Last of the Ragtops

It was a deep, rich orange and its memory is branded on my brain. One sweet summer day, when I was six years old, that magnificent Buick Century convertible with the leather seats swept into my family's driveway and jiggled my rationality off an axis to which it never returned. There it sat, the embodiment of speed and panache, its luminous presence overwhelming the mundane contours of my father's black sedan. Its owner, a Navy captain, graced me with a brief, electric ride and from that moment onward, automobiles with open tops have generated within me special, small-boy responses that defy age and the responsible standards of maturity.

Convertibles. Ragtops. Roadsters. Sports cars. Speed. Wind. Noise. Delicious excitement. Powerful engines. Open exhausts. Superchargers. Overhead camshafts. Overdrive. Mad fantasies of horsepower. Tawny hair flying. Starlit nights. Weekend rendezvous. Lovers' trysts. Daring escapes. People and automobiles larger than life--that was the heady imagery created by that orange Buick and it has refused to die, even in the face of an apparently waning desire for this once-beloved subspecies.

Not so many years ago, virtually every make of automobile, both domestic and imported, had a convertible in its lineup. It was an automatic segment of the product mix, the glamorous capstone of the marque--the version of the machine that made the final statement in terms of the manufacturer's pride and the owner's prestige. They came in two basic forms: small, audacious roadsters and cabriolets intended for youthful hell raising and long, ponderous landaus designed for elegant and sedate afternoon touring. In its most vibrant and egalitarian form, there were the cheap, picaresque Ford V8 ragtops, the vehicles that probably generated more parental gray hairs, more adolescent pregnancies and more "Teenage Hot-Rod Menace" scare headlines than all other makes combined. A step up the social ladder exposed one to the overseas exotica of the MGs, Jaguars and Porsches and to the attendant machinations of Grand Prix driving expertise, with its demands for double clutching and four-wheel drifting. At the other end of the scale, within the more serene precincts of the establishment, were to be found the plush and silent Lincolns, Cadillacs and Rolls-Royces, intended for use only in the most favorable of times.

Now, as we trundle toward the Eighties, the availability of the convertible in the American market is limited to fewer than a dozen models (running the gamut from piddling cheap to stupefyingly expensive) and the reasons are clear. First we have that weird manifestation of the stylist's scribblings called the hardtop--which is essentially a convertible with a fixed steel roof. For reasons known only to Detroit's marketing experts and astute social psychologists, the hardtop, complete with a vinyl roof intended to duplicate the appearance of a convertible, has been an extravagant success with the American public and has done more than its share to accelerate the demise of the model it set out to imitate. After all, went the convoluted reasoning of the American consumer, why not retain the identity but not the function of a convertible by riding around inside what appears to be a soft-top while eliminating the attendant unpleasantries of wind-mussed hairdos, watering eyes and chilly breezes? This logic was only amplified as the air-conditioning and climate-control systems of automobiles became more sophisticated; and by the late Sixties, what with rising insurance rates, convertible sales in most domestic makes had slipped badly.

Then came the United States Government and its paternalistic zeal to save us from ourselves and the dreaded agonies of the automobile. What appeared to be a death blow to the convertible arrived in 1972 with the promulgation of a bureaucratic gumbo known as Federal Motor Vehicle Safety Standard 208. This masterpiece of logic concerned itself with automobile-occupant safety during crashes and appeared to kill convertibles deader than smoked salmon. Standard 208 was so constructed as to demand that all passengers remain inside the vehicle during a special roll-over test--a test that soft-top automobiles could not pass. Rather than fight the standard, many manufacturers employed it as a rationale to slice convertibles out of their line-up or to convert (continued on page 206) ragtops (continued from page 183) to the combination Targa-type top with removable panels as pioneered by Porsche. But within Standard 208 lay the elements of a larger and more controversial question--that of "passive restraints" and the simmering side issue of air bags. The manufacturers, led by Ford and Chrysler, went to court and out of the decision by a Federal court came a reprieve for the convertible. The ruling: The Government was not empowered to arbitrarily outlaw any particular type of vehicle--i.e., convertibles--under existing statutes. The ragtop was suddenly back in business, though within the intervening 11 months the case was being reviewed, most manufacturers had made the decision to erase convertibles from their product mixes forever.

