Washington 98668

www.durantmotors.org

Dues: $30; Membership: 400

PROS & CONS

Pros

More steel than the competition

Smooth ride and reassuring handling

Standard features, including dual sidemounts

Cons

Three-speed transmission

Small production numbers

Reproduction parts availability

SPECIFICATIONS

1931 Durant 614 De Luxe Sedan

Base Price $995

ENGINE

Type Continental Red Seal L-head straight-six, cylinders cast en-bloc, Pyrodyne head, aluminum alloy pistons.

Displacement 199 cubic inches

Bore X Stroke 4.0 X 3.25 inches

Compression Ratio 5.46:1

Horsepower @ rpm 71 @ 3,300

Torque @ rpm 122-ft.lbs @ 1,400

Valvetrain Solid valve lifters, chain-driven camshaft

Main Bearings 4

Fuel System Stromberg 1-1/4-inch U-2 plain tube carburetor, A.C. fuel pump

Ignition System Electric Auto-Lite

Lubrication System Pressure to main bearings, connecting rods and camshaft bearings; gear-type pump

Electrical System Six-volt

Exhaust System Single

TRANSMISSION

Type Selective sliding gear, Borg & Beck single plate 8 7/8-inch dry disc clutch

Ratios: 1^st 3.32:1

2^nd 1.67:1

3^rd 1.00:1

Reverse 4.10:1

DIFFERENTIAL

Type Hotchkiss drive, semi-floating, spiral ring gear and pinion

Ratio 4.40:1

STEERING

Type Elliot-type semi-irreversible, worm-and-roller, ball thrust bearings

Ratio 13.5:1

Turns, lock-to-lock 4

Turning Circle 39 feet

BRAKES

Type Four-wheel Midland Steeldraulic internal expanding

Front 11 X 2-inch drum

Rear 11 X 2-inch drum

CHASSIS & BODY

Construction Composite steel and hardwood body-on-frame

Body Style Four door, six passenger sedan

Layout Front engine, rear-wheel drive

SUSPENSION

Front Reverse Elliot type, dropforged I-beam axle, 7-leaf semi-elliptic springs, lever-arm hydraulic shocks

Rear Semi-floating solid axle, 7-leaf semi-elliptic springs, tube shocks

WHEELS & TIRES

Wheels 12-spoke wood artillery

Front/rear 19 X 4 inches

Tires Lester blackwall bias ply

Front/rear 19 X 4.50 inches

WEIGHTS & MEASURES

Wheelbase 112 inches

Overall length N/A

Overall width 68 inches

Overall height 69 inches

Front track 57.5 inches

Rear track 57.5 inches

Shipping weight 2,955 pounds

CAPACITIES

Crankcase 6 quarts

Cooling system 14 quarts

Fuel tank 12 gallons

CALCULATED DATA

Bhp per c.i.d. 2.80

Weight per bhp 41.62 pounds

Weight per c.i.d. 15.05 pounds

PERFORMANCE

Top speed 75 mph

PRODUCTION

1931 Durant (all) 7,270

HCC15 dR

1953 Imperial

The Imperial, by Chrysler, Custom Imperial. Long live the king.

Words & photography by David Traver Adolphus

The long story of Chrysler’s sometime-brand Imperial is as long and complicated as that of any king and empire. From its meteoric rise to the very pinnacle of American automotive supremacy in 1926, through highs and lows culminating in the ignominious exile of 1994, Imperial’s saga traces the middle of the century of the car as no other.

Over the years, the Imperial badge has had a changing relationship to the Chrysler name. It was introduced as a Chrysler trim level, and quickly became a distinct line comprised of the finest automobiles, more than capable of competing with marques such as Packard, Duesenberg and Cadillac. After the Second World War, it was generally referred to as “Imperial, by Chrysler,” up until 1955 when it became a separate product line. By 1971, it had once again returned to its roots as a Chrysler trim level, until the name was retired amidst the company’s declining financial health in 1975. The name was revived again for a small car from 1981 through 1983, and again for 1990 through 1994, but the era of great Imperials had long since come to a close.

William Percy Chrysler’s saga itself traces more than the development of the modern automobile; it traces the American Dream. From his early life as a laborer, he worked his way up through the auto industry to become the last person to found a major independent automaker, at least one that lasted to the end of the 20th century.

This journey into automobile history began at General Motors, where a nine-year tenure under GM’s challenging president, William C. Durant, ended in 1920 with a $10 million buyout of W. P. Chrysler’s stock, providing him ample seed money to peruse his ambitions. After complicated dealings with Willys in the early 1920s, Chrysler assumed control of the failing Maxwell Motor Company, which had recently merged with Chalmers. Around 1922 he lost to Durant a bid to assume some of Willys assets, and teamed with former Willys and Studebaker engineers Fred Zeder, Owen Skelton and Carl Breer to develop a new automobile, the Chrysler, at the former Chalmers plant in Detroit. Introduced at the New York Auto Show in January of 1924, the Chrysler Model B-70 was powered by a strong L-head inline six, and featured a full range of body styles, including a fully enclosed, five-passenger Crown Imperial sedan.

Chrysler cars quickly developed a reputation as sophisticated, high-quality, high-performance automobiles at reasonable prices, and the Imperial gained its own platform in 1926. By 1927, it was well on its way to becoming a discrete model line, with a 288.6 cubic inch engine and wheelbases up to 133 inches available by special order.

Coachbuilders began to take advantage of the Imperial running gear and partway through 1928, a line of factory semi-coachbuilt models were introduced, with bodies by Dietrich, LeBaron and Locke on a 136-inch wheelbase, and an optional 309.3 cubic inch L-head inline-six. Locke-bodied customs continued into the Depression.

