For a brief window in the early 20th century, owning stock in Packard was a safer bet than owning a Packard. By 1929, the company boasted more shareholders than any manufacturer except General Motors, yet the number of actual car owners was a fraction of that figure. Packard wasn’t just building cars; it was selling an American social hierarchy. Even those who could never afford the price of admission viewed the brand as the supreme combination of all that is fine in motor-cars. It was the social standard, even if it wasn’t always the technical one.
The brand’s roots trace back to Warren, Ohio, in 1899. James Ward Packard, dissatisfied with his Winton automobile, decided he could do better. His first creation was a modest one-cylinder unit featuring automatic spark advance—a small start for a giant. James B. Joy took the reins in 1901, relocating the operation to Detroit in 1903. That same year, the first four-cylinder Packard rolled out.
But the real shift happened in 1912 with the introduction of the 48-horsepower Six. This engine moved Packard from the boutique shop into the industrial front rank. The ambition didn’t stop there. In 1915, Packard leapfrogged Cadillac’s new V-8 engine by launching its own V-12, the famous “Twin Six.” It was a marvel of engineering, though the configuration only lasted until 1923. A straight-eight engine replaced it in 1924, and while a lower-prestige Six was briefly reintroduced in 1921, it vanished quickly. By 1930, Packard’s reputation rested almost entirely on eight-cylinder powertrains, a lineage that would continue until the brand’s demise in 1958.
Despite its luxury focus, Packard’s production numbers were staggering. Between 1925 and 1930, it regularly outproduced Cadillac, even when GM bolstered its numbers with the LaSalle brand starting in 1927. Packard continued to out-build its GM rivals in every year except 1931, 1932, and 1934, holding strong through the Great Depression until World War II interrupted the flow. The company’s strategy of introducing mid-priced models like the 1935 One Twenty helped it pivot from low-volume luxury to mass-market producer, a move that kept it afloat when competitors faltered. However, this same strategy became its undoing decades later, as Packard was far slower to abandon the medium-price segment than Cadillac or Lincoln.
The 1931 Packard Eighth Series lineup
By 1923, Packard adopted a “series” numbering system for its annual models, a practice that continued into the 1950s. Historians later mapped these numbers to model years for clarity; the Seventh Series, for instance, aligns with the 1930 model year. The hierarchy was clear, starting with the standard Eight and climbing up through the Custom, DeLuxe, and the exclusive Speedster.
The standard Eight sat at the bottom of the ladder, sporting the least pretentious bodies on relatively short wheelbases of 127.5 and 134.5 inches. It was powered by a 320-cubic-inch inline engine producing 90 bhp. It was a workhorse of the lineup, reliable but unpretentious.
Above that was the dashing Speedster Eight. This was the car for those who wanted presence. Available in lithe boattail designs, standard roadsters, phaetons, victorias, and sedans, all on a 134-inch chassis, the Speedster was a statement piece. The power came from a massive 385-cubic-inch eight-cylinder engine delivering between 125 and 145 bhp depending on the configuration.
Naturally, this performance came with a premium. Speedsters cost the world—ranging from $5,200 to $6,000. Only 150 were built before the series was canceled after 1930. For context, that price tag could buy a rather nice house at the time.
The Custom and DeLuxe Eights sat between the standard model and the Speedster. These cars featured closed bodies but were also available as phaetons, roadsters, and convertibles, often built by Packard or custom coachbuilders. The Custom rode on a 140.5-inch wheelbase, while the DeLuxe stretched to 145.5 inches. Both were powered by the 385 engine, tuned to 106 bhp. Prices ranged from $3,200 to just over $5,000. Expensive? Yes. But for the era, it was accessible luxury.
Mechanical updates for 1931
The 1931 Eighth Series brought subtle but significant changes. The standard line expanded to include “Individual Customs” on the 134.5-inch chassis. Buyers could choose from a Dietrich convertible sedan and victoria, or Packard’s own cabriolet, town car, and landaulet styles.
Mechanically, the 320 engine in the standard models received a 10 hp boost. The Custom and DeLuxe models saw their 385 engines tuned to 120 bhp, up from the previous year’s 120-145 range, thanks to modified intake and exhaust passages similar to those found on the 1930 Speedsters.
Packard also introduced a new quick-shift mechanism for the four-speed gearbox, significantly reducing the effort required to change gears. An automatic Bijur chassis-lubrication system was added linewide, ensuring smoother operation and reduced maintenance for the growing number of owners who could now afford these machines.
Why did Packard insist on this complexity? Because they were selling more than transportation. They were selling the feeling that you were part of an elite club, even if the club was slowly shrinking. The 1931 models were the last gasp of that old-world grandeur before the landscape of American automotive luxury shifted irrevocably. The numbers would drop. The prestige would waver. But for a moment, in the shadow of the crash, the Packard Eighth Series remained a beacon of uncompromising engineering.
The 1932 Packard Ninth Series tried to look like an evolution, but it was really a structural reset. Styling dropped lower and smoothed out the upright lines of 1930–31, yet the silhouette remained familiar. The mechanical headline was a three-speed all-synchromesh transmission. Standard for some, revolutionary for Packard. It eliminated the grinding clash of the old era.
