Part One of two
Disco-Era Darling: The Chevrolet Monte Carlo

Aaron Severson

Certain cars become emblematic of a time and a place, perfectly encapsulating the values, priorities, and obsessions of their eras. For America of the fifties, it’s the 1955-57 Chevrolets and the 1959 Cadillac; for the sixties, the Mini, the Beetle, and the Mustang. For the seventies, we’d make a strong case for the Chevrolet Monte Carlo. Generally reviled by critics, staggeringly popular with the public, and much imitated, the Monte Carlo remains as powerful a symbol of the period as disco *****, platform shoes, and The Brady Bunch. This week, we explore the history of the Monte Carlo and consider the reasons for its immense — and ultimately ephemeral — popularity.


THE BIRTH OF THE PERSONAL CAR

We freely admit that we didn’t really get this one. Spotting a Chevrolet Monte Carlo at a recent car show, our Baby-Boom-generation companions all agreed, with some conviction, that the Monte Carlo was “a really nice car.”
Frankly, it left us scratching our head. We’re well aware, of course, that Chevrolet sold an amazing number of Monte Carlos — close to half a million of the first generation, 1.6 million of the second — so our friends were not alone in their appreciation. That a lot of people loved the Monte is obvious; the question of why is a little more elusive. The Monte Carlo was, as Car and Driver aptly (if rather derisively) characterized it, a sport-coatted Chevelle: a perfectly ordinary domestic intermediate dressed up with exaggerated proportions and neo-Classical design cues. Not being overly fond of Chevelles to begin with, we were a little puzzled as to why so many people would pay extra for the fancy-dress version.
To understand the Monte Carlo’s rationale, we must first go back to the 1958 model year and Ford’s introduction of the first four-seat Thunderbird. The Square Bird, as its fans have come to know it, inaugurated a new genre of American automobiles, the personal luxury car. (Ford had actually coined the term “personal car” with the launch of the original two-seat Thunderbird in 1955, but the concept didn’t really find its métier until the T-Bird grew a back seat, putting an end to any presumption that it was a sports car.)

By 1970, when the firs Chevrolet Monte Carlo debuted, the Thunderbird was in its sixth generation, sporting a beak-like proboscis apparently requested by former Pontiac general manager Semon “Bunkie” Knudsen, who was Ford’s president for about 18 months in 1968-1969. The Thunderbird was far more expensive than the Monte Carlo and did not compete directly with the Chevy until it was downsized in 1977.
What’s a personal luxury car? To answer that, we must first consider a more basic question: What is a luxury car? If we dispense with the press-booklet arguments about advanced engineering, meticulous craftsmanship, and lavish comfort — all of which are nice, but not strictly necessary — the ultimate aspiration of the luxury car is to make its buyers seem rich and successful whether they actually are or not.
Some buyers, though, are not content with merely looking affluent; they want their possessions to express their taste and distinction (and set them apart from their peers, who are trying to do the same thing). Before the war, the wealthy could always send off their new luxury cars — or even a bare chassis, if they were feeling especially extravagant — for custom coachwork. Such bespoke jobs were for the few and with the Depression and the outbreak of war, the number of buyers who could justify such expense dropped sharply. After the war, European automakers like Alfa Romeo took advantage of a surfeit of underemployed carrozzeria to offer stylish, low-production coupe and convertible versions of their normal sedans. In America, automotive customization became a mostly amateur sport.

THUNDERBIRD RIVALS

During this period, Ford and General Motors — and most particularly Ford and Chevrolet — were engaged in open war. Their battle for supremacy resulted in continual one-upmanship and aggressive sales tactics, which hastened the demise of many of the beleaguered independent automakers. Any move by one side was frequently met by a hasty counter-move by the other.
Curiously, however, Chevrolet consistently lagged behind Ford in product development. It took Chevrolet two years to respond to the Ford Ranchero car/pickup, two years to respond to the intermediate Fairlane, and two and a half years to respond to the Mustang. In the case of the Thunderbird, Chevy almost didn’t respond at all. GM began making tentative stabs in the four-seat ‘bird’s direction from 1961 to 1963 with the Oldsmobile Starfire, Pontiac Grand Prix, and the Buick Riviera, but Chevrolet had nothing to offer.

