Literal

Literal (pronounced lit-er-uhl)

(1) In accordance with, involving, or being the primary or strict meaning of the word or words; not figurative or metaphorical.

(2) Following the words of the original exactly.

(3) True to fact; not exaggerated; actual or factual; being actually such, without exaggeration or inaccuracy.

(4) Of, persons, tending to construe words in the strict sense or in an unimaginative way; matter-of-fact; prosaic.

(5) Of or relating to the letters of the alphabet (obsolete except for historic, technical or academic use); of or pertaining to the nature of letters.

(6) In language translation, as "literal translation", the precise meaning of a word or phrase as opposed to the actual meaning conveyed when used in another language.

(7) A typographical error, especially involving a single letter (in technical use only).

(8) In English (and other common law jurisdictions) law, one of the rules of statutory construction and interpretation (also called the plain meaning rule).

(9) In computer science, a notation for representing a fixed value in source code.

(10) In mathematics, containing or using coefficients and constants represented by letters.

1350-1400: From the Middle English from the Late Latin literalis & litteralis (of or belonging to letters or writing) from the Classical Latin litera & littera (letter, alphabetic sign; literature, books).  The meaning "taking words in their natural meaning" (originally in reference to Scripture and opposed to mystical or allegorical), is from the Old French literal (again borrowed from the Latin literalis & litteralis).  In English, the original late fourteenth meaning was "taking words in their natural meaning" and was used in reference to the understanding of text in Scripture, distinguishing certain passages from those held to be mystical or allegorical.  The meaning "of or pertaining to the letters of the alphabet " emerged in English only in the late fifteenth century although that was the meaning of the root from antiquity, a fork of that sense being " verbally exact, according to the letter of verbal expression, attested from the 1590s and it evolved in conjunction with “the primary sense of a word or passage”.  The phrase “literal-minded” which can be loaded with negative, neutral or positive connotations, is noted from 1791.  Literal is a noun & adjective, literalize is a verb, literalistic is an adjective, literalist, literalization & literalism are nouns and literally is an adverb; the noun plural is literals.

The meaning "concerned with letters and learning, learned, scholarly" was known since the mid-fifteenth century but survives now only literary criticism and the small number of universities still using “letters” in the description of degree programmes.  The Bachelor of Letters (BLitt or LittB) was derived from the Latin Baccalaureus Litterarum or Litterarum Baccalaureus and historically was a second undergraduate degree (as opposed to a Masters or other post-graduate course) which students pursued to study a specialized field or some aspect of something of particular interest.  Once common, these degrees are now rare in the English-speaking world.  It was between 1895-1977 offered by the University of Oxford and was undertaken by many Rhodes Scholars, sometimes as an adjunct course, but has now been replaced by the MLitt (Master of Letters) which has a minimal coursework component.  When the BLitt was still on the books, Oxford would sometimes confer it as a sort of consolation prize, offering DPhil candidates whose submission had proved inadequate the option of taking a BLitt if the prospect of re-writing their thesis held no appeal.  Among the dons supervising the candidates, the verb "to BLitt" emerged, the classic form being: “he was BLitt-ed you know".

Oxford BLitt in light-blue hood, circa 1907, prior to the reallocation of the shades of blue during the 1920s.

Oxford's colorful academic gowns are a footnote in the history of fashion although influences either way are difficult to detect.  The regulations of 1895 required the new BLitt and the BSc (Bachelor of Science) were to wear the same dress as the existing B.C.L (Bachelor of Civil Law) and the BM (Bachelor of Medicine) and if there was a difference between the blues used for the BCL and the BM in 1895, the implicit "respectively" (actually then its Latin equivalent) would seem to suggest the BLitt was to use the same color hood as the BCL and the BSc to use the shade of the BM and that's certainly how it appears on many contemporary depictions.  Although in the surviving record the hues of blue would in the following decades vary somewhat (and the colors were formerly re-allocated during the 1920s, the BLitt moving to a more vivid rendition of light-blue), the BLitt, BSc and BCL hoods tended always to be brighter and the BM darker.  Whether it was artistic license or an aesthetic nudge, one painter in 1927 mixed something much lighter for the BLitt, a shade more neutral and hinting at a French grey but no other artist seems to have followed.  By 1957, the BLitt and BSc gowns had returned to the colors of the 1895 decree while the BCL and BM were now in mid-blue and that remained unchanged until 1977 when the BLitt and BSc were superseded by masters’ degrees, the new MSc and MLitt given a blue hood lined with the grey of the DLitt & DSc.

Oxford BM in mid-blue hood, circa 1905.

Quite how much the work of the artist can be regarding as an accurate record of a color as it appeared is of course dubious, influenced as it is the painter’s eye, ambient light and the angle at which it was observed.  Even the descriptions used by the artists in their notes suggest there was either some variation over the years (and that would not be unexpected given the differences in the dying processes between manufacturers) or the terms for colors meant different things to different painters: The Oxford BMus hood was noted as blue (1882 & 1934), mauve (1920), lilac (1923, 1924, 1927, 1935 & 1957), dark lilac (1948) and dark purple (1926).  With improvements in photographic reproduction and the greater standardization in the industrial processes used in dying, the post-war photographic record is more reliable and lilac seems a good description for the BM and “light blue” for the BLitt.

In modern (social media) use, "literal" often is used as term of emphasis meaning something like "an exemplar of".  Although the purists will never approve, in that context, it may come to be regarded as a genuine additional meaning, although unlike a word like decimate, it wont be a meaning shift replacing the original.   

In March 2023, after the announcement of her daughter's pregnancy, Lindsay Lohan's mother (Dina Lohan (b 1962)) was quoted as saying: “I’m literally over the moon. I’m so happy, I can’t stop smiling”.  The proneness to exaggeration seems to be a family trait because Lindsay Lohan did once admit some of her youthful antics made her mother “hit the roof” which, hopefully, she didn't mean to be taken literally (although, who knows?).  The now seemingly endemic misuse of literal is not new, Henry Watson Fowler (1858–1933) in his A Dictionary of Modern English Usage (1926) noting errors in general use from as early as the 1820s and the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) has cited literary examples from the seventeenth century.  Interestingly, it appears objections emerged at scale only in the early twentieth century which does suggest an additional meaning may have existed or at least been evolving before the grammar Nazis imposed their censorious ways.  So endemic in English has the (mis)use become and genuine confusion so rare the pedants really should give up their carping; after all, some illustrious names have sinned:

Scrooge McDuck, literally "rolling in wealth" in his famous money bin. 

“…literally rolling in wealth…”: (Mark Twain (1835-1910), The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (1876)).  In fairness to Twain, it can be done.  While Donald Trump (as far as is known) does it only figuratively, Walt Disney (1901–1966) had Scrooge McDuck (created 1947) literally roll-around in the huge volumes of cash he stashed in his "money bin" (a reputed 3 cubic acres (257,440 m³; 772.321 megalitres)) but that wouldn't have been what Twain had in mind.

“The land literally flowed with milk and honey.”: (Louisa May Alcott (1832–1888), Little Women (1868-1869)).  That one may be at least a gray area because milk and honey do literally "flow" (though their varies viscosities mean the flow-rates do differ) and "the land" can be used in the sense of the country and its people rather than "the soil".   

“…Gatsby literally glowed” [after reuniting with Daisy at his house]: (F Scott Fitzgerald (1896–1940), The Great Gatsby (1925)).  Women (when pregnant or as new mothers) often are said "to be glowing" in the sense of their happiness being such it seems "to radiate" from them and this may be what Fitzgerald wished to suggest but even then it was untypical to apply the phrase to men.  However, at least debatably, some time ago, popular use reached the threshold where to describe a new mother as “glowing” could be regarded as literal because the word has become so vested with that sense.  Indeed, in January 2026, when announcing her long-standing feud with Lindsay Lohan had moved from a state of détente to a kind of entente cordiale, Paris Hilton (b 1981) told her audience: “We plan on getting the kids together.  I'm so happy for her.  She is glowing. We love being moms.”  So, that literalism of “glowing” has her imprimatur and, as is well-known, where Paris Hilton goes, the English language follows.  

The literal rule in statutory interpretation in the UK & Commonwealth

Statute law is that set in place by a body vested with appropriate authority (typically a legislature) and maintained in written form.  In providing rulings involving these laws, courts in the common-law world (although in the US the evolution has been a little different) have developed a number of principles of statutory interpretation, the most fundamental of which is “the literal rule” (sometimes called the “plain meaning rule”).  It’s the basis of all court decisions involving statues, the judge looking just to the words written down, relying on their literal meaning without any attempt to impute or interpret meaning.  The process should ensure laws are made exclusively by legislators alone; those elected for the purpose, the basis of the constitutional theory being that it’s this which grants laws their legitimacy and thus the consent of those upon they’re imposed.  However, an application of the literal rule can result in consequences which are nonsensical, immoral or unjust but the theory is that will induce the legislature to correct whatever error in drafting was the cause; it not being the task of the court to alter a duly passed law; the judiciary must interpret and not attempt to remedy the law.

A judge in 1980 observed the British constitution “…is firmly based upon the separation of powers; parliament makes the laws, the judiciary interpret them.  When Parliament legislates to remedy what the majority of its members at the time perceive to be a defect… the role of the judiciary is confined to ascertaining from the words that parliament has approved as expressing its intention what that intention was, and to giving effect to it. Where the meaning of the statutory words is plain and unambiguous it is not for the judges to invent fancied ambiguities as an excuse for failing to give effect to its plain meaning because they themselves consider that the consequences of doing so would be inexpedient, or even unjust or immoral.”  So a judge should not depart from the literal meaning of words even if the outcome is unjust.  If they do, the will of parliament is contradicted.

