It’s funny how cars come from different directions and end up being so similar. Witness: the MS50/55 generation Toyota Crown, and Dodge’s eternal Dart from the same time period. They weren’t intended to be like each other at all. But in broad strokes, they ended up rather a lot more like each other than probably either party intended.
Dodge’s A-body Dart joined Plymouth’s Valiant on Chrysler’s A-body chassis in 1963. The compact (by American standards) chassis had been around under the Plymouth name since 1960. And for the bulk of the ’60s, it was at the bottom of Dodge’s food chain: a 7/8-scale Coronet that could be advertised with a crazy-low price to get people into the dealership, who would then be convinced to turn it into an efficient suburban runabout, or a tire-shredding hot rod, or a near-luxury machine, or some Venn-diagram middle ground encompassing all of these. It was the Detroit way: build ’em cheap, stack ’em high.
What was seen here in the land of plenty as puny seemed extravagant to eyes halfway around the world. In Japan in the ’50s, a nation full of 360-cc trikes that had more in common with motorcycles than anything we knew as cars—and many driving on rutted, unpaved roads to boot—the Toyota Crown was king among kings. At a time where aircooled twins powered most of Japan’s automobiles, a water-cooled inline-four, in an envelope not much bigger than a contemporary Corolla, was a fantastic luxury. If you had a Crown, you had arrived. Indeed, the Crown was pitched as a chauffeur-driven car—if you could afford a Crown, you could afford a driver for it as well. For years, Crown bore the tagline “Someday…” in its home market. It was also a tremendous source of pride in Japan as the first completely Japanese car—one designed and engineered entirely in the country, rather than being built as a kit shipped from Europe. And so, the Crown was a big car by Japanese standards. Not far off a skinflint A-body Dart, in fact.
In their day, both cars played against their makers’ type. Dodge was a solidly middle-class American brand—pricier than the pauper Plymouths, not as classy as Chryslers. A Dodge wasn’t pigeonholed as a small car necessarily, although the overwhelming success of the Dart certainly broadened Dodge’s image as a builder of cars of all sizes and for all needs. Toyota, meanwhile, was quickly making a name for itself building economical little cars like the Corolla and Corona—cars that were more conventional than the small-car gold-standard VW Beetle (ie, engine in front, trunk in back) while being just as reliable. The idea of a more luxurious Toyota, in 1970, certainly didn’t square with the nameplate’s ethos and reputation.
Four-door sedan models are the only like-for-like comparison between the Dart and Crown here: Dart built two-doors, which the Crown didn’t bring to the States in this generation; the Crown was available as a wagon, a model that Dart kicked to the curb after 1966. In a side-by-side comparison, the Dart has a 5-inch-longer wheelbase (111.0 inches vs the Crown’s 105.9) and is a full foot longer overall. The Crown is also 3 inches narrower overall.
Both cars used inline-sixes. Toyota used a new all-aluminum engine in the S50 Crown, one that shared genetic material with the 2000GT sports car: a 137.5-cubic-inch (2.6-liter) inline-six, rated at 115 horsepower at 5,200 rpm, and 127 lb-ft of torque at 3,600 rpm. It featured seven main bearings for smoothness, a two-barrel carburetor, and 8.8:1 compression. This was the Crown’s only available engine in America, although some markets used a two-liter four. By 1970, Chrysler’s 170-cube pushrod Slant Six had been consigned to history, replaced with a bigger 198-cubic-inch (3.2-liter) version. With 8.4:1 compression, 60-odd more cubic inches at its disposal than the Crown’s engine, and a single-throat carburetor, the all-cast-iron engine was rated at just 125 horsepower at 4,400rpm—though with a more useful peak 180 lb-ft. at just 2,000rpm. Makes sense: The Dart was a bigger car so it needed a little more oomph. This was the Dart’s base engine; a couple of more bucks ticking the order boxes could net you any manner of additional power and torque.
The Crown's acceleration was helped by the final drive ratio in its rear. While the four-speed cars ran 4.11 gearing, the two-speed Toyoglide automatic had a 4.88:1 ratio! Slant Six Darts generally made due with a 3.23 rear.
