1960 Cadillac Eldorado Seville: An Artifact Of The Tomorrow That Never Was

 

In his 1981 short story “The Gernsback Continuum,” science fiction writer William Gibson chronicles the strange experience of a professional photographer who’s hired to illustrate a (fictitious) new coffee table book called The Airstream Futuropolis: The Tomorrow That Never Was and begins to have hallucinatory visions of another world that never existed or could have existed. I get a similar sensation whenever I see one of these 1959–1960 Cadillac Eldorados, perhaps the ultimate four-wheeled exponent of an aesthetic Gibson’s characters aptly called “American Streamlined Moderne” or “raygun Gothic.” Maybe that’s why I find these cars so appealing.

Director Alfred Hitchcock famously described drama as “life with the dull bits cut out.” The same could be said of nostalgia: A nostalgic object, like an old car, is a gateway to an alternate world, a romanticized vision of another time and place with all the unpleasant, confusing, complicated parts trimmed away. In reality, no previous era was categorically simpler, easier, or more innocent than today (anyone who says otherwise is trying to sell you something unwholesome, and should be regarded with grave suspicion), but in the fantasy, the road and the sky are always clear, the engine always starts, and neither the roof nor the air suspension ever leaks.

Front 3q view of an Olympic White 1959 Cadillac Eldorado Seville hardtop

1959 Cadillac Eldorado Seville / Mecum Auctions

 

This fantasy world is permeable — if you stay there for too long, the unhappier aspects of the real world will inevitably intrude — but one of the big appeals of collector car nostalgia is that when the thrill wears off, you can just park it and switch to something more suitable. For that reason, you also aren’t obligated to weigh your nostalgic old ride on the harsher scales on which most people judge new or relatively new daily drivers. An old car is usually an occasional indulgence, not everyday fare.

Left side view of an Olympic White 1959 Cadillac Eldorado Seville hardtop

1959 Cadillac Eldorado Seville / Mecum Auctions

 

The 1959–1960 Cadillacs were before my time, and I’ll be the first to admit that it’s nearly impossible for me to see them the way people at the time saw them. Most contemporary automotive reviewers tended to be politer than they would be not too many years later, and while gigantic, glitzy “Detroit dinosaurs” like these had their outspoken critics, those detractors didn’t necessarily differentiate one oversize glittering monstrosity from another. I know that even some of the stylists who designed the American cars of this period felt they’d gone about as far as they could, if not too far. However, not having been there when these cars were new, I have no contemporary associations with them: By the time I became aware of them, they’d already become something more than the sum of their parts.

Rear 3q view of an Olympic White 1959 Cadillac Eldorado Seville hardtop

1959 Cadillac Eldorado Seville / Mecum Auctions

 

For at least 40 years now, the 1959 Cadillac has been a leading icon of ’50s fancies gone berserk — the ultimate exponent of the Harley Earl school of design, the last hurrah of the chromium horde. Even people who can only identify a very few of what a friend of mine calls “breeds of car” usually know what it is; its tail fins have appeared on pinups and postage stamps.

It’s probably for that reason, as much as anything else, that I’ve become more partial to the 1960 models. The 1960 Cadillacs have the same stance, size, and presence and presence of the ’59, but are a little tidier — “more tasteful” might be stretching a point, but the 1959 car’s overwrought detailing was brought down to a nice rolling boil.

Tail fin and rear fender of a black 1960 Cadillac Eldorado Seville

Cadillac tail fins were toned down for 1960, losing the fin-mounted taillights of the ’59 / RM Sotheby’s

 

If you’re going to have a 1959 or 1960 Cadillac (or if, like me, you’re going to briefly indulge a pleasant daydream of having classic cars you couldn’t possibly afford), I’m of a mind that it ought to be an Eldorado — the top of the line in these years, barring a formal Series 75 with its own chauffeur (an idea that has its own appeal some days …).

Wheel cover of a black 1960 Cadillac Eldorado Seville

Eldorado-specific “fluted” wheel covers / RM Sotheby’s

 

There were actually three Eldorado models in 1960. The rarest and most expensive by far was the four-door Eldorado Brougham, built (though not styled) by Pinin Farina in Turin and priced at a rather harrowing $13,075, reflecting its transatlantic shipping and substantial hand labor. Positioned below that in price and exclusivity were the Eldorado Biarritz convertible and the Eldorado Seville two-door hardtop coupe, both priced at $7,401. Befitting their price, Eldorados came with many features optional on lesser models, including Cadillac’s troublesome air suspension system and the Q-code Tri-Power engine.