But the real story lay at the top and bottom of the lineup.
The New Twin Six: Smoothness Over Speed
At the summit sat the new Twin Six. Packard renamed it the Packard Twelve after this single model year, severing ties to the 1916–1923 original. This wasn’t a retro homage. It was a clean slate.
The heart was a new 445.5-cid V-12. Irony noted: the engine design was originally intended for an aborted front-wheel-drive chassis. When that project died, the block found a home in the flagship rear-drive sedan.
Axle ratios varied. While a low numerical ratio existed in the spec sheet, most buyers ordered gearsets of 4.41:1 or higher. Why? Because this engine wasn’t built for drag-strip glory. It was built for silence.
The result was shift-free motoring. You didn’t drive a Packard Twelve; you glided in it. Factory claims suggested sustained 100 mph was possible. That was under controlled test conditions. In the real world, a stock 160-hp engine usually hit its wall around 90 mph.
But at 60 or 70 mph? It was whisper quiet. Highly refined. The vibration was nonexistent.
These 1932–34 V-12s shared wheelbases and body shells with the upper Eight series. The Eight was called “DeLuxe” in 1932, then renamed “Super” for 1933. Two wheelbases existed. The longer one was reserved for Individual Customs, standard seven-passenger sedans, and limousines.
Pricing was deceptive. In 1932, the Twelve cost only $100–$200 more than the factory-bodied DeLuxe Eight. That gap widened quickly. Custom bodywork is where the money vanished.
By 1935, Packard consolidated “senior” production to make room for the new high-volume One Twenty. The Twelve got a stroked 473-cid engine pushing 175 bhp. Wheelbases shifted to 139 and 144 inches. Super Eights rode on those same frames, plus a trim 132-inch platform.
Coachbuilders were dying. Bankruptcies and buyouts thinned the custom options. Yet, a few bespoke bodies trickled through until 1942.
The Light Eight: A Financial Trap
Packard couldn’t rely on a parent company’s war chest during the Depression. They had to stand alone. To survive, they tried medium-priced cars before Cadillac or Lincoln even thought about it.
The 1932 Light Eight debuted two years before the LaSalle and four before Lincoln’s Zephyr.
It was a quality product. Meticulous care went into its build. It rode on a lighter 127.8-inch chassis. It mounted the standard Eight’s 320-cid engine, rated at 110 bhp that year.
Heavier engines usually mean slower cars. Not here. The Light Eight was lighter. It was faster than its bigger sisters.
Body styles were conservative: four-door sedan, five-passenger coupe-sedan, rumble-seat roadster, and coupe.
It looked chunkier than other 1932 Packards. Shorter overall length made it look squat.
The price was $2,000. Attractive on paper. Fatal in practice.
The Light Eight cost almost as much to build as a standard Eight. Yet it sold for $500–$850 less. Packard broke even, if they were lucky. On most units, they lost money.
The line died after 1932.
The Cost of Experimentation
Packard lost $7 million in 1932. The Light Eight was a major hemorrhage.
President Alvan Macauley knew he needed help. He looked outside. Specifically, he looked at General Motors. He wanted someone who understood volume production. Someone who could turn craftsmanship into profit.
Ironically, 1933 brought $500,000 in net profit. Sales hit 38% of the high-priced market. That beat Cadillac’s share.
The trap was obvious. The high-priced market was vanishing. You can’t sell luxury when the luxury buyer has no money.
Macauley’s search was about to yield results.
Two men changed the game.
Max Gilman arrived from New York. Started as a Brooklyn truck salesman in 1919. Hardboiled. He handled the publicity, setting the stage.
George T. Christopher was the real weapon. A production whiz. He’d retired from GM. Macauley pulled him out. Christopher modernized the plant end-to-end. Higher volume. Tighter tolerances. Lower costs.
Gilman set the stage. Christopher rebuilt the factory.
Their combined labor was unveiled on January 6, 1935.
The Packard One Twenty.
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The Packard One Twenty
The One Twenty: Packard’s Mass-Market Pivot
The Packard One Twenty wasn’t just a new model. It was a survival strategy disguised as an entry-level sedan. Before this car, Packard was a luxury boutique. With the One Twenty, they became a volume player.
The math was simple. The old Light Eight was gone, a mourned relic. The One Twenty cost about $1,000 to $1,100. That’s barely half the price of its predecessor. It targeted the middle class who’d always admired Packard but never had the cash.
The styling tried to bridge two worlds. It kept the brand’s DNA—the “ox-yoke” radiator grille and the red hexagon hubcaps. But the bodywork? That was new. Rounded contours. Potato-shaped windows. Full fenders. The radiator itself leaned back 30 degrees from vertical. Conservative, yes. But also contemporary. And for Packard, that was daring.
Engine Specs and Performance
Who designed it? Mostly former GM engineers. The result was a no-nonsense L-head eight.
- Displacement (1933-34): 257.2 cubic inches
- Horsepower: 110 bhp
- Design Features: Heavily ribbed block. Individual exhaust ports. Ample water jackets. Five main bearings. Counterweighted overlapping journals.