As with all the automakers, the economic realities of the 1930s hit Chrysler hard. Production of long-wheelbase Imperials dropped from a high of over 2,000 to approximately 151 in 1933. But that fate was staved off for the first few years of the Depression by the all-new, all-steel 1931 Imperials. An inline-eight cylinder engine displacing 384 cubic inches made 125 horsepower available, and a rakish, modern, swept back design closely resembled that of competitors Cord and Auburn. Wheelbases up to 145 inches provided a canvas on which the world’s finest coachbuilder’s expressed their art, and ensured they would continue to be some of the most sought-after luxury cars on the market, at least by those who could still afford them.

But the inevitable could not be delayed, and despite further evolution of the line, resulting in some of the most expressive and desirable true American Classics ever built, it was time for a change. As ever, Imperial would lead the way in styling and technology.

Jeff Koch covered the evolution of 1934’s revolutionary Airflow in detail last month (1937 Imperial Airflow HCC 14), so we will only say that the brave, failed experiment in creating a truly modern car lasted only three years (while Airflows were sold in 1937, they were no longer badged as Imperials). W. P. Chrysler’s decision to force the design on an unwilling company and public, while visionary, was terribly out of step with the conservative buying tastes of a public whose confidence had been rocked to its core by the depression. Custom Imperial Airflows, while unpopular, were certainly among the very best, most luxurious and technologically advanced cars on the planet.

Nevertheless, near universal scorn in the marketplace dictated that a new design direction be adopted, or perhaps an old one. The sudden loss of the Airflow platform seems to have thrown Chrysler design into disarray, and pre-War Imperials abruptly lost their grandeur and distinction, coming to resemble lesser Chrysler Royals, and later, New Yorkers. A brief run of majestic Crown Imperial limousines and Newport dual-cowl phaetons was quickly ended by the war.

The first post-war 1946 cars were continuations of the pre-war models, a lineage which now dated back to the 1938 Royal. With Walter P. Chrysler’s death in 1940, the Imperial had lost one of its staunchest backers, and the Airflow scare relegated it to limousine duty for a decade. A Fluid-Drive semi-automatic transmission, introduced in the 1939 Custom Imperial, was standard in the sole Crown Imperial model. A new model would not appear until March of 1949.

While the new 1949 Imperial was unquestionably a luxury car, it was now just as unquestionably even more closely related to the Chrysler New Yorker. Former Chrysler designer Ray Dietrich, now working independently, applied a fantastic custom-style interior to a limited run of 50 shorter (131.5-inch wheelbase) sedans. While not a major force in the market, it foreshadowed Imperials return to the realm of the luxury sedan.

On May 1st, 1950, a new Imperial sedan based on the all-new New Yorker platform debuted. It was quite clearly a car in which to be seen, as it actually had more glass than the New Yorker which it clearly resembled. The Imperial’s exterior was otherwise quite restrained, with modest badging and very minimal brightwork. Subtlety was the name of the game, and Chrysler sold over 10,000 sedans which, with 415 Crown Imperials, made 1950 the best year for Imperial sales since the 1930s.

The dramatic improvement in sales meant that Chrysler could justify a full lineup for 1951. Six different models were available, all motivated by the stunning new FirePower engine, Chrysler’s 331.1 cubic-inch, 180hp V-8 with hemispherical combustion chambers. As it had during the late 1920s, Imperials could once again claim to be America’s most powerful cars. Together with optional power steering and brakes, (disc brakes were standard on Crown Imperial limousines) and Fluid-Torque semi-automatic transmissions, they were once again the finest cars available. Little changed for 1952 and over 27,000 were built during those two years. 1953 Imperials received a minor facelift that made them look less like New Yorkers, including the enormous and distinctive eagle hood ornament. For unknown reasons, the company cut back Imperial production dramatically that year, and just over 9,000 of all variants were sold. In June of the year, the fully automatic PowerFlite transmission completed testing and was gradually rolled out as the new standard powertrain, although its official introduction was in the 1954 models. Those 1954s began an entirely new era, as the Virgil Exner-styled joined an all-new Chrysler lineup as their own separate make, and returned the car to the very peak of the luxury car field, a position it would occupy until the very end of the 1960s.

Michael Mauss acquired his 1953 Imperial from Massachusetts in 1999. The metallic Niagara Blue car is amazingly original, having received only some chrome replating and minor repair to the passenger side to repair a crease. Michael describes the exterior as “50-75% original,” and we would say he is being conservative. The pleated blue mohair and leather interior is complimented by subtle wood inlay in the doors, and a two-tone painted metal dash. The rear seat is as spacious and inviting as any living room, with canted footrests and an elegant chromed bar along the back of the front seat to assist egress.

With just over 60,000 miles recorded, the hemi fires up immediately on a warm summer evening, idling quietly and smoothly. A slight dip into the throttle reveals a substantial rumble, a surprisingly muscular sound for such a large, formal car. Mauss believes the engine has never been rebuilt, and we have no reason to doubt him.

The high front bench seat is well positioned, although the original wool is showing slight wear and the seat has softened with time. Shifting is accomplished via the Fluid-Torque Chrysler M-6 two-speed manual transmission with electric overdrive, coupled to a torque converter. When starting out, one depresses a traditional clutch pedal and shifts using a steering column-mounted lever with an “R-L-N-D” pattern. “L” is low range, with Low and Low Overdrive gearing, and “D” is high, with High and High Overdrive. The clutch is also used when changing from low to high range, although thanks to the torque converter, it isn’t needed when coming to a stop. The 312-lbs.ft. of torque available at 2,000 rpm mean that Low range is only needed for steep takeoffs or heavy loads.