A key design feature of both the Chevrolet Monte Carlo and Pontiac Grand Prix was a very long hood. From 1968 to 1977, GM’s A-body intermediates had two wheelbases: 112 inches (2,845 mm) for two-doors, 116 inches (2,964 mm) for four-doors. The Monte Carlo — offered only as a two-door hardtop — rode a special version of the four-door frame with the extra 4 inches (102 mm) of wheelbase inserted ahead of the firewall.
The reason, curiously, was that the Chevrolet organization didn’t want to play. Then-general manager Semon “Bunkie” Knudsen could have had the design that became the Buick Riviera, but rejected it on the grounds that Chevrolet already had too many cars. While Chevrolet dealers undoubtedly wanted a Thunderbird rival, the division’s sales organization, led by Lee Mays, did not. Mays was an extremely conservative man who bore considerable responsibility for the dated and often ineffectual nature of Chevrolet’s advertising and marketing in the mid-sixties. Mays was stubbornly resistant to what were then known as “specialty cars.” (In this, he was not alone within GM; Pontiac sales manager Frank Bridge resisted the GTO for very similar reasons.) Chevrolet dealers became increasingly frustrated, but Mays dismissed their protests. Knudsen could not have been pleased, but he had his sights set on upper management and presumably preferred not to antagonize the well-connected Mays.
By 1967, however, Chevrolet was under new management. Pete Estes, the dynamic general manager of Pontiac, replaced Bunkie Knudsen as general manager in July 1965. Estes, who had made Pontiac #3 in the industry, was under considerable pressure to improve Chevrolet’s market share and profit margins, which had been slipping badly. He was also more conscious than many GM executives of the value of high-profit image leaders.
Estes and Dave Holls, then group chief designer for Chevrolet cars and trucks, were well aware of the Thunderbird and of the growing popularity of coupes in general. In the mid-sixties, two-door hardtops were the most popular models of most lines, even the family cars. The most popular car in America in the late sixties, by a substantial margin, was the Chevrolet Impala Sport Coupe. Furthermore, by 1967, Buick, Oldsmobile, Pontiac, and even Cadillac all had big, stylish personal coupes, each acclaimed for its dynamic styling. Chevrolet had the Camaro and Corvette, of course, but those appealed to a different audience, as did the intermediate Chevelle SS.
Holls and Estes concurred that there would be a market for a stylish “personal” Chevrolet, especially if it were reasonably priced. The problem was that the division’s tooling budget was already stretched thin. While Chevrolet had deep pockets, it also had an abundance of products and more than two dozen different models. As Bunkie Knudsen had told Bill Mitchell six years earlier, it appeared that the last thing the division needed was another car.
THE PONTIAC GRAND PRIX

In the spring of 1967, Pontiac product planning chief Ben Harrison proposed a radical revamp of that division’s personal luxury car, the Grand Prix. The Grand Prix had previously been based on the B-body (used by the Pontiac Catalina and full-sized Chevrolets), but its sales had slumped badly and Pontiac general manager John DeLorean was seriously considering axing it.
Harrison suggested moving the Grand Prix to the intermediate A-body instead, albeit using the long-wheelbase chassis of the sedan rather than the shorter wheelbase of the two-door coupes. Pontiac design chief Jack Humbert and designer Wayne Vieira developed an aggressive-looking coupe with a very long hood, a short deck, and a formal-looking roof with broad, flowing sail panels. It would share much of its structure with the intermediate Le Mans, but it looked distinctly different.

The 1969 Pontiac Grand Prix shares a great deal with the Chevrolet Monte Carlo structurally, but other than the roof sail panels, they look quite different and have different engines. The Grand Prix was significantly more expensive than the Monte Carlo and it appears Chevrolet poached a fair number of Grand Prix sales in 1970.
DeLorean loved the design, but the tooling costs of the roof were a stretch for his 1969 budget. Looking to drum up support for the idea with management, he showed the full-size model to various other GM execs, including Pete Estes. They were to some extent rivals, but they knew each other well. DeLorean had been chief engineer of Pontiac while Estes was general manager and had been chief of advanced engineering while Estes was chief engineer under Bunkie Knudsen.

