1950 Convertable Mercury on 2040-cars

Auto blog

Junkyard Gem: 1991 Mercury Capri XR2

Just a year after the Mazda MX-5 Miata first went on sale in the United States, Ford's Mercury Division began selling a similarly-priced two-seat convertible here. This was the 1991-1994 Mercury Capri, and I've found an example of the hot-rod turbocharged version in a northeastern Colorado car graveyard. The Capri name has an illustrious history within the Ford Empire. First used on a Lincoln in 1952, it went on to serve as the name for a hardtop version of the early-1960s Ford Consul in the UK, then as the designation for a low-end trim level on the 1966-1967 Mercury Comet. Starting in the 1969 model year in Europe (1970 in North America), Ford began selling the best-known Capri of all: a sporty coupe based on the Cortina, sold through Mercury dealers in the United States but never badged as a Mercury here. Sales of that Capri halted here after 1978 (they continued through 1986 in Europe), but the Mercury Division then moved the name over to its version of the 1979-1986 Ford Mustang. After that, Ford Australia took the Capri name for a new Mazda 323-based sports car beginning in 1989. Then Dearborn decided that an Americanized version of the Australian Capri would be a success on this side of the Pacific, and left-hand-drive Capris began showing up in American Mercury showrooms in late 1990. Today's Junkyard Gem is one of those first-model-year cars, and it's the very rare turbocharged XR2 version. While this car was intended to be a competitor for the Miata, it's really that car's Mazda cousin. Both cars got their power from 1.6-liter versions of Mazda's versatile B engine, though the Capri had the same front-wheel-drive setup as its 323/Protege (and Escort/Tracer) platform siblings. At the same time, Ford was selling Kia-built Mazdas with Festiva (and, a bit later, Aspire) badging, alongside Mazda MX-6s with Probe badges. Just to make things interesting, American Mazda dealers were selling Ford Explorers as Mazda Navajos, while Rangers with Mazda badges followed starting in 1994. The 1990s were Mazda-riffic times at Ford! This car wasn't the first Australian-designed, Mazda-based Ford product sold in the United States. That honor belongs to the 1988-1989 Mercury Tracer, which was based on the same Mazda 323 platform as the Capri and built in Mexico. Later on, the Tracer remained a member of the 323 chassis family but was a nearly identical twin to its Ford Escort sibling.

Junkyard Gem: 1979 Mercury Marquis 2-Door Sedan

As the creator of the now-much-overused term "Malaise Era" (which I say started in 1973 and ended in 1983, full stop), I have a certain affection for the big two-door Detroit cars of the late 1970s. When such a car is built on the very first model year of Ford's long-lived Panther platform and I find one in a junkyard, I must document it. The 1979 Mercury Marquis is such a car, and this one was found in a San Francisco Bay Area self-service yard last month. Since Ford built the Grand Marquis all the way through the demise of the Panther platform— and Mercury itself— in 2011, it's easy for us to forget that the model name started out as just the plain old Marquis, back in the 1967 model year, with the Grand appellation used for the car's top trim level. While today's Junkyard Gem has some of the features of the Grand Marquis and Marquis Brougham trim levels for 1979 (notably the padded vinyl landau roof and power windows), it lacks the huge chrome lower-body moldings of those cars. Instead, it's a regular Marquis 2-door sedan with a big load of expensive options. That landau roof has suffered greatly from its decades beneath the vinyl-disintegrating California sun. The Panther platform was a big technological upgrade from the late-1950s-vintage chassis technology of full-sized Fords of the 1960s and 1970s, and it stayed in front-line service in much the same form through 2011. Though its ride and handling were much improved, the 1979 Marquis was quite a bit smaller than its predecessors, and that caused some grumbling among Mercury shoppers. Some ham-handed junkyard shoppers really tore up the interior of this car while extracting a few bits and pieces, but we can still admire the Pine Green pleather of the glorious Twin Comfort Lounge front seats. You had two engine choices when buying a new '79 Marquis: the base 302-cubic-inch (5.0-liter) Windsor V8 making 129 horsepower or the optional 351-cubic-inch (5.8-liter) Windsor V8 rated at 138 horsepower. This one appears to be the 351, the same engine as had been swapped into the pizza-delivery Mercury I drove in the middle 1980s. New cars sold in California around this time had these giant emissions-numbers stickers on the side glass. Later, they went on the underside of the hood.

Car Stories: Owning the SHO station wagon that could've been

A little over a year ago, I bought what could be the most interesting car I will ever own. It was a 1987 Mercury Sable LS station wagon. Don't worry – there's much more to this story. I've always had a soft spot for wagons, and I still remember just how revolutionary the Ford Taurus and Mercury Sable were back in the mid-1980s. As a teenager, I fell especially hard for the 220-horsepower 1989 Ford Taurus SHO – so much so that I'd go on to own a dozen over the next 20 years. And like many other quirky enthusiasts, I always wondered what a SHO station wagon would be like. That changed last year when I bought the aforementioned Sable LS wagon, festooned with the high-revving DOHC 3.0-liter V6 engine and five-speed manual transmission from a 1989 Taurus SHO. In addition, the wagon had SHO front seats, a SHO center console, and the 140-mph instrument cluster with mileage that matched the engine. When I bought it, that number was just under 60,000 – barely broken in for the overachieving Yamaha-sourced mill. The engine and transmission weren't the only upgrades. It wore dual-piston PBR brakes with the choice Eibach/Tokico suspension combo in front. The rear featured SHO disc brakes with MOOG cargo coils and Tokico shocks, resulting in a wagon that handled ridiculously well while still retaining a decent level of comfort and five-door functionality. I could attack the local switchbacks while rowing gears to a 7,000-rpm soundtrack just as easily as loading up on lumber at the hardware store. Over time I added a front tower brace to stiffen things a bit as well as a bigger, 73-mm mass airflow sensor for better breathing, and I sourced some inexpensive 2004 Taurus 16-inch five-spoke wheels, refinished in gunmetal to match the two-tone white/gunmetal finish on the car. That, along with some minor paint and body work, had me winning trophies at every car show in town. And yet, what I loved most about the car wasn't its looks or performance, but rather its history. And here's where things also get a little philosophical, because I absolutely, positively love old used cars. Don't get me wrong – new cars are great. Designers can sculpt a timeless automotive shape, and engineers can construct systems and subsystems to create an exquisite chassis with superb handling and plenty of horsepower. But it's the age and mileage that turn machines into something more than the sum of their parts.