Vintage AMS Review: 1962 Ford Thunderbird – A German Take on an American “Dream Car”

Sometimes, the most familiar objects can seem strange and even exotic when transplanted to an unfamiliar environment. In this 1962 review from das Auto, Motor und Sport (AMS) — which we offer here on CC in English translation — the editors of West Germany’s biggest car magazine examined what seemed to them like an exotic foreign dream car: the 1962 Ford Thunderbird, popularly known on our side of the Atlantic as the “Bullet Bird.”

As with the NSU Ro80 test CC recently presented, this article, which appeared in issue 4/1962 of AMS (cover-dated 10 February), was written by the ubiquitous Reinhard Seiffert, who was part of popular West German magazine’s editorial staff for at least 25 years.

When reading this review, I was surprised to learn that the test Thunderbird was not some private import, but an actual German-market car, which Ford-Werke, the German Ford subsidiary in Cologne, imported in very limited numbers for well-heeled customers. Here’s what Seiffert had to say about it:

The text opens with an excellent example of the strange blend of envy, pity, and scorn with which people in postwar Western Europe have often viewed the United States:

America is not just a big country — it is a great country. Both the geographic dimensions and the intellectual dimensions are much larger than ours.

Not even the spatial confinement of city dwellers, from which North America’s metropolises suffer hardly less than Europe’s (even if they have already made considerable progress in the construction of inner-city expressways), has been able to change this: US automobiles, products of the largest automobile factories in the world, are almost always much larger, much heavier and much more powerful than the vehicles that we regard as serious cars and use on a daily basis.

Seiffert then sums up why Europeans so seldom saw cars like this:

A Thunderbird — something like a “sports car” in American terms — weighs about two tons and is 5.20 meters long. Its 6.4 liter engine costs 920 marks a year in road tax and consumes 20 to 25 liters of gasoline per 100 km.

For our petty bourgeois minds, such figures conjure up terrible images of a constantly empty wallet, unless we belong to those professional groups who find it difficult to get rid of the money they have earned. In America, not everyone, but almost everyone can afford a car like this. Otherwise, Ford would not be mass-producing it in such large numbers.

We will never get to the point where we can drive such fantastic cars. The US compact cars — by no means typical cars for America — are just about affordable for us, and are already considered large cars. Six-liter, eight-cylinder, two-ton cars, however, are beyond the scope of our vehicle and fuel tax rates.

The Bullet Bird was not actually a particularly enormous car by contemporary American standards, but it was like a battleship in a stream on most European roads. Fuel consumption of 20 to 25 liters per 100 km was about 9.4 to 11.8 miles per U.S. gallon, which was an expensive habit with the higher European fuel prices.

Of course, even in the U.S., the Thunderbird was by no means a car “almost everyone” could afford. Base price of the Thunderbird hardtop in 1962 was $4,398, and without getting too distracted with option prices and standard equipment, it was not difficult to spend over $1,000 more on a T-Bird than a similarly equipped Ford Galaxie. To put it another way, you could have a Ford Falcon Futura and a Corvair Monza for the price of one Thunderbird.

 

As for the road tax, trying to do currency conversion and inflation adjustment at the same time is perilous, but the Yankee dollar bought four German marks in 1962, so DM 920 was $230 USD, and $230 USD in 1962 is equivalent to about $2,420 today. Per year. Ouch!

Now, back to the slightly disdainful narrative:

Of course, being able to drive around in such a ship is not the epitome of happiness. But the American approach to the task of building a car remains alien to us, and it certainly doesn’t deserve to be. As an honest tester, you are bound to be impressed by such a car again and again. When we’re dealing with torques, acceleration curves, gear ratios, gearshifts, clutches, speed ranges, vibrations, engine elasticity and similar things, the big American car has only one thing: power.

The final sentence on this page continues on the following page, so I’ll put it all together below.

The text continues:

This power is unseen and scarcely heard, there is no need to think about how best to use it, it is not exhausted when you need it, it is always there — much more than you usually intend to use. You may call it waste or not — in any case, it is a great thing.

The 1962 Thunderbird has 255 PS DIN — 300 hp according to the SAE standard. The torque according to the SAE standard (it is not specified in DIN) is 59 mkg [427 lb-ft] at 2800 rpm: with figures of this magnitude, a little more or less no longer matters, just as it doesn’t matter among millionaires whether one estimates his fortune at 50 or 60 million. This reservoir of power is transferred to the wheels via a Cruise-O-Matic, an automatic transmission (hydraulic torque converter with three-speed planetary gearbox) whose smooth operation is as effective as it is imperceptible. Under the hood, which is roughly the size of a small European car, you will find not only the mighty V-8, but also a small factory that provides power for the steering and brakes.