The 1970 Chevrolet Monte Carlo was 205.8 inches (5,227 mm) long, 8.6 inches (218 mm) longer than a Chevelle or Malibu coupe; 1971-72 Montes were 0.7 inches (18 mm) longer than the 1970 model. Curb weight with the small-block V8 was around 3,800 pounds (1,724 kg), about 150 lb (68 kg) more than a Malibu with the same engine. The Monte Carlo’s fender skirts were optional. From the front, the Monte Carlo’s flared fenders are readily apparent. According to Dave Holls, they were simply an exaggerated version of the theme already present on the 1970 Chevelle, which he likened to European rally cars. This is actually a 1972 car, identifiable by its eggcrate grille.
Estes was very impressed with the “A-Special” Grand Prix concept and decided it was the solution to Chevrolet’s coupe problem. He made a deal with DeLorean to share the cost of the Grand Prix’s roofline, giving Pontiac a one-year exclusive on it for 1969, but allowing Chevrolet to develop its own “G-car” (as the Grand Prix was known internally) for 1970. (According to former Pontiac ad man Jim Wangers, Oldsmobile general manager John Beltz tried strenuously to get a similar car for Oldsmobile, but the corporation refused.)
DESIGN OF THE MONTE CARLO

The design Dave Holls selected for Chevrolet’s answer to the Grand Prix was the work of a young designer named Terry R. Henline. Henline had made an impression at GM while still in high school, through the Fisher Body Craftsman’s Guild Model Car Contest, a program sponsored by GM’s Fisher Body division from 1930 through 1968. The winners received scholarships and were brought to Detroit to tour the GM styling studios and meet some of the designers. About a third of the Craftsman’s Guild participants went on to careers in the auto industry, including Bob Cadaret (who designed the 1956 Corvette), Virgil Exner, Jr., and future GM styling VP Chuck Jordan. Terry Henline, then a high school student, was a finalist in both 1957 and 1958. He joined GM Styling in 1961 and by 1967 was part of the Chevrolet studio under Dave Holls.
Taking the Cadillac Eldorado as a starting point, Henline’s design had bulging, flared fenders that evoked the separate fenders of prewar cars. Those fenders ended in sharply pointed caps, which at the rear incorporated thin, inset taillights and a “floating” bumper. The jutting grille, inspired by Rolls-Royce, was offset by single headlamps rather than the quad lamps of the Chevelle and other contemporary GM cars.

The first-generation Chevrolet Monte Carlo’s sail panels and deep-set tail lights help to camouflage the fact that both the backlight and decklid are identical to those of the two-door Chevelle. The tail light design later appeared on the 1973 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme, a direct competitor to the Monte Carlo.
Henline’s rendering went over very well with Pete Estes, so Holls ordered a full-size clay model. That model, painted a restrained shade of gunmetal gray, was subsequently presented to Estes and Styling VP Bill Mitchell. Both approved it without asking for any changes, which was a great achievement for any designer, particularly one as young as Henline.
The Chevrolet Monte Carlo’s design was later criticized by some observers as retrograde, too reminiscent of prewar design. In a 1998 interview with John Katz of Special Interest Autos, Holls chafed at that characterization and at Car and Driver‘s charge that the Monte was less modern than the contemporary Dodge Charger or Buick Riviera (which Holls designed), retorting that those sportier designs were out of touch with public tastes.

The broad sail panels of the Chevrolet Monte Carlo and Pontiac Grand Prix were stylish, but caused significant blind spots and made the rear seat feel even more claustrophobic than it was. (Despite the Monte Carlo’s ample bulk, interior room was far from generous.) This car’s bare roof is unusual. Many Monte Carlos had the optional padded vinyl top, a $126 option available in a choice of five colors. Optional rear fender skirts make it look lower than its 52.9 inch (1,344 mm) overall height.
At the very least, the Monte Carlo became one of the most profitable cars Chevrolet had yet introduced, a thorough validation of Estes’ and Holls’ original concept.
SHAKE YOUR MONEYMAKER