But two figures help underscore the differences between this pairing. The first is curb weight. The Dart sedan starts at 2,308 pounds. The Crown is pushing ... that can’t be right... 2,900 pounds? The weights are right, but it’s not fair to call the two cars’ spec levels comparable.
The Dart came standard with a bench seat and shifting through the steering column. Crown offered fully-reclining all-vinyl or vinyl-and-cloth buckets, a console, and a shifter that stirred the four-speed transmission. The Crown’s more conventional coil-sprung front suspension surely weighed more than the Dart’s torsion bars, and likely the coil-sprung rear weighed more than the A-body’s parallel leafs . So would the Crown’s standard 10.8-inch front disc brakes. Dart offered optional 10-inch discs over the factory-specified 9-inch drums. And then there’s the unknown specter of sound deadening. Darts had precious little, as you would expect from an economy car, while Crowns were stuffed full of it, as you would expect a luxury car to have. Other niceties abounded. The Toyota's cooling fan was viscous-driven, to reduce power drain and noise. Fresh-air ducting for rear-seat passengers. Carpet, not a given in the days of base-model rubber floor-mat cars, was standard—on the floor of the passenger compartment as well as in the trunk. A tachometer was also standard. Road tests of the day rave about the Crown’s fit and finish as well as quality of materials, whereas the Dart was, shall we say, built to a price. We’re not sure whether that adds up to 600 pounds in a car a foot smaller than a Dart, but it certainly helps.
The other figure that got our attention was the absolute sales rout that the Crown faced. A stripper-level ’70 Dart sedan started at $2,308; the Crown, which is empirically a smaller car with less power, started at $2,844 of your finest 1970 dollars. That’s $530-odd difference. So, a smaller car that weighed 25 percent more than a comparable Dart also costs 25 percent more than a comparable Dart? Well ... yes and no. Today, that price difference will barely pay for a radio upgrade in a new car. But in 1970, Crown money would have put you in a larger B-body Dodge Coronet, and spat you back change. Imagine you’ve got $40 grand for a new car, and you can choose between a roomier, more powerful car that’s on your budget, or something smaller for $50,000. What are you going to choose? Indeed, history clearly tells us the winner in the sales race. The MS50/55-generation Crown sold 22,000 units from 1967-’71. That’s actually a noticeable improvement over previous-generation Crown sales, but not enough for Toyota to bother much longer. Consider: in 1970 alone, Dodge sold 35,000 Dart four-door sedans, or 62 percent more of a single comparable body style in one year than Toyota sold here in an entire generation of car. Eliminate the body-type distinction, and in 1970, Dart sold nearly 10 times as many Darts as Toyota sold S50-generation Crowns. Across the S50 Crown’s lifetime in America, Dodge sold 984,000 Darts. The Crown was withdrawn after an all-new model arrived for the 1972 model year.
Photo: Dan Hsu/japaneseclassiccar.com
The idea of a pricey compact saloon was only starting to take hold in the States: Mercedes, BMW, and Volvo were all getting Stateside traction by the dawn of the ’70s. All had more or less the same formula: a formal sedan, square styling belying strong build quality and entertaining chassis dynamics. Why did the European marques make it happen, but not Toyota? That may be an investigation for another time.
I had been into cars since childhood, so this was a magical job. I was part of a crew of six or seven that worked for tips, and we wore orange coverall uniforms so that we were easily seen at night. We routinely parked and returned more than 400 cars on a busy Saturday, with parties in the afternoon and then again at night, together with public dining.
Jockeying cars for position in shrinking lanes during return rush times made me a better and more precise driver. Another benefit was that I developed a higher appreciation for well-designed dashboards, budding smart controls, and quality upholstery. I preferred gauges to warning lamps, and I intensely disliked the flashing green and yellow dashboard fuel economy indicators that seemed unwelcome in luxury cars. The only way to make the annoying indicator stay green was to coast.
