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Junkyard Gem: 1996 Pontiac Grand Am SE Coupe

The Grand Am was the best-selling Pontiac model in the United States for every year of the 1990s, and it outsold most of its N-Body platform-mates (including the Chevrolet Corsica/Beretta) during nearly all of that decade. A sporty-looking compact with two or four doors, the Grand Am offered true 1990s radness—and, in some cases, respectable performance — at a good price. Today's Junkyard Gem is a nicely preserved example of the facelifted 1996 Grand Am, found in a Denver-area car graveyard. This is an SE Coupe with base engine and transmission, the most affordable Grand Am available in 1996. List price was $13,499, or about $26,523 in 2023 dollars. The factory-issued Monroney sheet for this car was still inside, so we can see that the original buyer got the car at Bob Ruwart Motors in Wheatland, Wyoming (about 175 miles up I-25 from this Pontiac's final parking spot), and paid a total of $16,054 ($31,543 in today's money) after the cost of options and the destination charge. The '96 Grand AM SE buyer had to pay extra for cruise control, air conditioning, power windows, rear glass defogger and other features we now take for granted on new cars. The base engine was the 2.4-liter Twin Cam four cylinder, a member of the screaming Oldsmobile Quad 4 family. This one was rated at 150 horsepower and 155 pound-feet. A 3.1-liter V6 with 155 horses and 185 pound-feet was an option. If you got the V6 in your '96 Grand Am, however, you couldn't get a manual transmission. This car has a proper five-speed manual, which made for fun driving with the high-revving Twin Cam engine in a machine weighing just 2,802 pounds (which is quite a bit less than what the current Honda Civic weighs). It traveled just over 160,000 miles during its 27 years on the road. The body and interior were still in fairly good condition when the car arrived here, so we can assume that some expensive mechanical problem doomed this car. Perhaps the original clutch wore out and the owner didn't consider it worth replacing. After all, a mid-1990s Detroit two-door with a transmission most people can't drive isn't worth much these days. Though nobody knew it when this car was new, the Grand Am would be gone in nine years and Pontiac itself would get the axe five years after that. It makes the ordinary extraordinary. Husbands and wives would argue for 12 hours over who got to drive the Grand Am, if we are to believe this ad. Proud sponsor of the 1996 Olympic team.

Junkyard Gem: 1968 Pontiac Catalina sedan

During the late 1960s, General Motors ruled the American car landscape, growing so dominant that the federal government considered antitrust action to break up the company. The General offered sporty Corvettes and muscular GTOs and rugged pickups and opulent Fleetwoods, sure, but the fat part of the sales numbers came from the bread-and-butter full-sized sedans and coupes, which boasted superior engineering and modern-looking styling; in 1967 alone, the Chevrolet Division moved 972,600 full-sized cars, and that's not even counting the 155,100 full-sized Chevy station wagons that year. Pontiac, Buick and Oldsmobile sold the same big cars with division-specific engines and bodywork, and they flew off the showroom floors. For 1968, the entry-level full-sized car from Pontiac was the Catalina, and I've found an example of the most affordable version of the most affordable big Pontiac for 1968, discarded in a northeastern Colorado wrecking yard about 50 miles south of Cheyenne, Wyoming. A '68 GM full-sized coupe, convertible, or even a four-door hardtop might be worth the cost and effort of a restoration, but a no-options base-trim-level post sedan with rust and plenty of body filler just won't get many takers these days. Like so many vehicles that sit outside for decades on the High Plains, this one is full of rodent nests. I wouldn't want to work on the interior of this car without a respirator and a lot of work with a shop-vac, because hantavirus is a significant danger in these parts. Alfred Sloan's plan to offer a stepladder of prestige for GM buyers, in which your first new car was a Chevrolet and you moved up through Pontiac, Oldsmobile, and Buick until you became sufficiently prosperous for Cadillac ownership, worked brilliantly for decades. In 1968, the Catalina was a notch above its Impala sibling on the Snob-O-Meter, with the sedan starting at $3,004 (about $22,600 in 2019 dollars). In fact, the V8-equipped 1968 Chevrolet Impala sedan listed at $3,033, and the Oldsmobile Delmont 88 went for $3,146, so the lines were beginning to blur between the relative positions of the lower-end GM divisions by this time. The base engine in the 1968 Catalina was a 400-cubic-inch (6.5 liter) V8 rated at 265 horsepower and enough torque to tow an aircraft carrier.

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.