General Motors was grabbing so big a share of the upper-middle-price auto market in the 1950s with their Pontiac, Oldsmobile and Buick ranges, Ford Motor Company decided to do something about it. The way to go, Ford decided, was to grab the public’s attention with something really different. Given that this was an era of stylistic experimentation, ‘something different’ either meant a retreat to utter simplicity or an as-yet unthought-of direction in which to take car design.
Ford, in what can only be described as design stratagem of desperate genius, did both. Genius of course carries the caveat that it may present the radical departure, or the previously unseen subtlety, but it does not always harmonize with truth or success. Such was the case with this Ford product.
Mated to a body that was reasonably unpretentious was a yawning beak of a grille that made the casual observer think of a nestling bird gaping wide for a worm. In all fairness, this ovoid grille could also be said to resemble an eagle with its mouth open as it pursues its prey, or Basil Rathbone, as Sherlock Holmes, making a pronouncement between puffs on his pipe.
Set far to either side of this grille were quad headlights in pairs that bulged upward and outward like the eyes of an infuriated corporate director, ‘lording it’ over the secondary, muted horizontal grillework that ran under them in subservient complement to the gaping maw at the center. The fenders were incongruously squared off: this squareness was emulated by the bright chrome bumper, which underscored the design’s stunning failure to mate the curve and the angle.
A look at the rear of the car revealed taillights that were psychologically inspired, but odd-looking—horizontal strips of red glass that dipped down as they approached the central region of the vast trunk lid, and resembled the eyes of a man who is grimacing triumphantly at the car he’s just passed. The trunk lid on convertible models called to mind the Great Plains of the US in its unbroken expanse, and perhaps this was another psychological ploy to put distance between oneself and the traffic one had just left behind.
The project was begun at Henry Ford II’s insistence, in 1952. It was felt that General Motors’ overwhelming market share was due to its more numerous model lines. Ford had to catch up, and the only way was to build more models.
Hence, a project was begun whereby a whole new division of Ford Motor Company would be created to bring out the required models. Ford’s Marketing Research Department then approached the renowned American poetess, Marianne Moore, thinking that she would surely come up with a name to match their grand design.
She did in fact come up with names that admirably suited this oddball design, but her offerings were rejected. Among the names she proposed were ‘The Utopian Turtletop,’ ‘The Resilient Bullet,’ and ‘The Turquoise Cotinga.’
That Ford finally chose the name Edsel for the car was a crowning irony—especially in consideration of the fact that Edsel Ford—Henry Ford’s son and the father of Henry Ford II—had been a man of impeccable taste.
Had he still been alive, the Edsel would certainly have been the chief influence on Henry Ford to institute the styling department that produced the sleek Lincoln Continental of the late 1930s. If not for Edsel Ford, the Ford Motor Company would have drowned in a welter of basic, utilitarian designs. Therefore, the naming of the Edsel, an infamous styling fiasco, may have him spinning in his grave even now.
The basic Edsel design was actually established in 1955, and all the dies and presses were set up for an attack on what was then projected to be a market hungry for extravagant styling. Unfortunately, 1957 was an aesthetic assault on the car buyer that effectively quenched popular taste for flashiness. The huge, shark-finned Cadillacs, Oldsmobiles, Buicks, Dodges and Chryslers of 1957 more than milked the market of whatever sentiment was left in favor of ‘newness’.
Therefore, when the brand-new 1958 Edsel was introduced in the fall of 1957, there was a perceptible slump in auto sales. For model year 1958, Ford’s share of the market went down from 1.7 million to 987,000; Pontiac went from 313,000 to 217,000; and Buick dropped from 404, 000 to 241,000. The Edsel was an ugly duckling adrift upon a stormy sea.
For model year 1958, Edsel offered lower- and upper-range models. The lower-range models, designated Ranger and Pacer, had 352 cubic-inch (5.8-liter) engines, and were aimed at the Pontiac market. Edsel’s upper-range Corsair and Citation models, with 420 cubic-inch (6.7-liter) engines, were meant to take customers from Buick and Oldsmobile.
The Ranger had a 118-inch (three-meter) wheelbase, and was available in two-door and four-door hardtop configurations. The Pacer was a slightly more plush version of the Ranger, and was offered in two- and four-door hardtop, as well as convertible, variants. Ranger and Pacer models were based on the Ford Fairlane 500 body shell.
The Corsair had a 124-inch (3.1-meter) wheelbase, and was available in two- and four-door hardtop versions. The Citation was the upscale version of the Corsair, with two- and four-door, as well as convertible, variant. Corsair and Citation models were based on the Mercury Parklane body shell.
There were also three station wagon models: Villager, Bermuda and Round Up, which looked just like the larger Fords of the same model year, but for the monstrous ‘eat ‘em alive’ grillework.
The Villager and Bermuda wagons were available in standard and nine-passenger models, with the Round Up being strictly a standard. All of the Edsels were large and heavy cars, with commonplace servo-assisted drum brakes, coil-spring independent front suspension and soft-leaf spring rear suspension with a conventional axle.
The cars were ‘new’ in such design details as the grillework and taillights, and in interesting—but often troublesome—gadgetry, including self-adjusting brakes, an electronically-operated transmission (on the upper-level cars) with selector buttons located in the hub of the steering wheel, electronic trunk opener and electrically-operated windows. For model year 1958, Edsel sold just 63,110 cars.
For 1959 Edsels, the headlights were faired into a horizontal grille that complemented the yawning mouth at the center, and reduced its impact to acceptable (but still unforgettable) levels. The central grille was updated with prominent horizontal bars. The single-bar taillights were also replaced, with two straight lighting bars bearing two round red stop/ turn signals and one round white backup light per side.
Also, the push-button transmission control was done away with; a six-cylinder engine was offered for the economy-minded, and the smaller V-8 was offered as standard on all models. The wheelbase of all non-station wagon models was standardized at 120 inches (3 meters), and only three models were offered: the Ranger, in two- and four-door variants; the Corsair, in two- and four-door, plus convertible, variants; and the Villager station wagon, in standard and nine-passenger configurations.
The auto industry perceived these cutbacks as tacit admission of failure, but a more concrete omen appeared at year’s end: only 44,890 Edsels were sold.
The 1960 model year saw the first radical departure from the previous Edsel formula: the tragically distinctive grillework was replaced with a more standard, horizontal grille that somewhat resembled that of the upscale 1960 Mercurys and Fords. A centerpiece was laid in over this, that were shaped like bullets, nose-in toward the center.
The overall effect was like a 1960 Ford Galaxie. Only the Ranger—in two- and four-door, and convertible configurations—and the Villager station wagon—in six- and nine-passenger variants—were offered. Even at that, Ford Motor Company discontinued the Edsel before year’s end, 1959, having built only 3008 of the 1960 model-year cars. There was a total of 111,009 Edsels built overall.
It is historical irony that every Edsel that survives to today is a prized collector’s item. In this small way, it could be said that the Edsel succeeded, albeit not in what it was intended for. Ford Motor Company lost between $250 and $350 million on the Edsel fiasco, setting a record for the costliest auto industry failure to that time.
Such a debacle might have been expected in a period of rapid change, as was the late 1950s. Jet aircraft had become commonplace, and mankind was already looking toward a new frontier. When the USSR orbited the first artificial satellite, Sputnik, on 4 October 1957, the world was stunned.
No less stunned were the nations of the captive Eastern Bloc, and they dutifully set about various projects to give honor to their tyrant ‘protector’ state.
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The Edsel was a separate make. It was not a ‘Ford Edsel’. It was just ‘Edsel’.