However, some things were so absurd even the most black-letter-law judges (of which there were not a few) could see the problem.  What emerged was “the golden rule”, the operation of which a judge in 1857 explained by saying the “…grammatical and ordinary sense of the words is to be adhered to unless that would lead to some absurdity or some repugnance or inconsistency with the rest of the instrument in which case the grammatical and ordinary sense of the words may be modified so as to avoid the absurdity and inconsistency, but no farther.”  The golden rule thus operates to avoid an absurdity which an application of the literal rule might produce.

The golden rule was though deliberately limited in scope, able to be used only in examples of absurdity so extreme it would be a greater absurdity not to rectify.  Thus “the mischief rule” which with judges exercised rather more discretion within four principles, first mentioned in 1584 at a time when much new legislation was beginning to emerge to supersede the old common law which had evolved over centuries of customary practice.  Given the novelty of codified national law replacing what previously been administered with differences between regions, the need for some debugging was not unexpected, hence the four principles of the mischief rule: (1) What was the common law before this law?, (2) What was the mischief and defect for which the common law did not provide and thus necessitate this law?, (3) What remedy for the mischief and defect is in this law”, & (4) The role of the judge is to make such construction as shall suppress the mischief and advance the remedy.  The rule was intended to determine what mischief a statute was intended to correct and interpret the statute justly to avoid any mischief.

The mischief rule closes loopholes in the law while allowing them to evolve in what may be a changing environment but does permit an element of the retrospective and depends on the opinion and prejudices of the judge: an obvious infringement on the separation of powers protected by the strict application of literal rule.  So it is a trade-off, the literal rule the basic tool of statutory interpretation which should be deviated from only in those exceptional cases where its application would create an absurdity or something manifestly unjust.  This the golden rule allows while the mischief rule extends judicial discretion, dangerously some have said, permitting the refinement of law at the cost of increasing the role of the judges, a group where views and prejudices do vary.  From all this has evolved the debate about judicial activism.

Colonel Theodore Roosevelt (TR, 1858–1919; VPOTUS 1901, POTUS 1901-1909) with the 1^st US Volunteer Cavalry and troopers of the 10th Cavalry after the capture of Kettle Hill during the Battle of San Juan Hill, July 1898.

Fought between April-August 1898, the Spanish–American War followed the warship USS Maine (an “armoured cruiser” best thought of as one of the smaller “pre-Dreadnought” battleships) in February blowing up and sinking while anchored in Cuba’s Havana Harbor; 261 of the ship’s complement of 355 were killed.  Based on the early reports and available evidence, the US Navy’s explosives experts suggested the blast appeared to have been caused by a spontaneous coal bunker fire but Roosevelt, then serving as Assistant Secretary of the Navy, pushed back, labelling that conclusion “premature” and insisted sabotage was possible, telling colleagues: “the Maine was sunk by an act of dirty treachery on the part of the Spaniards.”  That might have sounded strange to those who have read the press reports of courteous Spaniards having welcomed her arrival in Havana with the presentation to the captain of a case of Jerez sherry and William McKinley (1843–1901; US president 1897-1901) the next evening, hosting his first diplomatic dinner in the White House, having the Spanish minister sit next to him, despite almost a dozen other envoys enjoying precedence.  Roosevelt however had his war-paint on and he had the enthusiastic support of William Randolph Hearst’s (1863–1951) New York newspaper the Journal, something of the FoxNews of its day and an early example of “yellow journalism”.

Unconvinced after having learned the Maine had been “a floating bomb, its forecastle packed with gunpowder and its magazines laced with shortable wires”, McKinley ordered an investigation, saying: “I don’t propose to be swept off my feet by the catastrophe.  I have been through one war [the US Civil War 1861-1865] and I have seen the dead piled up, and I do not want to see another.”   He called for an investigation, which dragged on for months.  While McKinley’s enquiry percolated, Hearst had the Journal print fanciful diagrams showing how the Spanish “Infernal Machine” had hit the hull while Roosevelt, taking advantage of the temporary absence of the Secretary of the Navy, ordered the Pacific squadron to sea, put the European and South Atlantic stations on alert, demanded of Congress the immediate authorization of the unlimited recruitment of seamen and ordered large quantities of guns and ammunition.  By the time McKinley's investigation reported the cause of the sinking as an “external explosion”, Roosevelt and Hearst had honed public opinion and, the die cast, a reluctant McKinley took his country to war.

A stylized image of the explosion which sank the USS Maine, published in 1898 by Kurz and Allison (a Chicago-based publisher of chromolithographs), Nautical History Gallery and Museum.

In a move that would wholly be unfamiliar to bloodthirsty, non-combatant modern politicians who prefer to sit at a safe distance to watch other people’s children fight their wars, Roosevelt’s view was: “I have done all I could to bring on the war, because it is a just war, and the sooner we meet it the better.  Now that it has come, I have no business to ask others to do the fighting and stay home myself.”  He resigned from the administration and headed for Cuba with his “Rough Riders” (a collection of “cowboys, idealists. Veteran soldiers, Native Americans and adventurers”), assembled as the 1^st US Volunteer Cavalry, a formation John Hay (1838-1905; US Secretary of State 1898-1905) thought “ideally suited” to what be labelled a “splendid little war.”  Although brief, the conflict was of great significance because it was at this point the US became an imperial power, its defeat of Spain resulting in the acquisition of Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippines, while Cuba would until 1902 remain a US protectorate.  By the late twentieth century a consensus had emerged that the explosion was most likely caused by an "internal event" and not a Spanish mine but much had since happened and "what's done is done and can't be undone".

The Rough Riders were one of several units formed ad hoc which were dissolved with the end of the war and while the notion of what were quasi-private militias operating in concert with regular forces may seem curious, before World War I (1914-1918) changed the public perception of war, for some men, the lure of combat still had a romantic aura.  While the contribution of the Rough Riders strategically was slight, it was real and it was the action of 1 July which became the war’s most famous engagement.  On that day, in a combined assault with regular army troops, Roosevelt on horseback led the Rough Riders in charges up Kettle Hill and San Juan Hill; there over a thousand casualties with some 200 killed.  He returned to the US as a national hero and in November 1898 was elected governor of New York before being "persuaded" to run as McKinley’s running mate on the Republican ticket for the 1900 presidential election.  Roosevelt would have been familiar with the nineteenth century there was a joke about two brothers: “One ran off to sea and the other became vice-president; neither were ever heard of again” and may have anticipated the view of John Nance Garner III (1868–1967, VPOTUS 1933-1941 so thus a reasonable judge of these things), that being VPOTUS was “...not worth a bucket of warm piss” (which is polite company usually is sanitized as “...bucket of warm spit”).  Accordingly, he was diffident about seeking the nomination which in his day was not thought a stepping stone to higher things.  That’s changed and a number of VPOTUSs have become POTUS; on a few occasions that has worked well but of late the record has not been encouraging, the presidencies of Lyndon Johnson (LBJ, 1908–1973; VPOTUS 1961-1963, POTUS 1963-1968), Richard Nixon (1913-1994; VPOTUS 1953-1961, POTUS 1969-1974), George H. W. Bush (George XLI, 1924-2018; VPOTUS 1981-1989, POTUS 1989-1993) and Joe Biden (b 1942; VPOTUS 2008-2017, POTUS 2021-2025) 1963-1968, all ending badly, in despair, disgrace, defeat and decrepitude respectively.  Roosevelt in 1900 told friends he’d rather “…be anything else, say, a professor of history” but finally decided he could make it a solid platform for a run for the presidency in 1904.

His path to the nomination for VPOTUS was made somewhat smoother by the party bosses in New York wanting him out because although popular with the voters, for the machine men used to running things, he was a loose cannon and one they’d sooner have sitting in an inconsequential office in Washington DC than making trouble in New York where he exercised real power.  Mark Hanna (1837-1904), the great Republican boss, called him “that damned cowboy” (which, in many ways, could be read literally) and Mark Twain disapproved, saying he was “clearly insane… and insanest upon war and its supreme glories.”  Hanna was of course aware of the danger for a VPOTUS is first in the line of succession and he’d tried to stop the nomination, imploring the delegates to “see reason”, telling them: “Don’t any of you realize that there’s only one life between that madman and the presidency?”  It was to no avail and in 1900 the McKinley/Roosevelt ticket prevailed, prompting Hanna to tell McKinley: “Your sacred duty for the next four years is to stay alive” and the president did his best but, through no fault of his own, was within months cut down by the gunfire of an anarchist and “that damned cowboy” was sworn in as Chief Magistrate of the United States.  In what must now seem an extraordinary example of judicial alacrity, within six weeks of McKinley’s death, the anarchist assassin had been tried, convicted and executed in New York’s Auburn Prison, dispatched by the New York State Electrician.

A full-page advertisement taken out by Donald Trump (b 1946; US president 2017-2021 and since 2025) in the New York Daily News (1 May 1989).  When he said "BRING BACK THE DEATH PENALTY", he meant it literally.

“New York State Electrician” really was the title of the state’s chief executioner and the title was derived from the use of the electric chair.  The first appointment was made in 1890 and despite New York staging its last execution in 1963, the position was not disestablished until the Nixon-era decision by the USSC (US Supreme Court) in Furman v. Georgia, 408 U.S. 238 (1972), which had the effect of imposing a national moratorium on the use of the death penalty until 1976 when it was held certain states successfully had re-written their statutes in conformity with the US constitution.  Intriguingly, between 1890-1963 the fee received by the State Electrician was never changed from the original US$150 (with a bonus US$50 paid for additional executions performed on the same day).  That was despite substantial inflation (and the related decrease in the purchasing power of the US$): By 1963, the equivalent value of 1890’s US$150 was calculated at US$504.40 and by 2026 the number was US$5,342.67.  Mr Trump ran his advertisement in four New York City newspapers at a total cost of US$85,000 so, had the New York State Electrician still be plying his specialized trade, what was paid to the papers would have covered some 567 executions but if the fee had been adjusted in line with inflation (the value of 1990’s US$150 by 1989 having risen to US$2,043.96), it would have paid for fewer than 42 to “get the chair”.