The main reason the Monte Carlo was so profitable for Chevrolet was that it had a great deal in common with the A-body Chevelle/Malibu intermediates. In fact, the Monte Carlo differed from the Chevelle only in its front clip, rear fenders, sail panels, and outer doors. Even the upper roof panel was shared with the Chevelle hardtop.
The dashboard was cribbed from the Chevelle, as well, but to make it seem more like a luxury car, Chevrolet interior designers covered with woodgrain appliqué, whose grain was allegedly a Photostat of the burled-elm trim of the contemporary Rolls-Royce. While bucket seats had always been part of the Ford Thunderbird’s image, the Monte Carlo came standard with a bench seat in front, mostly to keep the price down; buckets were a $121 option. The Monte Carlo did have somewhat nicer upholstery than the Chevelle, with slick nylon, vinyl, or a combination of the two, available in a variety of color schemes.
Mechanically, the Monte Carlo was almost pure Chevelle. The Monte’s base suspension was slightly stiffer to account for the extra weight of the longer nose, but extra sound insulation made the ride seem smoother than that of the Monte’s A-body siblings. Monte Carlos also had standard front disc brakes, which still cost extra on most Chevelles. The engine lineup, too, was similar to that of the A-body line, although the Monte’s base engine was a 350 cu. in. (5,733 cc) V8 with a two-barrel carburetor, a $26.35 option on V8 Chevelles.

Engine options on first-generation Chevrolet Monte Carlos included a four-barrel version of the base 350 cu. in. (5,733 cc) engine and, curiously, two different 400 cu. in. (6.6 L) engines. One, the Turbo-Fire 400, was a 400 cu. in. (6,570 cc cc) version of the familiar Chevy small block, essentially a 350 with a longer stroke. The other, the Turbo-Jet 400, was actually 402 cu. in. (6,587 cc), an over-bored version of the big-block 396 (6,488 cc) engine introduced in 1965. The top option, rarely ordered, was the 454 (7,443 cc) V8 with 360 gross horsepower (267 kW) in 1970 and 365 hp (272 kW) in 1971. For 1972, Chevy switched to net horsepower ratings, which were 165 hp (123 kW) for the base engine, 175 hp (131 kW) for the four-barrel 350, 170 hp (127 kW) for the 400, 240 hp (179 kW) with the 402, and 270 hp (201 kW) with the 454.
The upside to all this parts-bin engineering was a reasonable price tag. Starting price for the 1970 Chevrolet Monte Carlo was $3,123, about $200 more than a similarly equipped Malibu hardtop. With automatic transmission, power steering, and radio — almost always ordered — most Monte Carlos listed for at least $3,600 and a loaded SS454 could approach a hefty $5,500. On the other hand, the Ford Thunderbird, which had its own body and chassis, shared only with the Lincoln Continental Mark III, started at around $5,000 and seldom went out the door for less than $6,000. Pontiac’s Grand Prix, meanwhile, started at just under $4,000. In short, not only did Chevrolet finally have a personal luxury coupe of its own, it was the cheapest car in its segment.
THE CHEVROLET MONTE CARLO SS454

The public responded enthusiastically to the Chevrolet Monte Carlo. It sold well from the beginning and dealer discounts were hard to come by — a rarity for any American car, much less a Chevrolet. Sales remained strong in 1971 despite production lost to a protracted UAW strike and climbed nearly 50% for 1972.
Contrary to the assumptions of some modern enthusiasts, the Monte Carlo was not a muscle car and Chevrolet didn’t market it as one. As Dave Holls pointed out later, Chevrolet already had the Chevelle and Malibu SS for Supercar fans, a disappearing breed by that time; the Monte Carlo was not aimed at the same audience. An SS454 package was available on the Monte Carlo in 1970 and 1971, but fewer than 6,000 buyers opted for it. Even with the SS package, the Monte was no match for the hottest contemporary Supercars, since it weighed about 150 pounds (68 kg) more than a comparably equipped Chevelle. Customers didn’t care: About half of all Monte Carlo buyers were content with the mild-mannered base engine.

SS454 notwithstanding, most Chevrolet Monte Carlos were equipped like this one, with one of the small-block engines, Turbo Hydramatic, fake wood appliqué, and no instruments other than speedometer, clock, and fuel gauge. Comfort, not sport, was the watchword.
The Monte Carlo’s main enticement was not performance, but the fact that it looked and felt more expensive than it was. Car and Driver‘s October 1969 review dismissed the Monte’s styling as a rehash of familiar cues from Buick, Cadillac, and Oldsmobile, but in those days, each of those brands still carried considerable prestige, far more than any contemporary Chevrolet. Furthermore, however many pieces the Monte Carlo shared with the Chevelle under the skin, it didn’t look like a Chevelle and its higher price brought a quieter, better-trimmed interior. For customers who aspired to a Thunderbird, but couldn’t afford even a Grand Prix, the Monte Carlo was just the ticket.
GOING FOR BAROQUE: DESIGNING THE 1973 CHEVROLET MONTE CARLO