Choosing between these three is not too difficult. While the Brougham has interesting styling that previewed the design of the 1961–1962 Cadillacs, its coachbuilt pedigree does little for me, and I find it more historically significant than really compelling; if I wanted a 1961 Cadillac (which I might!), I’d look for a ’61 Coupe de Ville.

Front 3q view of a Plum 1960 Cadillac Eldorado Brougham four-door hardtop

1960 Cadillac Eldorado Brougham, body 67 of 101 / RM Sotheby’s

 

The Biarritz convertible is the most common of the three, albeit still quite rare (there were 1,285, compared to 1,075 Seville hardtops and just 101 Broughams), but, as incongruous as it may sound, I actually really dislike convertibles and don’t enjoy driving or riding in them. Also, while the Biarritz was available with front bucket seats as a no-cost option, they don’t look right in a car this size, a reminder of how central a Thunderbird-style center console was to creating the cockpit-like aesthetic effect of ’60s “bucket brigade” full-size cars.

Front 3q view of a Pompeian Red 1960 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz convertible

1960 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz / Bring a Trailer

 

This leaves the Eldorado Seville, for which 1960 was the final year. The Seville had arguably become extraneous, since it looked similar to the cheaper Series 62 and Coupe de Ville hardtops. However, if you’re going this way at all, you might as well go big or go home, and if you like these big GM two-door hardtops — which I really do — “go big” means a loaded Eldorado Seville with all the available factory options, including air conditioning.

Front 3q view of a black 1960 Cadillac Eldorado Seville with a black vinyl roof

1960 Cadillac Eldorado Seville / Mecum Auctions

 

You’ll notice that the black Eldorado Sevilles pictured above and below both have vinyl roof coverings, in a material Cadillac called Vicodec. This was standard on the Seville, but it wasn’t compulsory: You could have a painted roof instead, either in body color or a contrasting color, at no extra cost. The sales guide includes a table of factory-approved combinations, which for Ebony cars were normally limited to Ebony or Olympic White, but Cadillac was prepared to accommodate nonstandard combinations if you were insistent and were willing to wait up to six extra weeks for delivery.

Front 3q view of a black 1960 Cadillac Eldorado Seville with a white vinyl roof

1960 Cadillac Eldorado Seville / RM Sotheby’s

 

I like the Ebony and Ivory effect of the white roof, although I think a painted roof would be preferable. Blue over black could also be nice (you could get the Vicodec top in Pelham Blue, but a blue painted roof would have been a special order), but it wouldn’t look right with some interior trim combinations.

Rear 3q of a black 1960 Cadillac Eldorado Seville with white vinyl top

1960 Cadillac Eldorado Seville / RM Sotheby’s

 

Part of the appeal of the white roof is that it visually lowers a car that was already low-slung (a 1960 Eldorado Seville was 54.8 inches high). It also serves to emphasize the delightful incongruity of this relatively small bubble-canopy roof on such a massive body, which evokes the ’50s Batmobile, or some science fiction flying car.

Rear view of the roof of a black 1960 Cadillac Eldorado Seville with a white vinyl top

The 1960 Eldorado Seville shared its roofline with the Series 62 hardtop coupe and Coupe de Ville / RM Sotheby’s

 

Both of the black 1960 Eldorado Sevilles pictured here have white leather interiors, which look great and work well with the Ebony exterior:

Dashboard of a 1960 Cadillac Eldorado Seville with white leather upholstery, viewed through the driver's door

1960 Cadillac Eldorado Seville with white Cardiff grain leather trim and white Florentine grain bolsters / RM Sotheby’s

Back seat of a 1960 Cadillac Eldorado Seville with white leather upholstery, viewed through the driver's door

Per the sales book, the 1960 Eldorado Seville upholstery is “longitudinal biscuit- and elongated button-pattern, accented by full bolsters of supple, fine-grained Florentine leather” / RM Sotheby’s

 

However, I’m still haunted by a 1960 Eldorado Seville I spotted over 15 years ago at a local Cadillac specialist. It was Ebony, with a painted roof, but the interior was red and white leather, a combination the sales guide describes as “red Cardiff grain leather with white Florentine grain leather bolsters and trim,” and which was normally exclusive to the Seville. (You could get red and white leather on a Series 62 convertible, but it wasn’t the same pattern.) Unfortunately, I never got very good pictures of that car, and the combination is rare. Here’s an example from a 1959 Eldorado Seville:

Front seat of a 1959 Cadillac Eldorado Seville with red and white leather upholstery

I think the 1959 Eldorado Seville pictured here, from a now-defunct auction listing, was once owned by Hank Williams Jr., but don’t quote me on that / Barrett-Jackson

 

Looking at it from a strictly practical standpoint, many of the Eldorado’s features are not necessarily desirable. The air suspension (which I’ve never experienced in one of these cars) allegedly gives superior ride and handling, but keeping it working is a headache, and many survivors now have steel springs. I assume the various ’50s-tech power accessories can also become money pits even if the body and engine are sound. As for the engine, I also suspect that the standard engine’s single Carter four-barrel might be easier to manage than the all-or-nothing vacuum linkage of the Tri-Power Q engine.