Without having to do more than press the accelerator pedal to the floor, this car accelerates from 0 to 100 km/h in around 10 seconds — even your school-age daughter can do that if necessary, and she will outrun any Mercedes 220 SE and any Porsche Super 90, no matter how masterfully shifted it is.

One minor point of interest in this review is that I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen a net horsepower rating for the pre-smog Ford 390-4V. Keep in mind that DIN-PS is metric horsepower, so 255 PS is 251.5 net hp in American terms. No net torque figure, alas; I assume West German type approval rules didn’t require it at this point.

Seiffert goes on:

It is an old story that the engineer who has to work within a framework of narrow compromises is expected to do more than the one who can draw on the full potential. So, it comes as no surprise that our cars, which are hampered in their development by engine capacity and fuel taxes, are sometimes on a higher technical level than their American counterparts. Excellent roadholding, good suspension with low weight, good performance and elasticity with small and economical engines, and clever use of space with limited dimensions are typical characteristics of European cars. You can maneuver them in smaller spaces and drive faster around tight bends than with large American cars.

The technical astonishments of an American car — and the Thunderbird is a typical American car, even if it does belong to the luxury class — are of a completely different kind. The automatic transmission, for example, is an extraordinarily complicated and highly developed thing when you look at it from a technical point of view — but the driver is not aware of it because all its daunting technology is just for his convenience. It is mass-produced using tried and tested methods, and is no more an object of respect for the American than a refrigerator or a telephone. It is the same with the power steering, which makes it possible to turn the steering wheel from one stop to the other with the little finger, even when the car is stationary. It doesn’t matter that the car is practically impossible to drive when the power steering is off — the whole thing is basically so primitively built that it won’t break. And the large, quiet, incredibly powerful eight-cylinder engine? No American housewife would dream of admiring it in quiet leisure. It’s just something you have.

This last point is I think the aspect of American cars that European observers found so deeply peculiar. Even in this era, there were some expensive high-end European cars with powerful engines, and the car-conscious West German was probably aware of these, even if such cars weren’t a common sight on German roads. However, in U.S. terms, the Ford 390 “Thunderbird” four-barrel was really a very ordinary engine, found in any number of Galaxie sedans and Country Squire wagons as well as the T-Bird. It was far from the biggest contemporary Ford engine, and compared to the hot NASCAR homologation engines, it was distinctly middle-tier. From a European perspective, though, I imagine that using an engine like this for school runs and supermarket trips seemed not unlike riding a war elephant down a public sidewalk, and the idea that Americans didn’t even find this remarkable was no doubt jarring.

WHAT THE THUNDERBIRD CAN’T DO

The grumbling of European exports about American cars often boils down to the fact that they don’t come close to ours in terms of roadholding and the quality of their brakes — and therefore driving safety. Well — apart from the fact that even renowned European car factories can’t talk too loudly about their brakes — there are differences, and there has obviously been progress. The brakes of the Thunderbird which AUTO, MOTOR und SPORT tested a good two years ago almost completely stopped working after a few kilometers of hard driving on winding country roads. Everything was gone: the quick response to the slightest foot pressure, the good modulation, the powerful deceleration. We braked the 1962 Thunderbird once from top speed (a small matter of 186 km/h [about 115 mph]) and three times from 140 km/h [87 mph], and they still worked. Their evenness had suffered somewhat, but with the help of the power steering, it was still easy to keep the car on course. We finally tried to fade the brakes completely on a serpentine road — it couldn’t be done. So: the brakes of at least this — if not every — US car are good.

This favorable review of the Thunderbird brakes is startling to me because the brakes of the Bullet Bird were starting to draw sharp criticism from American testers — there was simply too much ‘Bird for not enough brake swept area, something that became especially pronounced on the subsequent drum-braked Flair Bird in 1964.

 

Even more surprisingly, about a year and a half after this article, Seiffert tested a Buick Riviera (in AMS 24/1963) and found its brakes much worse than the Thunderbird’s, despite Buick’s big 12-inch finned drums (aluminum in the front), which on paper seemed obviously superior. The AMS testers found that if they hit the Riviera’s brakes hard at 160 km/h (about 100 mph), the brakes faded so badly that by 70 km/h (about 45 mph), there was no stopping power left until the brakes had had a chance to cool.

