Art Center graduation was less than a year away, and there was little or no prospect of landing a junior designer position at any of the then-Big Three (least of all at Ford, after I managed to cast styling aspersions on a medium-duty truck done by one of the Dearborn designers who sat across the table from me during a courtesy interview. See my earlier post here for the unsavory details.).
I took some time off before my eighth and last Art Center semester, driving the now-repaired ’69 Mustang (see COAL here for that sad story) back East, where I assessed my prospects a continent away from the campus where I’d devote fifteen more weeks of blood, sweat, and tears before braving the real world.
I was able to secure appointments to visit a few independent industrial design firms in the greater New York metro area, generally receiving encouraging reviews but, as with the auto industry during those OPEC-tinged and recessionary early-to-mid 1970s, no tangible offers. One rude awakening occurred at a major toy company which will remain nameless. I learned later that this particular firm typically cycled late-semester or recent graduate I.D. students through a sham ‘interview’ process, intended only to glean potential design ideas for their next “must-have” product.
Realizing that my beloved ’69 Mustang wouldn’t be up to the task of ferrying all of my worldly belongings back across the U.S. at the close of my Art Center career, I began the search for another set of wheels. This would be an addition to the family fleet, as I had no intention of trading in the pony car.
One of my fellow Art Center students drove a short-wheelbase Chevy van, probably a good choice to ferry art supplies, tools, and large-scale projects-in-progress, and I briefly considered whether such a vehicle could be appropriate as a new daily driver in and around SoCal. In retrospect, a similar vehicle (of course, it would have to be a Ford Econoline) might have been a more appropriate choice. Instead, Dad and I found ourselves back at Dawson Ford, in Summit, New Jersey, where he had purchased his used ’64 T-Bird a few years earlier.
Among the choices on Dawson’s used-car lot that day was a 1970 Ford F-100 Custom pickup. In this case, the word “Custom” implied nothing more than a (very) base trim level. Although the truck was equipped with Ford’s reliable 302 V8, it lacked power assists of any sort. Manual steering and brakes were the order of the day, and power was sent rearward via a column-mounted three-speed manual transmission.
The base “Custom” trim level merited only a small photo in Ford’s ’70 Pickup brochure.
Its spartan interior featured a black vinyl bench seat, black rubber floor covering, a heater, and an AM radio. Sun visors for the driver and passenger were included, and its molded headliner seemed to be the sole concession to sound deadening.
The salesman stuck a dealer plate onto the cab’s rear window, and since I had never driven a stick-shift vehicle, my father took the wheel for a short test drive. Pronouncing the truck to be acceptable if its two worn rear tires were replaced and a rear bumper was installed (to facilitate towing, just in case…), the dealer agreed and the transaction was completed. Unknowing early adopters, we now owned a pickup truck in suburbia.
An out-of-focus shot of the ’70 F-100, captured at rest during a trip to a car show in PA.
Sidebar: We opted for commercial license plates, even though that would bar us from New Jersey’s Garden State Parkway. Not a big deal, since neither of us envisioned taking the F-100 “down the shore,” as they say in NJ. Since the early 1970s, the Parkway’s trucking ban has been limited to trucks with a GVW of 10,000 pounds or more. Heavier trucks are still restricted to the southern portion of the GSP, due to clearance issues on many of the underpasses north of Tinton Falls (Exit 105, if you’re scoring at home).
Anyway, leaving the dealership and pointed toward Morristown, I followed Dad, driving his ’69 Torino GT while he was behind the wheel of the pickup. Even after our short F-100 test drive, I felt that I was in the lap of luxury, enjoying the Torino’s A/C, power steering, and other amenities.
Identical to Dad’s ’69 Torino GT, except for the column-mounted tach. (Source:Idealclassiccars.net)
Though located on a busy state highway, our home had off-street parking in front, and a single driveway sloping down to a detached single-car garage dating from the mid-1930s when the house was built. The Torino lived in the driveway, while the F-100’s designated parking spot was on the street, making it much easier for me to wrestle its column-shifted three-speed and heavy clutch into submission while easing out into traffic.
Occasionally, though, the truck found itself in the driveway, which sometimes resulted in its front bumper ending up against the garage’s swing-up metal door after my unsuccessful consecutive attempts at getting the pickup into reverse, engaging the clutch, and backing up the driveway, all at the same time. Fortunately, the garage door was substantial enough to withstand that punishment, and the repeated low-speed contacts caused no damage to the F-100’s front end.
Our home driveway, taken from my second-floor bedroom. You can’t see its downward slope in this pic, but we also had curbside parking (without the curb).
Shortly after taking delivery of the truck, Dad noticed that its “brake” warning lamp was illuminated. Returning to the dealership, the issue was quickly fixed, and after paying a low three-figure service bill, we were on our way. Not until years later did I become familiar with the term “service absorption,” referring to the percentage of a dealership’s operating cost which was covered by their service-department profits, the goal being 100% (or more). Did this loose electrical connection enable the Ford dealer to claw back the cost of the tires and rear bumper they had installed on our truck? I guess we’ll never know…
Source: eBay.
Noticed the old Packard in the upper right hand corner of the picture
I believe that’s a Nash.
Looks like a ’58-’60 Rambler American.
Top photo:
Certainly the early 70’s with the turtle neck shirt. I had a few of these at the time.
My brother had a pale blue ’72 F150, three-on-the-tree, P/S, P/B, V8, but with A/C which was cold as ice. Wasn’t sure how big the engine was, but it could pull away from a stop light very quickly!!
Not too far off from my ’66 F100. Yes, with manual steering and transmission, these are very elemental cars, actually not that unlike driving a big “classic” car from the 1920s or ’30s.
I prefer the 300 six in these over the 302 V8, as the 300’s torque curve is much stouter at the lower end, making it more suitable to truck use and easier to drive.
I owned an absolutely basic 1969 Ford full-size sedan, whose trim level was also called “Custom”. Every time I saw the trim badge, it made me giggle, as there was nothing custom about it.
Like an automaker’s use of the word “deluxe”… yeah, not really. 🤣
I did not see this one coming, but I can very much see the logic.
A friend’s father had an Econoline van in that same trim level, but with a 6 in front of the 3 speed. It was indeed elemental.
On your last question – I have looked at the world differently ever since I learned that dealer service advisors are often paid on commission. But you could be right in your estimation too.
There’s a reason they’re called “stealerships”. I stopped going to dealers when they tried to foist uncalled for repairs on me several times when going back for recalls. I was able to avoid those ploys, being car savvy, but I’m sure they find plenty of sheep to fleece, and oftentimes it’s women who are being taken advantage of. Oddly, one service writer at a Nissan dealer who tried to do it to me was a woman, but I called her bluff and walked out never to return. Sometime later I learned that she’d been fired. so I wonder if that dealer was actually trying to become on the up & up? Hmmm… probably not.
The biggest scam today is the extended warranty. Give us $4000 for an extended warranty and we’ll fix your car for free. The dupes who buy them brag about the $2000 repair that was covered by the warranty that they paid $4000 for. Sucker!!!
I remember and like these simple and basic trucks .
-Nate