It was granite strong. Smooth. Economical.
In 1935, Packard stretched the stroke. Displacement jumped to 282 cubic inches. Power went to 120 bhp.
The performance figures still hold up. Most One Twentys hit 85 mph. Zero to 60 took under 20 seconds. For a 3,500-pound prewar car? That’s respectable.
1936-1938: Expanding the Lineup
1936 brought a convertible sedan with “Dietrich” body plates. Don’t be fooled. Ray Dietrich had nothing to do with it. The Murray Body Company owned his name and badge rights since the early ’30s. It was a marketing play.
The 1937 model year added a station wagon. Three DeLuxe closed models. A 138-inch wheelbase sedan and limousine.
Crucially, the ’37 Senior Packards joined the One Twenty in offering:
– Independent front suspension
– Grease fittings (replacing the Bijur automatic chassis lube)
– Hydraulic brakes
By 1938, the “One Twenty” nameplate vanished. It was just called the Eight. One year only. The standard wheelbase lengthened to 127 inches.
Sales Explosion
Critics called the One Twenty “cheap.” They were wrong. It looked like a Packard. It drove like one. It was built like one.
Sales exploded. Packard rocketed from 8th to 12th in industry production in 1935. Volume jumped from 8,000 units to nearly 32,000.
1936: ~61,000 units.
1937: ~122,000 units.
A sharp recession in 1938 cut volume to 56,000. But the firm recovered. Production remained healthy until World War II.
Enter the One Ten
What drove the 1937 record? An even cheaper line. The Six. Called the One Ten for model years 1940-42.
It rode on a 115-inch wheelbase. The engine? Basically an over-bored One Twenty eight with two cylinders removed.
- Displacement: 237 cubic inches
- Horsepower: 100 bhp
Wheelbase stretched to 122 inches for 1938-39. Displacement grew to 245 cubic inches. Horsepower stayed flat.
The One Ten duplicated the One Twenty’s offerings. Prices averaged $150 less.
The result? The One Ten outsold the One Twenty by a ratio of 13-to-10 in 1937.
Was it better? The six wasn’t as smooth as the eight. Not as potent. But the mileage was excellent. Performance was adequate.
The End of an Era
The One Ten completed Packard’s transformation. From handmade luxury to Detroit’s top-10 producer.
They still sold Regular and Super Eights. Opulent Twelves. But only about 6,000 a year.
The One Twenty was the breadwinner. It cost ~$1,200 less than a standard Eight.
Success had consequences. The Super Eight lost its 385 engine after 1936. It was demoted to the 320 unit used in the standard Eight. The standard Eight itself disappeared after 1937. Not in name, but in spirit.
The One Ten was small. Dumpy. Not a traditional Packard.
Was Packard too greedy? George Christopher pushed for volume. Blinded by numbers.
By the late ’30s, Cadillac owned the high-dollar class. Prestige. Sales.
People who never bought a Cadillac now bought one. Why? Because the One Ten and One Twenty looked almost the same from the front. The low-cost Packards upstaged the high-cost ones.
The luxury image eroded. Volume remained. But the soul? That was gone.
While Cadillac was sprinting toward luxury dominance with Harley Earl’s modern aesthetics, Packard stood still. It was a slow motion crash. By 1939, the brand clung to a tall, formal silhouette that felt stiff and archaic. They hadn’t touched the design since the major overhaul four years prior. Stuffy wasn’t the word; it was obsolete.
Yet, the machinery told a different story of survival.
The Price of Dignity in 1939
The 1939 lineup was anchored by the Six, soon rebranded as the One Ten. It started at a staggering $1,000 for the business coupe. For context, a Ford or Chevrolet cost between $600 and $900 that year. Packard was playing in a different weight class.
The One Twenty name returned for entry-level V8s. You could choose between a 127-inch or 148-inch wheelbase. Prices ranged from $1,245 to $1,700.
Super Eights kept those two chassis but narrowed the options. The price spread tightened to $1,650–$2,300.
Then there was the Twelve.
The Twelve was a sprawling empire of models and prices, ranging from $4,155 to $8,355. It featured custom coachwork from heavyweights like Rollston and Brunn. But 1939 was its swan song. The Depression had stripped away the clientele that could afford such an anachronism. Only 5,744 Twelves were built during its eight-year reign. It was the queen, but the kingdom had changed.
The 1940 Engine and Air Conditioning Revolution
Packard didn’t just tweak the 1940 models. It re-engineered the heart of the car.
A new 356-cubic-inch V8 arrived, pushing 160 horsepower. It powered the expanded Super Eight line, now split into One Sixty and Custom One Eighty models. Wheelbases expanded to 127, 138, and 148 inches. Prices for standard bodywork sat between $1,500 and $2,900.
This engine was a marvel of isolation. Nine main bearings. A crankshaft weighing 105 pounds. The result? Silence. It was impressively quiet for the era. Potent enough to push lighter models well over 100 mph, this 356 would define Packard performance for a decade. It powered Supers through 1947 and Customs through 1950.
Also new in 1940 was air conditioning. Packard became the first production car to offer it. Was it effective? Not really. The unit was bulky and clumsy. But it was a statement. Packard didn’t just want to sell cars; it wanted to define comfort.