It is all far less complicated than it sounds. To get under way, we shift as in any other column-shifter car, putting us into High. Acceleration of the 5,000+ pound car is really quite brisk (in 1953, Speed Age hustled an Imperial to 60 mph in a terrific 12.6 seconds), even though the torque converter means that only a reported 88 horsepower is making it to the ground. At 25 mph, we take our foot gently off the gas for a moment and the overdrive almost imperceptibly kicks in with a gentle surge. Contemporary reports from De Soto and other Chrysler owners describe a distinct “clunk,” but that would have been entirely inappropriate in a car where a chauffeur often conveyed the passengers.

The Imperial is nothing if not relaxed at speed. Flooring the accelerator will deactivate the overdrive, but the car’s manners at all speeds are impeccable. Chrysler engineers went to great lengths to make the steering as relaxed as the rest of the car and the Vacu-Ease steering is as relaxed as can be. No effort whatsoever is required to move the wheel to any degree, and only the motion of the car as it weaves gently down the road informs us that it is connected to anything at all. We are told that with a little practice, a straight line can be steered, but it does not come naturally.

A set of curves encourages one to slow the car down, as the enormous greenhouse puts the center of gravity very high, resulting in alarming lean. Whitewall Dayton radials, entirely appropriate for a regularly driven car, go a long way toward making sharp maneuvering possible, but the car is clearly not happy doing it. Braking is initially frightening, but excellent reserves of stopping power from the large 12-inch power drum brakes are found with strong applications of the pedal, and a pump or two firms them up nicely.

Heading off into the gentle sunset, we wonder how cars such as this ever went out of style. While it is deeply formal, it is also completely practical and eminently suited for endless trips through America. Even today, among monstrous SUVs, the Imperial is an appropriate car that conveys you through the world with ease. Perhaps Chrysler’s new renaissance will once again result in Imperials that are truly the standard of the world.

Club Scene:

Online Imperial Club

www.imperialclub.com

Dues: Free; Membership: 600

Walter P. Chrysler Club, Inc.

Box 3504
Kalamazoo, Michigan 49003-3504

www.chryslerclub.org

Dues: $30/year; Membership: 5,000

Owner’s View:

Michael Mauss of northern Vermont first became aware of his 1953 Imperial in 1995, when the second owner earned his Hemmings Motor News Photographer cap with a story of how he acquired it from his butcher, the car’s owner for its first 42 years. The car, which evokes memories of his childhood family car, sits next to a beautiful red Pontiac Deluxe Chieftain convertible, which is “almost there.” In the barn next door, a 1941 Lincoln Continental and 1930 Franklin are in various stages of restoration.

“The Imperial is an historical artifact which tells us much about the 1950s, a period of confidence among Americans in our position in the world,” says the former history professor, now a farmer. “It was a far more secure time than today with global marketplace outsourcing, and terrorism.

“I think that the understated body design has held up better than some of the more flamboyant designs of the 1950s, and it is mechanically overbuilt and thoroughly reliable.”

While Michael does drive it regularly though the warmer months and accumulates over 1,000 miles a year in the Imperial, his intention is to keep it in the condition in which it is found today. “I intend to preserve it as an excellent original,” he says. “It is dignified, with enough brightwork to set it off, but not the excess which one finds in late ‘50s cars.”

What to Pay:

Low $3,000

Medium $5,000

High $10,000

Pros

All-day cruising comfort

A time when “Chrysler” and “Quality” meant the same thing

Hemi power

Cons

Explaining the name

Reproduction parts? Ha!

Handling is good for a huge 1950s car, but not that good

1953 Chrysler Custom Imperial

Specifications

Base Price $4,401.50

Options on dR car Fluid-Torque drive, power steering, radio, heater, electric window lifts

Price as tested $5,004.00

ENGINE

Type 90° overhead valve V-8; hemispherical combustion chambers, horizontal slot, aluminum alloy pistons; full-length water jackets;, integrally cast block and crankcase; dropforged crankshaft

Displacement 331.1 cubic inches

Bore X Stroke 3.8125 x 3.625 inches

Compression ratio 7.50:1

Horsepower @ rpm 180 @ 4,000

Torque @ rpm 312-lbs.ft. @ 2,000

Valvetrain 53° inclined, lateral in-head, silicon-chromium steel valves, 1.8125-inch intake valve head, 1.5-inch exhaust, hydraulic tappets

Main bearings Five

Fuel system Dual throat downdraft Carter WCD-992-S carburetor, Carter M-840-S diaphragm fuel pump, integral automatic choke, water-jacketed throttle body

Ignition system Breaker-point, automatic advance

Lubrication system Gear driven, rotary full-pressure

Electrical system 6 volts, 50 amps

Exhaust system Dual exhaust

TRANSMISSION

Type Chrysler M6 Fluid-Torque four-speed semi-automatic, high & low range

Ratios: 1^st 3.57:1

2^nd 2.04:1

3^rd 1.75:1

4^th 1.00:1

Reverse 3.99:1

DIFFERENTIAL

Type Semi-floating hypoid axle

Ratio 3.54:1

STEERING

Type Worm and roller

Ratio 20.4:1

Turns, lock-to-lock 3.5

Turning circle 44.66 feet

BRAKES

Type Four-wheel power-assisted Vacu-Ease hydraulic, internal expanding

Front 12-inch double-cylinder drum

Rear 12-inch single-cylinder drum

CHASSIS & BODY

Construction Welded all-steel body, double channel, fully boxed steel perimeter frame

Body Style Four-door, six-passenger sedan

Layout Front engine, rear-wheel drive

SUSPENSION

Front Upper & lower control arms, coil springs, Oriflow hydraulic shocks, anti-sway bar,

Rear Barrel-type live axle, longitudinal 7-leaf 2.5-inch springs, Oriflow hydraulic shocks, anti-sway bar