One possibility: When Ford-Werke imported the Thunderbird, they may have fitted it with harder brake linings, giving somewhat better fade resistance and a firmer pedal feel. The test doesn’t say, but that seems like a plausible explanation.

Regarding the ‘Bird’s handling, Seiffert says:

The roadholding is also good. At 180 km/h [112 mph] the car is completely safe, although hardly any American will ever drive it at that speed. We wouldn’t do it for long either, because we feel that this car is not designed to be constantly pushed to the limit of its performance, as many European cars are. You also feel this when cornering: even on wet roads, you can be very fast (the Goodrich tires on the test car were excellent in the wet and at high speeds), and the cornering behavior is neutral until oversteer occurs in extreme cases. But it is very difficult to even approach the limit, because there is not the slightest road feel in the steering and no incentive to powerslide around corners like in a European sports car.

As with the brakes, it seems likely that the German-market Thunderbird got firmer “export” springs and shocks, making for somewhat tidier handling than the rather squishy American ‘Bird could manage.

Nonetheless, given the size and mass of the Bullet Bird, a lack of incentive to try to powerslide it on purpose seems very much in the public interest. Former Ford Division general manager Lewis D. Crusoe used to have a pet phrase to describe setbacks: “The Santa Fe Chief went through town sideways today.” The thought of someone treating a four-seater Thunderbird like a drift car conjures up similar mental images, export suspension or not. Seiffert remarks:

A restrained pace suits this car better than a forced one — when driving straight ahead, you only need to step on the gas pedal a little harder to pull away quietly and smoothly with impressive acceleration.

This of course was also true of the Bullet Bird on American roads, as the ‘Bird fanciers (and ‘Bird owners) among the CC commentariat will no doubt confirm.

The caption of the top photo reads: “The Thunderbird doesn’t have a dashboard in the conventional sense: there are just two upholstered beads under which the instruments are located on the left and the radio in the middle. The glove box is located between the front seats. The rear-view mirror is glued to the windshield — as simple as it is practical.”

Here are some color shots of the interior for context:

 

Continuing the main text:

A Thunderbird is not a sports car — despite the 10 seconds from 0 to 100. It rolls around its longitudinal axis when you drive it quickly through winding bends; the road becomes alarmingly narrow when you want to complete mountain passes in rally style; it becomes unsteady on the rear axle (rigid, suspended on longitudinal leaf springs) when you are in a hurry on bad roads. It can’t do any of that — in some places you’d be able to outrun it with a VW. But it doesn’t want to do any of that either — it’s a nice, big, fast car for nice, big, fast roads.

FOR THE INNER LIFE

Why such a car has to be so big is best known to those who are concerned with exploring the innermost soul of Americans. Their powerful engines are built because their dense traffic demands mobility — but probably also because they give a feeling of superiority that can rarely be exploited, but which deeply delights the huddled masses. It will be similar with the outside dimensions: their streets are full, the parking spaces are small; one’s car should at least convey the feeling of a space that one can consider one’s own — despite the cramped conditions all around, despite time pressures and business hassles. Even the shape seems to have been “styled” according to psychoanalytical findings — it is more monumental than beautiful.

The Thunderbird is actually a coupé, a two-seater with rear seats, but it still offers a feeling of lavish spaciousness. Four people could be accommodated in the front on the same seat cushion — but it is filled by two comfortable armchairs with a wide center bar that not only conceals the driveshaft tunnel, but also contains the glove box, ashtray and heater controls. There is no dashboard — unless you want to call the two elegantly curved upholstered bulges in front of the driver and front passenger that. The three round instruments emerge from the background like columns: the impression of a more futuristic than functional airplane cockpit is perfect.

Setting aside the pop psychology, I think some of the rationale of the four-seat Thunderbird has been lost in translation here. The Thunderbird was a personal luxury coupe, not terribly different in concept from high-end German coupes like the BMW 3200 CS or Mercedes-Benz 300SE, whose impractical, “selfish” packaging was also part of what made them special. If you wanted to carry the whole family, you could just buy a sedan (and probably did, with the luxury coupe as a stylish second car). Of course, to European eyes, a big American family car like the 1962 Ford Galaxie 500/XL hardtop would not have seemed a great deal less exotic than the Thunderbird, so you can see the disconnect.

Seiffert goes on:

Electric windows allow the driver to open and close all the windows, and if he moves the selector lever to the park position and gets out of the car, the steering wheel slides to the right under the pressure of his hand and opens the door (a gimmick that is only available on request). The drive positions of the selector lever can only be engaged when the steering wheel is returned to its normal position.

