on 2040-cars

Auto blog

Looking Back At Oprah's Free-Car Giveaway 10 Years Later

Molly Vielweber's Pontiac G6 appears unremarkable at first glance. It wears forest green paint, rolls on five-spoke aluminum wheels, and it has a sizeable scrape in the driver's side door, the scar of a decade's worth of hard use. You wouldn't notice it parked at a big box store or cruising on the highway. Pontiac made hundreds of thousands of G6s in the 2000s, and a lot are still on the road. It's unremarkable in every way except for the front license plate, which reads, "Oprah 6." But this is not just any G6. This car is a part of television history. Vielweber won her G6 10 years ago at a taping of The Oprah Winfrey Show, when Oprah kicked off her 19th season in dramatic fashion by giving all 276 members of the studio audience a free car. It was an unprecedented stunt that changed lives, generated controversy and ultimately failed to provide enough of a marketing lift for Pontiac, which would be shuttered just over five years later. September 13 marks the 10-year anniversary of the memorable event, which caught everyone, including audience members, by surprise. In a masterful display of showmanship, Oprah dialed up the suspense to match the enormity – and cost – of the event. First she gave away 11 cars, which would have been a landmark TV promotion by itself. But then she coyly announced: "I've got a little twist." Models circulated throughout the audience carrying silver platters loaded with white boxes wrapped in red ribbon. One contained a set of keys, Oprah implied, for another audience member to win the final car. "Do not open it. Do not shake it," she commanded the crowd. Finally, with the suspense built to a fevered pitch, everyone opened their box. They all had keys. "You get a car! You get a car! You get a car! You get a car! Everybody gets a car!" Oprah exclaimed. "Everybody gets a car! Everybody gets a car!" This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings. Everybody did get a car. But not everyone kept it. William Toebe attended the show with his wife, Jillaine, and he immediately thought of the tax implications, which stretched to $6,000 or more for some audience members. It was a tough reality for many in the audience that day, some of which had been selected based on their need for a new car. "That responsible part of me stepped forward and wondered 'where am I going to get the money to pay the taxes?'" he recalled.

This junkyard '91 Grand Am is as hooptie as it gets

I spend a lot of time in junkyards. A lot of time. With all this experience, I have learned to recognize a perfect hooptie when I see one, a car whose final owner got every last bit of use out of it when its value was hovering right about at scrap value. This 1991 Pontiac Grand Am that I spotted in a San Francisco Bay Area self-service wrecking yard a few days ago, from the final model year for the third-generation Grand Am, checks all the hooptie boxes just right. First of all, it's a low-option coupe with the wretched and unloved GM Iron Duke engine, a rattly, gnashy, thrashy 2.5-liter four-cylinder kludged together using off-the-shelf parts from the Pontiac 301-cubic-inch V8 during the darkest years of the Malaise Era and used in cars whose buyers just didn't care. Most of the paint has been burned off by 25 years of harsh California sun, but the car spent sufficient time in a damp, shady spot for lichens to build up here and there. There are skeletons-with-sombreros stencils sprayed here and there, plus a big moonshine-guzzling skeleton mural painted on the hood. Goodbye, property values! Still, someone felt some affection for this car, giving it the name "Good Ol' Snakey" and painting that name on the decklid. We can assume that the Iron Duke was a bit loose by this time, probably leaving a serpentine trail of blue smoke behind the car at all times. So, the combination of cheapness, ugliness, menace, and who-gives-a-damn functionality make this Grand Am an excellent example of a pure hooptie. Within a couple of months, it will be crushed, shredded, shipped out of the Port of Oakland, and reborn in China as refrigerators and Geely Emgrands. Somewhere in Northern California, though, a few of Ol' Smokey's friends will remember this car fondly.

This or That: 2005 Chrysler Crossfire SRT6 vs. 1984 Pontiac Fiero

Welcome to another round of This or That, where two Autoblog editors pick a topic, pick a side and pull no punches. Last round pitted yours truly against Associate Editor Brandon Turkus, and my chosen VW Vanagon Syncro narrowly defeated Brandon's 1987 Land Rover. In fact, it was, by far, the closest round we've seen, with 1,907 voters seeing things my way (for 50.8 percent of the vote) versus 1,848 votes for Brandon's Rover (49.2 percent). Sweet, sweet victory! For this latest round of This or That, I've roped Editor Greg Migliore into what I think is a rather fun debate. We've each chosen our favorite terrible cars, setting a price limit of $10,000 to make sure neither of us went too crazy with our automotive atrocities. I think we've both chosen terribly... and I mean that in the best way possible. 2005 Chrysler Crossfire SRT6 Jeremy Korzeniewski: Why It's Terrible: Taken in isolation, the Chrysler Crossfire isn't necessarily a terrible car. In fact, it drives pretty darn well, and there's a lot of solid engineering under its slinky shape. Problem is, that engineering was already rather long in the tooth well before Chrysler ever got its hands on it, having come from Mercedes-Benz, which used the basic chassis and drivetrain in a previous version of its SLK coupe and roadster. Granted, the SLK was an okay car, too, but even when new, it hardly set the world on fire with sporty driving dynamics. Chrysler took these decent-but-no-more bits and pieces from the Mercedes parts bin – remember, this car was conceived in the disastrous Merger Of Equals days – and covered them with a rather attractive hard-candy shell. Unfortunately, the super sporty shape wrote checks in the minds of buyers that its well-worn mechanicals were simply unable to cash, though an injection of power courtesy of a supercharged V6 engine in the SRT6 model, as seen here, certainly helped ease some of those woes. In the end, Chrysler was left with a so-called halo car that looked the part but never quite performed the part. It was almost universally panned by critics as an overpriced parts-bin special, which, I must add, was damningly accurate. As a result, sales were very slow, and within the first few months, dealers were clearancing the car at cut-rate prices, just to keep them from taking up too much of the showroom floor. Why It's Not That Terrible, After All: I can speak from personal experience when discussing the Chrysler Crossfire. You see, I owned one. Well, sort of...