Movements in the value of the US$ (inflation & purchasing power), 1890-2026.

Roosevelt’s military exploits in what came to be called the Battle of San Juan Heights made him a national celebrity, a role he was well-equipped to exploit and when late in 1898 he's returned to the US, his mind turned to politics and his goal was the White House; for that he needed a stepping stone.  New York’s Republican Party establishment preferred to endorse candidates who were (1) sane and (2) dependent on the machine and thus compliant so were thus not enamoured with the leader of the Rough Riders but above all they needed someone likely to win an election, a quality Roosevelt appeared to possess, unlike the alternatives.  So, reluctantly, the New York Republicans adopted them as their candidate in the 1898 gubernatorial election and Roosevelt stormed into the campaign with the same enthusiasm he'd a few months earlier displayed on horseback while leading charges against the Spanish.  With a sense for publicity which never deserted him, he had Sergeant Buck Taylor (who’d charged with him in Cuba) speak at an election rally where he told the assembled crowd: “…and when it came to the great day he led us up San Juan Hill like sheep to the slaughter and so he will lead you.”  Roosevelt won the election, winning the popular vote 49.02% to 47.70% so clearly not too many New Yorkers took Sergeant Taylor’s words literally.

Sandwedge

Sandwedge (pronounced sand-wej)

(1) As Operation Sandwedge, a proposed clandestine intelligence-gathering operation against the political enemies of US president Richard Nixon.

(2) As sand wedge, a specialized golf club, an iron with a heavy lower flange, the design of which is optimized for playing the ball out of a bunker (sand trap).

1971: The name was chosen for a “dirty tricks” covert operation as a borrowing from golf, the sand wedge a club used to play the ball from a difficult position.  The construct was sand + wedge.  Dating from pre-1000, sand was from the Middle English sand, from the Old English sand, from the Proto-West Germanic samd, from the Proto-Germanic samdaz, from the primitive Indo-European sámhdhos, from sem- (to pour).  Wedge was a pre 900 from the Middle English wegge (wedge), from the Old English wecg (a wedge), from the Proto-Germanic wagjaz (source also of the Old Norse veggr, the Middle Dutch wegge, the Dutch wig, the Old High German weggi (wedge) and the dialectal German Weck (a wedge-shaped bread roll) and related to the Old Saxon weggi.  It was cognate with the dialectal German weck derived from the Old High German wecki and Old Norse veggr (wall).  The Proto-Germanic wagjaz is of uncertain origin but may be related to the Latin vomer (plowshare).  Sandwedge is a noun; should the plural ever be needed, it would be sandwedges (ie phonetically a la the use in golf (sand wedges)).

In golf, when using a sand wedge (left), the player’s stance and the way in which the club addresses the ball differs from what’s done when using a conventional iron (right).  Noted golfer Paige Spiranac (b 1993) demonstrates the difference although there may be some variations depending on an individual's weight distribution. 

Richard Nixon.

Operation Sandwedge was a covert intelligence-gathering operation intended to be conducted against the enemies (a long list which later became public) of Richard Nixon (1913-1994; US president 1969-1974).  Beginning in 1971, the early planning was done by Nixon's Chief of Staff HR Haldeman (1926-1993), his assistant for domestic affairs, John Ehrlichman (1925-1999) and Jack Caulfield (1929–2012; despite a minor (essentially procedural) role in the Watergate scandal, he was never prosecuted), then attached to Ehrlichman’s White House staff “handling special assignments”; also involved (though paid not by the White House but from external campaign funds) was Tony Ulasewicz (1918-1997), later a bit-player in the Watergate affair.  The core of Caulfield’s plan was to target the anti-Vietnam War movement and those figures in the Democratic Party Nixon had identified as the greatest threat to his re-election in 1972, including Ted Kennedy (1932–2009; US senator 1962-2009), Ed Muskie (1914–1996; US senator 1959-1980), William Proxmire (1915–2005; US Senator 1957-1989) and Birch Bayh (1928–2019; US senator 1963-1981).  Of interest too was a settling of scores with those who had prevented G Harrold Carswell (1919–1992) being confirmed by the Senate as Nixon's nominee for the US Supreme Court and the president's net was internecine too, some of the targeted figures in his own Republican Party.

G Gordon Liddy.

Operation Sandwedge was intended to be clandestine but it wasn’t subtle and included physical and electronic surveillance, the intelligence of particular interest that which could be used either to feed damaging leaks to the press or for purposes of blackmail including dubious financial transactions, mental health records and (preferably “unnatural”) sexual proclivities.  However, the operation never proceeded beyond the planning stages because Haldeman and Ehrlichman thought the methods of Caulfield (a former New York City Police Officer) unsophisticated so transferred the project to G Gordon Liddy (1930–2021), a lawyer, one-time FBI agent and later one of the great characters of the Watergate affair.  Attached to Liddy's operation was former CIA operative Howard Hunt (1918–2007) who, under his name and many noms de plume, was a most prolific author of fiction and non-fiction, his bibliography extending to over 70 titles.  Caulfield had chosen the name sandwedge because, as a dedicated golfer, he knew the sand wedge was the club of choice when one was in a difficult spot;  if well-played, it was what could transform a bad situation into something good.  At the time, code-names were among the many imaginative things to emerge from the bunker at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue and the one chosen for the squad to investigate leaks of information to the press was dubbed “the plumbers”.  One member later told his elderly grandmother one of his duties in the White House was “investigating leaks” and proudly she told him: “Your grandfather was a plumber”.   

Paige Spiranac's definitive guide to the correct handling of one's sand wedge, one of a series of invaluable short clips called Paige Quickies.  They're an ideal guide for both experienced golfers wishing to hone their techniques and those taking up the sport.  Highly qualified and thus obviously cognizant of physics of weight distribution when swinging a club, another of the Paige Quickies is a collection of tips for “busty golfers”.  On Instagram, in less than 24 hours, the clip garnered over 2.6 million views.  On the internet, opinion was divided on whether the high view-count was (1) a indication there are many busty golfers seeking technical advice or (2) other reasons.

The Watergate complex, Washington DC.

The Watergate affair was of course one of the best known (and among nihilistic political junkies the most celebrated) of the “dirty tricks” operations run out of (or at least connected with) the Nixon White House but it was far from unique.  Some strikingly immoral back-channel operations had been run even before the 1968 election but by 1971 the vista had expanded to include what would now be called fake news plants, the infiltration of the staff of political opponents, break-ins and burglary, among the most infamous of which was “the plumbers” (including Liddy) breaking into the office of the psychiatrist treating Daniel Ellsberg (b 1931), the former Department of Defense (now known also as the Department or War) military analyst who had leaked the “Pentagon Papers” (something which was a reasonable achievement in the days when decamping with thousands of pages of classified material demanded not a few minutes copying data to a USB stick but many hours between midnight and dawn using the photocopier).  The doctor's Ellsberg file revealed nothing of interest but the burglary gained a place in history, being recorded by Ehrlichman (who approved the operation) as "Hunt/Liddy Special Project No 1".  There would be more.

Paige Spiranac is active on Instagram and recently posted a “Life update” to her four million followers, advising “I have bangs now”.  Hopefully, she will keep us informed and there will be more to come.

Sandwedge had been envisaged as an intelligence gathering operation, the most novel aspect of which was that while the project documents presented an overview of something using conventional methods of surveillance and the compilation of publicly available material, privately, Caulfield admitted electronic surveillance would also (unlawfully) be used, something any expert presumably could have deduced from the impressive total of budget request.  Of greatest interest were financial records (relating particularly to tax matters), mental health conditions, undisclosed legal problems and sexual conduct, especially if illicit and preferably unlawful.  The idea greatly interested Haldeman and Ehrlichman but they had never been convinced by Caulfield’s “lack of background” by which they meant education, social skills (ie correct way to use knife & fork in polite company) and political experience.  Accordingly, Sandwedge and all intelligence matters were transferred to Liddy, the article of faith in the White House being anything run by a trained lawyer legally would be “bullet proof”, not a quality they associated with the schemes of ex-NYC police officers, a breed not always with a reputation for rectitude.

New York Times, Saturday 2 March 1974.

Liddy revelled in the role as the White House’s clandestine clearing house for “covert ops” and applied his own list of spy-like code names (Gemstone, Diamond, Ruby etc) to an range of activities expanded beyond Sandwedge including physical espionage, infiltration of protest groups, secret wire-taps, sabotage of opposition campaigns and, of course, “honey-pot traps” (the use of attractive young women as temptresses).  Even for Haldeman and Ehrlichman (behind their backs, known to White House staffers as “the Germans” or “the Prussians”) the implications of becoming essentially gangsters was too much but the shell of Liddy's structure was in 1972 approved and even that pared-down framework included a range of unlawful activities, including the one which would trigger the chain of events that culminated in Nixon’s resignation and see dozens of the conspirators (including Haldeman, Ehrlichman and Liddy) jailed: the break in and bugging of the Democratic Party offices in the Watergate complex.  As the affair unfolded, suspicion fell upon Caulfield until it was realised his role in Operation Sandwedge had ended before any dubious operations began and he’d never been part of Liddy’s more ambitious plans.  He was compelled to resign from government but was never prosecuted, maintaining to his dying day that if he’d been left to run Operation Sandwedge, there would have been no burglaries in the Watergate complex or anywhere else and thus none of the cascading scandals which at first paralysed and later doomed the second term of the Nixon administration.

On the golf course, Lindsay Lohan in bunker with sand wedge, rendered as a pen drawing by Vovsoft.

