Random Retro Riffraff #4: The 1971 Plymouth Sport Fury

How much did people love giant cars in the 70s? So much that when the 1971 Plymouth Sport Fury made its debut in enchanting avocado, it was photographed in a field of cows so its actual size could be readily detected and admired. You know how big a goddamned cow is, right? Put a Fury next to one and bam! It’s like a Monopoly piece.

The camera’s also specially angled to maximize the HELLO I AM VAST message, like those shady photos in apartment ads where they try to push the 4 x 4 balcony as a “luxurious amenity” instead of “the place where you go to shake cracker crumbs out of your afghan.”

The copy, as per usual, is sort of astonishing to modern ears. The main selling point is Everything about this car comes through big, particularly the colossal engine compartment that I’ve stared at for fifteen minutes now and still can’t fathom. No reason exists for such a mammoth front end; really, it’s just showing off. The only logical explanation is that it also holds a tent, a camping stove, a mini-fridge, and four collapsible beds, which would make it the perfect choice for survivalists who planned to drop out of modern society because it was 1971 and people were saying dippy shit like this on the regular:

Full disclosure: we had a Fury remarkably similar to the one in this ad when I was a kid, because my dad’s hobby was finding a doddering vehicle in the classifieds, paying two hundred dollars for it in cash, and then driving it for three months until it permanently sadfaced. After it outlived its usefulness as a legitimate transportation option, the Fury sat silently beside the curb in front of our house for more than seven years, watching over our family and warding off toxic spirits like a two-ton maroon evil eye with 17 cubic feet of trunk space. As it settled into a comfortable state of decomposition, The Fury grew more and more descriptive of my mother’s mood when she’d part the lace curtain and peer at the rustbucket that had staked out a cozy spot next to her morning glories. When Are We Getting Rid of That Thing was a running conversational theme from 1988 to about 1996. My dad maintained that it was still useful for puttering down the street to the grocery store, but less sentimental heads prevailed and some sucker eventually answered an ad in the paper and carted the thing away. It’s been gone for almost seventeen years, but when I think of the old house I still see the Fury in the bottom left corner of the picture, silently offering a Torsion-Quiet ride to whomever needs toilet paper at Weis.

Rest in peace, gentle giant.