The photo at the bottom of the AMS page above uses a composite shot to illustrate this gimmick, which was a new feature on the Bullet Bird. The caption above that photo reads: “When the selector lever is moved to the park position, the steering wheel can be moved to the right to allow entry and exit. (Photos: [Julius] Weitmann)”

Returning to the main text:

There are three options for driving forward: one that saves fuel for city driving (second and third gears only), one for faster driving (all three gears), one for uphill driving (low), in which first gear remains engaged and the engine’s braking power can be utilized; this is otherwise only possible to a limited extent because the transmission shifts into high gear when the accelerator is released. The parking brake is locked and released with the foot, a large flashing signal indicates this. In contrast to everything else, the hood release could only be moved by force. The heating worked excellently and warmed up quickly — of course the engine has an automatic choke.

Automatic transmission was still very rare on European cars in this period, which added another semi-exotic element that the typical American motorist of the time would not have thought twice about. According to the trade journal Automotive Industries, 74.1 percent of U.S. cars in 1962 had automatic transmission. I don’t have any figures for West Germany, but since many German automakers of this time didn’t offer automatic even as an option on high-end models, the percentage was undoubtedly negligible.

The main text concludes:

Its increased idle speed means that after a cold start, the car tends to “creep” more at idle than when the engine is warm — a disadvantage that Americans have long since come to terms with: they habitually keep their foot on the brake as long as the car is stationary.

Europe’s drivers will not be able to deal with such things for the time being. Not only because the garages are too small for the swelling shapes (you may be able to get in, but not out of the car, because the door, which is a good 15 cm thick, has to be opened quite wide to allow a West German figure to pass through), but also because the fuel consumption and fixed costs of a Thunderbird are no longer in any real proportion to our circumstances. You don’t necessarily need 25 liters [per 100 km] — but if you want to stay under 20 [L/100 km], you have to drive pretty conservatively. It’s a car for people who don’t care about the liters. Ford-Werke in Cologne import only modest numbers; it is for them a kind of prestige hobby. But you have to have respect for this car in any case — less for its appearance than for the lavish use of technical resources it represents. “Only” a production car for big America — for little Europe, it is still a dream car today.

One thing I’m surprised Seiffert doesn’t mention is the stylistic resemblance between the Thunderbird and the smaller German Ford Taunus 17M — I guess some people see it and some don’t.

 

Since the dimensions and technical details of the Bullet Bird will already be familiar to T-Bird fans and are easy enough to decipher even if you don’t read any German, I won’t bother translating the “Technical Data and Measurements” panel except to highlight the AMS performance figures:

• 0 to 100 km/h [62 mph]: 10.4 seconds
• 1 kilometer with standing start: 32.2 seconds (112.5 km/h [70 mph])
• Top speed: about 186 km/h [115.6 mph]
• Test fuel consumption: 23.7 liters/100 km [9.9 mpg U.S.]

These are consistent with contemporary American road tests of the Bullet Bird, although on slower American roads, it was possible to eke out 13 to 14 mpg (about 17 to 18 liters/100 km).

Also of note are the list prices at the Ford-Werke factory in Cologne:

• Two-door hardtop: DM 27,575
• Two-door convertible: DM 29,900
• Two-door Sports Roadster: DM 33,260

(The Sports Roadster, as covered previously on CC, was a convertible with a removable tonneau cover to turn the four-seat Thunderbird into a two-seater.)

This was an awful lot of money in West Germany at this time. The closest contemporary price comparison would be the Mercedes-Benz W112 two-doors: A 300SE coupe started at about DM 26,400 at this point, the cabriolet for DM 31,350. The 300SE handled better and had better brakes, but its straight-line performance wasn’t terribly different from the T-Bird’s save for being slightly less thirsty (although at about 13 to 14 mpg, it wasn’t exactly an economy car either).

 

So, the Thunderbird was in some lofty company in West Germany — just as it was at home, where it was not at all uncommon for T-Birds to rub shoulders with Cadillacs, Continentals, and other high-end domestic luxury makes — and despite a certain amount of European condescension, it held its own surprisingly well, even if it did need a little help from the “export” options list to do it.

Related Reading

Vintage Car Life Road Test: 1961 Thunderbird – “The Choice Of The Person Who Wants To Be Envied”
Curbside Classic: 1962 Ford Thunderbird — The Trajectory of Life (by Jason Shafer)
Curbside Classic: 1963 Thunderbird Landau – The American Dream Car (by Paul N)
CC Cinema: 1962 Lincoln Continental and Ford Thunderbird Wixom Assembly Line (by Tom Halter)