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Junkyard Gem: 1992 Pontiac Firebird

Last spring, this series featured a 1992 Chevrolet Camaro RS in a Northern California junkyard, an example of the final model year for the highly successful third-generation GM F-Body. On a later visit to that yard, I spotted the Pontiac sibling to that car, a Firebird that was born the same year at the same Southern California factory. When the Chevrolet Division introduced the first Camaro as a 1967 model, the Pontiac Division got its own version of the F-Body called the Firebird. While the two cars were built on the same chassis and looked very similar, the first-generation Camaros got Chevrolet engines while their Firebird colleagues got Pontiac engines (including the innovative SOHC straight-six). The 1970-1981 second-generation Firebirds still had some Pontiac-only engines, but Chevrolet and Oldsmobile power crept under some hoods during that period. The third-generation Firebirds first appeared as 1982 models, and they drew from near-identical stockpiles of GM running gear (including the distinctly agricultural Iron Duke four-banger, which could be considered a Pontiac-derived engine). When the Camaro got the axe after 2002, the Firebird's neck was put on the same chopping block. When the Camaro returned for 2010, the Pontiac brand was sputtering to an agonized halt during its final year and there was no chance of the Firebird's return. This car is a fairly ordinary coupe, though it does have the mid-grade 205-horsepower 5.0-liter Chevrolet small-block V8 instead of the base 140-horse 3.1-liter V6. A 5.7-liter small-block was available as well. A five-speed manual transmission was base equipment, but few Americans wanted a three-pedal setup by the early 1990s. This car has the optional four-speed automatic. The MSRP with 5.0 engine, automatic transmission and air conditioning (which this car has) started at $14,304. That's about $31,868 in 2023 dollars. It was built at Van Nuys Assembly in the San Fernando Valley of Los Angeles County. By the dawn of the 1990s, the Camaros and Firebirds made at Van Nuys Assembly had become known as the worst-built GM cars made in North America, and the plant was shut down forever soon after this car was built. Today, a shopping mall lives where the factory once stood. This car managed to drive more than 150,000 miles during its life, so it beat the odds. The thrid-gen F-Body was pretty antiquated by the early 1990s, but the fourth-gen cars handled better and looked up-to-date for the era.

What car brand should come back?

Congratulations, wishful thinker! You've been granted one wish by the automotive genie or wizard or leprechaun or whoever has been gifted with that magical ability. You get to pick one expired, retired or fired automotive brand and resurrect it from its heavenly peace! But which one? That's a tough decision and not one to be made lightly. As we know from car history, the landscape is littered with failed brands that just didn't have what it took to cut it in the dog-eat-dog world of vehicle design, engineering and marketing. So many to choose from! Because I am not a car historian, I'll leave it to a real expert to present a complete list of history's automotive misses from which you can choose, if you're a stickler about that sort of thing. And since I'm most familiar with post-World War II cars and brands, that's what I'm going to stick to (although Maxwell, Cord and some others could make strong arguments). So, with the parameters established, let's get started, shall we? Hudson: I admit, I really don't know a lot about Hudson, except that stock car drivers apparently did pretty well with them back in the day, and Paul Newman played one in the first Cars movie. But really, isn't that enough to warrant consideration? Frankly, I think the Paul Newman connection is reason enough. What other actor who drove race cars was cooler? James Dean? Steve McQueen? James Garner? Paul Walker? But, I digress. That's a story for another day. Plymouth: As the scion of a Dodge family (my grandfather had a Dodge truck, and my mom had not one, but two Dodge Darts – the rear-wheel-drive ones with slant sixes in them, not the other one they don't make any more), I tend to think of Plymouth as the "poor man's Dodge." But then you have to consider the many Hemi-powered muscle cars sold under the Plymouth brand, such as the Road Runner, the GTX, the Barracuda, and so on. Was there a more affordable muscle car than Plymouth? When you place it in the context of "affordable muscle," Plymouth makes a pretty strong argument for reanimation. Oldsmobile: When I was a teenager, all the cool kids had Oldsmobile Cutlasses, the downsized ones that came out in 1978. At one point, the Olds Cutlass was the hottest selling car in the land, if you can believe that. Then everybody started buying Honda Civics and Accords and Toyota Corollas and Camrys, and you know the rest. But going back farther, there's the 442 – perhaps Olds' finest hour when it came to muscle cars.

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.