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Junkyard Gem: 1973 Mercury Montego MX Brougham Sawzall Convertible Edition

You know how it goes— the weather is warm, you want to do some top-down driving, and you lack a proper convertible... but you do have a hooptie Detroit car on one side of the garage and a big ol' Sawzall on the other. Put the two together and you have a Sawzall Convertible, which generally lasts for about one summer before it gets scrapped. Here's a fine example of such a car, photographed in a San Francisco Bay Area self-service junkyard. Most Sawzall Convertibles (yes, it should be called a roadster, but nobody does that) have raw, ragged metal edges, or maybe duct tape over the stumps of the amputated pillars, but someone went to the trouble to weld nice smooth metal covers over the hackage on this one. The windshield is gone. Instead, the windshield frame is ringed by tongue depressors held in place by gooey roofing tar. No, we don't know why. The Montego MX Brougham was a hot-selling personal luxury coupe in its day, selling for $3,041 in 1973. That's just under $17,000 in 2017 dollars. It must have been fun, cruising this thing on Bay Area streets with no roof and a rattle-can spray-bomb job. This one has the optional 400-cubic-inch V8 engine, rated at 171 horsepower. What would this car's original buyer have thought of its fate? This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings. It's like a Marquis Brougham after you squish it in the car crusher! Featured Gallery Junked 1973 Mercury Montego MX Brougham Sawzall Convertible View 22 Photos Auto News Mercury Convertible Luxury Classics montego

Question of the Day: Most degraded car name?

When Ford came up with a not-so-sporty version of the Pinto and slapped Mustang badges on it in 1974, that was a low point for the Mustang name. When Chrysler applied the venerable Town & Country name on perfectly functional but unglamorous minivans, it saddened many of us. But perhaps the biggest demotion for a once-proud model came when, in 1988, General Motors imported a misery-enhancing Daewoo from Korea and called it the Pontiac LeMans. The original Pontiac LeMans was a great-looking midsize car with fairly advanced (for the time) suspension design and engine options including potent V8s and a screaming overhead-cam straight-six. The Daewoo-based Pontiac LeMans was a cramped, shoddy hooptie that served only to ruin the LeMans name forever, while stealing sales from the Suzuki-based Chevrolet Sprint. Sure, using the once-respected Monterey name on the Mercurized Ford Freestar was bad, but Mercury didn't have long to live at that point. I say the downward spiral of the LeMans name was the most agonizing in automotive history. What do you think? Related Video: This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings. Auto News Ford Mercury Pontiac Automotive History Classics questions ford pinto names

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.