WHEELS & TIRES

Wheels Drop center, safety rim steel disc

Front/rear 15 x 6 inches

Tires Dayton TB radial

Front/rear 15 x 8.2 inches

WEIGHTS & MEASURES

Wheelbase 131.5 inches

Overall length 219 inches

Overall width 76.75 inches

Overall height 63 inches

Front track 57.125 inches

Rear track 58.5625 inches

Shipping weight 5,060 pounds

CAPACITIES

Crankcase 5 quarts

Cooling system 26 quarts

Fuel tank 20 gallons

Transmission 3 pints

CALCULATED DATA

Bhp per c.i.d. 0.54

Weight per bhp 28.1 pounds

Weight per c.i.d. 15.28 pounds

PERFORMANCE

60. 12.6 seconds

¼ mile ET est. 19.6 seconds @ 78 mph

Top speed 105 mph

Fuel mileage 13.4 mpg

PRODUCTION

1953 Imperial 9,018

HCC14

Drivable Dream

1913 Stevens-Duryea C-6

It takes a well-made car to stay original through 92 years in New England

Words and photography by David Traver Adolphus

We couldn’t originally go see Rod Rice’s 1913 Stevens-Duryea when we wanted to, because he was driving it some 30 miles (each way) through hilly mountain roads for a friend’s 85^th birthday. His friend wanted the Model C-Six right-hand-drive Touring Car there, because he remembered playing on it when it was stored in a barn during the Depression.

Rod was driving around in a 1922 Studebaker when he heard from a friend that a junkyard in Barre had a couple of Stevens-Duryeas hanging around. “I’d just driven the [Studebaker] back from Boise, Idaho—that car had about 125,000 miles when I bought it. I drove it up to Walla-Walla Washington, then back to Boise, then I drove it out here.

“A fellow mentioned that there was a Stevens-Duryea up the street. When I went to investigate, sure enough, there was another one up the street in a garage. The fellow wouldn’t sell either one separately.” He didn’t know anything about them, but bought them “just bccause it was a nice old car. I had heard the name Stevens-Duryea, but it didn’t mean anything to me. When I saw the car I realized it was a quality old car.”

He “scraped together [his] nickels and dimes” and managed to acquire both of them, the car you see here and an even larger seven-passenger long wheelbase version. He didn’t keep the bigger car that long, and soon sold it to Jerry Duryea, son of American car pioneer Charles Duryea, for as much Rod had paid for both cars. “I thought it was a pretty good deal at the time,” he says. “It paid for the whole deal. I had an aunt who lived in Springfield, and she said there’s a Mr. Duryea that lives in Springfield and he’s interested in old cars…she called him up.

“He didn’t even see the car; we talked on the phone. That was quite a little trip down to Springfield, Massachusetts. The magneto froze up partway down, so we had to finish the trip on the battery. 1913 was the first year for battery & generator systems.”

The C-6 he had towed up to Burlington, a distance of about 45 miles, behind a friend’s Ford Model A roadster. That was an epic journey in itself, considering a Model A makes in the vicinity of 40 horsepower and Rod estimates the Stevens-Duryea weighs in the neighborhood of 5,000 pounds.

He didn’t drive it much for a few decades, as he was limited in time and money, and the car has only accumulated about 4,000 miles over the last 59 years. Encouragingly, most of those have been in the last decade, including a 600-mile run with the Horseless Carriage Club of America and the Vermont Auto Enthusiasts in 1999. “Just as I was leaving Rutland,” he recalls, “I heard a clunk.” A tooth had broken off the ring gear, and it wasn’t until he had an entire new gear cut that the car was drivable again.

Rod has done little to the car other than maintenance; “I really don’t do a lot of maintenance on it. You have to make up your mind to get dirty and use the grease gun. Quite a lot of fittings on the driveline and suspension. You give it a lot of grease once and a while and that seems to take care of it.”

He installed new rings and Babbitt bearings a few years ago, “I had a rod bearing that I was a little suspicious of, so we got to pulling things apart, “miked” the shaft and they were a little looser than they should be, so we had new bearings poured.”

He has also added a fuel pump to complement the gravity-feed gas tank under the front seat. “I almost had to go that way because back at some point in its history someone had removed the original Stevens-Duryea carburetor. Apparently, they must have had some problems with the original carburetor, because they replaced it with a Stromberg, which was popular in the teens. It sits up higher than the Stevens-Duryea, so it’s questionable whether you get gas, especially up a grade.” A handsome nickel lever under the dash controls small turn signals in the rear.

Over its 92 years of life, the car has otherwise seen very little modification. Most remarkable is that despite residing in Vermont for almost a century, it not only retains all its original upholstery, top and bodywork, but the original paint. Some credit must go to the aluminum skin, which, although impervious to rust, is starting to show through. “The only thing I’m worried about, “says Rod, looking nervously at the huge piles of salt where we’ve parked the car for photography, “Is salt.” Even the dash clock works, keeping good time although as Rod notes, “It’s a little fast.”

Taking a look under the hood, we see an engine that looks just about as good as the body. The three pairs of heads show light surface rust, and the two copper tubes, which carry wires for the twin ignition systems, are nicely burnished. Rod points out what he thinks may be original Rajah spark plugs mixed in with more recent Champions—he’s looking for a full set.

Inside, the tufted black leather seats are well proportioned, firm, and much more comfortable than those in other cars of the time. We have seen twenty-year-old leather that doesn’t look nearly as good. A dead pedal for the driver’s right foot still has part of its original protective paper, which reveals the car’s original dark green color underneath. Close inspection of the exterior yields hints of that green within the now almost-brown paint, and once you start to see it, the careful pinstriping from the factory is found everywhere.

