In our Cash For Clunkers open thread a few weeks ago, I made the point that the decimation of older cars is a profoundly sad thing--that these oft-overlooked cars are precious, non-renewable resources. I went further by making the observation that, for instance, Chevrolet isn't producing any more 1991 Chevy Caprice Classics and every example destroyed is an inexorable step towards a world in which we have none left.
One commenter responded to this deeply profound wisdom with the comment, "GM isn't making any more terrible 1991 Caprices? Hallelujah!"
Hold on, now. Sure, the 1991 Caprice inspires a vague sense of nausea in most people, but I love it. This generation of Caprice is the last direct descendant of the great massive rear-wheel-drive Impalas and Caprices that proudly owned the American road in the second half of the 20th century. It's the kind of huge, comfortable, relaxed cruiser that used to be right in Detroit's wheelhouse but that has been completely out of vogue for the last 20 years as the world has focused on overstyled trucks, small economy cars, and the today's omnipresent, hyper-aggressive sports sedans.
These Caprices became somewhat famous because in 1994 it could be ordered with the LT1 high-performance V-8 in standard, wagon, Impala SS, and police/taxi trim. The resulting high-performance monstrosity is a lust-worthy beast--I spend way too much time browsing listings for thrashed high-mileage ex-police LT1 Caprices--but this post is meant to commemorate the sedate plain-Jane sedan that I knew and loved in my adolescence.
I was fortunate enough to live in the same household as a '91 Caprice; I still remember celebrating when, after a decade-long string of execrable Oldsmobile Cutlass Cieras, my Dad finally scored a Caprice company car. I remember watching in awe as he (seemingly in need a few tug boats) slowly navigated the leviathan into our garage. Impossibly shiny, painted in sinister jet black and with just a few splashes of chrome, it looked mean. Or, at least, about as mean as a car with skinny tires, a freakishly long rear overhang, and rear-wheel skirts can look. I'll admit that now it looks a little gawky, but at the time it was smooth.
Actually, I'll go a little farther than gawky. To today's eyes, the styling looks a little ... well, perhaps deformed, like a model car slightly melted by a mischevious boy with a Bic lighter. When I first saw the '91 Caprice, I predicted it would revolutionize large-car styling in the same way the Ford Taurus did, which turned out to be a hilariously awful prediction. The automotive world reacted to the Caprice's styling with bemused disinterest and went about its business in the 1990s making ovoid cars that were significantly more anonymous.
I'm not sure what to make of the Caprice's rear wheel skirts--they're either a cool quirk or a bizarrely baroque affectation. Chevrolet thought better of them, dropping them from the sedan after only two years of production. My dad, forced during the winter months to thread tire chains under the skirts, was not particularly amused by them.
An unkind friend of my father's dubbed our car "The Meatloaf," a nickname that I found offensive at the time but strangely applicable now. Like a meatloaf, the Caprice was supremely satisfying but not exotic--it was pure automotive comfort food. Big, smooth, and soft, motivated by a big slow-turning V-8, the Caprice was like nothing so much as a motorized Barcalounger, made to inhale long stretches of American interstate at an effortless 80 mph. Performance? Not really. Handling? No thank you. The Caprice knew its role, and it performed it proudly.
I loved it dearly, and I miss it still. The car only stuck with us for a year, soon to be replaced in its company car duties by a succession of Ford Explorers, but I loved it dearly and I miss it still. I even still have the introductory cassette tape that came with the car.
The top photo looks like an original press photo, but I found it on KitFoster.com; the second photo is from a recent classified ad here in the greater Seattle area.
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