As a crew, we elbowed each other to park the hot imports, such as BMW’s 2002, Datsun’s Z variants, the first Honda Accords, Toyota Celicas, and less frequently, Volkswagen Sciroccos. These were all well-equipped, light, quick, and easy to park. It was also possible to shift them into higher gears for test drives by taking the long way around to the lower back lot. As far as I knew, none of us ever got a Porsche 911 out of second. Our boss knew the joyride risk, so we had to keep numbered dashboard tickets in sequence for assigned spaces that discouraged long drives around the property.
Photo: Hemmings Archives
I have many fond memories of the job. To start, the things people left in their vehicles were nothing short of amazing. There were open bills with private information in plain view, and mail of every other conceivable variety, as well as checkbooks, laundry, arts, and crafts in all stages of non-completion, sticky food wrappers, and other trash. I also quickly learned that a tip amount didn’t always correspond to the expense or condition of the car after one guest left a caged guinea pig in his 1967 Pontiac Le Mans when he arrived late for a wedding reception. Aside from needing to be washed and vacuumed, that car was quite fragrant. It was a dry day, so I lowered the side windows, and we took turns checking the pet as we ran to and from other vehicles. Later, the guest told me he was glad the party was over and was eager to reunite the guinea pig with his young daughter. Having noticed us checking on the pet, the car owner gave me the biggest tip I ever got to fetch a car.
Another unusual thing happened while parking a 1975 Buick LeSabre sedan. Two people got out and went inside for dinner and as I got in immediately noticed the aroma of freshly baked bagels emanating from two gigantic bags that took most of the rear seat, nearly reaching the headliner. After parking the car, I was spooked by a low voice from the far-right of the back seat that asked, “Howee doin’?” I had not seen the slight fellow partially hidden by one of the tall bags, and all I could ask was if he intended to go inside. He said he didn’t want a fancy dinner, just a nap. He offered bagels to the entire crew, which were delicious, and stayed in the car and slept for two hours.
Rare cars would roll up on occasion, including one almost everyone guessed was a Maserati, though I recognized it as a Facel Vega. The exhaust growl of the Chrysler Hemi V-8 was positively rhapsodic, and the grand tourer had polished wood throughout its interior. We parked it in a special spot on an outer aisle near the front door and overheard customers speculate what it was while waiting for their own cars. When the tweedy owner eventually came out, my boss, Ray, was determined to sound smart and amuse himself. He conspicuously and formally signaled, “Christopher, the Facel Vega, please.” Seeing where we placed his pride and joy, the owner gleamed. He may have enjoyed that moment more than his dinner.
Another story involved a regular customer’s Cadillac Seville during lunch hour, when Ray often let me work alone so he could get a break. Two County Sheriff’s detectives stopped to tell me they were looking for two inmates who had escaped from the local penitentiary wearing–what else–orange coveralls. They were last seen running on the neighboring golf course. Of course, we always left keys in the ignition of parked cars. The detectives asked how many cars remained from lunch, and whether I could account for each. To my dismay, the Cadillac (one of only three cars left in my charge) was gone! The owner was very classy when the detectives needed his license plate number and unselfishly said he was glad I had not run into the thieves. Luckily for me, the car was recovered unscratched at a nearby shopping center, but we never heard if the thieves were caught.
I rarely drove a car onto the open road, but one exception was a permanent resident’s 1976 Rolls Royce Silver Shadow. The luminous dark red sedan was overdue for its annual state inspection and the owner’s wife “volunteered” me to drive it to the inspection station in the next town. The engine was so quiet and vibration-free that I had to concentrate to hear it. The interior was beautifully appointed with the finest leather I had ever seen or touched. Intuitive controls were set in burled walnut. In my opinion the steering wheel was somewhat primitive and too hard for an ultra-luxury auto, but it was a minor nitpick since the car was a magic carpet. It literally floated when put in drive. As expected, there were no buzzes, squeaks, or rattles. It handled well and predictably with adequate road feel, despite its considerable weight. Power came immediately at the slightest touch, suggesting ample reserve, and the Rolls-Royce stopped on a dime.