By 1975, fewer than 30,000 convertibles were being produced by American manufacturers. Word was out that even the beloved Corvette would lose its soft top, and in 1976, Cadillac's front-wheel-drive Eldorado was the subject of a miniboom of speculation when it appeared on the market with what was trumpeted to be the last convertible built by a major American manufacturer. Lured by the bullish market in antique and classic cars, crazed investors scooped up the last Eldo convertibles, paying as much as $8000 more than the $12,000--$13,000 price. Even the traditional European supply of sports cars seemed to be drying up. In 1974, the overtly sensuous Jaguar XK-E roadster had disappeared and two seasons later, the much-enjoyed Triumph TR6 two-seater went away, while others, including the Jensen Interceptor and the Jensen-Healey, followed.

This mass obliteration of the soft-top-automobile market produced an ironic result in that it generated giddy sales for the troubled firm of British Leyland. This English car maker has had difficulties in recent years because of labor strife, manufacturing problems and other woes related to the domestic economic climate; but after most other auto companies fled the ragtop market, British Leyland has happily found itself dominating the world's convertible business.

It has in its line-up three automobiles that are proving to be its salvation, at least in the American market. This magic trio is made up of the MGB, the MG Midget and the Triumph Spitfire, all ancient machines in a technological sense but enjoying record sales during a period when many predicted they would be but a dim memory. The flagship of the line is the MGB, a small, roundish roadster that has undergone a series of rather severe metamorphoses since its introduction in 1962. Ironically, these alterations have added weight and reduced horsepower in the name of U.S. Government--mandated safety and pollution-control requirements. Nonetheless, the MGB continues to thrive, with sales in America approaching 25,000 annually. With over-all sales pushing toward 500,000 during its 15-year career, it might be claimed that the MGB is the largest-selling single model sports car in history (the Corvette surely exceeded this volume over the same time span, but its sales included two different models and both convertible and coupe body styles).

The MGB is a direct descendant of the MG-TCs and TDs that switched America on to sports cars in the early postwar years and had a massive, if subtle, influence in altering the course of the domestic industry toward smaller, more nimble automobiles. Yet, by almost all standards of advanced technology, the MGB is a rather traditional vehicle. In a time when overhead camshafts, light-alloy, short-stroke engines, fuel injection, four-wheel disc brakes, independent rear suspensions, five-speed gearboxes, etc., are appearing on even the most mundane of marques, the MGB retains such accouterments as a 110-cubic-inch, pushrod, cast-iron power plant that is rooted, in an engineering sense, in the Thirties. Rather than fuel injection or exotic carburetors, the MGB engine is fitted with a single-barrel Zenith carburetor (earlier models carried a set of twin SU carburetors, but they were eliminated in the scramble to conform to U. S. clean-air standards). Its rear suspension is composed of a solid axle and leaf springs. The MGB's suspension has been jacked up three inches and it's been given a rubberized false face in order to meet American Government bumper regulations. Moreover, emission standards have forced British Leyland to go to extreme lengths to keep the car's weight down, which has meant the disappearance of such items as a front sway bar, oil cooler and one carburetor. This last deletion has contributed to the reduction of the car's horsepower to 62.5--a number that gives the car reduced performance in comparison with its sporty image. The prospective MGB owner will have to resolve himself to being blown off by all manner of sub-compact machines in impromptu stoplight drag races. He will also have to be prepared to get soaked should any sudden rain squalls appear, because the MGB's roadster top is a collection of struts, joints, angles, snaps and belts that can put to the test the patience and physical strength of grown men if they're attempting to get it locked into place in a hurry.

Now delete all of the above from your mind, should you be fantasizing about a ragtop. Forget all of the MGB's handicaps and retain one fact: Regardless of its performance, absence of mechanical exotica, cranky top, etc., it packs more raw driving fun per pound than almost any automobile available in America. In this sense, all of its primitive qualities are its salvation, because the hard ride, wind in the face and the bucking suspension enlarge the participatory driving experience to almost hedonistic heights. It is impossible to travel in an MGB without becoming totally involved. It is the motorized counterpart of skate boarding and, in this context, its lack of creature comforts is simply not germane to the over-all value of the automobile. With a base price of $5649 (port of entry), the MGB remains an automobile of high desirability among a small band of ragtop loyalists and fun seekers of all ages. While they will point to the car's smooth four-speed transmission, with overdrive, quick steering, full instrumentation, solid competition record, etc., as justification for their purchase, the locus of their attraction to this aged bolide is obvious--the MGB is great fun to drive, any time, anywhere.