The big six has a compressed air starting system, but the tank isn’t holding pressure well so it takes Rod a few cranks of the hand starter before it catches with no smoke, but an impressive puff of loose soot. “The air starting system has its own idiosyncrasies,” he says. “The tank is about five feet long, must be ten inches in diameter. It originally was tested for 600psi, but that got to leaking at some point, so I just sort of forgot about it and got to cranking. To build up the pressure, a four-cylinder Kellogg water-cooled engine hooks into the transmission and runs off a countershaft gear. I have hesitated to use the pump too much…after you’ve used it for a few minutes, it starts to get noisy as though the bearings might be worn. It’s easier to charge the system with shop air…then park it on a hill.” The little Kellogg, original to the car, is a neat engine in itself. “It’s a little miniature engine—about seven by seven inches. It should build up about 150 pounds of pressure, but you really have to keep the thing engaged for quite a while to get it up over 100 pounds.” Two buttons on the floor operate the air system: One to engage the Kellogg compressor, and the other for the air starter.

There’s a bit of a racket when the car is first started, but with a little tweaking of the hand throttle, choke and spark advance it soon settles down into a very slow, clean idle. The sound is muted but beautifully mechanical, and you can hear each individual valve close—we imagine it might be possible to figure out the firing order strictly by ear. With each massive piston in the oversquare L-head inline six displacing around 75 cubic inches, you’d expect it to turn over slowly, and it does (in the neighborhood of 350rpm), but you might not expect it to be so incredibly, nickel-balancing-on-the-block smooth. It’s a reminder that for your $4,550 1913 dollars you got a car that was unquestionably state-of-the-art, even if it was tied with their roadster as the lowest-priced model in the Stevens-Duryea range. “Peerless, Winton, Lozier and Pierce each had their selling points, but Stevens rated up there with the top makes,” said Rod. The Stevens-Duryea specialty was “Three Point Support,” which refers to their proprietary engine mounting system (the engine, clutch and transmission housing are all bolted together into a single unit as in a modern car). “In some of their publications they would show pictures of the chassis jacked up with one front wheel much higher up, but it didn’t distort the drivetrain. With the three-point it didn’t put as much strain on it as if it had been bolted at all 4 corners.” Rod describes the system: “The arms come out from the crankcase—real rugged enclosed box section arms on each side, which fit into a pocket that comes out from the frame.”

At the very top of the market, where quality and luxury were expected, Stevens-Duryeas were lavishly equipped with a fully lined top, adjustable leather and brass seats, combination electric and kerosene side lamps, electric headlamps and small locking storage compartments all around the body at the top of the running boards. “One thing that intrigued me when I got it was the kerosene electric sidelights. They didn’t quite trust electricity; 1913 was the first year they used electric lights.

“It has an electric klaxon horn, but it also has a bulb horn. For years, they used a bulb horn, and they knew that if you squeezed it, it would work. They weren’t so sure about the electric horn.”

Closed cars, incidentally, carried a truly remarkable set of standard equipment, including a notebook, assorted flower vases, water bottles and a telephone, presumably to communicate with the driver sitting out of earshot in the front. Rod’s car has water bottles of its own; a pair of gallon jugs tucked between the rear folding footrest and front seat for the radiator, which leaks at seemingly random moments, especially just after starting. “I haven’t quite figured that one out,” says Rod.

“It has power steering,” he remarks after moving it into position for us to photograph. He points to his arm. “Right here.” Certainly, moving the 35 X 5-inch tires around requires a crank-rest-crank technique, but Rod manages it with aplomb, and notes that the vehicle was advertised with 37 X 4.5-inch wheels. The current 35s are too wide to fit a pair into the single sidemount, so it’s unclear whether they are original. The wood artillery wheels do have a matching “Lakelet green, striped with a hair line of light green” color scheme and Stevens-Duryea logo caps. That logo appears all over the car, in large part because Stevens-Duryea built almost all of the components for the car in-house.

The ride quality is exceptional for a vehicle of this era—smooth and controlled, although you can definitely feel the weight of the suspension moving around. “I like the way it drives and handles, but you have to pay attention in modern traffic,” says Rod. “It’s a full-time job driving it…35 or 40 is probably about as fast as you want to run it.” But 440 cubic inches are 440 cubic inches. “I like the power; it has good torque,” he says, “But the progressive transmission is sort of a challenge…and the waste oiling system you have to stay on top of.” How much oil it uses “depends on the speed you’re traveling. If you’re driving around locally, you build up oil in the crankcase. If you’re out on the highway, it doesn’t have oil rings, and it uses up some oil. It is designed to use some. To check the oil, you have to crawl up underneath and open up the [three] petcocks—if oil runs out, you’ve got oil. It’s a little bit awkward by modern standards…” He says that the progressive transmission “works fine, but I would prefer it was a selective. It’s a little bit tricky in modern traffic…you think you’ve got it in first, but it may have slipped back into neutral. It’s a little hard to tell what gear you’re in. It’s simple in a way: you don’t have to wiggle a lever around, all you have to do is slide it forward or back.” His lightning-fast double clutching makes it seem easy and the oiling system, which is under pressure to the main bearings and splash elsewhere, seems more than up to the task of a brisk drive through rush-hour traffic. Looking out over the long clamshell hood, he mentions that the brass radiator shell was painted when he bought it, but that the paint was falling of in sheets and he decided to take it down to bare metal. It makes a nice spot of brightness among the soft nickel and dark paint. “People seem to get a kick out of seeing it on the road, even though it’s not a pretty looking car with it’s lack of paint.”

Today, the Stevens-Duryea shares space in Rod’s garage with a 1922 Cadillac (which uses the wind wings from the 1922 Studebaker he sold in 1950), a 1952 Bentley, a 1949 MG and another brass-era survivor, a 1910 Maxwell that may be his next project. There’s also a 1949 Harley-Davidson motorcycle that he’s owned for over 50 years…and still sometimes feels moved to take out on a nice spring morning.