The second-generation Chevrolet Monte Carlo was originally supposed to bow for 1972, along with the next-generation A-bodies, but the lengthy UAW strike in the fall of 1970 delayed it for a full year. It finally appeared in late 1972 as a ’73 model.
While the design of the first-generation Monte Carlo was largely the work of one designer, the second generation was a team effort, led by Chevrolet Assistant Chief Designer Dave Clark. For the revamped Monte, the designers took the original’s flared-fender, formal-roof themes to new and exaggerated extremes. The front end, the work of designer Charles Stewart, still had round headlights, but they were now carried in Jaguar-like blisters that extended back into the heroically long hood. The previous car’s fender bulges now swept dramatically into the doors, reminiscent of the “suitcase fenders” of GM’s early-forties cars.

Designer Charles Stewart believes former colleague Ted Polak (later a designer on the Buick Reatta) may have developed the “bas-relief” side sculpture of the 1973 Chevrolet Monte Carlo. Similar side sculptures were also used on the Buick Century Luxus and Regal coupes.
A new feature, shared with the other G-cars, was a small, fixed “opera window” on either sail panel. The origins of the opera window are somewhat obscure. Irv Rybicki, who later became GM’s Styling VP, told historian Dave Crippen that they originated with the Monte Carlo design team at Chevrolet. Designers Bill Porter and Charles Stewart thought they might have been conceived by Gordon Brown’s Advanced Studio 1 or by Olds designer Len Casillo. Casillo, in turn, believes they may indeed have originated with the Monte Carlo.
In any case, the windows first saw the light of day on the 1971 Cadillac Eldorado hardtop. Although the idea for the opera windows came from Chevrolet, Ribicki convinced Ed Cole and Bill Mitchell to offer the windows on the Cadillac first, judging that doing so would boost the image of the intermediates when they finally debuted. Ribicki was correct; although critics generally abhorred the opera windows, they proved amazingly popular and subsequently appeared on a wide array of mid-seventies cars.
A MONTE CARLO FIT FOR MONTE CARLO

Like the original, the second-generation Chevrolet Monte Carlo won management approval with minimal changes, thanks in part to a dramatic presentation. Irv Rybicki displayed the beautifully finished black-and-silver model with great flourish to John DeLorean and a group of onlookers as they toured the styling studios one afternoon. DeLorean’s guests applauded wildly and DeLorean gave Rybicki his immediate approval, urging him not to tamper a bit the final design.

Unlike ordinary rear quarterlights, the Chevrolet Monte Carlo’s opera windows were fixed, saving money and adding structural rigidity. They didn’t do much for rear visibility, however, which was still poor. This car has the sail panel medallion of the top-of-the-line Monte Carlo Landau model, but it’s missing the Landau’s key identification feature: the padded vinyl top.

 

Part two
DeLorean didn’t tinker with the new Monte Carlo’s exterior design, but he called for a complete overhaul of its suspension. He was enamored of European luxury cars like Mercedes, with their firmer damping and sharper steering response. Detroit had always resisted the Mercedes approach out of a near-religious conviction that a cloud-like ride and effortless steering would sell more cars than confident handling, but DeLorean was determined to give the new Monte better road manners.
At DeLorean’s insistence, Chevrolet engineers retuned both the suspension and steering, adding radial tires and a rear anti-roll bar. The changes were modest, but they eliminated much of the first-generation Monte Carlo’s nautical ride and numb steering. DeLorean wanted the changes to be standard on all Monte Carlos, but Chevrolet’s accountants balked, so base models had only the steering improvements. The radial tires and anti-roll bar were limited to the pricier Monte Carlo S and Landau models.
GROSSE POINTE GOTHIC

DeLorean was promoted to group vice president of the Car and Truck Group in October 1972, but his instincts regarding the Chevrolet Monte Carlo were quickly validated. Although the enthusiast press was generally aghast at the new Monte’s styling, they admitted that the ride and steering feel were much improved. No one claimed that the Monte Carlo was a sports car, but its body control was now quite respectable for a Detroit product and a vast improvement over its soggy predecessor.

