1971 Gto Convertible on 2040-cars

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Junkyard Gem: 1964 Pontiac Catalina Custom Ventura

Like Impala, Skylark, Malibu and Silverado (among many others), the Ventura name began its career as the designation for a trim level or option package used on another GM model, then became a model name in its own right. Initially a designation for a snazzed-up Pontiac Catalina two- or four-door hardtop, the Ventura name moved over to a Pontiac-ized version of the Chevy Nova for 1971. Today's Junkyard Gem, found in a Northern California car graveyard, proudly bears both Catalina and Ventura badging. Actually, the Catalina name itself started out as a trim level for the Chieftain and Star Chief models of the 1950s, just to confuse everybody. By the time this car was built, the Catalina was the cheapest of four Pontiac models built on the same full-size B-Body platform as the big Chevrolets and Olds 88s of the time (the Star Chief, Bonneville and Grand Prix ranked above it on the 1964 Pontiac Prestige-O-Meter). The 1964 Catalina four-door hardtop with the Custom Ventura package offered a lot of swank per dollar, with a price starting at $3,063. That's about $29,821 when converted to inflated 2023 dollars. The main benefit of the Custom Ventura package was an interior done up entirely in Morrokide upholstery. Morrokide was the name GM applied to Naugahyde fake leather when used in Pontiac vehicles; when used in Buicks, it was known as Cordaveen, while Oldsmobile Naugahyde was called Morocceen. Naugahyde took its name from the town of Naugatuck, Connecticut, where it was invented. This car's Morrokide is in rough shape. In fact, everything about this car is decayed and probably infectious. You know to be careful when a junkyard car has warnings about rat feces inked on the glass. That said, I couldn't resist examining the 8-track tapes that littered the interior. Here's Hotel California, the 1976 hit album by the Eagles. Supertramp's Paris, a live album recorded from the 1979 Breakfast in America tour, is here as well. Here's The Best of Carly Simon, from 1975. The tapes were played on this Sparkomatic player, which probably lived in the glovebox or under the seat. The factory radio was AM-only, and includes the frequency markings for the atomic-attack CONELRAD emergency frequencies. 1964 was the last year for mandatory CONELRAD radios in the United States.

CNN chronicles young girl building Pontiac Fiero

At fourteen years of age, Kathryn DiMaria has already done what many self-proclaimed gearheads won't even attempt in their lifetimes. The Dearborn, Michigan teen is rebuilding a car from the ground up.
The intrepid youngster asked her parents when she was just twelve to start a Pontiac Fiero project, even offering to pony up all the funds herself. Father, Jerry DiMaria only expected the project to last a few months, but two years later, Kathryn is still at it. In this CNN video, the two are at Maker Faire (a DIY festival) rebuilding a 3.4-liter V6 engine out of a Chevrolet Camaro to replace the 2.8-liter mill found in the Fiero.
The whole family hast pitched in, with Kathryn's mother teaching her how to sew in order to complete the interior, father Jerry providing much of the technical know-how, and even her sister is chronicling Kathryn's progress through photos. Jerry even started a thread in a Fiero forum which has been live for two years and is now 22 pages long. Of the project, one forum member wrote, "welcome to the madness."

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.