Rule-Making and Rule-Breaking: Automobility and Film During a Decade of Constraints, 1970-1979

My favorite girls and my favorite car -- a 911 Targa

The Winners!

A Work-In-Progress

Rule-Making and Rule-Breaking: Automobility and Film During a Decade of Constraints, 1970-1979

By John Heitmann, Department of History, University of Dayton

 

Twenty years ago I considered the views of sociologist David Gartman as vulgar Marxism. But as I look at the post-World War II history of the automobile in America in 2021, I believe I was wrong.  In his book Auto Opium,  Gartman suggested that the two-toned, V-8 powered car of the era was nothing more than an opiate for hard-working Americans during the Cold War era. Accordingly, the automobile, no matter what model, was essentially the same. It served to lessen the rather harsh realities of a competitive capitalist system with its class structure, repetition, dehumanization, and repressive impulses. In short, it was at the heart of a “contradictory system.” It follows that during the 1950s, the car was a symbol and an expression of freedom at a time in American life when autonomy was in retreat. Freedom, then, was often quite illusory. 

The automobile was also at the center of American notions of freedom. Journalist George Packer summed up the meaning of American freedoms in his acclaimed book The Unwinding as  "freedom to go away, freedom to return, freedom to change your story, get your facts, get hired, get fired, get high, marry, divorce, go broke, begin again, start a business, have it both ways, take it to the limit, walk away from the ruins, succeed beyond your dreams and boast about it, fail abjectly, and try again." The automobile facilitated all that and more.

No discussion of freedom and the rebels that pursued that freedom during the 1950s could be complete without at least briefly mentioning Jack Kerouac’s On the Road (1957). The novel became one of the most important works of twentieth century literature and set the stage for innumerable travels and soul searching. A reflection of the social and cultural ferment of the early Cold War era, On the Road redirected the American road narrative as well.  It is a story about a people on the margins of society – transients, disaffected intellectuals, farm laborers, and racial minorities. On the Roadalso takes us into the world of the 1950s that was far removed from middle class suburbia of the day – bop music, spontaneity, recklessness, drugs, and promiscuous sex. It seems unlikely, however, that Kerouac was just aiming in On the Road to describe a dark underworld populated by fascinating characters, the composite of which is one snapshot of America usually not taken. Certainly On the Road is infected with youthful optimism, far different from the negativity displayed in Henry Miller’s The Air-Conditioned Nightmare, or John Steinbeck’s The Wayward Bus. It also is far removed from the dark tale of a road trip gone bad, best exemplified in the classic 1945 film Detour.

Despite the institutional constraints placed upon Americans during the 1950s – by government, religious organizations, educators, community, and family -- the American automobile industry had virtually no countervailing power placed upon its exercise of autonomy. The industry’s first critics only surfaced in the late 1950s, and were largely ignored by the public, who had little options but to buy from the “Big Four,” led by General Motors. However, the early 1960s marked winds of change, the result of General Motors unconventional Corvair, and the efforts of a crusading lawyer convinced that the car was unsafe at any speed.

This is not the time to go into the Corvair or Ralph Nader stories, but to say that the result was the unleashing of a political and consumer firestorm that led to the federal government placing reigns on the industry for the first time. And perhaps rightfully so. In absolute numbers, traffic fatalities had risen from 34,763 in 1950, to 39,628 in 1956, to 53,041 in 1966, and 56,278 by 1972. During those years, the holidays between every Christmas and New Year resulted in the death of approximately 1,000 Americans. The rise of the interstate highway system beginning in 1956 and the marked increase in younger drivers contributed to the alarming trend. Design also played its part; along with horsepower gains, cars of the mid‑1960s often possessed poor handling characteristics and abysmal braking capabilities.

The seminal legislative action that set in motion strict automobile safety regulations was the 1966 National Traffic and Motor Vehicle Safety Act.  Beginning in 1968, this Act mandated that seatbelts, padded visors and dashboards, safety doors and hinges, impact absorbing steering columns, dual braking systems, and standard bumper height be installed in all new autos sold in the U.S. Push-back emerged immediately. Critics to these regulations, however, argued that these measures would do little to save lives and prevent injuries. History has proved them to be somewhat correct. Economist Sam Peltzman demonstrated in the mid-1970s that automobile safety devices resulted in “off-setting behavior” on the part of a number of motorists who engaged in more risky behavior as a result of the introduction of features that were designed to increase their chances of surviving a crash. And while seatbelts, soft interiors, and improved glass reduced driver fatalities, risky behavior increased the chance that a bicyclist or pedestrian would be killed or injured.

A second area where government had to step in and force manufacturers to take responsibility was the environment, particularly air pollution. Air pollution and haze first became an issue in Southern California, and it was California that first responded legislatively to the problem, with the federal government subsequently following the state’s lead. For years, manufacturers had claimed that devices to reduce the level of pollutants would take considerable time and research to develop. Industry’s hand was forced, however, in terms of technical feasibility, by the California legislature. In 1964 California certified four emissions control devices designed by aftermarket companies, and then mandated that devices of these types be installed on 1966 car models. In 1966, of an estimated 146 million tons of pollutants discharged into the atmosphere in the United States, some of 86 million tons could be attributed to the automobile. 