One attractive thing about the historic records of the US government is the relative openness and accessibility to the documents which can lay bare the operations of at least some of the machinery of government.  Things are of course not as open as they used to be but the US attitude to the classification of material is still preferable to that of institutions like the UK’s Cabinet Office or the CCP (Chinese Communist Party) both of which operate in an air of obsessive secrecy.  One treasure trove is the on-line archive of the Richard Nixon Presidential Library and Museum which includes a stash of transcripts of the White House tapes subpoenaed by the SSPF (Watergate Special Prosecution Force), including the famous (and politically, politically and legally fatal) “smoking gun tape”.  In some ways even more so than the audio tapes, the transcripts provide an insight into how politics actually is practiced and it’s useful to compare them with sanitized (and sometimes mendacious) memoirs or “official histories”.  On 21 March 1973, President Nixon met with John Dean (b 1938; White House Counsel to the President, 1970-1973) when “Operation Sandwedge” and its corrosive consequences were discussed:

DEAN:  I think, I think that, uh, there's no doubt about the seriousness of the problem we've got.  We have a cancer--within, close to the Presidency, that's growing.  It's growing daily.  It's compounding, it grows geometrically now because it compounds itself.  Uh, that'll be clear as I explain you know, some of the details, uh, of why it is, and it basically is because (1) we're being blackmailed; (2) uh, people are going to start perjuring themself very quickly that have not had to perjure themselves to protect other people and the like. And that is just--and there is no assurance…

DEAN: Jack had worked for John [John Mitchell (1913–1988; US attorney-general 1969–1972)] and then was transferred to my office.  I said, "Jack, come up with a plan that, you know, is a normal infiltration, I mean, you know, buying information from secretaries and all that sort of thing."  He did, he put together a plan.  It was kicked around, and, uh, I went to Ehrlichman with it.  I went to Mitchell with it, and the consensus was that Caulfield wasn't the man to do this. Uh, in retrospect, that might have been a bad call, 'cause he is an incredibly cautious person and, and wouldn't have put the situation to where it is today.

PRESIDENT: Yeah.

DEAN: All right, after rejecting that, they said, "We still need something," so I was told to look around for somebody that could go over to 1701 and do this.  And that's when I came up with Gordon Liddy, who-- they needed a lawyer. Gordon had an intelligence background from his FBI service.  I was aware of the fact that he had done some extremely sensitive things for the White House while he'd been at the White House, and he had apparently done them well. Uh, going out into Ellsberg's doctor's office.

PRESIDENT: Oh, yeah.

PRESIDENT: January of '72?

DEAN: January of '72.  Like, "You come over to Mitchell's office and sit in on a meeting where Liddy is going to lay his plan out."  I said, "Well, I don't really know as I'm the man, but if you want me there I'll be happy to."  So, I came over and Liddy laid out a million dollar plan that was the most incredible thing I have ever laid my eyes on.  All in codes, and involved black bag operations, kidnapping, providing prostitutes, uh, to weaken the opposition, bugging, uh, mugging teams. It was just an incredible thing.

PRESIDENT: But, uh..

DEAN: And--

PRESIDENT: ...that was, that was not, uh...

DEAN: No.

PRESIDENT: ...discussed with..

DEAN: No.

PRESIDENT: ...other persons.

DEAN: No, not at all. And--

PRESIDENT: (Unintelligible)

DEAN: Uh, Mitchell, Mitchell just virtually sat there puffing [on his pipe] and laughing. I could tell 'cause after he--after Liddy left the office I said, "That's the most incredible thing I've ever seen.  "He said, "I agree."  And so then he was told to go back to the drawing boards and come up with something realistic. So there was a second meeting. Uh, they asked me to come over to that. I came into the tail end of the meeting. I wasn't there for the first part. I don't know how long the meeting lasted. Uh, at this point, they were discussing again bugging, kidnapping and the like. And at this point I said, right in front of everybody, very clearly, I said, "These are not the sort of things that are ever to be discussed in the office of the Attorney General of the United States"--where he still was--"and I am personally incensed." I was trying to get Mitchell off the hook, uh, 'cause—

PRESIDENT: I know

DEAN: He's a, he's a nice person, doesn't like to say no under--when people he's going to have to work with.

PRESIDENT: That's right.

DEAN: So, I let, I let it be known. I said, "You all pack that stuff up and get it the hell out of here 'cause we just, you just can't talk this way in this office and you shouldn't, you shouldn't, you should re-examine your whole thinking." Came back-

PRESIDENT: Who else was present? Be-, besides you-

DEAN: It was Magruder, Magruder. [Jeb Magruder (1934–2014; deputy director of Committee for the Re-Election of the President (CRP) in the 1972 election (better known as CREEP))]

PRESIDENT: Magruder.

DEAN: Uh, Mitchell, Liddy and myself. I came back right after the meeting and told Bob, I said, "Bob, we've got a growing disaster on our hands if they're thinking this way.'  And I said, "The White House has got to stay out of this and I, frankly, am not going to be involved in it."  He said, "I agree John."  And, I thought, at that point the thing was turned off. That's the last I heard of it, when I thought it was turned off, because it was an absurd proposal.

PRESIDENT: Yeah.

DEAN: Liddy-I did have dealings with him afterwards. We never talked about it. Now that would be hard to believe for some people, but, uh, we never did. Just the fact of the matter.

PRESIDENT: Well, you were talking about other things.

DEAN: Other things. We had so many other things.

PRESIDENT: He had some legal problems at one time.

Tiger

Tiger (pronounced tahy-ger)

(1) A large, carnivorous, tawny-colored and black-striped feline, Panthera tigris, of Asia, ranging in several subspecies from India and the Malay Peninsula to Siberia.

(2) In non-technical use, the cougar, jaguar, thylacine, or other animal resembling the tiger (in wide use in southern Africa of leopards).

(3) A person of some fierceness, noted for courage or a ferocious, bloodthirsty and audacious person.

(4) In heraldry, a representation of a large mythological cat, used on a coat of arms, often with the spelling tyger or tygre (to distinguish the mythological beast from the natural tiger (also blazoned Bengal tiger), also used in heraldry).

(5) A pneumatic box or pan used in refining sugar.

(6) Any of several strong, voracious fishes, as a sand shark.

(7) Any of numerous animals with stripes similar to a tiger's.

(8) A servant in livery who rides with his master or mistress, especially a page or groom (archaic).

(9) In entomology & historic aviation, a clipping of tiger moth (in the family Arctiidae), tiger beetle or tiger butterfly (in tribe Danaini, especially subtribe Danaina).

(10) Any of the three Australian species of black-and-yellow striped dragonflies of the genus Ictinogomphus.

(11) In US, slang, someone noted for their athleticism or endurance during sexual intercourse.

(12) In southern African slang, a ten-rand note.

(13) As TIGR (pronounced as for “tiger”), the abbreviation for Treasury Investment Growth Receipts: a bond denominated in dollars and linked to US treasury bonds, the yield on which is taxed in the UK as income when it is cashed or redeemed.

Pre 1000: From the Middle English tygre & tigre, from the Old English tīgras (plural) and the Anglo-Norman tigre (plural), from the Latin tīgris, from the Ancient Greek τίγρις (tígris), from an Iranian source akin to the Old Persian tigra- (sharp, pointed) and related to the Avestan tighri & tigri (arrow) and tiγra (pointed), the reference being to the big cats “springing” on to their prey but the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) notes no application of either word (or any derivative) to the tiger is known in Zend.  It was used of “tiger-like” people since the early sixteenth century and that could be complementary or pejorative although the female form (tigress) seems only to have been used in zoology since the 1610s and was never applied to women.  The tiger's-eye (yellowish-brown quartz) was first documented in 1886.  The word “liger”, like the creature it described, was a forced mating of lion and tiger.  As a modifier, tiger is widely used including the forms: American tiger, Amur tiger, Asian Tiger, Mexican tiger, Siberian tiger, tiger barb, tiger beetle, tiger bench, tiger-lily, tiger lily, tiger's eye, tiger shark & tiger's milk.  A female tiger is a tigeress.  The alternative spellings tigre & tyger are both obsolete.  Tiger & tigerishness are nouns, tigerly, tigerish & tigerlike are adjectives and tigerishly is an adverb; the noun plural is tigers.

Lindsay Lohan (b 1986) atop tiger in Kult Magazine (Italy), January 2012, photograph by Vijat Mohindra (b 1985), makeup by Joyce Bonelli (b 1981).

In idiomatic use, a country said to have a “tiger economy” (rapid and sustained economic growth), especially if disproportionate to population or other conventional measures.  “Tiger parent” (and especially “tiger mother”) refers to a strict parenting style demanding academic excellence and obedience from children; it’s associated especially with East Asian societies.  The “tiger cheer” dates from 1845 and originated in Princeton University, based on the institution’s mascot and involved the cheerleaders calling out "Tiger" at the end of a cheer accompanied by a jump or outstretched arms.  Beyond Princeton, a “tiger cheer” is any “shriek or howl at the end of a cheer”.  The phrase "paper tiger" was apparently first used by comrade Chairman Mao Zedong (1893–1976; chairman of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) 1949-1976) when discussing his thoughts about the imperialist powers.  A calque of the Chinese 紙老虎／纸老虎 (zhǐlǎohǔ), it referred to an ostensibly fierce or powerful person, country or organisation without the ability to back up their words; imposing but ineffectual.  Phrases in the same vein include "sheep in wolf's clothing" and "a bark worse than their bite".  To be said to “have a tiger by the tail” suggests one has found one’s self in a situation (1) that has turned out to be much more difficult to control than one had expected and (2) difficult to extricate one’s self from, the idea being that while holding the tiger’s tail, things are not good but if one lets go, things will likely become much worse.

Lana Del Rey with (edited-in) tigers, Born to Die, 2012.