The Darrin Exception
The low-priced Six remained the One Ten. The One Twenty saw little mechanical change. Rumble seats were dropped. The One Twenty added four DeLuxe-trim models: a sedan, club coupe sedan, and convertible coupe. Price range: $1,160–$1,300.
But the real story was the Darrins.
Howard A. “Dutch” Darrin created a quartet of rakish, custom-built vehicles. These filled the glamour void left by the Twelve. They comprised:
* A One Twenty convertible victoria
* A Custom Super Eight One Eighty version on the short wheelbase
* A long-chassis Custom Super convertible sedan
* A closed Sport Sedan
Dutch hated running boards. He removed them completely. The result was a ground-hugging silhouette that screamed modernity.
These weren’t factory stamps. They evolved from specials Dutch built at his Hollywood workshop for celebrities like actor/crooner Dick Powell. Demand was high. Dutch convinced Packard to catalog these on a special-order basis.
How did he sell it? He parked Powell’s car at the Packard Proving Grounds during the summer of 1939. The dealers at the annual sales meeting saw it. They cheered.
Save for sectioned radiators and hoods, the Darrins wore unique body panels. The Sport Sedan looked like a “gentleman’s car,” borrowing cues from Bill Mitchell’s 1938 Cadillac Sixty Special. It featured a curved, blind-quarter roof, chrome-edged windows, and a sharp beltline.
But the victoria was the masterpiece. Cut-down windshield. An abrupt kickup to the rear flanks from a sloped doorline. The famous “Darrin notch.” Smooth. Low. Ideally proportioned. It had just enough Packard dignity to not look like a toy.
Legacy of the Clipper
The Twelve was gone. The styling was catching up. The engine was silent and fast. The Darrins proved Packard could still make hearts race.
The stage was set for the Clipper. The foundation was laid. The question wasn’t if Packard could compete. It was how fast it could slide into the future.
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The Darrin Rarity and the Rollston Alternative
You couldn’t buy a 1940 Darrin if you wanted to. Packard priced them out of reach, positioning the One Twenty Victoria at $3,819 and the Custom Super convertible sedan at a staggering $6,332. Sales were naturally minuscule. Production was also artificially capped at the old Auburn plant in Connersville, Indiana. The numbers tell the story: 50 victorias rolled out in 1940. Twelve convertible sedans were built. Nine of those remain today.
The Sport Sedan was pitched as a request car for buyers seeking the finest in luxury motorcar transportation. It never really got going. Only two were completed at Dutch Darrin’s shop before the project was dropped. Packard tried to clone the look themselves, building two “Darrinized” sedans with stock 1940 fronts. They weren’t pretty. They led nowhere productwise. Still, all Darrin-Packards are CCCA Classics now.
Rollston offered an all-weather cabriolet for $4,473 and a town car for $4,599. Handfuls were built. Regular models were scarce too. Of the 98,000 Packards made in 1940, only 5,662 were Super Eights. Just 1,900 were Customs. The rest were One Tens and One Twentys.
The 1941 Shift and the Clipper Revolution
Packard rebodied the entire line for 1941. It wasn’t blindingly obvious at first glance. The clues were slightly larger windows and headlamps set firmly within the front fenders. That was a big styling innovation for the brand. Wheelbases stayed the same. Floors were lowered. Suspension was revised. Motor mounts were enlarged. Engines got steel-backed rod bearings and an oil-bath air cleaner.
Darrin models got these updates too. There was only one Darrin this year: the Custom Super Eight One Eighty Victoria. It kept its 1940 silhouette, minus minor trim changes and a slightly different “notch” treatment. The headlamps were flush now. Production moved to Cincinnati, where ambulance and hearse builder Sayers and Scoville crafted 35 as ’41 models. Another 15 were built to little-changed 1942 specs.
Overdrive was still optional. In 1941, it could pair with a new $37.50 “Electromatic” clutch. This system disengaged via manifold vacuum when you lifted off the accelerator. It allowed “clutchless” driving in second gear, which covered most day-to-day use. You could still floor the pedal to get into first.
The Mid-Season Surprise
Packard saved its biggest news for mid-season. They unveiled the Clipper. It was a four-door sedan priced at $1,420. That placed it squarely between the One Twenty and One Sixty. Built on the One Twenty chassis, it looked like nothing Packard had ever made. Smooth. Modern. A bold, unexpected bid for industry design leadership.
The Clipper bore the unmistakable Darrin touch. But it wasn’t solely his. It was a joint project. Packard’s stylists under Werner Gubitz contributed. Several stellar consultants weighed in. Still, it was mostly Dutch. You saw it in the descending beltline. The tapered tail. The long prow-front with the slimmest Packard radiator yet.
Darrin predicted postwar styling years early. A nearly flush-sided “envelope” body. Front fenders swept through into the doors. Width exceeding height. He dashed off the Clipper in just 10 days to meet the deadline. He never got the promised $10,000 fee. Poor form.
The Clipper alone generated about 16,000 sales. That was 22 percent of Packard’s total 1941 volume. Total volume was down some 25,000 from 1940. The performance encouraged Packard to make “Clipper styling” virtually linewide for 1942.