But the Stevens-Duryea holds a special place in his heart. “The appearance is quite different from the earlier models. The early ones were quite angular and squared off. This is more streamlined—not the way we think of it, but smoother lines of transition in the hood and the cowl.

“I’ve obviously had opportunities to get rid of it, but I’ve had it so long I haven’t thought about making any change,” he says. “I’ve always been proud of it: It’s a fine, quality-built car. It’s sort of hard to convey my feelings about it.”

HCC #15

DriveReport

Ruler of the Road

The 1953 Custom Imperial, by Chrysler. Long live the king.

Words & photography by David Traver Adolphus

Before World War II, “formality” and “luxury” were inseparable. It was taken as law that an expensive car would have a long hood, cycle fenders and classic proportions, and woe betide the manufacturer who tried anything else, as Chrysler's own disastrous Airflow showed.

But after the initial post-war demand for cars been sated, American car manufacturers responded with a bewildering array of new body styles, first in a trickle, then by 1950 in a huge avalanche. Major yearly changes to a model were normal, and cars could be developed for niches that hadn’t existed earlier. It became possible to build a true luxury sedan that resembled a modern car yet retained styling and amenities fit, literally, for kings. That car would be, as it had been for 25 years, the Imperial.

The long story of the car that promised “the Performance of a Lifetime” is as long and complicated as that of any king and empire. From its meteoric rise to the very pinnacle of American automotive supremacy in 1926, through highs and lows culminating in the ignominious exile of 1994, Imperial’s saga traces the middle of the century of the car as no other.

Over the years, the Imperial badge has had a changing relationship to the Chrysler name. It was introduced as a Chrysler trim level, and quickly became a distinct line comprised of the finest automobiles, more than capable of competing with marques such as Packard, Duesenberg and Cadillac. After the Second World War, it was generally referred to as “Imperial, by Chrysler,” up until 1955 when it became a separate product line. By 1971, it had once again returned to its roots as a Chrysler trim level, until the name was retired amidst the company’s declining financial health in 1975. The name was revived again for a small car from 1981 through 1983, and again for 1990 through 1994, but the era of great Imperials had long since come to a close.

Walter Percy Chrysler’s saga itself traces more than the development of the modern automobile; it traces the American Dream. From his early life as a laborer, he worked his way up through the auto industry to become the last person to found a major independent automaker, at least one that lasted to the end of the 20th century.

Around 1922, Walter teamed with former Willys and Studebaker engineers Fred Zeder, Owen Skelton and Carl Breer to develop a new automobile, the Chrysler, at the former Chalmers plant in Detroit. Introduced at the New York Auto Show in January of 1924, the Chrysler Model B-70 was powered by a strong L-head straight-six engine, and featured a full range of body styles, including a fully enclosed, five-passenger Crown Imperial sedan.

Chrysler cars quickly developed a reputation as sophisticated, high-quality, high-performance automobiles at reasonable prices, and the Imperial gained its own platform in 1926. By 1927, it was well on its way to becoming a discrete model line, with a 288.6 cubic-inch engine and wheelbases up to 133 inches available by special order.

Coachbuilders began to take advantage of the Imperial running gear and partway through 1928, a line of factory semi-coachbuilt models were introduced, with bodies by Dietrich, LeBaron and Locke on a 136-inch wheelbase, and an optional 309.3-cu.in. L-head straight-six. Locke-bodied customs continued into the Depression.

As with all the automakers, the economic realities of the 1930s hit Chrysler hard. Production of long-wheelbase Imperials dropped from a high of over 2,000 to approximately 151 in 1933. But that fate was staved off for the first few years of the Depression by the all-new, all-steel 1931 Imperials. A straight-eight engine displacing 384 cubic inches made 125 horsepower available, and a rakish, modern, swept-back design closely resembled that of competitors Cord and Auburn. Wheelbases up to 145 inches provided a canvas on which the world’s finest coachbuilder’s expressed their art, and ensured they would continue to be some of the most sought-after luxury cars on the market, at least by those who could still afford them.

But the inevitable could not be delayed, and despite further evolution of the line, resulting in some of the most expressive and desirable true American Classics ever built, it was time for a change. As ever, Imperial would lead the way in styling and technology.

Jeff Koch covered the evolution of 1934’s revolutionary Airflow in detail last month (1937 Imperial Airflow HCC #14), so we will only say that the brave, failed experiment in creating a truly modern car lasted only three years (while Airflows were sold in 1937, they were no longer badged as Imperials). W. P. Chrysler’s decision to force the design on an unwilling company and public, while visionary, was terribly out of step with the conservative buying tastes of a public whose confidence had been rocked to its core by the Depression. Custom Imperial Airflows, while unpopular, were certainly among the very best, most luxurious and technologically advanced cars on the planet.

Nevertheless, near universal scorn in the marketplace dictated that a new design direction be adopted, or perhaps an old one. The sudden loss of the Airflow platform seems to have thrown Chrysler design into disarray, and pre-war Imperials abruptly lost their grandeur and distinction, coming to resemble lesser Chrysler Royals, and later, New Yorkers. A brief run of majestic Crown Imperial limousines and Newport dual-cowl phaetons was quickly ended by the war.

The first post-war 1946 cars were continuations of the pre-war models, a lineage which now dated back to the 1938 Royal. With Walter P. Chrysler’s death in 1940, the Imperial had lost one of its staunchest backers, and the Airflow scare relegated it to limousine duty for a decade. A Fluid-Drive semi-automatic transmission, introduced in the 1939 Custom Imperial, was standard in the sole Crown Imperial model. A new model would not appear until March of 1949.