Released in 2012, Born to Die was the title track of Lana Del Rey’s (stage name of Elizabeth Woolridge Grant, b 1985) second studio album.  The music video, recorded at the Palace of Fontainebleau (a former royal château of the French court), was directed by Yoann Lemoine (b 1983) who placed the singer between two tigers.  That effect was however a trick of the editing, the big cats filmed separately, which seems a sensible precaution.  Lying some 55 km (34 miles) south-east of central Paris, the Château de Fontainebleau is among the largest of the French royal châteaux and was for centuries both an occasional residence and hunting lodge for monarchs, the name from Fontaine Belle-Eau (spring of beautiful water), a natural fresh water spring located in the English garden not far from the château.  The interior of the palace is in some places referred to as “Rococo” but while some rooms were in the eighteenth century re-decorated with distinct Rococo touches, the distinctive style dates from the late French Renaissance and such was the thematic consistency it created what come to be known throughout Europe as “the School of Fontainebleau” which historians of architecture list as running from the mid sixteenth century to the early seventeenth, the motifs influencing more than one strain of Mannerism.  For students, the place is rich source of examples of movements from the Renaissance, through early and high French Baroque to the First Empire.  It was designated a national museum in 1927 and in 1981 was listed by UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Men in frock coats:  The “Big Four” at the Paris Peace Conference (1919-1920), outside the Foreign Ministry headquarters, Quai d'Orsay, Paris.

Left to right: David Lloyd George (1863–1945; UK prime-minister 1916-1922), Vittorio Orlando (1860–1952; Italian prime minister 1917-1919), Georges Clemenceau (1841–1929; French prime minister 1906-1909 & 1917-1920) and Woodrow Wilson (1856–1924; US president 1913-1921).

Georges Clemenceau (1841–1929; Prime Minister of France 1906-1909 & 1917-1920) was a physician who turned to politics via journalism, a not unfamiliar trajectory for many; at a time of national crisis, he undertook his second term as premier, providing the country’s politics with the stiffness needed to endure what was by then World War I (1914-1918); he was nick-named le tigre (the tiger) in honor of his ferociously combative political demeanour.  In February 1919, while travelling from his apartment a meeting associated with the Paris Peace Conference (1919-1920), he was shot several times, his assailant an anarchist carpenter & joiner, Émile Cottin (1896-1937) and two decades on, another leader would learn carpenters can aspire to be assassins.  Le tigre was lucky, the bullets missing his vital organs although one which passed through the ribcage ending up lodged close to his heart; too close to that vital organ to risk surgery, there it remained until his death (from unrelated causes) ten years later.  Cottin’s death sentence was later commuted to a ten year sentence and he would die in battle, serving with the anarchist Durruti Column during the early days of the Spanish Civil War.  The Tiger’s response to his survival was to observe: “We have just won the most terrible war in history, yet here is a Frenchman who misses his target six out of seven times at point-blank range.  Of course this fellow must be punished for the careless use of a dangerous weapon and for poor marksmanship. I suggest that he be locked up for eight years, with intensive training in a shooting gallery.”  In the circumstances, deploring the state of French marksmanship displayed a certain sangfroid.

The Sunbeam and other Tigers

Sunbeam Tiger, LSR run, Southport Beach, March 1926.

There have been three Sunbeam Tigers, the first illustrious, the second fondly remembered and the last so anti-climatic it’s all but forgotten.  The first was a dedicated racing car, built between 1923-1925 and, those being times when there was less specialization, it was used both in circuit racing and, most famously, in setting the world Land Speed Record (LSR).  Although aerodynamic by the standards of the time (the techniques of streamlining learned in World War I (1914-1918) military aviation applied), there was little innovation in the platform except for the engine, the nature of which ensured the Tiger’s place in history.  For grand prix events conducted for cars with a maximum displacement of 2.0 litres (122 cubic inches), Sunbeam had earlier built a two litre straight-six, the limitations imposed by the relatively small size being offset by the use of the then still novel double overhead camshafts (DOHC) which allowed both more efficient combustion chambers and much higher engine speeds, thereby increasing power.  It was a robust, reliable power-plant and when contemplating an attempt on the LSR, instead of developing anything new or using the then popular expedient of installing a big & powerful but heavy and low-revving aero engine, the engineers paired two of the blocks and heads on a single crankcase, creating a 75° 3,976 cm³ (243 cubic inch) V12.  When supercharged, power outputs as high as 312 hp (233 kW) were registered.

Sunbeam Tiger in 1990.

Deteriorating weather conditions meant there wasn’t time even to paint the bodywork before the Tiger was rushed to the banked circuit at Brooklands for testing in September 1925 where performance exceeded expectations.  Over the winter, further refinements were made including a coat of most un-British bright red paint and it was in this color (and thus nick-named “Ladybird”) it was in March 1926 taken to the flat, hard sands of Southport Beach where duly it raised the LSR mark to 152.33 mph (245.15 km/h).  That was broken within a year but the Tiger still holds the record as the smallest displacement ICE (internal combustion engine) ever to hold the LSR and a century on, it’s a distinction likely to be retained forever.  After the run on the beach, it returned to the circuits.  A sister car was built and named Tigress; fitted with one of the big Napier Lion W12 aero engines, it still competes in historic competition but the Tiger is now a museum piece although, after 65 years, it did have a final fling when in 1990 it made one last run and this time set a mark of 159 mph (256 km/h).

Sunbeam Alpine (1959-1968) with the original tail fins: 1961 (left) and 1963 (right).  When in late 1958 the design was approved by the Rootes board, tail fins were thought still fashionable but the moment soon passed and with the release of the Series IV in 1964, they were pruned.

Although successful in competition and the manufacturer of some much admired road cars, financial stability for Sunbeam was marginal for most of the 1920s and the Great Depression of the early 1930s proved its nemesis, the bankrupt company in 1934 purchased by the Rootes Group which was attracted by Sunbeam’s production facilities and their well-regarded line of HD (heavy duty) chassis for bus & truck operators.  Rootes over the years used the Sunbeam name in a desultory way, the vehicles little more than “badge engineered” versions of their Hillman, Singer, Humber & Talbot lines but one aberration was the Sunbeam Alpine, a small sports car (1959-1968).  Rootes had used the Alpine name before, adopted to take advantage of the success enjoyed in the 1953 Alpine Rally but the new roadster was very different.  Although the platform was taken (unpromisingly) from a small van (noted for its robustness and reliability but little else) with the rest of the structure a mash up of components from the Rootes parts bin, as a package it worked very well and the body was modern and attractive, owing more to small Italian sports cars than the often rather agricultural British competition from MG and Triumph.  The rakish fins drew the eye (not always uncritically) but they were very much of their time, taller even than those on the Daimler SP250 released the same year.  The Alpine was also pleasingly civilized with a heater which actually worked, a soft-top which didn’t leak (at least not as often or to the same extent as some others), external door handles and wind-up windows, none of those attributes guaranteed to exist on most of the local competition.  It was also commendably quiet, conversations possible and the radio able to be listened to even at cruising speed, then something then novel in little British roadsters.

1966 Sunbeam Tiger Mark IA.

With an engine capacity initially of 1.5 litres (91 cubic inch), the Alpine was never fast although that was hardly the point and the advertising included some campaigns aimed at what was then known as the “ladies market”; that market still exists but the industry now dare not speak its name.  Product development included larger engines would improve things but the performance deficit was better addressed when, in 1964, a version of the Alpine called the Tiger appeared, fitted with Ford’s recently released 260 cubic inch (4.2 litre) “thinwall” V8 (the so-called “Windsor” in honor the foundry in Ontario where the things were cast and assembled), about to become well known from its use in both the Ford Mustang and Carroll Shelby's (1923–2012) Cobra, the latter based on a much-modified AC Ace.  The Windsor was called a “thinwall” because genuinely it was small and light (by the standards of contemporary iron-block V8s) but even so it only just fitted (once come frankly brutish modifications to the engine bay were effected with hammers) and so tight was the fit a small hatch was installed in the firewall (under the dashboard) so a hand could reach in to change one otherwise inaccessible spark plug.  That notwithstanding, the package worked and all those who wrote test reports seemed to enjoy the Tiger, noting the effortless performance, fine brakes (lifted unchanged from the Alpine!) and (within limits) predictable handling, all in something conveniently sized.  However, even in those more tolerant times, more than one journalist observed that although the Ford V8 used was in the mildest state of tune Ford offered (the ones Shelby put in the Cobra producing over 100-odd HP (75 kW) more), it was clear the classis was close to the limit of what could be (even in the more forgiving 1960s) deemed sensible for road use.

Pleasingly, in the mid 1960s, there was in the US quite an appetite for cars not wholly sensible for street use and late in 1966, a revised version was released, this time with a 289 cubic inch (4.7 litre) Windsor V8 and although there had been some attention to the underpinnings, it was now obvious that while still in the placid state Ford used in station wagons and such, the 289's increased output exceeded the capability of the chassis.  For the journalists of course, that was highly entertaining and some were prepared to forgive, one cautioning only that the Tiger:

“…doesn’t take kindly to being flung around.  It’s a car with dignity as asks to be driven that way.  That doesn’t mean slowly, necessarily, but that there’s sufficient power on tap to embarrass the incautious.  But if you treat it right, respecting it for what it is, the Tiger can offer driving pleasure of a very high order.”

In the era, there were other over-powered machines which could behave worse and those able to read between the lines would know what they were getting but there may have been some who were surprised and tellingly, the Tigers were never advertised to the “ladies market” although one was in 1965 presented as the traditional "pink prize" to Playboy’s PotY (Playmate of the Year).  Presumably she enjoyed it and, now painted "resale" red, the car still exists.

Jo Collins (b 1945), 1965 PotY with her 1965 Sunbeam Tiger Mark I.  All Tigers received the pruned fins (introduced on the Series IV Alpines), the once raked elliptical taillights assuming a vertical aspect.

