A 1962 Corvair Monza 900 convertible rolls to a stop in front of a Shell gas pump in 2006. It’s my car but Oregon law mandates that a station attendant must pump the fuel for me. He’s looking for the gas cap, but he can’t find it. They can’t ever find it, because it’s in the front of the car. “Is the engine in the back then?” is what they all ask and, “that’s wild” is what they all say when I tell them it is. I’m en route to a sunny Saturday classic cruise-in, where I know I’ll have the only Corvair on a lot full of ’57s and Camaros, but before I can pull away from the pump two strangers have left their own cars to talk to me. One wants to tell me that his first car was a Corvair that leaked “a hell of a lot of oil.” He’s looking at mine with the misty eyes of lost love. The other guy, it turns out, used to own one too. He wants to know if mine is for sale and he gives me his number, just in case. I’ll never call him.
In the late 1950s, the Chevrolet division of General Motors began designing an economy car that would tap into the practical desires of a recession era economy. This car, first imagined by Chevrolet’s chief engineer Ed Cole, would become the Corvair, a radical departure from anything available in the American auto market at that time. Besides attracting price-conscious consumers, Chevrolet was taking aim at American drivers captivated by the exotic and practical characteristics of imports like the rear-engined Volkswagen Beetle.
The first 1960 Corvair sedan was a no-frills, boxy rowboat launched into a sea of chrome-grilled tankers. Yet despite its lack of flair, automotive critics were smitten with its mechanical innovations. The Corvair was a rolling showcase of design and engineering firsts for Chevrolet, including the maker’s first unitized body; its first and only rear-mounted, air-cooled engine; the first independent front and rear suspension system; and the country’s first production turbocharged engine. The Corvair 500 was an easy choice for Motor Trend’s 1960 Car of the Year award. The positive press and novelty of the car piqued American consumers but they would not be so easily coaxed out of their giant, tail-finned cruisers.
Cost was a culprit. The Corvair’s unique air-cooled power train was expensive to produce, which was big trouble for a car trying to pioneer the economy market. Designers compensated by offering minimal trim and few amenities, but if buyers were to pay a premium for uncommon engineering, they expected a little sizzle. Chevrolet responded quickly.
In the spring of the same year, Chevrolet tested the Monza 900, a sleeker, sportier coupe redesign of the utilitarian 500 sedan. For $200 more than the 500 sedan, the Monza 900 driver was able to sink into a plush bucket seat, hold a floor shifter in hand, feel every asphalt groove through the car’s low profile, and get the enveloping experience of a sports car at an economy price. Buyers flocked to the Monza, willing to take a chance on the slightly more expensive rear engine design in a fun, stylish package. The popularity of the Monza alone would drive the sale of the 1.7 million Corvairs produced between 1960 and 1969.
The Monza 900 is powered by an air-cooled, 6-cylinder, 140-c.i. (2.3L), flat engine made entirely of aluminum. The mill originally produced a paltry 80 hp, so most buyers took advantage of an optional upgrade to 95 hp. The engine’s rear placement allows air to flow from the front of the car through the engine and back into the atmosphere, eliminating the need for liquid coolants. Chevrolet’s design couldn’t quite replicate the fuel economy achieved by the smaller, lighter VW Beetle, but it did create a handling profile unlike anything on the road at that time.
Having your car’s weight and power behind you fundamentally enhances the experience of driving. It’s the difference between being pulled and being pushed, the difference between the lumbering tug of a train’s locomotive and the powerful thrust of a speedboat’s motor. The rear weight frees the front wheels to move and respond to the driver’s lightest touch, making it feel unlike any other car absent power steering. The Corvair Monza doesn’t just turn corners, it glides around them. Commuters, housewives, nervous first-time drivers, and aspiring rally racers all took notice.
The Monza 900 reached its full potential in its first four years of production, with annual sales often exceeding 200,000. In 1962, a convertible model was added to the Monza line, as was an option for the most powerful engine yet; the150 hp turbocharged Monza Spyder, one of the first turbocharged engines in America. Model year 1964 may have been the Monza’s best, as Chevrolet retained the Corvair’s distinctive early body style while making numerous safety improvements to enhance the stability and rear suspension of the car. Chevy also gave the 1964 Monza a competitive increase in power, offering a standard 95 hp with the option for 110.
In 1965, two events would set in motion the eventual demise of the entire line. The first was the publication of Ralph Nader’s scathing review of American automobile safety standards, Unsafe At Any Speed, which highlighted the compromised design of the 1960-63 Monza’s rear suspension. He contended that the original cost-saving design could cause the car to fishtail and roll at high speeds, something GM engineers were aware of when the car was first produced. Although the rear suspension was already reinforced in 1964, Nader’s book irreparably soured public perception.
The second event to signal the end of the Corvair Monza actually began in April 1964, when Ford introduced the Mustang into the sporty economy market. Chevrolet responded by restyling the Monza’s body in a more modern shape that would become the basis for the Camaro and nearly every other car produced by the company in the subsequent fifteen years. The 1965 Monza was also offered with still more increases in suspension safety and more powerful engine options, including a 180 hp Corsa to replace the earlier Spyder option. Sales stabilized, but Chevrolet was still unable to minimize the high cost of the Corvair’s unusual power train. The added cost, coupled with the stinging legacy of Unsafe At Any Speed, held Corvair sales well below that of the Mustang. Between 1966 and 1969, Monza production was reduced to a trickle. Production on Corvair vans, trucks, and station wagons was halted after sales dropped by 50% in 1966. The Camaro, introduced in 1967 to rival the Mustang, was America’s new Chevy darling. In 1969, Chevrolet announced that it had produced its last Corvair Monza.
But the end of production would not be the last chapter in the Monza story. The Corvair Society of America estimates that only a small fraction of original Corvairs operate on the roads today, a rarity that perpetuates the car’s voracious, cult-like following. Corvair enthusiasts dismiss the stigmas of the past, instead embracing the rewards of owning a car unlike any other made in America. Small Corvair clubs flourish in 40 states, swapping parts, stories, “Safe At Any Speed” bumper stickers and sponsoring races, shows, and conventions to celebrate the car’s quirky history. Few modern mechanics are familiar with the inner workings of the car’s unusual engine meaning that a large number of Corvairs on the road today are maintained entirely by owners proud of the car’s trailblazing past.
Should the Corvair Monza, loved then and now by so many American drivers, be considered a failure? Measured only in the controversial accusations of Ralph Nader or compared to the lengthy, storied legacy of the Mustang and Camaro, it must be. But the Monza story is also one of expectation and ingenuity. It’s about trying. Before the Corvair Monza, there was virtually no compact economy car market in America. There were no mass-produced unibody frames, no turbocharged engines, and no independent front- and rear-wheel suspension systems. The Corvair Monza pioneered a new kind of automobile, a car that still appeals to anyone wanting to have fun, be different, and entertain an endless stream of curious onlookers. By that regard, the Corvair doesn’t disappoint.
– Sloan Schang