Our Cars--1966 Imperial Crown Coupe
Submitted by David Drucker
In 1987 I indulged my ever-present lust for gigantic Detroit iron with a triple white 1966 Imperial Crown Coupe. I saw it out of the corner of my eye as I drove past a nondescript used car lot in Queens; 48 hours later it was in my garage.
Truth be told, that Crown Coupe was my second ‘66 Imperial. The first was a funereal black LeBaron that I chased down a Brooklyn street in 1976 and bought on the spot. In those days a ten-year-old Imperial was still considered a fairly big car, but it swam in a sea of big cars. New DeVilles and Town Cars still weighed in at close to 5000 pounds, with plain-vanilla Impalas and LTDs not far behind. The term “full-sized car” hadn't yet become a joke. So when I ran my LeBaron's power seat back on its tracks, adjusted the tilt-and-telescope wheel, and reveled in all of that space, it was within the context of simply enjoying what seemed to be my birthright as an American. Indeed, when I sold the LeBaron a year later, the sensible new Volvo wagon that replaced it felt like a toy.
By 1987, times had changed in a big way. The automotive world had downsized, and in that new context my 1966 Coupe seemed a latter day Moby Dick, battling the twin Ahabs of public opinion and OPEC. Those same Volvo wagons, although still sensible, were by then considered to be quite large. As a consequence, parking had become a problem. It was tough to fit 18 feet of Imperial into a space that had been vacated by a Corolla.
Still (I rationalized), there were some solid, practical reasons for choosing to own an Imperial in 1987. For one thing--and this makes no sense at all--Chrysler’s flagship was generally the last car in the line to benefit from the company's 'technological innovations.' Thus, the interior was cursed with precious little plastic of any kind. (To paraphrase a statement Mercedes once made in its literature, the look of fine wood and leather was achieved by the use of fine wood and leather.)
Construction techniques were similarly archaic. Instead of being stapled and glued, most of the body, interior, and trim parts were attached with screws--and machine screws at that. So, even after more than twenty years, everything on the car still fit and worked properly. The air conditioner, even without the optional second unit for the rear seats, easily coped with New York City summers, and the Auto Pilot’s firm helping hand (actually, foot) maintained whatever speed I dialed up on the dash-mounted knob.
Mechanically, the old Imperial stood head and shoulders above most contemporary iron. Not in terms of sophistication, mind you. Even a Yugo had more advanced hardware than my Imperial, but it had to in order meet emission and mileage rules and still run. Those rules were simpler in 1966: there weren’t any. Pollution curbs of any consequence were years away, and a full tank of gas–-say 23 gallons of leaded premium--left enough change from a ten dollar bill to buy lunch. Or dinner. No, the Imperial’s mechanical superiority derived not from advanced technology, but from simplicity. You say you need to move 6,000 pounds of car and contents across America at 75+ miles per hour? Simple: just stuff a 440-cubic-inch V8 under the hood and hit the Interstate. That’s what America was about in 1966.
I should acknowledge, too, that the Imperial’s looks really rang my chimes. Elwood Engle’s styling, which echoed his seminal 1961 Continental, had aged very well. To my eye, the Imperial had a combination of dignity and élan that was sorely lacking in the cookie-cutter designs of the '80s. Fortunately (for there’s nothing sadder than a beautiful car gone to seed) my Imperial’s sheet metal had aged as gracefully as did the design. The brightwork, being stainless steel, still shone in the sun; and because most of the outer panels were protected by a second inner body, there was no rust to be found.
At this point, someone familiar with mid-'60s luxo-barges might wonder why I'd chosen an Imperial rather than a Cadillac or Lincoln of similar vintage. After all, both were significantly better in many ways. But neither called out to my soul, and let’s face it, what other reason could there be to drive a 21-year-old relic? The Imperial called out to my soul because I was once an impressionable teenager with a chum whose father and stepfather-–one in Brooklyn, the other in Philadelphia–-both owned new Imperials. Intended to overwhelm, those Imperials did their job especially well on car-crazed schoolboys, and I vowed to one day own such a car. Most of my teen-age tastes and fantasies were, thank heaven, shed long ago, but not all of them.
Eventually, of course, I sold the Imperial, because that's what car-crazed adults do to make room in the garage for the next obsession. But when it was gone I missed that Imperial more than any of its many predecessors, and more than any of its also-gone replacements. My ‘66 Crown Coupe was more than just a great ride. It was--and, in memory, still is--a reminder of a time when America was not only in love with cars, but reveled in that love. The Interstates were still new, we were allowed to use them properly, and bigger wasn’t merely better. It was normal. The likes of my 1966 Imperials will never be seen again.
--David Drucker
Anthony Cagle on March 27, 2008 at 11:29 AM
I'm feeling a little tingling on my inner thigh just looking at that thing. . . .
Cookie the Dog's Owner on March 27, 2008 at 12:04 PM
I've never liked driving anything that big, but I can well appreciate your affection for the classic Wretched Excessmobile.
Rob the SVX guy on March 27, 2008 at 01:24 PM
Awesome car. If only it received decent MPG. What a fantastic car though. Wow. I like big cars. I like small cars. It's the inbetween stuff I find kinda boring to drive.
Anthony Cagle on March 27, 2008 at 01:32 PM
Those things are so much bigger than we tend to remember, too. My family had had some big '60s cars when I was young, but then we got the smaller mid-late '70s ones. Even our '75 Century felt big to me until I got in my uncle's '71 LTD and the thing just felt cavernous.
I got stuck in an underground parking garage with my Buick once. Couldn't make the turn past the swing arm and so there I sat.
Mochi Mochi on March 27, 2008 at 11:21 PM
When I was little, a family that lived down the street owned one of these. It was sort of a soot black and quite old at the time. I rarely saw it move. When it did it always drove exceedingly slowly. The driver looked perpetually frazzled and slightly horrified. There was something about the car that was both appealing and incredibly frightening. I think it sort of represented a haunted house on wheels. The exaggerated detail of the tail looked like a rocket engine or something. It seemed like it should do something that it did not actually do. A car with extreme character. No Cadillac or Lincoln could match it for ominous presence. Great article - thanks !
Chris Hafner on March 28, 2008 at 08:41 AM
Anthony Cagle: "I'm feeling a little tingling on my inner thigh just looking at that thing. . . ."
Yeah, me too. That thing is sizzling hot.
David Drucker on March 28, 2008 at 02:00 PM
Thanks for the kind words, y'all! And yeah, Mochi Michi, ominous presence is right on the button. It was not for nothing that The Green Hornet's Black Beauty TV car was a very lightly modified '66 Imperial! The round bit in the back that, ideally, would be a JATO engine, actually covered the fuel filler.
Jack Hawkins on April 06, 2008 at 01:54 PM
Ours was a '68 four-door Crown in white fully optioned that my grandfather bought my grandmother new in '68. Eventually it made its way down to my brothers and me. The 440 would rock the whole car when you put your foot into her, even at 60mph on the highway, the left side of the hood would rise up and the right would drop. Power everything. Scary when driven hard, but a rocket from 60 to 90 on the Jersey Turnpike. Eventually we let her go, but what a beast!
David Rourke on July 02, 2008 at 07:25 AM
A friend of mine had a 68 Imperial (since wrecked, alas). It wasn't large; it simply made virtually all other cars look small.
He got more attention than any Porsche driver. Someone once came up to him at an intersection and said, "I want to f***k your car!"