The US was a receptive market for the little hot rod and one featured in the Get Smart TV series, although it’s said for technical reasons (the V8 version not having space in the engine compartment for some of the props), a re-badged Alpine was used for some scenes (the same swap effected for the 2008 feature film adaptation), a V8 exhaust burble dubbed where appropriate, a trick not uncommon in film-making.  At the corporate level of M&A (mergers & acquisitions), changes were however were coming which would doom the Tiger although it was an unintended victim.  Seeking a greater presence in Europe as well as a ranger of smaller vehicles to offer in the US, Chrysler had first taken a stake in the Rootes Group in 1964 and in 1967 it assumed full control.  Chrysler was most interested in the mainstream sedans but although the Tiger was a low-volume line, it was profitable and the corporation’s original intention had been to continue production but with Chrysler’s 273 cubic inch (4.4 litre) LA V8 substituted.  Unfortunately, while 4.7 Ford litres filled it to the brim, 4.4 Chrysler litres overflowed; the Windsor truly was compact.  Allowing it to remain in production until the stock of already purchased Ford engines had been exhausted, Chrysler instead changed the advertising from emphasizing the “…mighty Ford V8 power plant” to the vaguely ambiguous “…an American V-8 power train”.  Still a popular car in the collector community, so easily modified are the V8s that few survive in their original form and many have been fitted with larger Windsors, the 289 and 302 (4.9 litre) the most popular and some have persuaded even the tall-deck 351 (5.8) to fit though not without modifications.

Sunbeam Tigers: 1965 model with “Powered by Ford 260” badge (left), 1967 model with “Sunbeam V8” badge (centre) and 1965 French market model with “Alpine 260” badge (right).

It wasn’t unknown for the major US manufacturers to use components from competitors, something which happened usually either because of a technology deficit or to do with licencing.  However, they much preferred it if what was used was hidden from view (like a transmission) so Chrysler’s reticence about advertising what had become one of their cars being fitted with Ford V8 was understandable.  Not only was the advertising material swiftly changed but so were the badges: “Powered by Ford 260” giving way to “Sunbeam V8” for the rest of the Tiger’s life.  Unrelated to that however was the curious case of Tigers sold in South Africa and some European markets where they were designated variously as “Alpine 260” or “Alpine V8”.

On the silver screen.

Sunbeam Alpine 260 opposite Simca Aronde and behind Renault 16 in the Italian film Come rubare la corona d'Inghilterra (1967) by Sergio Grieco (1917–1982).  The title translates literally as “How to Steal the Crown of England” but in the English-speaking world it’s better known as Argoman the Fantastic Superman.  The film garnered mixed reviews.

The reason the “Tiger” name never made it to the largest European markets was because Panhard in France was then selling a Tigre and Messerschmitt in the FRG (Bundesrepublik Deutschland (Federal Republic of Germany; the old West Germany) 1949-1990), held the trademark to Tiger.  The German Tiger can be visualized as something like the cockpit of a World War II (1939-1945) era Messerschmitt Bf-109 fighter aircraft fitted with four wheels and a 500 cm³ engine; it was as entertaining as it sounds.  Apparently on advice from Rootes’ French distributers (Société des Automobiles Simca), it was decided just to use the Alpine name and the car thus was advertised in France, Germany Austria & Switzerland variously as the “Alpine 260” or “Alpine V8”, the latter making marketing sense in countries not used to cubic inches as a measure although the imperial measure may have been used to emphasize the US connection, Detroit's V8s deservedly enjoying a reputation for smoothness, power and reliability.

What lay beneath: Body tags for US market Tiger (left) and French market Alpine 260 (centre & right).  Whether the 4.2 V8-powered cars had “Alpine” or “Tiger” badges, all were designated on the body tags as “Alpine 260 V8”.

However, in places such as Sweden and Monaco where there was no concern with violating trademark law, the “Tiger” name was used, as it was for vehicles ordered by US citizens for delivery in Europe.  Typically these were armed forces personnel able to buy through the military’s PX (Post Exchange) stores and they enjoyed the benefit at the end of their deployment of having their car shipped home to the US at no cost.  Volumes into Europe were always low and the sketchy records (assembled by Tiger owners clubs) suggest as few as seven Mark II models were exported to Europe, three of which went to France and by then the operation known as "Rootes Motors Overseas Ltd" had for all purposes switched their advertising to “Sunbeam Alpine V8”.

On the silver screen, with rear projection.

Cary Grant (1904–1986, left) with (pre-princess) Grace Kelly (1929–1982; Princess Consort of Monaco 1956-1982, right) behind the wheel of 1953 Mark I Sunbeam Alpine (in Sapphire Blue) in To Catch a Thief (1955).

In 1955, Sunbeam did release an Alpine Mark III but there was never a Mark II, “skipping numbers” something not uncommon in aircraft and software but rare in automobiles.  For students of technology, the long scene of Grace Kelly driving in To Catch a Thief (appearing mostly to be filmed through the windscreen) is an example of the RPT (rear projection technique) used before CGI (computer-generated imagery) technology existed.  While much of the film was shot on-location in Europe, the Alpine was shipped to the US for some of her driving scenes because only in Hollywood were the big studios outfitted with the rear-projection equipment able to emulate 360^o settings.  RPT obviously created new possibilities for cinematographers but for directors there was the advantage of the driver not being compelled to “keep their eyes on the road”, however bad an example this may have set for impressionable audiences.  In the age of CGI, the RPT looks obviously fake but it was at the time state-of-the-art and a companion piece to the vivid “Technicolor look” of the era.

Grace Kelly and Cary Grant filmed with RPT in To Catch a Thief.  In 1982, driving her Rover P6 (1963-1977) 3500 (1968-1977), she would die in an accident on a similar road.

When first pondering the name to be used in Europe, within Rootes there may anyway have been awareness of the French manufacturer Peugeot in 1964 forcing Porsche to rename its new 901 & 902 to 911 & 912 on the basis of the argument they had the “exclusive right in France” to sell cars with a three numeral designation if the middle digit was a “0” (zero).  For Porsche, the 911 designation has endured to this day as its signature model so although all’s well that ends well, the legal basis of Peugeot’s claim does seem dubious.  Mercedes-Benz had for years there been selling 200s & 300s (and had announced the 600) while neither BMW or Bristol had renamed their various 401s, 503s for the French market which would seem to imply either (1) there was something special about 901 & 902, (2) French law or its interpretation recently had changed or (3) Peugeot’s enforcement of its alleged rights was selective and aimed at Porsche.  Whether what Peugeot asserted really was at the time the state of French law is, 60-odd years on, difficult to determine from afar but the EEC (the European Economic Community, the Zollverein which would evolve into the EU (European Union)) wasn’t at the time governed by the “give way to the Germans” rule which would come to characterize the EU so defer Porsche did.

An original 60 MHz Pentium CPU; a 66 MHz version was also in the initial release.

The proliferation of the multiple use of the same numeric string as product names in various categories (cars, toasters, washing machines, computers etc) has long been common and in the West, as a general principle, numbers are “public domain” and not protectable.  In the US, when in 1993 replacing the i486, Intel named its new range of x86 CPU chips “Pentium” because others (including AMD & Cyrix) had brought out their own “386”, “586” etc.  Intel had tried to trademark 586, 686 etc but it was held numbers alone lacked “trademark distinctiveness” (there are limited exceptions) and that to afford such protection would be an “excessive restraint on trade” because it would mean, if rigidly enforced, there could be only 1000 products so named (assuming someone wanted to sell a “000”).  Intel had switched its naming from “80486” to “i486” but that didn't solve the problem which was others engaging in something between "piggyback marketing" and “usurpation”, achieved by appending letters (such as AMD’s Am486).  The Pentium name solved that problem but in 1995 the CPU become the subject of a controversy which became known as the FDIV (floating-point divide instruction) bug which afflicted the chip's in-built FPU (floating-point unit), causing incorrect results for certain complex divisions.  Math co-processers (originally separate chips) had previously been the source of difficulties for Intel but the significance of the Pentium's FDIV bug was that, like the Watergate scandal (1972-1974), it was not the event which was the controversy but the attempted cover-up.  Intel's handling of the FDIV bug is a case study in bad crisis management.

The former Peugeot headquarters building on the Avenue de la Grande Armée near the Arc de Triomphe, Paris, France, 1966.   The original concrete shell was preserved when the building was transformed into the Grande Armée L1ve office building.

Presumably, Porsche’s lawyers regarded Peugeot's C&D (cease and desist letter) with some scepticism but it became part of the 911 legend that the Germans applied the “precautionary principle” and changed the name.  However, in 2022, the French publication Car Jager attributed the switch of 1963-1964 to the history of the Nazi occupation of France during World War II (1939-1945), sensitive events then still in recent, living memory.  Like most French industry, Peugeot came under German control in June 1940 with the plant re-purposed to provide trucks, cars and parts for the occupying power and of great interest to Herr Professor Ferdinand Porsche (1875–1951) and his son-in-law Anton Piëch (1894–1952) was Peugeot’s modern and efficient foundry, something lacked by the facility built to produce the what in the post-war years become famous as the Volkswagen Beetle (Type 1).

Three receptionists in the old Peugeot headquarters.  The desks, fashioned in a "free-flowing", single piece of mirror-polished stainless steel were designed by Dutch architect Ben Swildens (1938–2023) and when in use, the young ladies were provided with a cushion.

The name of the location where the factory sat in Germany's Lower Saxony region became well-known in the 1950s when Beetles spread around the world but the name Wolfsburg wasn't gazetted until May 1945 while the area was under occupation by the US Army, the name a reference to the nearly eponymous castle, the first known mention of which dates from 1302 in a document mentioning the structure as the seat of the noble lineage of Bartensleben.  The city had been founded by the Nazis on 1 July 1938 as the Stadt des KdF-Wagens bei Fallersleben (City of the Strength Through Joy car at Fallersleben), an example of a "company town" which, centred around the village of Fallersleben, included not only the industrial plant by also housing for workers and the associated service and recreational facilities.  As things were then done, the SS (ᛋᛋ in Armanen runes; the Schutzstaffel 1923-1945 (literally “protection squadron”) but translated variously as “protection squad”, “security section" etc) in 1942 established the nearby Arbeitsdorf concentration camp as a source of cheap (and expendable) labour but the experiment proved industrially inefficient and it was shut down after a few months.

