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Junkyard Gem: 1997 Pontiac Sunfire SE Convertible

For the entire 24-year production run of the GM J platform (best known for the Chevrolet Cavalier), the Pontiac Division offered new J-Body cars for sale in the United States. First there was the J2000, followed in quick succession by the 2000, 2000 Sunbird and Sunbird. The Sunbird stuck around until the Cavalier got a major redesign for the 1995 model year, at which point Pontiac changed the car's name to Sunfire. Today's Junkyard Gem is one of those early Sunfires, a top-of-the-line SE convertible with the optional big engine and manual transmission. The Sunfire was an extremely close sibling to the same-year Cavalier (by the late 1980s, all the other US-market GM divisions had dropped their J-cars, which meant no more Skyhawks, Cimarrons or Firenzas), quite difficult to distinguish from its near-twin at a glance. The base engine for the 1997 Sunfire convertible was the pushrod 2.2-liter straight-four that powered so many J-bodies of the 1990s. That engine produced just 120 gnashing, valve-floating horsepower, not much by late-1990s standards. For a mere 450 additional dollars, however, the 2.4-liter Twin Cam engine and its high-revving 150 horses could be had by '97 Sunfire buyers. That's what's in this car. This is one of the members of the Oldsmobile Quad 4 family, though some fanatics will yell at you if you apply that name to the versions that don't have big QUAD 4 lettering cast into the valve cover. This is the most powerful engine ever used in production Sunfires. For 1997, Pontiac offered a four-speed automatic transmission for no extra cost in the Sunfire convertible. Buyers of all other Sunfire models that year had to shell out either $550 or $810 ($1,026 or $1,511 in 2023 dollars) for a two-pedal rig. That means that the buyer of this car really wanted the five-speed manual transmission (or just hungered for the $810 credit offered in the fine print for takers of the manual). Plenty of free-breathing engine power, five-on-the-floor driving enjoyment and the open skies above. What a fun car! This one made it to nearly 180,000 miles. For this car with the Quad 4 under the hood and a clutch pedal on the floor, the MSRP was $18,539 (about $34,584 today). Its Cavalier LS convertible twin with the same engine/transmission setup cost $17,365 ($32,394 now). This car has a bunch of options, including the 15" Rally aluminum wheels, so the out-the-door price would have been higher. The last year for the Sunfire was 2005, same as the Cavalier.

Junkyard Gem: 2008 Pontiac G5 Coupe

In the grim early days of the Great Recession, the situation at GM's Pontiac Division didn't feel so great but there was some cause for optimism. The Solstice still had a certain glow, the Holden Commodore-based G8 had just arrived, and vehicle shoppers could stride into their local Pontiac showrooms and choose from eight different models bearing the iconic arrowhead badge. Yes, there were still new Torrents and Grand Prix and Vibes for sale in 2008, and of course the Cavalier-twin Sunfire had been replaced by the Cobalt-twin G5 by that time. Here's one of those G5s, found in a Colorado Springs car graveyard. It wasn't long after this car was built that everything went to hell for Pontiac. In April of 2009, GM announced that the Pontiac Division would be "phased out" over the next few years. Just to drive home the point, GM itself filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy five weeks later. GM had already offed Oldsmobile—a marque dating back to 1897, making it nearly 30 years Pontiac's senior—five years earlier, so everybody knew there would be no reprieve in this case. Just to confuse everybody, Pontiac dealers offered a G3-badged Chevy Aveo (aka Daewoo Kalos) to sell alongside the G5 for 2009, but by 2010 there were just two new Pontiac models still standing in the United States: the G6 and the Vibe. Just over 70,000 G5s were sold in the United States during the 2007-2009 model years, making these cars fairly rare. The Cobalt/G5 ignition-switch fiasco of the mid-2010s really hammered their resale value at the time. Sometimes the definition of "Gem" refers to historical value, not the happier kind. Speaking of ignition switches, the key is still in this one. That generally means that a junkyard vehicle is a dealership trade-in or insurance total that couldn't sell at auction. This one is a base model, which listed at $15,675 (about $22,040 in 2023 dollars). The snazzier G5 GT started at $19,850 ($27,911 now) that year. The engine in this car is a 2.2-liter Ecotec four-banger rated at 148 horsepower and 152 pound-feet (the GT got a 2.4 with 171 hp/167 lb-ft). A five-speed manual was standard equipment, but the buyer of this car paid extra for the automatic. GM stuck these little "Mark of Excellence" badges on the fenders of its vehicles starting in 2005, then ditched the idea in 2009. I have vivid memories of this logo from the seatbelt buttons in my parents' 1973 Sportvan Beauville.

This junkyard '91 Grand Am is as hooptie as it gets

I spend a lot of time in junkyards. A lot of time. With all this experience, I have learned to recognize a perfect hooptie when I see one, a car whose final owner got every last bit of use out of it when its value was hovering right about at scrap value. This 1991 Pontiac Grand Am that I spotted in a San Francisco Bay Area self-service wrecking yard a few days ago, from the final model year for the third-generation Grand Am, checks all the hooptie boxes just right. First of all, it's a low-option coupe with the wretched and unloved GM Iron Duke engine, a rattly, gnashy, thrashy 2.5-liter four-cylinder kludged together using off-the-shelf parts from the Pontiac 301-cubic-inch V8 during the darkest years of the Malaise Era and used in cars whose buyers just didn't care. Most of the paint has been burned off by 25 years of harsh California sun, but the car spent sufficient time in a damp, shady spot for lichens to build up here and there. There are skeletons-with-sombreros stencils sprayed here and there, plus a big moonshine-guzzling skeleton mural painted on the hood. Goodbye, property values! Still, someone felt some affection for this car, giving it the name "Good Ol' Snakey" and painting that name on the decklid. We can assume that the Iron Duke was a bit loose by this time, probably leaving a serpentine trail of blue smoke behind the car at all times. So, the combination of cheapness, ugliness, menace, and who-gives-a-damn functionality make this Grand Am an excellent example of a pure hooptie. Within a couple of months, it will be crushed, shredded, shipped out of the Port of Oakland, and reborn in China as refrigerators and Geely Emgrands. Somewhere in Northern California, though, a few of Ol' Smokey's friends will remember this car fondly.