War Cuts the Line Short
Exceptions to the Clipper styling for 1942 were commercial vehicles, One Sixty/One Eighty convertible coupes, and custom bodies. The custom segment included Rollston styles, new LeBaron-built long sedans and limousines, and a beautifully formal Sport Brougham.
Like other makes, Packard’s 1942 production was cut short by America’s entry into World War II. Total output ended just shy of 34,000. Mostly Clipper-styled 110/120 and One Sixty/One Eighty models.
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Studebaker
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Tucker
Packard After World War II
Packard walked out of World War II with cash in hand, a rare feat. While rivals burned through reserves building Merlin aero engines and military power units, Packard’s debt-free status gave it an illusion of invincibility. But that financial cushion lured them into a strategic trap.
They refused to abandon the medium-price One Twenty tradition. It was a mistake. Luxury cars were the postwar dream; budget models were a Depression relic. By doubling down on the mid-tier, Packard diluted its own prestige. It alienated the very buyers who kept the brand alive.
Yet, in 1946, the doom wasn’t visible. Packard simply reprised its prewar line, abbreviated. The low-priced Clipper Six sedan and coupe looked identical to the Clipper Eight DeLuxe models. Same 120-inch wheelbase. Same bones.
Underneath the sheetmetal, the hierarchy was clear. Clipper Super and Custom sedans and coupes sat on the familiar 127-inch chassis. Only the seven-passenger Custom sedan and limousine stretched to a massive 148-inch wheelbase.
Powertrains remained conservative. Basic Eights kept the 282-cubic-inch engine producing 125 horsepower. Supers and Customs held onto the beefy 356 from 1942, rated at 165 horsepower. The Six continued its duty with a 105-horsepower 245. Options like overdrive and the Electromatic clutch were available, appealing to a buyer base that preferred comfort over speed.
The Custom trim levels were lavish. Plush broadcloth, leather upholstery, special carpeting, and imitation wood paneling created an atmosphere of old-world elegance. Packard moved more than 30,000 cars in 1946. Sales jumped to over 50,000 in 1947, with cars identical to the previous year except for their serial numbers.
The Sheetmetal Surcharges
Here is where the fatal flaw emerged. Most Detroit automakers stretched prewar tooling through 1948, then unleashed all-new postwar designs. They looked modern. They looked forward.
Packard couldn’t afford to scrap its prewar dies. The amortization period hadn’t been met. Scrapping them would have been financial suicide. So, stylists did what they could. They glued heavy chunks of sheetmetal onto the Clipper to simulate a modern “flow-through-fender” look.
The result was a 200-pound weight increase for no performance gain.
The ’48 Packard looked fatter. Aggravated by a short, squat grille, the car lost its soul. Customs got an eggcrate grille. Other models got a bar-type grille. Both were far less elegant than the slim, predatory prow of the 1941-47 models.
Auto writer Tom McCahill didn’t mince words. He called the ’48 Packard fit for “a dowager in a Queen Mary hat.” The general public was less polite. They called it a “pregnant elephant.”
Selling the Elephant
Did the styling hurt sales in 1948? Surprisingly, no.
The postwar market was a seller’s paradise. Demand outstripped supply. It didn’t matter if the Packard looked trim or tubby, or if it cost $2,500 or $4,500. Packard sold every car it could build.
Sales hit some 92,000 for model-year ’48. The similar ’49s moved about 116,000 units. These were two of the best years in Packard’s history. Volume masked the aesthetic decay.
Mechanical Tweaks and New Body Styles
The ’48 lineup brought subtle mechanical shifts for the Standard, DeLuxe, Super, and Custom Eights.
- Customs: Retained the 160-horsepower 356 engine.
- Supers: Got a new 327-cubic-inch unit with five main bearings, rated at 145 horsepower.
- Standard Eights: Used a much squarer new 288 engine, producing 130 horsepower.
These powerplants carried through May 1949 in the Twenty-Second Series. The Twenty-Third series then appeared with horsepower bumps: 135 for standards and 150 for Supers.
Body styles remained the core revenue drivers. Sedans and coupes were still Packard’s mainstays from 1948 to 1950. Wheelbase assignments stayed consistent, with a few exceptions for new long-wheelbase models.
- 120-inch: Standards, DeLuxes, and Supers.
- 127-inch: Customs.
- 141-inch: Supported four new Super Eight long sedans and limousines.
- 148-inch: Continued under counterpart Customs.
Packard also crafted a few long Custom commercial chassis and some six-cylinder 1948 platforms for taxi and export use. Niche markets were being served, even if the mainstream was drifting.
The Station Sedan Fail
The most novel addition for ’48 was the four-door Station Sedan in the Standard Eight series. Priced at $3,425, it featured a wagon-like body made almost entirely of steel.
It wasn’t a pure steel box, though. The tailgate used structural wood, and the doors had decorative timber. It looked like a Packard trying to be a Ford Country Squire.
It failed.
Just 3,864 copies were sold through 1950. The concept was too unusual for the brand. Luxury buyers wanted wood trim on the outside, not structural wood hidden in a steel body. It was a mismatch of identity and utility.
