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Junkyard Gem: 1991 Mercury Grand Marquis LS

Ford's now-defunct Mercury Division first began using the Marquis name in 1967, on a sporty full-size hardtop based on the Ford LTD, then began offering the Grand Marquis beginning in the 1979 model year. These big, boxy luxury sedans were replaced by big, curvy luxury sedans (on the same platform) starting with the 1992 model year, so today's Junkyard Gem is one of the very last squared-off Grand Marquises ever built. The 1991 Grand Marquis (or "Grandma Keith," as many refer to it today) looks nearly identical to its 1979 predecessor at a glance, just as the 2011 model doesn't differ much from the 1992 model. Ford saw no reason to follow short-lived fashion trends with its simple, sturdy rear-wheel-drive sedan. Only two Grand Marquis trim levels were available for 1991: the base GS and the (somewhat) upscale LS. The former listed at $18,741 and the latter at $19,241, which comes to about $41,494 and $42,601, respectively, in inflated 2022 dollars). This interior would have seemed comfortingly familiar to a 1968 (or even 1958) Mercury owner time-traveling to 1991.  This is the optional "full grain leather seating surface," which cost an extra $489 (about $1,083 today). Dig those opera lights! Air conditioning was standard equipment in the 1991 Grand Marquis and its wagon counterpart, the Colony Park. The engine is the good old pushrod 5.0-liter Windsor V8, which would be replaced by a far more modern 4.6-liter SOHC mill in the '92 Grand Marquis. This engine was rated at 180 horsepower. A four-speed automatic was the only transmission available. The early 1990s ended up being the last gasp for padded vinyl roofs being considered mainstream equipment on new Detroit cars; this one was called the "Formal Coach" roof and cost an additional 725 bucks ($1,605 now). Such roofs were still available on a few cars later in the decade, but their time had passed. Why would such a clean Grandma Keith end up in a place like this? That's easy: it got T-boned directly into the right front wheel, mangling the body and bending up the suspension. This damage might have been worth fixing when the car was five years old, but it's a write-off when it happens to a 31-year-old Ford Panther. 1991 Mercury Grand Marquis Commercial - Savings Ad The granddaddy of them all, and on sale in South Texas! Related video: 2008 Mercury Mariner Hybrid test drive Autoblog

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.

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.