Collection Classics: Jet Set

Ezra Dyer

04/01/2008

Nobody would argue with the statement that the piston-driven internal combustion engine is the undisputed champion of automotive power. While there have been some interesting alternatives, most notably the Wankel rotary still embraced by Mazda in the RX-8, no other technology has seriously challenged the piston engine’s hegemony—which is why the motor in a Bugatti Veyron is fundamentally just a more elaborate version of the Briggs & Stratton in a lawnmower.

But in the early 1960s, Chrysler seemed on the verge of delivering a new type of power, and a new kind of driving experience, to America. The jet engines developed during World War II posed an intriguing question for automotive engineers, namely: What if you harnessed a jet’s kinetic energy and, instead of producing thrust, you used that power to turn a second turbine and then a propshaft? You’d have a jet car—the romance and excitement of that concept enticed Chrysler to devote years of work developing the turbine engine.

There were technical hurdles to overcome. One of the problems concerned drivability: early prototypes took as long as seven seconds to reach full throttle from idle. Excessive heat was an issue. Eventually, emissions standards would pose a dilemma for any internal combustion engine, and on that front piston engines had a lengthy developmental head start.

Nevertheless, the turbine had many advantages as well. It was innately simpler than a piston engine, using only one ignition plug and needing no oil changes or antifreeze. It delivered instant heat upon startup—definitely a boon to anyone in a northern climate. Because there were no reciprocating parts, it was inherently smooth. It ran on essentially any combustible, from jet fuel to diesel. Moreover, from a performance standpoint, it was a torque monster. When Chrysler put the engine into limited production in the 1963 Turbine Car, it made a modest 130 hp, but a colossal 425 ft lbs of torque.

Chrysler built 50 (not including five prototypes) of the two-door, Ghia-bodied Turbine Cars, which served two main purposes for the company. First of all, the cars were real-world test beds for the technology, a means for Chrysler to reap consumer feedback (cars were loaned to households selected to represent a wide range of driving situations). Second—and maybe just as important—putting these sexy, futuristic vehicles on the road was a brilliant publicity move.

"Chrysler tried harder than any other firm to make the turbine work, and I think people admired them for that," says Leslie Kendall, curator of the Petersen Automotive Museum, which is home to the car featured on these pages. "They were hoping it would rub off on the rest of the line." This real-world beta test and publicity stunt was not unlike the program GM ran for the EV1 electric car and Honda is rolling out for its new FCX Clarity fuel-cell car. Except, instead of offering leases, Chrysler loaned the Turbine Cars for free, in exchange for detailed feedback on the experience.

The company learned that while the turbine was close to feasibility, it still had a few technical issues to overcome. "It would’ve been really expensive to produce," Kendall says. "And people had to get used to the driving experience—it could accelerate quickly, but it wouldn’t burn rubber. And when you took your foot off the accelerator, it wanted to keep going. You went through brakes more quickly than would’ve been considered acceptable." Indeed, turbines don’t really like to go slow, and the Turbine Car’s motor idled at 18,000 rpm.Still, with Italian bodywork rife with rotational motifs and otherworldly powertrains, the Turbine Cars were undeniably cool. Kendall hasn’t driven the Petersen’s car—and says it’s never been started since it arrived on a long-term loan from the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County—but he once got a ride in one of the two cars retained by Chrysler, and remembers it as a singular experience. "From the front, it sounded like a vacuum cleaner," he says. "From the back, it sounded like the vent for a clothes dryer. It was just incredibly smooth and vibration-free. Riding in it was like being a part of the future."

Unfortunately, the turbine-powered future never looked any more imminent than it did with those cars in the early 1960s. Despite the turbine’s practical advantages and novelty, looming challenges like new emissions standards would soon require an all-hands-on-deck engineering onslaught. By the early ’70s, expending manpower to solve the turbine’s idiosyncrasies would’ve been a bit like putting a new coat of paint on your gazebo when there’s a giant hole in the roof of your house.

Like many of the era’s concept cars, most of the Chrysler Turbine Cars met an ignominious end—speared by a forklift and tossed into the crusher’s maw. Because the bodies were built by Ghia in Italy, Chrysler would have had to pay an import tariff, so the majority of the cars were destroyed. Nobody is quite sure how many are left, but Kendall says that five or six Turbine Cars are in museums, Chrysler kept two cars, and one car ended up with a private owner somewhere in the Midwest. The latter might represent the best chance that a Turbine Car would ever come up at auction, because the Petersen car, for one, certainly isn’t on the market. "We’ve been contacted by people who wanted to buy it," Kendall says, "But there’s no question that we’d never sell it."

While modern successors to the Chrysler Turbine car—the limited-production Honda FCX and the Chevy Equinox Fuel Cell, for example—seem to underscore their production feasibility through mundane bodywork that downplays their exotic powertrains, the Chrysler harkens back to an era when exciting alternative propulsion also called for a correspondingly exuberant stylistic statement. The Turbine Car was bold, brash, and full of promise for a future where the rumble of V8s was replaced by the smooth whoosh of turbines. "You saw one of these turbine-bronze vehicles bearing down on you," Kendall says, "and you weren’t likely to forget it."