The same essential qualities that endear the MGB to so many fantasy-ridden Grand Prix drivers exist in the Triumph Spitfire and the MG Midget. These two additional entries in the British Leyland stable are built on a similar theme with the larger, heavier, slightly more powerful MGB, but are cheaper, even more rudimentary variations on the same basic sports-car theme. The Triumph Spitfire, vintage 1963, is a rather pretty, truncated two-seater that features a low price ($4895 P.O.E.) and an independent rear suspension of sorts (a version of the little-used swing-axle layout that prompts the rear wheels to tuck under in hard cornering). It claims a link with its sister car, the MG Midget, in that the two machines share the same four-cylinder, pushrod, 91-cubic-inch engine, electrical components, transmission, etc. Beyond that, however, the MG Midget is in a class by itself--a class restricted to the smallest (80-inch wheelbase), cheapest ($4495 P.O.E.), lightest, most rudimentary ragtop made in the civilized world. Like its two other British Leyland counterparts, the MG Midget more than makes up in sheer driving fun what it lacks in creature comfort or mechanical sophistication.

British Leyland expects to sell something over 40,000 of these pleasantly vintaged machines in the United States. The best value of the trio would seem to be the Triumph Spitfire, thanks to its slightly better interior finish, styling and convertible-top mechanism, but all three make excellent first purchases for anyone considering an entry into the arcane world of sports cars and the attendant joys of working on one's own automobile and participating in amateur driving competitions. Should any of these cars seem unsuitable to Anglophiles, there are strong indications that British Leyland is planning to make an even larger foray into the ragtop market. The stylish, wedge-shaped Triumph TR7 hardtop is likely to be introduced with a convertible option in the near future. Moreover, the new TR8 (a modified version of the TR7 carrying an aluminum V8 engine) may appear here in 1979 in an open-sports configuration.

If the essence of a ragtop sports car (and there was a day not so long ago when the two terms were synonymous; a sports car was a two-place, open car--nothing else) is driving pleasure, then the Italians have two prime entries in the field. Perhaps the more visible is the Alfa Romeo 2000 Spider Veloce, an updated version of the machine immortalized by the frenzied driving of Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate. This svelte two-seater has been around for a number of years but remains a quite sophisticated automobile. It has, at a P.O.E. price of $9195, most of the right stuff--an aluminum, four-cylinder, double-overhead camshaft, fuel-injected engine, five-speed all-synchro transmission, four-wheel disc brakes, etc., wrapped in a rounded, rakish package of Italian sheet metal. The Alfa Romeo 2000 Spider Veloce is a special car for special tastes, and because only several thousand will be imported into the United States, a more viable alternative might be the readily available, pleasantly useful Fiat 124 Sport Spider, which, for under $7000, is perhaps the best value of the entire line-up of ragtops. Like the Alfa, the Fiat 124 has all the proper goodies--twin-cam engine, four-wheel disc brakes, five-speed transmission--to win friends and influence the automotive unwashed. It also utilizes a truly marvelous convertible top that can be raised and lowered by hand, by the driver without leaving his seat in a matter of 15--20 seconds. The car is well fabricated and its interior is neatly and attractively laid out. As a bonus, there is room for two extra occasional passengers in the cubbyhole behind the seats and luggage space is excellent for a car of its size. The 124 is fun to drive and, with its well-controlled coil-spring suspension, handles nicely under all conditions. It is, by all standards--with the possible exception of American anvil-solid reliability--a superior value.