While the new 1949 Imperial was unquestionably a luxury car, it was now just as unquestionably even more closely related to the Chrysler New Yorker. Former Chrysler designer Ray Dietrich, now working independently, applied a fantastic custom-style interior to a limited run of 50 shorter (131.5-inch wheelbase) sedans. While not a major force in the market, it foreshadowed Imperials return to the realm of the luxury sedan.

On May 1st, 1950, a new Imperial sedan based on the all-new New Yorker platform with a 133.5-inch wheelbase debuted. It was quite clearly a car in which to be seen, as it actually had more glass than the New Yorker, which it clearly resembled. The Imperial’s exterior was otherwise quite restrained, with modest badging and very minimal brightwork. Subtlety was the name of the game, and Chrysler sold over 10,000 sedans, which, with 415 Crown Imperials, made 1950 the best year for Imperial sales since the 1930s.

The dramatic improvement in sales meant that Chrysler could justify a full lineup for 1951. Six different models were available, all motivated by the stunning new FirePower engine, Chrysler’s 331.1-cu.in. 180hp V-8 with hemispherical combustion chambers. As they had during the late 1920s, Imperials could once again claim to be America’s most powerful cars. Together with optional power steering and brakes, (disc brakes were standard on Crown Imperial limousines) and Fluid-Torque semi-automatic transmissions, they were once again the finest cars available. Little changed for 1952 and over 27,000 were built during those two years. The 1953 Imperials received a minor facelift that made them look less like New Yorkers, including the enormous and distinctive eagle hood ornament. For unknown reasons, the company cut back Imperial production dramatically that year, and just over 9,000 of all variants were sold. In June of 1953, the fully automatic PowerFlite transmission completed testing and was gradually rolled out as the new standard drivetrain, although its official introduction was in the 1954 models. Those 1954s began an entirely new era, as new Imperials designed by Virgil Exner-styled joined an all-new Chrysler lineup as their own separate make, and returned the name to the very peak of the luxury car field, a position it would occupy until the end of the 1960s.

Michael Mauss found his 1953 Imperial in Massachusetts in 1999. The metallic Niagara Blue car is amazingly original, having received only some chrome replating and minor repair to the passenger side body to repair a crease. Michael describes the exterior as “50-75% original,” and we would say he is being conservative. The pleated blue mohair and leather interior is complimented by subtle wood inlay in the doors, and a two-tone painted metal dash. The rear seat is as spacious and inviting as any living room, with canted footrests and an elegant chromed bar along the back of the front seat to assist egress.

With just over 60,000 miles recorded, the hemi V-8 fires up immediately on a warm summer evening, idling quietly and smoothly. A slight dip into the throttle reveals a substantial rumble, a surprisingly muscular sound for such a large, formal car. Mauss believes the engine has never been rebuilt, and we have no reason to doubt him.

The high front bench seat is well positioned, although the original wool is showing slight wear and the seat has softened with time. Shifting is accomplished via the Fluid-Torque four-speed semi-automatic, which is a Chrysler M-6 two-speed manual transmission with electric overdrive, coupled to a torque converter. When starting out, one depresses a traditional clutch pedal and shifts using a steering column-mounted lever with an “R-L-N-D” pattern. “L” is low range, with Low and Low Overdrive gearing, and “D” is high, with High and High Overdrive. The clutch is also used when changing from low to high range, although thanks to the torque converter, it isn’t needed when coming to a stop. The 312-ft.lbs. of torque available at 2,000 rpm mean that Low range is only needed for steep takeoffs or heavy loads.

It is all far less complicated than it sounds. To get under way, we shift as in any other column-shifter car, putting us into High. Acceleration of the 5,000-plus pound car is really quite brisk (in 1953, Speed Age hustled an Imperial to 60 mph in a terrific 12.6 seconds), even though the torque converter means that only a reported 88 horsepower is making it to the ground. At 25 mph, we take our foot gently off the throttle for a moment and the overdrive almost imperceptibly kicks in with a gentle surge. Contemporary reports from De Soto and other Chrysler owners describe a distinct “clunk,” but that would have been entirely inappropriate in a car where a chauffeur often conveyed the passengers.

The Imperial is nothing if not relaxed at speed. Flooring the accelerator will deactivate the overdrive, but the car’s manners at all speeds are impeccable. Chrysler engineers went to great lengths to make the steering as relaxed as the rest of the car and the Vacu-Ease steering is as relaxed as can be. No effort whatsoever is required to move the wheel to any degree, and only the motion of the car as it weaves gently down the road informs us that it is connected to anything at all. We are told that with a little practice, a straight line can be steered, but it does not come naturally.

A set of curves encourages one to slow the car down, as the enormous greenhouse puts the center of gravity very high, resulting in alarming lean, despite the “Safety Level Ride.” Whitewall Dayton radials, entirely appropriate for a regularly driven car, go a long way toward making sharp maneuvering possible, but the car is clearly not happy doing it. Braking is initially frightening, but excellent reserves of stopping power from the large 12-inch power drum brakes are found with strong applications of the pedal, and a pump or two firms them up nicely.

Heading off into the late summer sunset, we wonder how cars such as this ever went out of style. While it is deeply formal, it is also completely practical and eminently suited for endless trips through America. Even today, among monstrous SUVs, the Imperial is an appropriate car that conveys you through the world with ease. Perhaps Chrysler’s new renaissance will once again result in an Imperial that is truly “America’s finest motor car.”

Owner’s View

Michael Mauss of northern Vermont first became aware of his 1953 Imperial in 1995, when the second owner earned his Hemmings Motor News Photographer cap with a story of how he acquired it from his butcher, the car’s owner for its first 42 years. The car, which evokes memories of his childhood family car, sits next to a beautiful red Pontiac Deluxe Chieftain convertible, which is “almost there.” In the barn next door, a 1941 Lincoln Continental and 1930 Franklin are in various stages of restoration.