Wartime Kübelwagen.

Originally, Berlin had allocated Peugeot to another German company but through a series of machinations and back-channel deals which were typical of the way things were done in the Third Reich (1933-1945) Porsche and Piëch had by February 1943 gained control with the plants “temporarily” (a term which under Hitler meant anything from “today” to “forever”) placed under the professor’s direct supervision, a decision confirmed in November that year.  Under Professor Porsche, Peugeot manufactured components for the Kübelwagen (literally “bucket-seat car”, a light, jeep-like, four-wheel-drive vehicle for the Wehrmacht (the German military, 1935-1945) based on the KdF-Wagens produced in KdF-Stadt) and some Focke-Wulf aircraft also manufactured in Lower Saxony.  In the usual manner, the workforce came from a variety of sources.  However, in July, 1943, the RAF’s (Royal Air Force) bomber command attacked the factory in a raid which not only did much damage but also killed some 125 and injured twice that many.  Greatly that changed the attitude of the French management and workers and as production resumed, sabotage and informal “go-slow” campaigns became endemic and within months output had been significantly reduced.  This, coupled by the obvious threat posed by the Allied D-Day landings (6 June, 1944) compelled Berlin to order the factory’s remaining plant & equipment be shipped to the Reich and in trains and trucks, some 85 tons of machine tools, presses and such were stripped and re-installed in the facilities in Lower Saxony.  Given the history, those in the Peugeot company had a particular distaste for the Porsche name and retribution came swiftly, almost as soon as hostilities had ended, the French authorities locking up Professor Porsche for some two years after in 1945 enticing him to visit the French zone of occupation in Germany by claiming a new model car was being demonstrated.

Porsche 901, 1963.

In 1963, when the new Porsche 901 was announced, Jean-Pierre Peugeot (1896-1966), who had managed the factory during the war, was still at the helm and his memory of the of the occupation was still vivid and although the various 404s, 503s and such by BMW, Bristol had for years appeared in French showrooms, he decided Porsche wouldn’t be afforded the same “right to share” such numbers and ordered a C&D be sent.  Had Porsche contested the claim it may well have succeeded but the Germans had no wish for attention to be drawn to the founder’s wartime conduct and almost immediately acceded, meaning the survivors of the few dozen 901s produced in September-October 1964 are among the rarest of the breed and the survivors are much prized although the “901” designation did survive in the stampings for various part numbers and the aluminium-case five-speed transmission used in early 911s has always been known as the “901 five speed”.  Nevertheless, the factory remained caution and when sold for use on the road, the 904 was sold as the Carrera GTS and the 906 as the Carrera 6.

Adolf Hitler (1889-1945; Führer (leader) and German head of government 1933-1945 & head of state 1934-1945, right), Professor Porsche (centre) and Albert Speer (1905–1981; Nazi court architect 1934-1942; Nazi minister of armaments and war production 1942-1945, left), inspecting a Panzerjäger Tiger (Ferdinand, a a heavy tank hunter which used the chassis of the Panzerkampfwagen VI Tiger), Rügenwalde (Darłowo in modern-day Poland), March, 1943.

Herr Professor Porsche's best known contribution to the Nazi war machine was the Tiger tank which existed in two series (Panzerkampfwagen Tiger Ausf. E (Tiger, 1942-1944) and Panzerkampfwagen Tiger Ausf. B (Tiger II, 1943-1945).  Both were heavy tanks, the original retrospectively designated “Tiger I” when the “Tiger II” (known also as the Königstiger (literally “Bengal Tiger” but used widely in the sense of “King Tiger”)) appeared.  The Tiger project began in 1937 with Porsche becoming involved in 1939.  Although it had been in development for years, the Tiger still was essentially a “late stage prototype” when in 1941 the German tank crews had been shocked by the speed, firepower and resistance to damage of the Soviet T-34 which included simple but clever innovations such as “sloped armor” which deflected shells, greatly increasing the protection offered by a given thickness of armor-plate.  As late as 1942, even the larger German tanks were comparatively light and under-gunned so in response to the T-34, the army advocated the need for faster tanks which could out-maneuver their opponents, a reasonable suggestion given the better skills of German crews and their marked superiority of Panzer generals in handing the machines in battle formations.  Hitler however wanted bigger tanks with more armor and longer range, heavier guns, arguing the army was falling into the “battlecruiser delusion” of the naval strategists a generation earlier.  Pursuing the warship analogy, his point was that at sea, the side possessing the weapons with the longest range has the advantage because they can fire perhaps several salvos before their opponents even come into range.  In the Führer’s deterministic view, the commander of a smaller tank meeting a larger tank could do only what the theory suggested a battlecruiser’s captain should do when encountering a battleship: use superior speed to retreat out of range.  Hitler’s view of war was essentially Napoleonic (and frankly, Churchillian): “attack, attack attack!” so the notion of panzer divisions configured to avoid combat was anathema.

Tiger I outside the Vittoriano palace, Rome, February 1944.

Thus the original Tiger.  In its planned, specification, it would have been deployed with a combat weight between 39-42 tonnes (already increased by the additional armor requested after the experience of the campaign in France (1940)) but as delivered in 1942 to combat formations, this had increased to 56-58 tonnes.  Like military aircraft and warships, a tank is a compromise which emerges from the math: the trade-offs between speed, range, armor and armaments; increase one and within a given size and weight, the other imperatives suffer.  As the Tiger gained additional armor and firepower (a version of the 88 mm flak canon was fitted and it was one of the most effective and versatile weapons of the war), weight and fuel consumption increased and performance was reduced.  That was anticipated but given the need to bring the things quickly into service, there was not the time to design, test and produce a more powerful engine and more significantly, the existing transmission, intended for use in a much lighter platform, had to be used and reliability suffered.  Remarkable as it must now sound, even by mid-1942, German industry had not yet been converted to a “war economy” so development resources, already strained by the demands of the other services, were constrained.

An abandoned Tiger II, Osterode am Harz, Lower Saxony, Germany, April, 1945. 

Additionally, although the Tiger was at the time the most advanced and lethal tank then in series production, it was very much an engineer’s dream, loaded with innovations which offered improved handling and performance in ideal conditions but those rarely last for long on a battlefield and it was also complex, both its construction and frequent need for maintenance being labor intensive.  The economics were also challenging, the army ordinance office calculating the construction of a Tiger absorbed 208% the labor of any other tank and 64% more parts, the latter also an issue because of the high demand for spare parts (the need to produce these in the volume required would have meant reducing the output of new tanks which Hitler insisted be maintained at the maximum level.  Independently, to fill the technology gap, the armaments industry and army agreed simultaneously to develop a lighter version of the Tiger which was dubbed “Panther” but although this was conceived as a 30 tonne platform, by the time Hitler’s demands were accommodated, it typically was fielded with a combat weight around 48 tonnes.  Understanding the political dynamics, Porsche and Speer later presented Hitler with (wholly fanciful) plans for a “super tank” which would weight over a hundred tonnes (“the Dreadnought of tanks” in Porsche’s phrase) and be transported in pieces on flatbed rail wagons, assembled by crews close to the battlefield.  To give the venture a convincing air of secrecy, the project name was Maus (mouse).  No Maus was ever built and the production of Tigers never reached even 1400 (there were fewer than 500 of the 70-75 tonne Tiger IIs while the UK, US & USSR tank factories produces tanks in runs of thousands) but such was its aura gained by the “Tiger” name that even the anticipation of their appearance could cause Allied units to alter their plans.

1965 PotY Jo Collins with her pink Tiger.

More straightforward is the explanation why Sunbeam Tigers sold in France were called “Alpine 260” despite the French manufacturer Alpine having first sold cars there in 1954.  Sunbeam was able to use the Alpine name because their original version (the one driven by Grace Kelly) had first been sold in France in 1953, thus pre-dating the French venture Automobiles Alpine, the corporate identity of which wasn’t formalized until 1955.   Strangely, the “260” was a reference to the V8's displacement in cubic inches (cid), imperial measurements not used in wholly metric France (where a 4.2 (litre) badge might have been expected).  

1965 French market Sunbeam Alpine 260 with after-market 14" Minilite wheels.

So, on the basis of “prior use”, the Alpine name could in France be used, despite the existence since 1954 of the sports cars produced by Dieppe-based Automobiles Alpine.  Whether the decision to append an imperial “260” rather than a more localized “4.2” was the British adding insult to injury isn’t known but the use of metric measurements in engine displacement had for decades been the British practice, possibly reflecting the early French dominance in the field (rather as terms like “fuselage”, “aileron” and such were picked up in the English-speaking world because it was the French who enjoyed a early lead in aviation and thus got to name the bits & pieces).  Still, while subtle cross-channel slights may sound improbably petty, that’s a quality not absent either in international relations or commerce and not only were London and Paris then squabbling over whether the Anglo-French SST (supersonic transport) airliner should be called “Concorde” or the anglicized “Concord”, in 1963, Charles de Gaulle (1890-1970; President of France 1959-1969) had vetoed the UK’s application for membership of the EEC.  For that last diplomatic setback, the British may have had themselves to blame because when in 1940 they offered de Gaulle sanctuary in London after the fall of France, the Foreign Office allocated him offices on Waterloo Place and overlooking Trafalgar Square.  A sensitive soul, neither Le Général nor Le Président ever forgave or forgot a slight.

Carroll Shelby, Sunbeam publicity shot for the US market, 1964.