Tri-Power Q engine under the hood of a 1960 Cadillac Eldorado

The Q engine was the same 390 cu. in. (6,384 cc) displacement as the standard Cadillac engine, but had three Rochester 2GC carburetors rather than a single four-barrel, giving 345 gross horsepower to the standard engine’s 325 hp / RM Sotheby’s

 

However, those kinds of considerations tread perilously close to treating a car like this as an appliance rather than a four-wheeled fantasy of an era that seemed to promise endless prosperity and limitless technological growth. Cadillac boasted that these Eldorados had “every power and convenience accessory,” so clearly they should be fully equipped in every respect (even though that added some $700 to the price tag). This is the kind of car where you expect to press a button and see a slim robot arm extend from some hidden panel to touch up your hairdo or brush specks of dust from the dashboard, like something from The Jetsons. In short, an Eldorado of this period is a car you love not so much for what it is, but for what it represents.

Dashboard of a Pompeian Red 1960 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz with cruise control and air conditioning

The car with the white roof has air conditioning, but not cruise control, which I would consider essential to the complete 1960 Eldorado experience / Bring a Trailer

 

In Gibson’s “The Gernsback Continuum,” fictitious author Dialta Downes describes “American Streamlined Moderne” as an artifact of “a kind of alternate America: a 1980 that never happened. An architecture of broken dreams.” As the photographer protagonist confronts his hallucinations of that alternate world, at once beautiful and sinister, he remarks:

Dialta had said that the Future had come to America first, but had finally passed it by. But not here, in the heart of the Dream. Here, we’d gone on and on, in a dream logic that knew nothing of pollution, the finite bounds of fossil fuel, or foreign wars it was possible to lose.

Reality was already fast closing in even when these cars were still brand new. The recent recession had seen significant numbers of Americans balk at the enormous thirst of the latest Detroit iron, leading to increased sales of imported and domestic compact cars. The outgoing decade’s fancier and more ambitious automotive technologies had proven to be over-sold and underdeveloped, and features like air suspension would soon disappear until more of the bugs had been worked out. In December 1959, not long after the 1960 Cadillac line went on sale, the California State Department of Public Health published the state’s first motor vehicle exhaust emissions standards, which would eventually become the model for the first federal standards. Public health officials in 1960 were still reluctant to speak ill of the lead then being added to premium gasoline at a rate of up to 4 grams per U.S. gallon and dumped on urban areas in alarming quantities by automobile exhaust, but its toxicity was well-known, and the petroleum industry wouldn’t be able to keep a lid on its dangers for too much longer.

Right rear 3q view of a black 1960 Cadillac Eldorado Seville hardtop with a black vinyl roof

1960 Cadillac Eldorado Seville / Mecum Auctions

 

Today, the scattered survivors of the 142,184 Cadillacs and 2,461 Eldorados built for 1960 are too few and far between, and too infrequently driven, to pose much threat to public health. They aren’t especially practical for today’s traffic — the brakes, inadequate even in 1960, would be worrisome in stop-and-go freeway conditions, and the thought of parallel parking one of these beasts is sobering — but if you can afford a nice 1960 Eldorado, you don’t have to drive it every day unless you really want to.

Otherwise, you can just look at it parked in your garage, keeping it polished for those few opportunities to take it out and open it up on a stretch of clear, uncongested interstate — feeling the rush of speed as the front and rear carburetors open up like an afterburner kicking in, carrying you back to the streamlined “raygun Gothic” future for which the Eldorado was seemingly designed.

We don’t live in that future, and in many respects, we’re better off for it, but it is fun to visit every now and then.

Related Reading

Curbside Classic: 1959 Cadillac Coupe DeVille – False Prophet Of A New Era (by Paul N)
Curbside Classic: 1959 Cadillac Coupe de Ville – Flamboyant Survivor (by MoparLee)
Car Show Classic: 1960 Cadillac Series 62 – Patina With Class (by Tom Klockau)
Vintage SIA Design History: “GM’s Far Out ’59s – When Imagination Ran Rampant” Part 1 (by Paul N)
Vintage SIA Design History: “GM’s Far Out ’59s – When Imagination Ran Rampant”, Part 2 (by Paul N)