“The Imperial is an historical artifact which tells us much about the 1950s, a period of confidence among Americans in our position in the world,” says the former history professor, now a farmer. “It was a far more secure time than today with global marketplace outsourcing, and terrorism.

“I think that the understated body design has held up better than some of the more flamboyant designs of the 1950s, and it is mechanically overbuilt and thoroughly reliable.”

While Michael does drive it regularly though the warmer months and accumulates over 1,000 miles a year in the Imperial, his intention is to keep it in the condition in which it is found today. “I intend to preserve it as an excellent original,” he says. “It is dignified, with enough brightwork to set it off, but not the excess which one finds in late ‘50s cars.”

Sidebar

Imperial Imperials

Postwar Imperials seem to have particular favorites of royalty, particularly in the Middle East. Ghulam Mohammad, Governer General of Pakistan, owned a 1953 Crown Imperial sedan, a car which was originally coachbuilt for King Saud of Saudi Arabia. King Saud also owned a custom-built 1956 Crown Imperial limousine, with coachwork by Ghia. Recently, a 1957 Imperial belonging to a general under the Shah of Iran turned up in Iran.

When the Prime Minister of Afghanistan visited the US in 1958, Chrysler provided five Imperial convertibles for his motorcade.

The most famous Imperial potentate of all is probably Indonesia’s president Sukarno, who owned at least six Imperials, dating from between 1954 and 1966. President Bros Tito of Yugoslavia ordered his first, a 1954 Crown Imperial Limousine, and the car was presented to President Sukarno on a diplomatic visit to the High Conference of Non-Block countries in early 1955.

Prince Ranier of Monaco bought a 1956 Imperial in Manhattan, ostensibly as a gift for Princess Grace. For a state visit in July of 1958, Chrysler of Canada provided England’s Princess Margaret with a fleet of six two-door Imperial convertibles, each one with upholstery in her royal tartan plaid.

In addition, several “Popemobiles’ have been Imperials: A 1952 Crown Imperial limousine with coachwork by Ghia; and a 1966 Imperial LeBaron.

What to Pay

Low $3,000

Medium $5,000

High $10,000

Club Scene

Online Imperial Club

www.imperialclub.com

Dues: Free; Membership: 600

Walter P. Chrysler Club

P.O. Box 3504
Kalamazoo, Michigan 49003-3504

www.chryslerclub.org

Dues: $30/year; Membership: 5,000

Pros

Strong Hemi V-8 power

All-day cruising comfort

A time when “Chrysler” and “Quality” meant the same thing

Cons

Explaining the name

Reproduction parts? Ha!

Handling is good for a huge 1950s car, but not that good

1953 Chrysler Custom Imperial

Specifications

Base Price $4,401.50

Options on dR car Fluid-Torque drive, power steering, radio, heater, electric windows

Price as tested $5,004.00

ENGINE

Type 90° overhead-valve V-8; hemispherical combustion chambers, iron block and cylinder heads, forged crankshaft

Displacement 331.1 cubic inches

Bore x Stroke 3.8125 x 3.625 inches

Compression ratio 7.50:1

Horsepower @ rpm 180 @ 4,000

Torque @ rpm 312-lbs.ft. @ 2,000

Valvetrain 53° inclined, lateral in-head, silicon-chromium steel valves, hydraulic tappets

Main bearings 5

Fuel system Dual-barrel Carter WCD-992-S carburetor, automatic choke, water jacketed throttle body

Ignition system Breaker-point, automatic advance

Lubrication system Full-pressure

Electrical system 6 volts

Exhaust system Dual

TRANSMISSION

Type Chrysler M6 Fluid-Torque four-speed semi-automatic, high and low range

Ratios: 1^st 3.57:1

2^nd 2.04:1

3^rd 1.75:1

4^th 1.00:1

Reverse 3.99:1

DIFFERENTIAL

Type Hotchkiss-type, semi-floating hypoid axle

Ratio 3.54:1

STEERING

Type Center arm worm and roller

Ratio 20.4:1

Turns, lock-to-lock 3.5

Turning circle 44.66 feet

BRAKES

Type Hydraulic four-wheel Vacu-Ease, Safe-Guard power assist, Easi-Lock parking prake

Front 12-inch double-cylinder drums

Rear 12-inch single-cylinder drums

CHASSIS & BODY

Construction Welded all-steel body, double channel, fully boxed steel perimeter frame

Body Style Four-door, six-passenger sedan

Layout Front engine, rear-wheel drive

SUSPENSION

Front Upper and lower control arms, coil springs, Oriflow hydraulic shocks, anti-roll bar,

Rear Live axle, 7 longitudinal leaf springs, Oriflow hydraulic shocks, anti-roll bar

WHEELS & TIRES

Wheels Drop center, safety rim steel disc

Front/rear 15 x 6 inches

Tires Dayton TB radials

Front/rear 15 x 8.2 inches

WEIGHTS & MEASURES

Wheelbase 133.5 inches

Overall length 219.0 inches

Overall width 76.75 inches

Overall height 63.0 inches

Front track 57.12 inches

Rear track 60.12 inches

Shipping weight 5,060 pounds

CAPACITIES

Crankcase 5 quarts

Cooling system 26 quarts

Fuel tank 20 gallons

Transmission 3 pints

CALCULATED DATA

Bhp per c.i.d. 0.54

Weight per bhp 28.1 pounds

Weight per c.i.d. 15.28 pounds

PERFORMANCE

60. 12.6 seconds

¼ mile ET est. 19.6 seconds @ 78 mph

Top speed 105 mph

Fuel mileage 13.4 mpg

PRODUCTION

1953 Imperial 9,018