Captain My Captain followed up a lengthy comment with a story about buying a 1981 Chevrolet Monte Carlo right out of college. At the end of his missive I learned that he publishes captainmycaptain.blog, whose slogan is “Every car is a story.” Indeed.
There will always be arguments about how the mighty fall. Folks will gather their evidence like dominoes and knock them over in whatever order suits their version of the truth. But no matter how you stack it, it’s a shame to watch it happen.
I remember the day clear as a windshield with fresh Rain-X. I walked straight out of the interview where I’d accepted my first job out of college and drove myself to the local Chevrolet dealership. Didn’t even stop to think twice. I bought a brand-new 1981 Monte Carlo. The car of my dreams . . . or at least the one my checking account and optimism could agree on.
I had waited years for that moment. Five years of work, late nights, and cafeteria coffee that could have stripped paint. That car wasn’t just transportation, it was a declaration. I had arrived. Or at least I had pulled into the parking lot and left the engine running.
Less than two months later, that big plastic woodgrain insert on the dash decided it had seen enough of this world and dropped itself onto the passenger-side floor like a man quitting mid-shift. No warning. No ceremony. Just gave up. In hindsight, that little tumble might’ve been the most honest thing about the car.
After that, every time I slid into that navy blue interior, I found myself crossing more fingers than a Baptist at a poker table, hoping it would start and not leave me explaining myself to another boss who already suspected I was a step behind.
My father, operating a rung or two higher on the ladder, went and bought himself a Buick Riviera with the Turbo V6. A beautiful car, on paper and at a distance. But the problems he had made mine look like minor inconveniences. Within six months, it needed a full repaint. Pieces came loose like they were trying to escape a bad situation. The price was higher, but so was the disappointment.
That was the strange part of it all. Across all five divisions, the cars looked good. Sometimes even great. But underneath, they were built to standards that felt more like suggestions than commitments. Meanwhile, the executives in charge were collecting paychecks big enough to make a rancher blush, all while the company bled market share and argued internally about who got to steer as the whole operation drifted closer to the edge.
And the truth is, General Motors wasn’t alone in that slow march toward the cliff. You can line up the names like old cars at a Sunday meet: Pan Am, Sears, Kodak, Toys “R” Us, Lehman Brothers, Blockbuster. Once mighty, once trusted, all brought low by some combination of mismanagement, short-sightedness, or a stubborn refusal to notice the world had changed lanes without signaling.
Was it inevitable evolution, or self-inflicted tragedy?
That’s the kind of question that doesn’t get settled in boardrooms. It gets worked over at a corner table in the Lucky Lady Lounge, somewhere between the second and third Lone Star, with a little more conviction than evidence and just enough truth to keep the argument alive.
I was glad to have a seat at that table for this one.
— Captain My Captain
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Wow.
Captain was not alone. My parents decided to replace their rusting 1973 Monte Carlo S, complete with bucket seats, center console, dual exhaust, positraction, and Rally Wheels in the very early Spring of 1981. The 1978-1980 Monte Carlo’s didn’t appeal to my parents’ aesthetic senses, but the redesigned ‘81 did.
I went with my dad to order the new car as what they wanted was never on the lot. He ordered essentially the same car as the 1973, but with a 305 V8 as 350 4 barrels were no longer offered.
Six weeks later Mr. Ashby of Colonial Chevrolet in Wilmington called to say the car was ready, but some selections made were no longer available. No buckets, no posi rear, and a 3.8 liter V6. The dealer would swap the standard wheels with a set of checker board alloy wheels when they arrived in a few weeks. My dad walked. Mr Ashby wasn’t surprised.
A 1981 Buick Regal was bought off the lot a month later. The Command Control computer system was nothing but trouble. The car stalled incessantly for two years when temperatures were below 35 degrees. The accelerator was touchy… give it too much gas, and it would stall at the base of our steep driveway; too little and the car wouldn’t climb. The power windows stopped working in 1984. My parents soldiered on with the car and the computer was sorted out in 1988ish.
In the early 1990’s they replaced the Regal with a Saturn coupe that was well made and it served them well.
This all sounds familiar to me. Dad bought home a new ’78 Monte. 305 2bbl. I hop in the passenger seat and pull on the strap to close the door and the strap comes off. No bolts holding it to the door. With all the problems it proved to have, it was traded in two years for a Westmoreland, PA build VW Rabbit which made the MC seems like a Toyota in terms of reliability. He got a recall notice 2 yrs later over the MC rear axle which could come apart.
GM did it to themselves.