The Custom Eight convertible took the top spot in pricing, tagged at $4,295 for 1948 and 1949, then rising to $4,520. It was the pinnacle of the range, even if the styling around it was becoming increasingly unrecognizable.
The End of the Line
The high sales numbers were a mirage. They were selling the past, wrapped in heavy, ugly sheetmetal. The competition was already moving on. Packard was digging its own grave with every extra pound of steel added to the fenders.
The ’48 and ’49 models sold well because there was nothing else to buy. But once supply caught up with demand, the “pregnant elephant” would have to answer for its sins. The financial health that once protected Packard now masked the fact that the product had lost its way.
The engine swaps in
Ultramatic arrived with the mid-1949 Packard Twenty-Third series. It was the only automatic transmission developed by an independent automaker without outside help. The system combined a torque converter with multiple-disc and direct-drive clutches. Forward and reverse bands completed the setup. The car started from rest using the torque converter. At about 15 miles an hour, it shifted into direct mechanical drive. It was much smoother than GM’s Hydra-Matic. Acceleration was leisurely though. Frequent use of Low range for faster starts caused premature wear.
The Twenty-Third series also brought a mild facelift. Most models got a beltline spear. New Deluxe-trim Eight and Super Eight sedans and coupes appeared. Super versions carried a 327-cid engine. They had the same eggcrate grille as corresponding Customs. They cost about $1000 less. Custom sales suffered mightily. So did Packard as a whole. The seller’s market was ending. Production plunged to just under 42,400 units for the model year.
The 1951 Redesign and the “High-Pockets”
Packard finally managed a total redesign for 1951. It adopted John Reinhart’s squarish, but praiseworthy, “high-pockets” notchback shape. It was a complete break with the “elephants.” A new 122-inch chassis supported a “200” series of standard and DeLuxe two- and four-door sedans. There was also a spiffy “250” convertible. The Mayfair hardtop coupe was a first for Packard. A 127-inch platform was used for “300” and Patrician 400 sedans.
Like the old One Ten, the 200s weren’t traditional Packards even though they carried the same 288 engine as the previous standard Eight. The line even included a $2302 business coupe, $529 less than the cheapest ’51 Cadillac. But with the market ended, the 200s couldn’t hope to do well against established price rivals, and they didn’t.
The “real” Packards of 1951 were the 250s, which did sell pretty well. They were the regal 300 and Patrician. At just under $3700, the Patrician effectively replaced the broad Custom Eight line. But though very smooth and utterly reliable, the Custom’s 356 engine cost too much to build in light of expected sales. So Packard’s biggest ’51 engine was the destroked 327. It was previously the middle powerplant. It had nearly as much horsepower: 155 for Patricians and Ultramatic 250/300s, 150 otherwise.
Overall, Packard’s new ’51 package fared quite well. Probably because it was new in a year when little else was. Model-year production ended at 101,000. That was more than twice the dismal 1950 total. Packard also built 401 “300” chassis that year for the professional car market and what remained of its once-thriving custom-body business.
1952: Few Changes, Major Leadership Shifts
Unfortunately, 1952 production was down substantially. It slid to just under 63,000 units. Changes were few. The 200 business coupe was dropped. Power brakes arrived as a postwar first-time option. There were colorful new interiors in high-quality fabric and leather by fashion designer Dorothy Draper. Styling was virtually untouched. The most-obvious change was a different wing position for the traditional “pelican” hood ornament.
A far more significant change occurred in the executive suite during 1952. In May, aging president Hugh Ferry stepped down. He had replaced George Christopher in 1949. James J. Nance took over. Nance was a market-wise hotshot recruited from Hotpoint to turn Packard around. That was sorely needed. By the time Nance arrived, Packard’s Detroit plant was working at only 50 percent capacity. Incredibly, several long-time executives felt that was good enough. Nance saw then what we all see now. At that pace, Packard was doomed.
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Studebaker
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Tucker
James Nance Revamps Packard
James Nance didn’t just enter the Packard executive suite; he hit it like a hurricane. His mission was clear: capture military contracts and, more importantly, purge the brand of its “medium-price” heritage. He argued that selling affordable cars was “bleeding the Packard name white.” It was a high-stakes pivot, one that would define the final years of the Detroit automaker.
The 1953 Luxury Purge
For the 1953 model year, Nance rebranded the 200 and 250 series as the Packard Clipper. This was stage one of his plan to divorce the entry-level models from the rest of the lineup, both in name and in corporate identity. The directive was absolute: Packard would build luxury cars. Period.
Short on time and cash, Nance couldn’t redesign the entire range. Instead, he focused on the top end. He added an eight-place Executive Sedan and a Corporation Limousine, both riding a massive 149-inch wheelbase. These behemoths carried price tags around $7,000, targeting corporate fleets and high-net-worth clients. He also hired the Derham Body Company to craft a handful of formal Patricians. These featured leather-covered roofs, tiny rear windows, and a $6,531 price point, catering to traditionalists who wanted bespoke aesthetics.
