1954 Mercury Monterey on 2040-cars

Auto blog

Has the Mercury Marauder gotten better with age?

In the early 2000s Mercury desperately wanted to develop some edge for its brand – seemingly stuck between a quasi-premium, quasi-performance space in the Ford Universe. The Marauder is perhaps the most famous of the vehicles that resulted from those efforts, and is rapidly approaching Modern Classic status, today. Effectively a murdered out Grand Marquis with some updated trim pieces – what are company parts bins for, if not raiding? – the Marauder looked convincingly like a bad guy car. The 4.6-liter V8 under its hood that had been breathed on by engineers for a little more power, kicking out 302 horsepower and 318 pound-feet of torque from the factory. Not exactly Ferrari-baiting numbers, but it'd give your local cop's car a run for its money. Being a wild child of the last decade, of course our friends at MotorWeek had it on the program. What better way to test your mean-mugging muscle sedan than with John Davis' tanned and steady hands?

Junkyard Gem: 1989 Mercury Tracer Four-Door Hatchback

During the life of the Mercury brand, which began in 1939 and ended in 2011, nearly every Mercury sold in North America was a cosmetically enhanced version of some Ford model also sold here. The exceptions to this rule came when Mercury sold Fords originally designed for non-North American markets, and for which no Ford-branded version existed on our shores. The 1991-1994 Capri was such a car, as was the 1999-2002 Cougar (the Mondeo-based Cougar was unique among all Mercuries in that no other cars in the sprawling Ford Empire shared its body). The 1970-1978 Capri was sold through Mercury dealers here, but never had Mercury badging. One of the rarest of all these Mercury cars was the first-generation Tracer, a Mazda design that made its way here via Australia. The bloodline of the Tracer goes back to the Mazda 323, the ancestor of today's Mazda3 and the platform used for all those US-market Ford Escorts of the 1990s. Starting in 1991, the Tracer name went onto badge-engineered Escorts, according to Mercury tradition, but the 1988-1989 Tracers were based on the Australian-market Ford KE Laser. Underneath all of those cars (as well as the early-1990s Capris) lived Mazda 323 running gear, of course. This one nearly made it to the 175,000-mile mark during its time on the road, which is respectable by the standards of 1980s Mazdas. With an automatic transmission transferring the 84 horses from its Mazda B6 engine to the front wheels, this car wouldn't have offered a great deal of driving excitement. 1989 Tracer buyers could choose between a two-door hatchback, a four-door hatchback, and a four-door wagon. Not many Americans hurried over to their local Mercury dealers to buy Tracers, despite the fact that the nearest Ford-badged identical twins were on the other side of the globe. Mercury still seemed relevant in the late 1980s, but its days were numbered. The actress driving the Tracer in this TV commercial seems to have the same deer-in-headlights facial expression of the hapless driver-training students in the 1968 AMC Rebel commercial.

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.