Ragtops

The first car Jim Hollingsworth owned was a four-door sedan. More than two decades later, he’s still kicking himself for passing up the yellow convertible he could’ve bought instead. Of course, he’s more than made up for that regrettable decision. His car collection now includes three convertibles-two 1940 Packards and a 1941 Buick Road-master. And while he owns several other classics in the hardtop category. Hollingsworth puts the most miles on his ragtops.

“How often do you have people look over at you and wave and smile?” he says. “They do it all the time when you’re in a convertible. But when you’re in a regular car, people glower at you and bum away from the light. Now, what’s the difference? I haven’t changed my look, I haven’t changed my hairdo. There’s just something about convertibles that causes people to be more friendly. Now, I ask you, what’s more fun than that?”

Convertibles are the automotive embodiment of glamour, daring, elan, and flair. Ragtops were de rigueur for the Hollywood set for as long as there was a Hollywood set. Teddy Roosevelt owned a convertible. Don’t you just know Herbert Hoover preferred a sedan? If they’d had cars back then, Sam Houston would have driven a ragtop. Henry VIII was definitely a convertible kind of guy. Ann Landers probably belongs in a hardtop; Dr. Ruth Westheimer, though, is just flamboyant enough for a convertible.

“You know a pretty girl with laughter-ready lips and an eagerness to taste the fresh caress of a soft spring night on her cheek.” Bet you haven’t read an ad like that recently. As dated as this pre-war Buick ad sounds, it still captures the enduring appeal of convertibles. More than any other type of car, the convertible carries with it a cache of nostalgic memories-young lovers studying the moon, summers at the beach, winters huddled together for warmth, the perpetual tan and beauty of youth. Not for nothing did Anton Myrer choose The Last Convertible as the title of his nostalgic best seller.

In Myrer’s novel, the last convertible was the 1938 Packard Super Eight. In the real world, the car that was sold as The Last Convertible-yep, even had a plaque to prove it-was a gargantuan 1976 Cadillac Eldorado that weighed in at 5,000 pounds and was the size of a small studio apartment. When those 200 limited-edition Eldorados rolled off the assembly line, the convertible was relegated to the automotive junkyard already filled with rusting running boards and rumble seats. Domestic convertible production ceased by 1977, only eleven years after soft-top sales had passed half a million for the first and last time.

What happened? Critics said convertibles were too expensive, too noisy, too dangerous, too uncomfortable, too vulnerable to vandalism, just too much trouble. Hard as it is to fathom today, some contemporary auto writers even blamed the demise of the ragtop on the popularity of vinyl roofs-surely as damning an indictment of the stylistic sensibilities of the era as you’re likely to find in an automobile magazine. What probably sealed the doom of the soft-top was air conditioning, a luxury item when the Sixties began but a standard feature on most cars by the end of the decade.

The rakish self-indulgence of the convertible was no match for the pragmatic automotive attitudes of the Seventies. This, remember, was an age when fuel consumption and crash worthiness became major selling points, and American cars started to resemble examples of Euclidean geometry. The ragtop was transformed almost overnight into an impractical relic. In the words of Ford’s chief stylist of the day, “That top was down all the time. The sun burned the hell out of me in the summer, and in the winter I kept the top down till water froze in my hair. And my wife always complained that it ruined her hair. So why did I have it? It was a great car for watching polo.”

Ironically, the convertible began life as the car of the masses-an American Volkswagen, if you will. As late as 1919, nine out of every ten cars on the road were soft-tops. Only wild and crazy car buyers chose hardtops, which were expensive and hand-built to stay that way. But by the Depression, the times they were a-changing. The introduction of windshield wipers and roll-up windows and the creation of assembly lines for closed cars ushered in the hardtop age. Convertibles would never again account for more than 7 percent of domestic auto sales.

That’s not to say convertibles were second-class citizens. On the contrary, they remained instant status symbols even after Detroit stopped building them. Owning a convertible meant you were a fashion leader, a bon vivant, an iconoclast. It also meant you had some cash to complement your flash; convertibles, you see, cost more-often much more- than comparable hardtops. Driving a convertible was more than one of life’s small pleasures; it was a chrome-plated statement that you understood the good life and could afford to live it.

