Oldsmobile Toronado - The car of my life
08/26/2012
Important people write memoirs. But ordinary mortals can also look back on their lives. In this way, we keep coming across cars that have become ingrained in our memories like crabs. And then at some point you come across it again - the car of your life.
It all starts in childhood
When it comes to automotive dreams, the stories are similar: the neighbor parked it in front of my bedroom window, our family went on vacation in it, you could hear your godfather from afar when he arrived in it... The experiences, sounds and smells are irreparably engraved in our memories in every detail. Strong synapses have formed, brain researchers would say.
My car synapse is called Oldsmobile Toronado. My parents' company had one in its fleet for a short time at the end of the 1960s, which otherwise only consisted of VWs and a Ford 17M. Today I know that the Toro is a milestone in design and that the designer responsible, David North, invented the "Toronado line" along the way. Back then, as a child, all I knew was that it impressed me enormously. And that it was massive. Massive was an important word that I heard again and again as a youngster. Because father, uncle, friends, business partners and relatives all agreed: the Toronado is massive! When my father drove up in the golden Toronado after school, it felt like I was twelve centimeters taller than my classmates. And it's feelings like that that are still there even when the car in question has long since gone to the shredder.
Back to the late sixties. I was barely in kindergarten when two cheap American cars, a white 1966 Oldsmobile Cutlass and the aforementioned golden 1967 Toronado, turned up. They stayed for a few years. Then came the oil crisis, and they had to make way for more sensible cars. So the love affair only lasted a short time, but the Olds virus was there.
Oil crisis and safety concerns killed off the American ships
In Europe at that time, people grew up with the line of common sense. The round beetle went out of fashion and was replaced by edges and wedge shapes that no longer resembled any animal. Americans of all stripes were still massive, but had become plush. The bumpers were as solid as railroad tracks, and the great shapes and performance were all gone. The oil crisis finally brought downsizing, which meant that you could just buy an Opel or Ford. There were no more Americans. That's why I turned to the Grande Nation. For this schoolboy, French cars were now the best cars in the world because they were intelligent and headstrong. This (theoretical) insight even outlasted my first (practical) car experiences: after passing my driving test, I traded in my savings for a Citroën GSA Break.
The 60s were the best of times...
But then, at some point, when I had imperceptibly arrived in the 21st century after many modern car experiences, old photo albums were brought to my mother's kitchen table. And when asked what the best years were, mom says resolutely: "the sixties - we were so unreasonable then!". The roads were clear, fuel prices were low, the cars were unique - at least some of them were. The supply of sheet metal seemed inexhaustible - even without the earlier finned orgies.
... so let's get them back
A few days later, when the half-asleep eyes of a run-down '67 Toro looked at me in a barn, the key word at my mother's kitchen table came back to my mind: unreasonable. So I made the poor Toro a promise: "We'll continue writing the family story that the oil crisis ended back then. You'll be back on the road soon."
And so, after a lot of work and money, the golden Toronado was back in front of me. And it was much more than just a car. My mind switched off, my memory opened the old drawers again at the first turn of the key after the successful restoration. They had been locked for 35 years. They creaked, but finally they opened. The smell came first. It was particularly intense when the car stood in the sun for a long time on a beautiful Sunday afternoon and the typical PVC of those years spread its perfume. And then there were the doors, which seemed to me as a four-year-old like vault doors weighing tons and from which you could easily squeeze a Mini. Plus all the details that impress a child: the beautiful Oldsmobile logos painted red with the bright rocket and the massive rotary knobs that fitted perfectly in our little hands back then. It's all back!
The neighbors' kids were amazed
I can still remember the thrust that the 7-liter V8 produced when Dad used the kick-down. The neighbors' Opels, Fiats and Volvos didn't stand a chance, nor did the good 17M. It was fitting that everything could be adjusted with electric motors at the touch of a button, making any manual work superfluous. The doors had two-tone lights, the footwell was illuminated and the 8-track cassette radio broadcast Elvis' voice directly from the back of the rear seat. But the coolest thing of all - at a time when the word "cool" didn't even exist in our language - was the air conditioning. You could stand at the traffic lights in the sweltering heat with the windows closed without batting an eyelid or wasting a single drop of sweat.
Today I get out of the Toronado and my friends look at me with wide eyes: "Tell me, have you grown? It must be at least twelve centimeters..."
We recently published a comprehensive report on the Oldsmobile Toronado , with over 100 pictures, sales brochures and even the handbook.