At the top of the regular line sat the Caribbean. Inspired by Richard Arbib’s 1952 Packard Pan American show car, this glamorous convertible was styled by Richard A. Teague. It sat on a short wheelbase and housed a 180-bhp 327 cubic-inch engine. The styling was bold: rakish circular cutouts around the rear wheels, a “Continental kit” spare tire mounted externally, and chrome wire wheels. It cost a steep $5,210 and was limited to 750 units to manufacture snob appeal. The market response was strong, rivaling the reception of the Cadillac Eldorado.
The Clipper Reality
Anchoring the volume sales were the Clippers. Two- and four-door sedans in standard and DeLuxe trims powered by the unchanged 288 and 327 engines. The standard group included the Sportster, a hardtop-styled pillared two-door priced attractively at $2,805. The 250-series was dead, but the Mayfair and standard convertible returned. The entry-level long-wheelbase model was the Cavalier sedan, replacing the old 300.
Nance wanted a complete overhaul for 1954. He didn’t get it. Instead, Packard rolled out a look-alike interim series. The only visible changes were rimmed headlights and integrated backup lights. Under the hood, the 327 was bored out to 359 cubic inches, producing 212 bhp for Patricians, Caribbeans, standard convertibles, commercial chassis, and a new hardtop named the Pacific. Air conditioning returned to the options list for the first time since the war.
The Crash
The strategy failed. 1954 was disastrous. Total production plummeted to just 31,000 units.
Of that small haul, roughly 23,000 were Clippers. The lineup included Specials and DeLuxes, plus new Super sedans and a Super Panama hardtop coupe. The Specials still used the 288 engine. The DeLuxe’s 327 got a five-horsepower bump, as did the Supers. The Cavalier sedan settled for a 185-bhp version of the big block. Chassis production, a metric of underlying health, hit only 335 units.
The revolutionary new model Nance had championed was delayed to 1955. The reason? The so-called merger with Studebaker. In reality, it was a Packard buyout. What Nance didn’t know when he signed the papers was that Studebaker was bleeding cash. Its high-overhead plant in South Bend, Indiana, had a break-even point exceeding 250,000 cars.
Packard itself was still relatively healthy, but Studebaker was sinking. And it would drag Packard down with it, taking the last independent luxury automaker of the era into the dark.
For more on defunct American cars, see:
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Duesenberg
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Oldsmobile
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Plymouth
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Studebaker
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Tucker
The Conner Avenue Trap
The 1955 model year arrived with a technological flourish, but it was built on a logistical disaster. Packard had been out of the body-building business since 1940, relying on Briggs Manufacturing. Then Chrysler bought Briggs in 1954. Suddenly, Packard was on its own.
The company’s solution? A cramped, inadequate plant on Conner Avenue in Detroit.
It was a strategic blunder. The facility was too small, causing production bottlenecks that rippled through the assembly line. Quality control suffered. Sales took a hit. The long-wheelbase models were canceled almost immediately. Packard moved 55,000 units in ’55, which sounds decent until you realize they could have achieved far better numbers by simply using their old, sufficient factory on East Grand Boulevard.
Technology That Outshone the Factory
Ironically, the cars themselves were engineering marvels. The headline innovation was Torsion-Level suspension. Instead of traditional coil springs, Packard used long torsion bars that connected the front and rear wheels on each side. A complex electrical system adjusted for load weight, effectively interlinking all four wheels. For a two-ton car, the ride and handling were extraordinary.
Under the hood, the flathead straight-eight was finally dead. It was replaced by powerful, short-stroke overhead-valve V-8s.
- Clipper DeLuxe and Super: 320-cid V-8, 225 bhp.
- Clipper Custom: 352-cid V-8, 245 bhp.
- Caribbean: 352-cid V-8 with twin four-barrel carbs, 275 bhp.
- Patrician and “Four Hundred” hardtop coupes: 352-cid V-8, 260 bhp.
The Ultramatic transmission was modified to handle the extra torque. Combined with the Torsion-Level suspension, the chassis was impressive. These were fast, roadable cars. Styling, led by Dick Teague, was a clever facelift of the ’51 body. It featured “cathedral” taillights, peaked front fenders, an ornate grille, and the era’s must-have: a wrapped windshield. Clippers got their own special grille, keeping the ’54-style taillights.
The Clipper Breakaway
Conner Avenue issues were eventually resolved, but not in time to save 1956. Buyers were already spooked by Studebaker’s desperate financial state and the notorious service problems plaguing the ’55 models. Ironically, the ’56 cars were better built.
Nance pushed for a divorce. The Clipper name was registered as a distinct make. Dealer signs were split. The Packard Division became the Packard-Clipper Division of Studebaker-Packard Corporation.
On the ‘56 Clipper, the word “Packard” disappeared from the exterior. At best, a tiny script on the decklid hinted at its lineage. Some didn’t even have that.
The lineup remained five models:
1. DeLuxe sedan
2. Super sedan
3. Custom sedan
4. Super Constellation hardtop
5. Custom Constellation hardtop
Wheelbase stayed the same. Power bumped to 275 bhp for Customs and 240 for others. Torsion-Level was standard, though DeLuxe buyers could opt for conventional suspension. Options included overdrive ($110), Ultramatic ($199), power steering, power brakes, and air conditioning.