Although we tend to think of ragtops in the context of sports cars--i.e., two-seat, high-performance roadsters--there are a number of convertibles on the market that will carry four passengers and have no pretensions as particularly fast vehicles. Take, for example, the beloved Volkswagen Beetle, a prized antique with direct origins in the pre--World War Two efforts of that automotive genius, Dr. Ferdinand Porsche, to produce a People's Car. Now, 40 years later, after Volkswagen has in the main purged its line-up of Beetles for a new generation of front-wheel-drive vehicles, the VW ragtop remains as a kind of automotive watch fob--a frivolous accouterment with substantial social clout in certain circles. It is the same Beetle of old, featuring such novel relics as drum brakes, front and rear, and an updated (48-hp fuel-injected) version of the air-cooled flat-four-cylinder engine that has powered the Beetle from its inception. So, for about $5500, one can purchase perhaps the closest thing to a "smile" button on the American highway. That it happens to be a four-place convertible is coincidental and secondary to the fact that it packs a punch far beyond its modest price in places like the French Riviera, the posh New York suburbs, Palm Beach and the Monterey peninsula. If the MGB is a fantasy machine for would-be Mario Andrettis, the VW convertible serves the same function for would-be Jackie Os, and that, quite simply, is the reason why the car persists while other more functional models of the Beetle have ceased to exist.

If a man like Andretti were seeking a convertible, it is likely that his choice would be one of the rare 365GTS/4 Daytona Spyder Ferraris that are no longer made but go for $60,000--$370,000 on the used-car market. (The real Andretti owns a 308GT Ferrari coupe.) And if the real Jackie O were seeking a four-place convertible, it is likely her choice would be the Rolls-Royce Corniche. Imagine this brutish, two-ton landau, hand-built and rubbed and polished and massaged to a level of compulsive overkill, serenely pottering down a suburban roadway literally flinging affluence out its tailpipe. This automobile has the remnants of seven perfectly tanned cowhides spread across its interior in concert with mirror-polished trimmings of Circassian walnut. Under the hood is a large, utterly silent aluminum V8 operating through a silky automatic transmission (actually, a General Motors Turbo-Hydra-Matic--the same basic design to be found in your average Chevrolet). For something in the neighborhood of $98,000, this vehicle will gain you entry into the proper neighborhoods. Or will it? If the truth be known, not all of the right people are buying Rolls-Royces these days. This automobile, once unsurpassed in the hauteur it exuded and owned only by the pure-blooded aristocrats, is now available to all manner of nouveau riche and social upstarts. In that sense, and in spite of itself, the Corniche has become a caricature of richness.

Speaking of which, we hereby present the ne plus ultra of the genre--the wondrous Excalibur. This machine, which is a good-natured impression of the late, great SSK Mercedes-Benz sports car of the late Twenties, is surely the most blatant attention getter on the road today. It is a purely tongue-in-cheek machine, though its Chevrolet running gear, superior engineering and fabrication make it a legitimately fast and forgiving automobile. The Excalibur is a high-priced ($26,500) replicar that, like most ragtops, has strong image-building properties but little to offer in terms of hardheaded practicality.

What, then, is a truly wealthy person to do if he or she seeks a convertible? The Rolls-Royce betrays the low-profile, just-folks posture really rich folks are assuming these days. An Excalibur? For the Rose Parade, perhaps, but certainly not for "serious" people to ride in. This leaves but one car--the one final entry into the American convertible market in which a civilized human being can be seen without being mistaken for a rock star's agent or a ladies'-ready-to-wear mogul. That car is, of course, the Mercedes-Benz 450SL, a properly pedigreed, yet tastefully unpretentious machine that has all the right stuff--overhead cams, fuel injection, independent suspension, etc., and a proper price of just over $25,000. The 450SL has all the creature comforts, performs better than all the other ragtops and comes with a removable hard top for inclement weather. Moreover, it is a magical social amulet in all circles, an "in" car from Seattle to Shreveport.

If the selection of convertibles outlined here does not suit your taste, there is one alternative. A number of custom manufacturers have risen up in the United States to fill what appears to be a widening demand for open cars. These people take regular domestic luxury cars and, by judicious customizing, convert them to ragtops. For example, the Beverly Hills, California, firm of American Custom Coachworks is presently building a Lincoln Mark V St.-Tropez convertible, a Thunderbird Sports convertible, a Cadillac Paris DeVille convertible, a four-door Lincoln Cabriolet convertible and a Cadillac Cabriolet convertible. The company proudly claims to have built ten of its products for the late, lamented Elvis Presley (whose taste in automobiles ranged from early grotesque to late kitsch) and to have shipped over 140 of the units to the Middle East (where the tastes in automobiles make Elvis' look impeccable by comparison). But if one chooses to remain with the readily available, production convertibles, he is limited to the nine choices outlined here. But I must confess my heart lies elsewhere. You see, if I could only get my hands on that orange Buick with the leather seats....