            As in the case of safety, a seminal federal act related to automobile emissions was passed and enacted in the mid-1960s, the Motor Vehicle Air Pollution and Control Act.³⁰ This act set limits in terms of carbon monoxide and hydrocarbons, and was amended in 1971 to include evaporated gasoline. Additionally, the emissions stipulations in the Federal Clean Air Act (1970) further reduced allowable pollutants with the newly created Environmental Protection Agency as the enforcer. 

In the wake of this legislation, however, Detroit responded shamelessly in terms of seriously tackling the issue. Rather than make substantial investments in a new generation of cleaner cars, the Big Three merely added aftermarket stopgaps to existing engines, thus minimizing their costs. In the process, they produced autos with very poor performance and drivability characteristics.

During the late 1960s and early 1970, Detroit manufacturers defied, circumvented, and publicly decried the new rules, and many Americans, including both auto enthusiasts and younger Americans did as well. Authority be damned, whether it be over illegal drugs, the Vietnam War and the Draft, policing methods, or speed. It was then that distrust in government heightened. Institutional controls gradually unwound, in part justified by Nixon administration lies and deception.

As younger Americans were taking to the road, there emerged a questioning as to whether the journey was a quest for self-knowledge or knowledge about others, and whether it was transformative or purposeless. It was in 1971, in the wake of the Kent State Shootings, the Attica Prison riots, blowing up or ROTC Buildings, the intensified bombing of North Vietnam, Mai Lai massacre, and increasing disillusionment, that two important road movies were released. Vanishing Point and Two Lane Blacktop.  Vanishing Point featured as its hero an ex-Marine, Vietnam War veteran, policeman and motorbike racer Kowalski (Barry Newman). At the beginning of the film Kowalski has just arrived in Denver, and despite the offer to spend time with a prostitute, instead decides to take a deliver a fast Dodge Challenger in a return trip. As the  jaunt unfolds in the vast spaces of the desert, we learn of the driver’s virtuous past through a series of flashbacks. Due to excessive speed, he becomes hunted by various State’s police as one might expect. But Kowalski has gained freedom for a time. Aided only by a blind black disc jockey named Super Soul (Cleavon Little), Kowalski is called “the last beautiful free soul on the planet.” Others who come to Kowalski’s aid include a black biker, two white hippies, and an old snake-catcher in a broken down car. All are individuals at the margins, like our hero, and like the primary characters in On the Road. As the road trip ends, as Kowalski accepts defeat, and rams his car into a police barricade.

While Vanishing Point was remade in the 1990s starring Vigo Mortenson as Kowalski, Monte Hellman’s Two Lane Blacktop, also released in 1971, has become a cult classic despite being a box-office flop. The film’s stars are nameless: the Driver (James Taylor), Mechanic (Dennis Wilson), G.T.O. (Warren Oates) and the Girl (Laurie Bird). Perhaps the unusual deaths of Wilson, Oates and Bird added to the mystique of this road movie to nowhere, where the characters are nameless, but the cars are listed in the cast as Chevrolet and Pontiac. The actors are largely silent, expressing themselves at times with facial expressions sensitively captured by Hellman. And the race is futile. Gratification is not forthcoming, echoed by The Girl who sings “I can’t get no satisfaction” while playing pinball.

One thing is undeniable about the influence of Two Lane Blacktop -- it  fired the enthusiasm of journalist Brock Yates to organize a series of coast to coast speed trials in 1971 and 1972 called the Cannonball, or Sea-To-Shining Sea Memorial Trophy Dash. Yates had asked himself, “When was the last time Ayn Rand sent somebody on a cross-country motor race?” With eight contestants, Grand Prix Driver Dan Gurney, assisted by yates, won the first prize in a Ferrari with an elapsed time of 35 hours and fifty four minutes and average speed of 80 miles per hour. A second event was sponsored by Car and Driver in 1972, and this time the winners, Steve “Yogi”Behr and Bill Canfield, won in a Cadillac with a time of 37 hours sixteen minutes and an average speed of 78.04 mph.

Oil Shock I in 1973 served to separate the earlier two runs from the latter two in terms of the motives of these adventures – the 55 mile per hour national limit chaffed drivers more than any forced design modification or governmental edict. The oil shocks of 1973 and 1979 also did more to forcefully influence Detroit’s direction in the manufacture of more fuel-efficient automobiles than the federal government’s Corporate Average Fuel Economy (CAFE) standards and the 1978 Gas Guzzler Tax. Indeed, the shortage of petroleum products and the rise in the cost of gasoline, along with foreign competition, carried more weight in transforming automotive technologies than consumer demand or government regulation. And it emboldened government bureaucrats to flex their muscles, including Department of Transportation heads John Volpe, who had previously argued that government can do a better job of designing cars than the industry.

As early as 1971 Volpe lectured to auto enthusiasts in the magazine Motor Trend that 

Actually, highway safety regulations do not violate a person’s right to a private life. Whenever a person drives a vehicle onto a public road, he leaves his private life behind him. Public roads belong to the State and the State can, indeed must, set appropriate standards regarding the use of those roads.

