Duped Into Buying A Compact Car
From James Donahue’s Journal
The alarm of a gasoline shortage continued to plague the nation during the 1970s. President Gerald Ford issued an executive order setting the national speed limit at 50 miles per hour everywhere, which became a nightmare for anyone making lengthy trips. It was especially difficult to keep speeds down when operating those big cars with V-8 engines on the broad Interstates designed for speeds of 70 miles per hour and higher. People with cars lacking speed control often got ticketed by the police for slipping up over the speed limit. Fortunately that executive order was lifted after a while.
The national news media promoted the idea of a national effort to preserve fuel and cut America’s dependence on foreign oil. Oil companies moved through our farming area, thumping the ground with strange machines, apparently searching for new sources of crude oil on American soil. And automobile companies began promoting smaller, lightweight and compact cars with four-cylinder engines that they said would be fuel efficient. I was persuaded to trade in our lovely Plymouth station wagon that got twenty-five miles on a gallon of gas, for a compact Chevrolet that was so small we had a hard time getting the family packed into it.
The day I walked into the Chevrolet dealership to get our new car, I vividly remember one of the service men from the back room asking why I would do such a thing as trade my wagon in for this car. He said he thought I was nuts. I quickly learned why he said that. I had fallen prey to a big industry ploy to get us to buy small cars. And I had been ripped off.
The little Chevrolet was a terrible car. It only got 19 miles to the gallon. I went to various mechanics, and even tried a carburetor vapor-injection device invented by a man in Croswell that he claimed would increase my gas mileage. It raised my mileage up to 21 miles to a gallon. I had been better off with my large Plymouth wagon.
After the first winter, the salt on the Michigan roads rusted the car’s fenders so badly I took it back to the dealer to complain. They gave me new fenders and told me I had to find a body mechanic to install them. I was so mad I drove the car directly to the Plymouth dealer and traded it in for a new car. This dealer also sold Fords and Mercury brands. I bought a Mercury which I really liked. It was a full sized car, got very good gas mileage, and everybody in the family fit into it nicely.
My lesson from all of this: Don’t trust the hucksters. Rely on your personal instincts and never fall prey to artificially generated fear systems.
From James Donahue’s Journal
The alarm of a gasoline shortage continued to plague the nation during the 1970s. President Gerald Ford issued an executive order setting the national speed limit at 50 miles per hour everywhere, which became a nightmare for anyone making lengthy trips. It was especially difficult to keep speeds down when operating those big cars with V-8 engines on the broad Interstates designed for speeds of 70 miles per hour and higher. People with cars lacking speed control often got ticketed by the police for slipping up over the speed limit. Fortunately that executive order was lifted after a while.
The national news media promoted the idea of a national effort to preserve fuel and cut America’s dependence on foreign oil. Oil companies moved through our farming area, thumping the ground with strange machines, apparently searching for new sources of crude oil on American soil. And automobile companies began promoting smaller, lightweight and compact cars with four-cylinder engines that they said would be fuel efficient. I was persuaded to trade in our lovely Plymouth station wagon that got twenty-five miles on a gallon of gas, for a compact Chevrolet that was so small we had a hard time getting the family packed into it.
The day I walked into the Chevrolet dealership to get our new car, I vividly remember one of the service men from the back room asking why I would do such a thing as trade my wagon in for this car. He said he thought I was nuts. I quickly learned why he said that. I had fallen prey to a big industry ploy to get us to buy small cars. And I had been ripped off.
The little Chevrolet was a terrible car. It only got 19 miles to the gallon. I went to various mechanics, and even tried a carburetor vapor-injection device invented by a man in Croswell that he claimed would increase my gas mileage. It raised my mileage up to 21 miles to a gallon. I had been better off with my large Plymouth wagon.
After the first winter, the salt on the Michigan roads rusted the car’s fenders so badly I took it back to the dealer to complain. They gave me new fenders and told me I had to find a body mechanic to install them. I was so mad I drove the car directly to the Plymouth dealer and traded it in for a new car. This dealer also sold Fords and Mercury brands. I bought a Mercury which I really liked. It was a full sized car, got very good gas mileage, and everybody in the family fit into it nicely.
My lesson from all of this: Don’t trust the hucksters. Rely on your personal instincts and never fall prey to artificially generated fear systems.