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Looking back at Oprah's free-car giveaway 10 years later

Oprah kicked off her 19th season in dramatic fashion by giving all 276 members of the studio audience a free car.
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."

The last Pontiac Fiero sold for $90,000 at auction

On August 16, 1988 the last Pontiac Fiero, a red GT model, rolled off the assembly line at GM's Pontiac Assembly plant located in Pontiac, Michigan. It wasn't just the final Fiero, but the final car to be built at that site. The car was raffled off to one of 1,400 plant employees that would soon have to find jobs elsewhere. Whoever that employee was, they remained faithful to the Fiero and kept it in mint condition for 32 years. Last month, it was finally time to move on. It crossed the block at GAA Auctions in Greensboro, North Carolina where it sold for an astounding $90,000. According to the auction house, that's a new world record. The price no doubt reflected the car's place in history as the last example of GM's 1980s mid-engined sports car. However, it was also showroom-new, with just 582 miles clocked on its 2.8-liter V6. 1988 models were also fitted with an upgraded, Lotus-esque suspension produced for just that one year. In addition, this car, serial number 226402, came with its original build sheet, photos from the assembly line, and a collection of news articles and books. It still wore its pre-delivery plastic on the interior and was fully loaded with automatic transmission. This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings. The car's custodian for the past 32 years must be pleased. Bidding started at $25,000 but soon rocketed past the $65,000 reserve. You can see the action starting at the 2:50:13 mark in the video above. The Fiero was symbolic of the 1980s and stood out from the standard GM passenger car fare for its mid-engine layout and plastic body panels. In an era when GM often rebadged cars with minimal differences, the Fiero rode on its own unique chassis. It was positioned as one of the defining products for Pontiac, GM's "excitement" brand, but actual performance never quite lived up to its striking looks.  Nevertheless, it garnered a cult following. It's often the basis for (questionable) custom builds mimicking more exotic models like Ferraris and Lamborghinis, thanks to a steel space-frame design that allows body panels to be easily removed. Thankfully, this significant example escaped such a fate and will live on as a reminder of an interesting chapter of automotive history.

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.