A FOND FAREWELL TO THE ORIGINAL CHRYSLER MINIVAN
End of an automotive era brings back memories, writes Lorraine Sommerfeld.
It’s the end of an era, as FCA announced it will stop producing the Dodge Grand Caravan in Windsor, Ont., this May.
These were the vehicles that truly started it all. If you’ve ever said, “I have a bunch of kids and a lot of gear but I don’t want a minivan,” it was this vehicle you pictured not wanting. But you bought it anyway. Millions did.
I bought a 1984 Dodge Mini Ram in 1984. It was my first almost-new vehicle. It had been repossessed by Chrysler when it was a few months old. I still remember the payments on that first car loan my father had to co-sign: $219.49 a month.
My van was instantly christened the “Ramchicken.” The name stuck, and when parked beside my father’s Dodge Ramcharger, it seemed apt.
The Ramchicken was a cargo van, with no rear seating and no rear windows. It had a four-speed manual transmission, the stick shift jutting out of the floor like a small spear. I would load it up with anything and everything, and that little four-cylinder engine would growl away, always getting it done.
We often talk about usable hauling space by asking whether or not something can handle a piece of plywood. For me, still helping friends move, it was about the fact you could put a double mattress flat in the back, load on boxes and a dresser, and still close the door.
It was the first vehicle to boast having cupholders, if you consider two half-centimetre deep indented rings on the dash cupholders.
I put 250,000 kilometres on that baby. With some foam couches in the back for seating — untethered and dangerous as hell — I hauled my parents to Daytona. Actually, after being cooped up in that space all the way to Florida, I hauled my parents to the Daytona airport and told my father to get out and fly home. He apologized, so I brought him home. He was no better on the return ride.
With the front forks tied down, a dirt bike would fit in the Mini Ram. It made the trek back and forth across the country, and many parts of the U.S. It was nimble enough to launch a jet ski into a lake — until it wasn’t and a clutch was blown. The beauty? Parts were everywhere.
The year before they started rolling them off the line, none of us could imagine what a “minivan” would be. The word was strange, and we didn’t know if it would be a normal van that was short, or low, or anything. We didn’t know if it would look like a shop truck.
Instead, the second you saw it, you realized it was a revolution. A front-wheel-drive van that handled like a car? That didn’t suck gas like an Econoline? That anyone could get into without a step stool? And such a change from my father’s endless station wagons? It was brilliant.
I had other minivans later, when my sons were growing up. I didn’t stick with Chrysler, and I should have. The patented Stow ‘N Go seating remains some of the best tech I’ve seen, and every time I scratched and dented my arms wrestling seats out of a Pontiac Montana, I remembered that.
There’s actually a Grand Caravan back in the driveway — it’s 10 years old with 260,000 kilometres on it. It’s usually full of surfboards, and is great to haul things to the cottage.
Yes, they eat brakes and, yes, the check-engine light has a mind of its own, but it was still the only minivan you could get into for around the $20,000 mark after discounts and incentives.
My Ramchicken was a workhorse. I’ve had many vehicles since, but few so memorable. I know if I saw one today it would feel small and basic, but sometimes that is exactly what you need.
It was the first vehicle to boast having cupholders, if you consider two half-centimetre deep indented rings on the dash cupholders.