Sales of imported convertibles, though tiny by American standards, remained brisk even after domestic production ceased. It wasn’t long before some good old American entrepreneurial spirit materialized in the vacuum. Dozens of body shops specializing in decapitating hardtops opened across the country and began doing lively business despite prices that often ran nearly half as much as the original car and complaints that the homemade convertibles were unsafe. Executives at Chrysler, whose current product line had all the pizazz of Lawrence Welk on Valium, took one look at this phenomenon and figured there was a market for a new convertible. In late 1981, they brought out a LeBaron convertible. Sales were stronger than expected. “We had a lot of pent-up demand,” says Daniel MacRae, Chrysler’s marketing plans manager. “These people were waiting in the wings. They came out of the woodwork.”

Ford and General Motors soon jumped on the convertible bandwagon. Sales have been consistent, but nobody’s predicting a return to the good old days of 1965, when convertible sales peaked at half a million. “A half a million is a lot. We don’t see it going that high,” MacRae says. “With air conditioning and expensive sound systems, [buyers] don’t want to monkey around in a convertible.” Ford’s L.R. Windecker, though he has been a lifelong ragtop-owner, seconds this assessment: “It used to be if you wanted to be sporty, you bought a convertible,” he says. “Now, there are just too many other alternatives.”

As far as Shirley Applewhite is concerned, though, there is only one choice. Applewhite manages a Dallas classic car dealership that specializes in convertibles. Coincidentally, she owns four convertibles, including a 1959 Cadillac Biarritz, the notorious fin-mobile that looks more flight-worthy than most ultralight aircraft. “I think there are plain-Jane, vanilla people,” she says, “and there are people who drive convertibles.” You plain Janes can stop reading right now. The rest of you will be pleased to learn that 1987 promises to be the most extraordinary year for the American convertible since those exaggerated reports of its demise a decade ago.

The most unusual and eagerly anticipated 1987 convertible is a two-seater that Cadillac officials say will go where no American car has gone before. With a stunning body designed and built by famed Italian coachmakers Pininfarina and an estimated price tag of $50,000, the Allante is the first modern American car targeted at the “ultra-luxury market” currently populated by Ferraris, Lamborghinis, and top-of-the-line Mercedes-Benzes. Both inside and out, the Allante is as elegant a car as has been seen on the American scene for many years, and buyers who are lukewarm about convertibles may be swayed by the car’s two tops-a power-operated canvas top and a removable aluminum hardtop.

The Chrysler LeBaron, which kicked off the American convertible renaissance five years ago, received a creative off-season face lift. By virtue of its lowered and lengthened chassis, it has a sportier look than its somewhat stodgy predecessor. With its new aerodynamic lines highlighted by concealed headlights and a sharply raked radiator grill, the LeBaron has a smart appearance in the best Eurosedan tradition and a roughly $16,500 price tag that puts it on the lower end of the market. Appearances to the contrary, the car represents a major break with tradition. Unlike other American convertibles produced by simply beheading hardtops, the LeBaron was designed from the ground up as a convertible.

If the LeBaron received a complete face lift, the Ford Mustang got only a tuck job. Still, the longer hood, aerodynamic headlamps, restyled grill, and a variety of detail revisions have given the car a sleeker profile. Drivers who merely want to look sporty may opt for the 2.3-liter engine mated to a four-speed automatic transmission. More adventuresome drivers willing to spend about $15,000 will prefer the GT package with five-speed manual transmission and Ford’s upgraded 5.0-liter V-8 rated at 225 horsepower.

For pedal-to-the-metal, monthly payments-be-damned performance, the Chevrolet Corvette is still unmatched by any American convertible-and almost every foreign one, too. Let’s face it, if you can’t have fun in a ’Vette with the top down, you’re probably dead. The car is virtually unchanged from the convertible introduced a few months ago amid gasps of delight from automotive enthusiasts-and some groans about the $32,000 price tag-which means it still features the snazziest electronic instrumentation found in a domestic production car and the 5.7-liter V-8 that’s been running away from traffic for years.

Perhaps the most endearing aspect of the Chevrolet Cavalier is that you don’t have to forgo lunch for a year to afford it. With an entry-level price of less than $14,500, the Cavalier is probably the least expensive of the five convertibles being offered by American automakers in 1987. To some extent, you get what you pay for-a car that’s neither too sporty nor too luxurious, though it’s much more eye-catching than its coupe counterpart. Owning a Cavalier won’t transform you into a BMOGreenville Avenue, but it sure beats driving most of the other cars in its price range.