The 1973 Chevrolet Monte Carlo was 210.4 inches (5,344 mm) long, 3.9 inches (99 mm) longer than before, on the same 116-inch (2,946mm) wheelbase as its predecessor. The 1974 Monte, with stouter bumpers front and back, was 212.7 inches (5,403 mm) long. Curb weight was now around 4,075 lb (1,849 kg) with the base engine, a hefty 4,400 lb (1,995 kg) with the big-blocks.
Customers, meanwhile, adored the Monte’s new styling. If its firmer ride did not necessarily move them, they were not dissuaded by it either. Buyers snapped up 290,693 Monte Carlos the first year and more than 312,000 the second, outselling Chevrolet’s cheaper Malibu Colonnade coupes by nearly two to one. Business slumped a bit in the 1975 model year, reflecting buyer unease following the 1973-74 OPEC oil embargo, but sales climbed to more than 353,000 for 1976.
The Monte Carlo’s continuing success was in spite of inflationary pricing, which took the base price from $3,415 in 1973 to nearly $5,000 in 1977. By then, the gap between the Malibu and the Monte Carlo had grown from around $200 to more than $700. Nevertheless, a whopping 411,038 Monte Carlos rolled out the door for 1977, about 25% more than the combined sales of all of Chevrolet’s other 1977 intermediates. The comparison suggests that many customers were simply buying Monte Carlos instead of Chevelles or Malibus, accepting the higher price for the Monte Carlo’s flashier styling.

The 1973 Chevrolet Monte Carlo’s front and rear styling was developed by Chevrolet designer Charles Stewart, who recalls that Dave Holls took a definite fancy to his airbrushed, full-size concept proposal. The 1974s, like this one, have a different grille and larger parking lamps, but are otherwise similar.
The Monte Carlo’s image also benefited from its domination of stock car racing during this period. Chevrolet Monte Carlos claimed the NASCAR Manufacturers Championship for Chevrolet seven times between 1972 and 1979. The connection between the racers and the street cars was tenuous — by 1976, many civilian Montes had an anemic 305 cu. in. (4,999 cc) V8 with only 140 net horsepower (104 kW) — but with gasoline and insurance still expensive, raw performance was not a high priority for most contemporary buyers. Strong sales of the increasingly flabby Corvette, Camaro, and Firebird make clear that looking fast was a greater priority to mid-seventies buyers than actually being fast.
Style, of course, was the Monte Carlo’s raison d’être. As Car and Driver observed in its September 1972 review, people bought the Monte Carlo for “its ‘Classic lines,’ the immense, horizon-grasping length of its hood and the incredible Grosse Pointe Gothic thrust of its fenders.” Baroque though it may have been, the Monte Carlo’s was a hugely popular aesthetic, reflected in not only the Monte and its G-car cousins, but also the contemporary Dodge Charger, Ford Torino Elite, and Mercury Cougar, as well as the new Chrysler Cordoba (which adopted its own version of the Monte Carlo’s front-end theme).
By the late seventies, though, the Monte Carlo was clearly the leader of the pack, eclipsing even the Thunderbird. Perhaps the most dramatic evidence of its influence came in 1977, when Ford transferred the Thunderbird name to the midsize LTD II line (replacing the lackluster Torino Elite) and cut its base price to within $100 of the Monte. Thunderbird sales sextupled, although they still fell shy of the Monte Carlo by around 90,000 units.

Speed was never really a strong point of the Chevrolet Monte Carlo and its performance eroded throughout the seventies. By 1974, the base 350 (5,733 cc) engine was down to 145 hp (108 kW) and even the 454 cu. in. (7,443 cc) V8 had only 235 hp (175 kW). The 454 was rarely ordered and disappeared after 1975. California cars, like this one, were offered only with a four-barrel 350 with 160 hp (119 kW), or a four-barrel 400 cu. in. (6,570 cc) engine with 180 hp (134 kW).
THE 1978-1988 MONTE CARLO

The Chevrolet Monte Carlo was downsized in 1978 along with the rest of GM’s A-body intermediates. It now rode a 108.1-inch (2,746mm) wheelbase and was 13 inches (330 mm) shorter and some 700 pounds (318 kg) lighter than before. Although it retained the basic design themes of its predecessor, it was marginally more restrained in both size and décor.
The shrunken Monte Carlo sold strongly at first — nearly 360,000 units in the first year, 317,000 the second — but then dropped by half in 1980, a decline that a 1981 facelift only partly redressed. Bob Lund, who had become Chevrolet’s general manager in December 1974, tried to steer the Monte Carlo in a sportier direction, adding a new SS model and later a semi-fastback Aero Coupe for NASCAR homologation purposes, but annual sales never again topped 200,000 units. The G-cars (including the Buick Regal Grand Nationals) were profitable enough to survive until 1988, six years after the rest of the A-body intermediates switched to front-wheel drive, but by 1987–88, sales were fading rapidly.

