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Looking Back At Oprah's Free-Car Giveaway 10 Years Later

Molly Vielweber's Pontiac G6 appears unremarkable at first glance. It wears forest green paint, rolls on five-spoke aluminum wheels, and it has a sizeable scrape in the driver's side door, the scar of a decade's worth of hard use. You wouldn't notice it parked at a big box store or cruising on the highway. Pontiac made hundreds of thousands of G6s in the 2000s, and a lot are still on the road. It's unremarkable in every way except for the front license plate, which reads, "Oprah 6." But this is not just any G6. This car is a part of television history. Vielweber won her G6 10 years ago at a taping of The Oprah Winfrey Show, when Oprah kicked off her 19th season in dramatic fashion by giving all 276 members of the studio audience a free car. It was an unprecedented stunt that changed lives, generated controversy and ultimately failed to provide enough of a marketing lift for Pontiac, which would be shuttered just over five years later. September 13 marks the 10-year anniversary of the memorable event, which caught everyone, including audience members, by surprise. In a masterful display of showmanship, Oprah dialed up the suspense to match the enormity – and cost – of the event. First she gave away 11 cars, which would have been a landmark TV promotion by itself. But then she coyly announced: "I've got a little twist." Models circulated throughout the audience carrying silver platters loaded with white boxes wrapped in red ribbon. One contained a set of keys, Oprah implied, for another audience member to win the final car. "Do not open it. Do not shake it," she commanded the crowd. Finally, with the suspense built to a fevered pitch, everyone opened their box. They all had keys. "You get a car! You get a car! You get a car! You get a car! Everybody gets a car!" Oprah exclaimed. "Everybody gets a car! Everybody gets a car!" This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings. Everybody did get a car. But not everyone kept it. William Toebe attended the show with his wife, Jillaine, and he immediately thought of the tax implications, which stretched to $6,000 or more for some audience members. It was a tough reality for many in the audience that day, some of which had been selected based on their need for a new car. "That responsible part of me stepped forward and wondered 'where am I going to get the money to pay the taxes?'" he recalled.

Porsche still deciding on one or two new 911 plug-in hybrids

Back in March, Porsche CEO Oliver Blume told Autocar that the coming Porsche 911 plug-in hybrid "will be the most powerful 911 we've ever had." That quote portended a 992-series 911 with 700 horsepower or more. A new report in Auto Express, however, suggests Porsche is having energetic debates about just what the 911's hybrid strategy will be, and that the only agreed-upon plug-in hybrid 911 so far is a milder version to sit in the middle of the range. Putting all our rumors in a row, in January, Automobile reported on an electrically-assisted 911 with 485 hp and 561 pound-feet of torque. The new AE piece effectively endorses that, saying the mid-range hybrid would follow the program established by the all-wheel drive Cayenne e-Hybrid that produces a combined 455 hp and 516 lb-ft. The 911 would naturally use a flat-six instead of the Cayenne's 3.0-liter V6, and the sports car would be tuned for better sound response and sharper reflexes. AE says fuel economy for this hybrid should be at least 80 eMPG, with emissions of less than 80 grams per kilometer. The current base Carrera is currently rated at a maximum 38.2 mpg in the UK, with minimum emissions of 169 g/km. The hybrid, fitted with a double-clutch gearbox and Porsche's mechanical all-wheel-drive system, could run from a stop to 62 miles per hour in less than four seconds, making it more efficient than a base Carrera and much faster than a Carrera 4S. AE says there remains only "the potential for Porsche to add a second, more powerful hybrid 911," and says its sources claim that's what's "causing the most consternation behind closed doors." This one would be the twin-turbocharged, 700-hp beastie that, as a series production car, would have a hard time not usurping the 540-hp Turbo, 580-hp Turbo S, and 607-hp Turbo S Exclusive. True, the hybrid would be handicapped with a 550-pound battery pack, but the instant acceleration and handling benefits of electric AWD — with no connection between the axles — could provide the final edge over the other three. As such, it makes sense that there'd be a whole lot of debate about a flagship 911 hybrid. On the other hand, such a monster seems like an eventuality in view of Porsche's electrified aspirations, the lessons gained from the 918 Hybrid and the 919 Hybrid Le Mans racer, and the fact that CEO Blume has already spoken. The Stuttgart carmaker expects a sales mix of 25 percent electric, 25 percent hybrid, and 50 percent conventional powertrains by 2025.

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.