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Question of the Day: Most degraded car name?

When Ford came up with a not-so-sporty version of the Pinto and slapped Mustang badges on it in 1974, that was a low point for the Mustang name. When Chrysler applied the venerable Town & Country name on perfectly functional but unglamorous minivans, it saddened many of us. But perhaps the biggest demotion for a once-proud model came when, in 1988, General Motors imported a misery-enhancing Daewoo from Korea and called it the Pontiac LeMans. The original Pontiac LeMans was a great-looking midsize car with fairly advanced (for the time) suspension design and engine options including potent V8s and a screaming overhead-cam straight-six. The Daewoo-based Pontiac LeMans was a cramped, shoddy hooptie that served only to ruin the LeMans name forever, while stealing sales from the Suzuki-based Chevrolet Sprint. Sure, using the once-respected Monterey name on the Mercurized Ford Freestar was bad, but Mercury didn't have long to live at that point. I say the downward spiral of the LeMans name was the most agonizing in automotive history. What do you think? Related Video: This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings. Auto News Ford Mercury Pontiac Automotive History Classics questions ford pinto names

Junkyard Gem: 2006 Pontiac Solstice

The debut of the Pontiac Solstice, back in 2005 for the 2006 model year, stirred up much excitement in the automotive world. Sales were brisk at first, and then they weren't so great… and then Pontiac itself went under The General's cost-cutting axe. One thing I have learned during my junkyard travels is that even sought-after sports cars eventually reach a point at which they start showing up in the big self-service junkyards. For example, the BMW Z3 began appearing in such yards about five years ago, along with the Audi TT. While the Honda S2000 still appears to be exempt from this process, today's Junkyard Gem shows that the time has now come for the Pontiac Solstice/Saturn Sky. The first Z3s and TTs I saw in the U-Wrench-type yards were crash victims, not worth fixing, and that's the case with this Solstice. In a few more years, I'll start seeing the occasional Solstice/Sky discarded due to general worn-outness. Someone grabbed all the undented front body parts and the transmission (these items, presumably, being valuable), but no junkyard shoppers have felt like pulling the non-turbo 2.0-liter Ecotec. The interior seems dirty, probably from exposure to the elements while sitting outdoors in this Colorado Springs wrecking yard, but not in bad shape otherwise. Perhaps the car's owner celebrated a return from Iraq with the purchase of a sporty new Pontiac, 13 years ago. These cars have an enthusiastic following, so I wasn't expecting to see a junked one so soon after production ceased. I felt the same way about the Chrysler Crossfire, however, and I found two of those last year. What's next, a 2002-2005 Thunderbird? This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings. Such optimism!

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.