Trim was luxurious. Styling was sharp. But sales didn’t save Studebaker-Packard.
- Top Seller: DeLuxe sedan (5,715 units).
- Bottom Seller: Custom Constellation hardtop (under 1,500 units).
The Final Years
Midway through 1956, Packard introduced the Executive. It was a sedan and hardtop coupe designed to bridge the price gap between Clipper and Patrician. It shared the Clipper’s chassis, 275-bhp 352 V-8, and pointy taillights, but wore senior ’56 front-end styling. Prices sat in the $3,500–$3,600 range.
The full-size Packard line returned with a 127-inch wheelbase for the Patrician, Four Hundred, and two Caribbeans (convertible and new hardtop). These models featured unique reversible seat covers—fabric on one side, leather on the other.
Power went up again. A bored-out 374-cid V-8 delivered 310 bhp in the Caribbean and 290 bhp elsewhere.
It didn’t matter.
Only 10,353 Packards were built in 1956.
* Caribbean hardtops: 263
* Caribbean convertibles: 276
The end was near. The Packardbaker had become a symbol of everything wrong with the merger.
The collapse was no longer a slide; it was a freefall. By 1956, the merger with Studebaker wasn’t saving Packard—it was dragging it under. Total production for the year, including the Clipper line, hit just 28,835 units. That’s barely half of what they moved in 1955. The brand was hemorrhaging market share, and the corporate structure was fracturing.
Inside the boardroom, the panic was palpable. Management had dreamt up an ambitious plan for a 1957 model year. The idea was a shared body shell but completely distinct designs for the Studebaker and Clipper lines. Even more exciting was a separate, larger platform for high-luxury Packards. These cars were to be styled in the image of Dick Teague’s 1956 Packard Predictor show car. It was a bold vision.
But bold visions don’t pay the bills. With no financial backing available, the plan died. John Nance, the driving force behind the merger, resigned in August 1956. He didn’t disappear for long, though. He landed at the Edsel Division of Ford Motor Company, only to see that venture fail just as spectacularly.
Enter the Industrialist
Salvation arrived from an unexpected source: the Curtiss-Wright Corporation. They picked up Studebaker-Packard not out of passion, but as a corporate dalliance and a potential tax write-off. Roy Hurley was brought in from Curtiss-Wright to steer the ship.
Hurley’s first move was brutal in its simplicity. He shut down Packard production in Detroit. In its place, he ordered the construction of Studebaker-based models in South Bend, Indiana. The result was the 1957 Packard Clipper. The industry has since referred to it with a single, derisive term: the Packardbaker.
It was a good car, objectively speaking. A well-built Studebaker, by all accounts. But it bore no resemblance to the premium 1955-56 Packards that had defined the brand’s late-era prestige.
The lineup was stark. Just two models:
* A four-door Town Sedan
* A Country Sedan station wagon
The sedan sat on Studebaker’s longer 120.5-inch chassis. The wagon used the shorter 116.5-inch wheelbase. Power came from a supercharged Studebaker 289-cid V-8. It pushed out 275 bhp—the same output seen in the ’55 Caribbeans and ’56 Executives.
But look closer, and the illusion shattered. The Ultramatic transmission was gone. The Torsion-Level suspension was absent. The plush interior appointments that screamed “Packard” were stripped away. What remained was a Studebaker wearing a Packard grille.
The Charade Continues
Styling tried to bridge the gap, leaning heavily on Packard design themes to sell the lie. Prices reflected this attempt at premium positioning: $3,212 for the sedan and $3,384 for the wagon. Both were higher than comparable Studebaker models.
Did the market bite? Barely. Consumers weren’t fools. They recognized the charade for what it was. Only about 5,000 of these 1957s were sold, and the vast majority were sedans. The wagon was a niche product in a niche brand.
As planners looked toward 1958, they still clung to the hope of a Packard revival. S-P launched a final, desperate holding action. This time, they offered four variations of the Packardbaker, pushing prices up to $3,995.
The lineup expanded slightly:
* Two-door hardtop (116.5-inch chassis)
* Four-door wagon (116.5-inch chassis)
* Four-door sedan (120-inch chassis)
* The Packard Hawk (120-inch chassis)
The Hawk was perhaps the most infamous of the bunch. It was essentially a more luxurious version of the Studebaker Golden Hawk. It featured full-leather interiors and a styling language so bizarre it bordered on the grotesque.
Styling Wars and Roy Hurley’s Ego
The centerpiece of the 1958 aesthetic was the low, “fish-mouth” grille. It was meant to be aggressive. It came off as desperate.
Stylist Duncan McRae has taken plenty of blame for the Hawk’s exterior “armrests” and the garish finning on the other three models. He also oversaw the hastily contrived four-headlight systems, a frantic attempt to keep up with industry trends.
But let’s be clear about who was really behind the wheel here. The Hawk existed solely because of Roy Hurley. He dictated the long, bolt-on fiberglass nose. He insisted on the gaudy gold-mylar tailfins. If the design was offensive, Hurley was the architect.
Mechanically, the Hawk was the only one of the quartet that received the supercharger