No man is an island unto himself when he is wheeling down a highway in a truck, an automobile, or a motorcycle. First of all he is a potential threat to anyone else using the same roadway – or along it if he should leave the roadway out of control. Secondly, if he has an accident, even if he is the only one hurt, it is going to cost the State money.…

 

            A 55 mile-per-hour national speed limit, the result of Oil Shock I, was undoubtedly the most significant federal mandate effecting everyday life of drivers after 1973. The National Maximum Speed Law, a provision of the Federal Emergency Highway Energy Conservation Act, took the authority of speed limits out of the hands of the states and remained in force until 1995. The intent of the law was to both save lives and reduce gasoline consumption. Loss of life from the measure proved minimal at best, according to Stephen Moore at the Cato Institute. The overall consumption results also proved disappointing; while it was projected that the national demand for gasoline would drop by 2.2%, it is estimated that it achieved saving only between .5 and 1%.

Many Americans both hated and defied the 55-mile-per-hour limit. Two technologies emerged during the 1970s to help circumvent ‘Smokey’ and his speed traps and radar guns. Citizens band (CB) radios were first used by truckers, and then by passenger car owners. CB radio users had individual ‘handles,’ or catchy names, that suggested one’s individuality and values.

Drivers unhappy with the “double nickel” speed limit also created a mass market for radar detectors.  Beginning in the early 1950s, police effectively used Doppler-effect radar systems to keep down speeds on busy highways, and reduce alarming fatality rates. The American Automobile Association denounced the use of these devices, and drivers tried to scramble signals by putting tin foil and steel marbles in their hubcaps, only to be charged with obstruction of justice if caught.

            In 1955 more than 20% of all speeding arrests were achieved by radar, with conviction rates between 90-100%. Radar detectors were soon built by electronic hobbyists, perhaps the most famous being John Davis Williams, a RAND Corporation scientist who had expertise in statistical radar detection for military applications. In 1958 the amateur radio magazine CQ published an article entitled “Radio Speedmeter Receiver.”  The technology for that device was ingeniously modified to create the first commercially available radar detector, the Radatron Radar Sentry, that was featured on the cover of Popular Electronics in September, 1961. The Radar Sentry remained in the marketplace until the early 1970s. It was later made obsolete by a host of competitors with names like Fuzzbuster, Bearfinder, Road Patrol, Wawassee Alley Cat, Snooper, and Whistler. The best perhaps, was the Electrolert Fuzzbuster, developed by Dale T. Smith. Incensed over a speeding ticket, Smith designed, and then promoted, the best radar detector of that day. Further, he proved to be an effective lobbyist for the devices, arguing that American citizens have a right to know when they are being watched electronically, even as they drive. 

With the national speed limit set at 55, Car and Driver magazine called for entries set for a Cannonball start on April 23, 1975. With 18 entrants, Jack May and Rick Cline took the prize in a 1973 Ferrari Dino 246GTS and a time of 35:53. In addition to the Ferrari, the contest featured a Dodge Challenger, Mercedes 450 SL, Porsche 911 RSR, a 1975 Buick Electra, and a very unlikely1951 Studebaker. The race was featured on the cover of the August issue of Time, andHollywood was quick to follow with Cannonball, and Gumball Rally. Cannonball, starring David Carradine, was a hastily pieced together film, with sloppy cinematography, bland landscapes, poor character development, and for the most part  unremarkable vehicles. The Gumball Rally, however, proved to be the best of the lot of these coast-to-coast films. With a relatively undistinguished cast led by Michael Sarrazin, Susan Flannery, and Gary Busy, it the cars and their sounds – a Cobra, Ferrari, Porsche 911 Targa, Mercedes 300 SL and Rolls-Royce that  emerged as the stars, along with wonderful road scenes and landscapes. It is a film still worth watching.

A final bash took place in 1979, with the winners finishing in an elapsed time of 32:51 driving a 1978 Jaguar XJS. A 1984 Hal Needham directed film entitled Cannonball Run followed.  It proved to be a corny and tiresome picture that demonstrated how no matter how many stars are featured -- including Burt Reynolds, Dom De Luise, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis, Jr., Jamie Farr, Ricardo Montalban, Telly Savalas, Shirley MacClain, Jackie Chan, Tim Conway, and Don Knotts -- a bad script can relegate the work to the level of crap. Roger Ebert gave the film half a star out of four, calling it "one of the laziest insults to the intelligence of moviegoers that I can remember. Gene Siskel also gave a harsh review of this film, calling it "a total ripoff, a deceptive film - that gives movies a bad name." 

Similar films from the 1970s that did not follow the Cannonball formula, but promoted a general defiance toward authorities and a celebration of autonomy and freedom. The best were Convoy and Smokey and the Bandit. The regional center of these speed limit defiant films was attributed to the Deep South, ironic in a way since it was by far the most conservative of all regions in America. In the case of Smokey and the Bandit  the iconic car of the 1970s became the 1977 Pontiac Firebird Trans-Am.