COAL: 1971 Ford Ranch Wagon — A Mint-coated Turd Is Still A Turd

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– Posted on February 14, 2024

If only all school tests could have been as easy as this one.

 

We acquired a 1971 Ford Ranch wagon in summer of 1974, which shared driveway space in Endicott with our ‘66 Country Squire. In our previous COAL installment, I referred to this vehicle as The Loathed Wagon, or TLW. Looking back, I realized I never loathed the wagon itself; what I loathed was the precipitous decline in its exterior appearance. The ‘66’s exterior aged largely as if made of granite. The ‘71 just dissolved like a teaspoon of sugar mixed in water. Such was the risk of used car purchases in the 1970s.

First impressions and suspicions

The wagon was at a small used car dealer in Binghamton. You know the type: A cramped cleft of land where the inventory is facing each other in two vacuum-packed diagonal rows; the “office” is a desk in a false-walled front corner of a circa-1915 garage. A place that probably had always been a used car lot and actually is still one today, albeit with a newer building.

This ‘71 Country Sedan sports the same color and wheel covers as our Ranch Wagon, but lacks the distinctive rust scabs and streaks. (From BarnFinds.com)

 

The wagon presented well in what Ford creatively named Light Green, with a dark green interior. But, our devoted seven year-old detective immediately spotted a tailgate that was, as Antiques Roadshow appraisers occasionally say, “meant to deceive.”

Know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em . . .

The tailgate should have had “F-O-R-D” spelled out horizontally and centered, about one-third down from the glass. My conviction of this was based on . . . seeing it on another ‘71 Ford wagon. But, was the other wagon a Ranch Wagon? I was pretty sure, I thought. A “Ranch Wagon” emblem should have resided in the tailgate’s bottom right hand corner,  because I’d seen it on another ‘71 . . . maybe. Or was it a ‘72?

Same ‘71 Country Sedan. As a child, I’d seen this spread lettering on another ‘71 Ford wagon and thought our wagon should have had it, too.

 

In any event, I was suspicious of any tailgate completely devoid of brand or model identification, as this one was. However, at age seven, it’s practically impossible to diplomatically tell one’s father that this car’s paint job might not be kosher. I sort of tried, but not terribly hard, because honestly, I didn’t want to get bitched out about it.

We had probably already bought the car by the time I accompanied my parents to the lot. So, my options were: A) Shut up about the paint and get in the back seat, or B) Make a big deal about the paint, get the business from the parents, and still get in the back seat. I went with option A.

Rust never sleeps

While the rust napped long enough to sell the car, once it woke up it was awake forever. In the meantime, we took that car on vacation to Lake George and surrounding area. We explored historic sites like Fort William Henry, took a steamboat ride on Lake George, and enjoyed the once common family-run amusement parks like TimeTown, Storytown, USA, and Gaslight Village. The car still looked pretty good at that point.

Heading out to Storytown, USA. The wagon is still one color at this point.

 

Souvenir hat indicates Storytown, USA visit accomplished. Car did not rust noticeably while at Storytown.

 

As a side note, this was one of the best vacations we took as a family, maybe the best one. The weather was glorious, the venues engaging, and the lodging, such as the Tom Sawyer Motor Inn, still delivered mid-century variety and quality.

Two of my favorite images from our visit to TimeTown.

 

I used to joke about this image as, “Here’s one of me, Mom and Dad.”

A runner, not a looker

My father said later that, while it might have been an unattractive car once the rust bloomed, it was always a good running car. It must have been. It got us to Lake George and back, and was our everyday driver for a couple of years.

But, I’ve never seen a car rust so quickly. It was as if they sandblasted the car to bare metal, then painted the finish coat without bothering to prime. The tailgate started rusting first, followed shortly afterward by the entire lower portion of the car (rocker panels, lower portions of the fenders and quarter panels, lower portion of the doors, around the wheel wells) simultaneously.

Looks matter

I now realize that, as a child, the appearance of our cars was important to me, and the green wagon’s deteriorating exterior made me sad. It was the first vehicle we’d had that was overtly rusty; even the Cadillac was more “bubbly” than rusty. As it was, one had to hit the green wagon’s tailgate like a tackling dummy to get it to latch. Doing so set off a brief, but impressive release of rust flakes underneath the tailgate.

At the time, I was perplexed as to why we bought this wagon. We had a perfectly good ‘66 Country Squire that seemed largely impervious to rust. I was too young to understand that the ‘66 was getting a little marginal on the reliability front. As a typical eight year-old, my key “wagon value” metric was whether the tailgate window worked. The ‘66’s always worked; the ‘71’s worked for a while, then got slow, as in “the window might not go back up this time” kind of slow.

A just-found image of our ‘66 Country Squire in Endicott. Note the ‘71 lurking in the background waiting to usurp the ‘66s role of family wagon.

Not preserved for posterity

Unfortunately (or thankfully), we have no pictures of the green wagon in its later, dilapidated state. I guess one doesn’t go out of one’s way to capture one’s crummy-looking cars on film. After searching online, this image, while not of the subject vehicle, was the most representative of the eventual pervasive rust on our wagon.

An imperfect example of the scabby, patchy kind of rust similar to our wagon. (From opposite-lock.com)

The second fiddle

In our previous COAL installment, I noted our ‘66’s “outsider” status as the green wagon claimed our garage after in Vestal. After we sold the ‘66, the green wagon had the house all to itself, but not for long.

Nineteen seventy-six brought more than America’s Bicentennial; it also brought our next four-wheeled friend. It was characteristic of my father, when conditions permitted, to pick something different from what everyone else had. (When it comes to 1976’s birthday present, I wish he’d erred on the side of the conventional.) In many ways, his vehicle choice was both a step backward and a step forward. It kicked the green wagon out of the garage, carried us on another memorable vacation, and later to a new start in another city (where we waved goodbye to the green wagon).

Our next car profoundly shaped my idea of the tangible and intangible attributes a car should possess. But, I’ll warn you now that it’s of a model year not highly regarded among CCers. So, “Getcha popcorn,” as they say. The next installment may kick off some lively discussion.