They Built It, They Hyped It, It Flopped
Millions in ads couldn't sell 'an Oldsmobile sucking a lemon'
Dearborn, Mich.—Have you driven an Edsel lately?
To most Americans, it's a preposterous question. The Edsel, of course, is the most notorious bomb in transportation history—not as tragic as disasters like the Hindenburg or the Titanic, but a colossal flop compared with the lofty expectations set by its manufacturer, Ford Motor Co. Despite unprecedented hype, Edsel sales fell far below Ford's projections from the day of its launch on Sept. 4, 1957. Barely two years later, Ford pulled the plug. In record time, the Edsel went from wundercar to laughingstock.
Yet the ungainly automobile has enjoyed a reputational resurgence in recent years. Here in Ford's hometown last month, the owners of 169 restored Edsels gathered to celebrate the car's golden anniversary, swapping stories about the scavenging required to refurbish their cars. (Ford destroyed many of the components and spare parts after axing the Edsel, adding to the challenge of restoring one.) A few pristine models have even sold for over $100,000. And from the remove of 50 years, the Edsel seems less an actual lemon and more a victim of bad corporate judgment and unhappy timing. "It wasn't a bad car," insists Mike Brogan of West Falls, N.Y., who owns six Edsels and organized the Dearborn event. "It had some pretty neat features."
The Edsel had a big gap to fill when it was conceived in the early '50s. In the postwar surge of consumerism, General Motors, a conglomeration of several brands, had emerged as the No. 1 automaker. Consumers who outgrew utilitarian Chevrolet could move up to Pontiac, Buick, or Oldsmobile, then to Cadillac. Ford customers could upgrade to Mercury or Lincoln, but a middle rung was missing. The Edsel division would offer midpriced family cars that would keep Ford customers from defecting to GM and other competitors.
The economics invited boldness. In 1950, there were 1 million families that could afford two cars. By 1960, there were expected to be about 7 million. Ford was thriving, too. The introduction of the Thunderbird helped make 1955 the most successful year in company history. Flush with cash and optimism, the automaker set aside $250 million—nearly $2 billion in today's dollars—to research and build the Edsel.
Homely. One mandate was to make the car a visual standout, which led to the car's most, well, notable features. The vertical grille was meant to evoke European luxury cars. (Or even, some surmised, female genitalia—a plausible theory given that GM was producing pointy bumper guards that distinctly resembled bras.) But the grille also called to mind a bird's beak, and before long the Edsel was said to look like "an Oldsmobile sucking a lemon." Instead of taillamps set into vertical fins—as on Chevys and Cadillacs—Ford gave the Edsel horizontal "wings." To some critics, they looked more like bushy eyebrows. A homely creature was taking shape in Ford's labs.
Edsel had been a provisional name for the car, while researchers probed other possibilities. A few priceless duds emerged, like Elkherd and Utopian Turtletop. Pleasant-sounding nominees like Phoenix, Altair, and Citation were also on the table. In the end, however, a Ford committee decided it was fitting to name the car after Henry Ford's son, even though research showed that consumers associated the word with "diesel" and "weasel."
E-Day was the culmination of the most expensive product launch in American history. A lavish $50 million publicity campaign lured record numbers into dealerships. The mainstream press, which soon enough would lampoon it, warmly welcomed the Edsel, praising its styling, features, and performance.
But shoppers realized the Edsel was just a car, not a transportation revolution. And base prices that ranged from $2,519 to $3,801 (about $19,000 to $28,000 today) seemed excessive. A summer plunge in the stock market in 1957 had triggered a recession that would last nearly a year. Consumers suddenly wanted small cars that used less gas, like the American Motors Rambler. Overall, car sales tanked in 1957 and 1958.
Right off the bat, the Edsel sold far below levels Ford wanted. Recriminations began. Robert McNamara, who held one of the top jobs at the automaker, thought the whole program was extravagant and set out to kill it. Sales drifted downward for two years. Finally, Ford discontinued the Edsel late in 1959, after building barely 110,000 of them—less than 25 percent of what it had hoped to sell.
It wasn't unusual, however, that the Edsel skidded into a soft market. The real ignominy was that Ford completely abandoned the car. In his book Disaster in Dearborn, Thomas Bonsall says the Edsel might have succeeded if only Ford had stuck with it. "The real failure in the Edsel saga had little to do with the car," he concluded. "It was a failure of Ford Motor Company management."
Orphan. Yet Ford practically disowned the Edsel, and its owners. "Once the cars were orphaned, they had virtually no value," explains Dave Sinclair of Eagle, Idaho, who bought his first Edsel in 1967, for $120. Now, 50 years later, the car's orphan status is part of the appeal. "Some people like abandoned cars, and the Edsel is so different because it fell on its face so quick," Sinclair says.
Ford recovered quickly from the Edsel debacle. The Mercury Comet—originally designed as an Edsel—and the Ford Falcon were healthy successes. Then Ford hit a grand slam with the Mustang in 1964. But its attitude toward the Edsel has never softened. Organizers of the Edsel golden anniversary asked Ford to sponsor the event. Ford declined. Lovable or not, to some the car is still a loser.