The Landau Roof

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I had forgotten about the Landau roof --  the fake convertible tops that used to be ubiquitous. The style, which was meant to look like the movable tops of horse drawn carriages, started in the 1920s but quickly faded out of favor.

It returned in the 1960s and 70s as a styling touch which was meant to invoke luxury. As explained in Motoring Research's article A brief history of the vinyl roof, covered:

In 1955, Ford had created a so-called ‘Personal Luxury Car’ segment with the Thunderbird – a car majoring on style and luxury, rather than performance and handling. If any car was able to provide a suitable platform for the second coming of the vinyl roof, it was the T-bird.

Step forward the 1962 model, which offered more than 100 improvements compared to the previous Thunderbird, along with the option of a vinyl-covered hardtop coupe. It even re-introduced landau bars as a styling touch – a feature not seen since the 1920s.

Suddenly, the vinyl roof developed ideas above its station (certainly above a car’s roofline). No longer positioned as styling garnish, the vinyl roof was now a must-have option for the style-conscious and drivers of good taste. As least that’s what the manufacturers wanted us to believe.

Ford claims the Thunderbird “reached its pinnacle as a personal luxury car” with the 1975 model, offering features such as concealed windscreen wipers, an opera window, solid-state ignition, electric windows, automatic seat-back release, white-wall tyres and – you’ve guessed it – a dense-grain vinyl roof.

Tick the ‘Silver Luxury Group’ option box and “discriminating owners” could enjoy “exterior accoutrements” such as a padded Silver Odense grain half-vinyl roof, or a full-vinyl roof when combined with an electrically-operated glass moonroof. Opt for the ‘Copper Luxury Group’ and the vinyl roof was finished in a shade of copper. Americans had never had it so good.

However, like most ghastly 1970s styles, they again lost popularity and these days are mainly considered as pointless and faintly ludicrous details. Regardless, there is an aftermarket for Landau roofs if you have a hankering for one.

Did I mention they rust?

If I don't get a Bristol, I was thinking of one of these. A 1962 Alfa Giulia Berlina 1600. Cheaper than the Bristol (initial capital costs only, he was careful to add) and more available in the US, at least theoretically. There supposedly is a dentist on Mercer Island just outside Seattle with a barn full of these and other postwar Alfa Romeos.

What began as Anonima Lombarda Fabbrica Automobili has a glorious history, one of invention or early adoption of those technical innovations – like overhead cams, aluminum heads, fuel injection – that would one day be standard on most vehicles. There is a famous and almost certainly apocryphal story that Henry Ford would doff his cap whenever an Alfa drove by. In pre-WWII years, they could be surprisingly big. After WWII, all that changed. Smaller, lighter, monocoque bodies, more economical. But the quality of the steel was often not the best and the rear wheel arches and rocker panels lasted about as long as a typical mid-60s Italian government. Same with the A and B pillars and the cowling. Same with the heater blower motor. But when everything is running right, you can pretend you are Tazio Nuvolari or Juan Manuel Fangio as you drive to the Post Office and the supermarket. And the cute girl is included with the car, or so I'm told.

Image: Museo Storico Alfa Romeo.

So should I buy one?

A Bristol 410. Made in the 60s by what remains as one of the last independent British car makers. Very rare, even rarer in America. Cheap, as exotics go - less than many mid-priced sedans today. With the freight over here, it is more or less a wash. Some people think they are, well, frumpy, but I think otherwise. And the saving grace (I tell myself) is a mid 60s Chrysler V8, like the Jensen Interceptor and a few other European cars of the period. I almost bought a Bristol in London about ten years ago, until blocked by a sudden unaccustomed rush of common sense. Lately, these cars have seen a mild resurgence of popularity on British TV. You can even hum an appropriate song as you drive. And yes, I can envision nothing but headaches and poking around under the hood with skinned knuckles and cursing Lucas, the Prince of Darkness and waiting for DHL packages from England and scrounging around in junkyards for old Chrysler parts and endless hours in the garage and one of our two "real cars" parked outside in the rain and the consequent exasperation of Mrs. Skookumchuk. Oh, and zero collector's value or appreciation.

But I’m crazy in love, you see.