The last of the rear-wheel-drive Monte Carlos still bore a general resemblance to their 1973–1977 counterparts, but they were tidier in size and less extravagant of curve. Base LS Monte Carlos of this vintage had either a 262 cu. in. (4,299 cc) V6 or 305 cu. in. (4,999 cc) V8, but SS models like this 1988 car had a high-output 305 with 180 net horsepower (134 kW).
The Monte Carlo name lay fallow until 1995, when Chevy resurrected it for a rather ordinary front-drive coupe based on the W-body Lumina. Although it was wholly undistinguished — and largely ignored by the automotive press — it managed to survive the collapse of the big-coupe market in the nineties, which claimed even the venerable Thunderbird. The FWD Monte Carlo sold well enough to earn a rather heavy-handed restyling for 2000 and an optional V8 engine for 2006, finally expiring at the end of the 2007 model year. Sales hovered around 70,000 units for a while — the peak was 2001, with 72,596 — but by the end, the Monte had become a niche item appealing mostly to old-school Chevy fans.
STAYIN’ ALIVE

The Chevrolet Monte Carlo neatly encapsulates the two great themes of mid-seventies American culture: hedonism and ostentation. The seventies were not a particularly happy or pleasant time for America, with a shaky economy, rampant inflation, and the lingering malaise of Watergate, Vietnam, and the energy crisis. That gloomy climate created a bull market for symbols of opulence and the Monte Carlo in its heyday was certainly that. It’s difficult to resist the parallel with Tony Manero, John Travolta’s character in Saturday Night Fever: a working-class guy struggling to transcend his roots through sheer flamboyance.
The Monte Carlo’s popularity makes much more sense when considered in the context of its time. In the mid-seventies, the choices available to a new-car buyer looking for style and distinction were not abundant. There were the F-bodies (Chevrolet Camaro and Pontiac Firebird/Trans Am), but their minuscule passenger and cargo space made them impractical for many customers. The same was true of the Corvette and the Datsun Z-car, whose prices were a long stretch for a working-class breadwinner in any case. There was the Pinto-based Ford Mustang II, which also sold well, and a host of tape-stripe pseudo-performance models like the latter-day Oldsmobile 442. For would-be urban cowboys, there was also an assortment of pick-up trucks and sport-utility vehicles like the Ford Bronco or the Monte Carlo’s coupe-pickup cousin, the Chevrolet El Camino. The high-end imported cars so beloved of the automotive press were out of reach for the masses, while most low-end imports were frugal and utilitarian, not stylish. It’s little wonder, then, that so many customers ended up with 48-month notes on personal luxury coupes like the Monte Carlo.
In the eighties and nineties, the market for cars like the Chevrolet Monte Carlo did not so much disappear as disintegrate, divided amongst smaller sporty coupes, symbols of Yuppie affluence like the BMW 3-series and a number of increasingly posh middle-class imports. A buyer looking for automotive distinction had a much broader array of choices in 1985 than in 1975 and the personal luxury cars enjoyed an ever-smaller share of that business.
All of the traditional American personal-luxury nameplates are dead now. While some of them may reemerge sooner or later (we’re confident there will eventually be another Thunderbird), we’re not sure that they will ever again be as iconic. There will be image cars for as long as the automobile survives, but the market has become even more balkanized than it was in the eighties. Modern customers presume a broad range of choices, from “cute utes” to fashion statements like the smart fortwo and MINI.
We wonder what future generations will consider the leading automotive icons of our era (our money is on the Toyota Prius). Whether those icons will be remembered with nostalgia or faint embarrassment is harder to say. Perhaps, like the Monte Carlo, it’ll be a little bit of both.

 

This was a good read. I didn't know much about the Monte's earlier generations, but this article provided some interesting info, like what the GM designers and bosses drew from in order to create the first MCs, and what the car-buying market was like back then in the '70s.

 

I really liked it!! It is amazing how similar the mid seventies Montes looked like the mid seventies Grand Prix!! My first ever car was a black 1976 Grand Prix

 

Great article barbara.and a good read of there inception.