Photo: Hemmings Archives
Admittedly, I was very nervous driving it, even when it seemed other drivers stayed out of the way once I reached a multi-lane avenue. The inspection station was in a not-so-nice area on a narrow, bumpy street, and being near closing time the station was busy. I had to get in a line that snaked around the block and all I could do was hope nobody hit the darn thing.
As I crawled to the entrance, the inspection staff was laughing and pointing at me, still wearing my orange coveralls: “Hey kid, how did you get out of jail and where did you get that car?” Fortunately, my uniform sported a company crest. Seeking mercy, I said it was the boss’ car. Then the Rolls failed its emissions test. Adding to the insult, the dented, oxidized Volkswagen Beetle behind me passed with flying colors. In those days, a sticker with a big red circle signifying failure was affixed to the windshield’s lower left corner. You couldn’t miss it.
I finally relaxed when I pulled the Silver Shadow into the familiar driveway without incident. To my surprise, the owner’s wife was happy to see that the car failed, because now she could get it tuned up without further debate. Apparently, her husband was always working and neglected his cars. We were reminded of that later when we had to jump the battery in his seldom-driven Jaguar XJ12. The next time I saw the Rolls it had a proper inspection sticker.
After parking cars for eighteen months, I transferred inside to become a bartender as my college days progressed. I missed handling the cars, but not enduring cold winter nights or donning those orange coveralls. Over the years I have almost always insisted on parking my own car, but when valet parking is unavoidable, particularly in a city, I tip in advance. It’s remarkable how a few dollars will often gain a spot close to the attendant’s booth, sometimes with a safety cone next to our car.
Photo by Matthew Litwin
Race wins touted in national headlineswere not lost on manufacturers, so by the start of the 1956 season nearly every major domestic brandhad invested performance resources into NASCAR. Pontiac initially supported two teams: Jim Stephens (Stephens Pontiac), and A.L. Bumgarner (Brushy Mountain Motors). Each were armed with a new-for-1956 engine designed for racing: a 316.6-cu.in. V-8 fitted with dual Rochester four-barrel carburetors that, along with a high-performance camshaft, dual-point distributor, specialized valley cover, and 10:1 compression cylinder heads, conspired to produce 285 horsepower (in street trim, mind. It’s well-known that racers knew how to make more horsepower).
A Pontiac win looked favorable, beginning with the sixth race of the season at the Daytona Beach/Road race, where Stephens’ two-car effort - with Ed Kretz and Cotton Owens - qualified 3rd and 4th, while Junior Johnson, in Bumgarner’s Pontiac, qualified 26th in the 76-car field. None saw the checkered flag. Johnson crashed, and the Stephens effort was met with mechanical woes. It was a sign of things to come. Strong as Pontiac was, bad fortune and mechanical reliability were its Achilles’ heel. Pontiac attained just 17 top 10 finishes with a best of 3rd recorded by Pat Kirkwood in a Stephens’ Pontiac.
Going winless, coupled with poor street ability of the dual-quad 316.6 V-8, spurred Pontiac to develop Tri-Power and fuel-injected 347-cu.in. engines for 1957. They became instant hits on the track - the brand notched two wins prior to a June rule change that mandated a single four-barrel induction system - and on the street, leaving the dual-quad 316.6 a nearly forgotten footnote of Fifties factory performance.
Rare reminders, however, still exist, such as this bred-for-NASCAR 1956 Pontiac twin Rochester carburetor and intake manifold assembly spotted for sale at the 2023 AACA Eastern Fall Meet in Hershey, Pennsylvania. Also included as part of the $4,500 package price was the system’s specific air cleaner assembly, which looked similar that of Cadillac’s (the two reportedly would not interchange without modifications). Save for rebuilding the carburetors, it looked ready to install on a specific “HY” stamped block.
1956 Pontiac Dual four-barrel induction setup
ASKING PRICE:$4,500
FOUND AT: 2023 AACA EASTERN FALL MEET (HERSHEY, PENNSYLVANIA)
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