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Junkyard Gem: 1992 Mercury Grand Marquis LS

We've all been seeing the instantly familiar Ford Crown Victoria P71 Police Interceptor on North American roads for what seems like forever, though in fact the very first of the aerodynamic Crown Vics didn't appear until a mere 31 years ago. Yes, after more than a decade of boxy LTD Crown Victorias, Dearborn took the late-1970s-vintage Panther platform and added a brand-new, Taurus-influenced smooth body and modern overhead-cam V8 engine, giving us the 1992 Ford Crown Victoria. The rule was, since 1939, that (nearly) every Ford model needed a corresponding Mercury, and so the Mercury Division applied different grille and taillights and the rejuvenated Grand Marquis was born. Here's one of the first of those cars to be built, now residing in a Denver-area self-service boneyard. The Marquis name goes respectably far back, to the late 1960s and a Mercurized version of the Ford LTD hardtop. The Grand Marquis began life as the name for an interior trim package on the 1974 Marquis Brougham (also LTD-based), eventually becoming a model in its own right for the 1979 model year. Today's Junkyard Gem came off the Ontario assembly line in March 1991, making one of the very first examples built. For 1992 (and through 2011), the Grand Marquis was a Crown Victoria with slightly enhanced bragging rights. This one has the top-grade LS trim, with an MSRP of $20,644 (that's about $44,370 in inflation-adjusted 2022 dollars). The corresponding Ford-badged model (built on the same assembly line by the same workers) would have been the Crown Victoria LX, which actually cost a bit more: $20,987 ($44,910 now). The very cheapest civilian 1992 Crown Vic cost just $19,563 ($42,045 today). There weren't any powertrain differences between the Crown Victoria and Grand Marquis in 1992. The only engine available was this Modular 4.6 SOHC V8, rated at either 190 (single exhaust) or 210 (dual exhaust) horsepower. The transmission was a four-speed automatic with overdrive. How many miles are on this one? Can't say! Based on the worn-out interior, I'm going to guess 221,719 miles passed beneath this car's wheels during its 32-plus years on the road. I've seen some very high-mile Police Interceptors, of course, including one with 412,013 miles, but Ford didn't go to six-digit odometers in the Grand Marquis until a bit deeper into the 1990s. Thanks to flawed speech-to-text applications on smartphones, the Grand Marquis is known as the "Grandma Keith" to many of us today.

Junkyard Gem: 1991 Mercury Capri

Ford has gotten a lot of use out of the Capri name in the United States. First, there was the Lincoln Capri in the 1950s, followed by the Ford Capri Mk1 (which was sold by Mercury dealers in the USA but never actually badged as a Mercury). Then came the 1979-1986 Mercury Capri, built on the very successful Fox Platform and essentially a clone of the Mustang. Finally, in 1991, the Australian Ford Capri came to the United States. Here is an example of this rare car that I spotted in a Northern California self-service yard not long ago. Mechanically speaking, the 1991-1994 Capri was a Mazda 323 under the skin, complete with a member of the same B-series engine family that went into such cars as the Miata and Ford Escort. So, for a few years in the early 1990s, car shoppers who wanted a sporty Mazda convertible could choose between a Miata and a Capri. The Capri had front-wheel-drive, but could be had with factory turbocharging. These cars were reliable and fun, but had a tough time competing with the Miata in the showroom battles. You'll see the occasional example now and then, but most of the 1991-1994 Capris have met the same fate that awaits this one. Related Video:

Car Stories: Owning the SHO station wagon that could've been

A little over a year ago, I bought what could be the most interesting car I will ever own. It was a 1987 Mercury Sable LS station wagon. Don't worry – there's much more to this story. I've always had a soft spot for wagons, and I still remember just how revolutionary the Ford Taurus and Mercury Sable were back in the mid-1980s. As a teenager, I fell especially hard for the 220-horsepower 1989 Ford Taurus SHO – so much so that I'd go on to own a dozen over the next 20 years. And like many other quirky enthusiasts, I always wondered what a SHO station wagon would be like. That changed last year when I bought the aforementioned Sable LS wagon, festooned with the high-revving DOHC 3.0-liter V6 engine and five-speed manual transmission from a 1989 Taurus SHO. In addition, the wagon had SHO front seats, a SHO center console, and the 140-mph instrument cluster with mileage that matched the engine. When I bought it, that number was just under 60,000 – barely broken in for the overachieving Yamaha-sourced mill. The engine and transmission weren't the only upgrades. It wore dual-piston PBR brakes with the choice Eibach/Tokico suspension combo in front. The rear featured SHO disc brakes with MOOG cargo coils and Tokico shocks, resulting in a wagon that handled ridiculously well while still retaining a decent level of comfort and five-door functionality. I could attack the local switchbacks while rowing gears to a 7,000-rpm soundtrack just as easily as loading up on lumber at the hardware store. Over time I added a front tower brace to stiffen things a bit as well as a bigger, 73-mm mass airflow sensor for better breathing, and I sourced some inexpensive 2004 Taurus 16-inch five-spoke wheels, refinished in gunmetal to match the two-tone white/gunmetal finish on the car. That, along with some minor paint and body work, had me winning trophies at every car show in town. And yet, what I loved most about the car wasn't its looks or performance, but rather its history. And here's where things also get a little philosophical, because I absolutely, positively love old used cars. Don't get me wrong – new cars are great. Designers can sculpt a timeless automotive shape, and engineers can construct systems and subsystems to create an exquisite chassis with superb handling and plenty of horsepower. But it's the age and mileage that turn machines into something more than the sum of their parts.