Between April 1964 and August 3763 Mark I Tigers were built.  The 2706 “Mark IA” models which followed between August 1965 and February 1966 were based on the Alpine Series V which had a number of detail changes (most obviously the doors, hood (bonnet) and truck (boot) lid having sharper corners and a vinyl rather than metal top boot for the folding soft-top); while these now universally are listed as “Mark IAs”, that was never an official factory designation.  The first Mark IIs weren’t built until December 1966 with production lasting only until June the next year when Sunbeam’s stocks of Ford V8s was exhausted and just 536 (although 633 is oft-quoted) were built.  Although there were detail differences between the Mark IA and Mark II, the fundamental change was the use of the 289 cubic inch (4.7 litre) engine and all but a few dozen were exported to the US.

Carroll Shelby invoiced Rootes US$10,000 to develop the original Tiger prototype and had expected to gain the contract for production on the same basis as Shelby American's arrangement with AC to produce the Cobra (ie he'd receive engineless cars into which he'd insert the V8s) but the process instead went the other way with Sunbeam importing the engines, contracting final assembly to Jensen.  Shelby instead received a small commission for each Tiger sold and appeared in some of the early marketing material.  He understood that despite (on paper) being superficially similar, the Tiger was a very different machine to the Cobra and, aimed at different markets, the two were really not competitors.  Amusingly, Shelby's US$10,000 fee was paid in a "back-channel deal", the funds coming from Rootes' US advertising budget rather than the engineering department's allocation.  That accounting sleight of hand was necessary because it was known to all the company's conservative chairman (Lord Rootes (1894–1964)), would never have approved such a project.  He changed his mind after test-driving the prototype and ordered immediate production, living long enough to see it enjoy success.

Tigerish: Lindsay Lohan imagined in cara gata (cat face) by Shijing Peng. 

One Sunbeam Tiger variant which did however not enjoy success was the Tiger GT which was supplied without a soft-top.  It might seem a strange notion that someone (unless they lived somewhere like the Atacama Desert in Chile which enjoys an average annual rainfall around 0.1 mm (0.00393699 of an inch)) would buy a convertible without a folding roof but in the 1960s it really was a thing, Mercedes-Benz releasing such a version of their W113 roadster (1963-1971).  Introduced in 1967 during the brief run of the 250 SL, Mercedes-Benz listed it officially as the “SL Coupe” but journalists and the public (and not a few dealers) quickly dubbed it the “California Coupe”, reviving an appellation which emerged in 1959 to describe the stacked headlight assembly used for a number of models between 1959-1973 because US lighting regulations outlawed the ovoid-shape composite headlights used for the RoW (rest of the world) production.  The rationale behind the label was apparently that “California” was the most American thing imaginable.  The California Coupe was enough of a success to be carried over to 1968 when the 280 SL was released and the model remained in the catalogue until the last W113s left the line in 1971; it’s believed some 1,100 were built.  Chevrolet in the era allowed buyers of the C2 Corvette (1963-1967) convertible to order their cars with the choice of (1) a soft-top, (2) a hard-top or (3) both and while a majority (35,892) chose both, of the 72,418 convertibles built 5,794 (just over 8%) eschewed the folding roof.  It’s true some of those would have been bought for use in competition so the folding roof would have been needless expense but it can be assume most were purchased to be registered for use on the street.

1964 Sunbeam Tiger GT interior.

So the “hardtop only” Tiger GT at the time probably seemed a good idea and it followed the model of the Alpine GT, added to the range when the Series III (1963-1964) was introduced (the versions with hard & soft-tops designated as Alpine STs although use of “ST” has always been about as rare as that enjoyed by “Sports Tourer” & “Gran Tourismo” which appeared in the early advertising copy.  The GT was essentially a “luxury” model and the most luxurious aspect was greater interior space, made possible by the area taken by the top’s stowage compartment being allocated to a larger, padded rear seat, albeit one really suitable only for children.  The GT’s unique appointments included full length pleated door panels (a padded arm rail a top), full carpeting (replacing the ST’s practical but utilitarian rubber mats), wood-rimmed steering wheel and burled walnut wood veneered facia for the dashboard.  Additionally, the GT featured as standard equipment some of the ST’s options including a clock, ammeter, cigar lighter and glove-box courtesy light.  The GT’s hard-top was painted to match the body, additional sound insulation was fitted and the carburetor even received a canister type air filter to minimise the “sucking sounds” from the induction system.  The GT’s modifications were all about refinement rather than performance for as well as being heavier, the GT received a slightly less powerful engine (80 HP against the ST’s 87).  Initially, the Alpine GT sold well though in the US it may have been the lack of a soft-top which curbed demand and when the Series V (1965-1968) Alpine was released, the GT no longer appeared in the US catalogue.

Brochure shot of 1963 Sunbeam Alpine GT interior.

So, with the Alpine GT having been well-received, it was logical for Rootes to include a Tiger GT in the new range; accordingly, during August 1964, Jensen completed was thought to be an initial batch of 15 Tiger GTs but they would prove to be the last.  Unlike the Alpine GT with its detuned engine, the Tiger GTs had the same mechanical specification as other Tigers and all 15 were shipped to US dealers where their “luxury” interiors seemed to have a “shaming” effect on the more basic (vinyl & rubber) appearance of the standard model, the distributers reporting to Rootes there was some market resistance to the 200 Tigers which had arrived, the drab interior not helping persuade buyers to spend some US$3,800 when Ford’s recently released Mustang offered the same engine and transmission combination in a bigger package for rather less.  The factory responded, adding to the Tiger’s specification the burl walnut veneer facia for the dashboard and the wood rimmed steering wheel (although the fancier door trims didn’t appear until the Mark IA revisions).  After that, the Tiger GT project was allowed to lapse with none were built after the first 15, its sole contribution to the line apparently inducing an upgraded interior for the standard model.

1972 Hillman Avenger Tiger advertisement (left) and 1972 Avenger Tiger Mark II advertisement (right).  The early Avengers (1972-1976) are remembered for their distinctive "boomerang (or hockey stick)" tail-lamps, a style later used by Mazda for the Cosmo (1975-1981 and sold in some markets as the RX-5).  It's believed the rear spoiler was not wind tunnel tested, despite the claim the "special aerofoil on the boot" was there to "keep the Tiger hugging the road".

1972 Hillman Avenger Tiger Mark II in Sundance Yellow.

While not quite the sublime to the ridiculous, the third and final Tiger certainly lacked the luster of its predecessors and was sold as a Hillman rather than a Sunbeam, the old Rootes group now owned by Chrysler.  Based on the Hillman Avenger (1970-1981), a competent if unexciting family car, the Avenger Tiger was initially a one-off built for motor shows (they used to be a thing) but such was the reaction a production run was arranged and, based on the Avenger GT, it was a genuine improvement, fitted with dual Weber carburetors on a high-compression cylinder head with larger valves and improved porting.  The power increase was welcome but wasn’t so dramatic as to demand any modification of the GT’s suspension beyond a slight stiffening of the springs.  On the road, the well-sorted RWD (rear wheel drive) dynamics meant it was good to drive and the performance was a notch above the competition at the same price point although Chrysler never devoted the resources to develop it into a machine which could have been competitive with Ford’s Escort in racing and rallying.  Despite that, when sold in the US as the Plymouth Cricket (1971-1972) the car won the demanding “Press on Regardless” rally although that wasn't enough to convince many Americans to buy the thing.  The first run of 200-odd Tigers early in 1972 were all in “Sundance” yellow with a black stripe (and in case that was too subtle, a “Tiger” decal adorned the rear quarter panels) but “Wardance” red was an option when an additional batch of 400 was made to meet demand.

A poster from Esso’s brilliantly successful “Put a Tiger in your Tank” campaign”.

Now, a remoteness between a product and the motifs used in its advertising is unexceptional but in 1959 when Esso in the US launched its “Put a Tiger in Your Tank” campaign, the concept was still quite novel but the abstraction (full up your car with Esso gas (petrol) and you’ll gain the power of a tiger) resonated and the campaign is today recognized as one of the most successful of the era.  Esso had, off and on, for decades used tigers as corporate symbols and the big cat had been the centre of a campaign in the UK in 1953 to promote gas sales after the end of post-war petrol rationing but that tiger had been a ferocious beast, something like the often hungry ones one would not wish meet in the wild.  The documentary evidence from the time suggests the Esso’s lethal looking Panthera tigris made it “just another advertisement” but when the US agencies re-imagined their big cat as something friendly and playful, it really caught the public imagination and created a number of minor industries in children’s toys, key-chains, piggy banks, buttons, pins, pens tiger masks, party glasses, coffee mugs, T-Shirts and even “tiger tails”, sold at Esso-branded gas stations to be attached to gas caps, the implication being to suggest there really was a “tiger in the tank”.

Esso’s original tiger in its “Esso for Extra” campaign which didn’t capture the hearts of UK consumers; perhaps memories of tiger hunting in the Raj were still too close.

The key word clearly was “tiger” because the cat was never named and within the corporation was referred to only as the “Whimsical Tiger”.  Genuinely, the friendly looking tiger seems to have transformed Esso’s image (it latter would suffer) and while the extent to which the campaign can be credited with the boom in Esso’s sales (they booked increases notably higher than their competitors), historians of the industry acknowledge the effect was significant.  The implications weren’t lost on advertising executives who learned the lesson that an emotional connection is often preferable to an intellectual one; while the UK’s earlier (zoologically a close to correct depiction) tiger certain conveyed the power and energy of the charismatic creature, it was the warm and friendly “Whimsical Tiger” which appealed to people and their children, the latter anxious to nudge their parents to buy gas from Esso in the hope of getting another plush toy tiger.

Pontiac GTO advertising, 1965 (G.T.O. also sometimes used in documents).

Pontiac definitely had Esso’s “British Tiger” in mind when they began using the big cat in advertising the GTO (1964-1974), the “male market” definitely the target and the messaging all about power and aggression.  Introduced in late 1963, the GTO was “an option package” designed to circumvent GM’s (General Motors) corporate-wide ban on such a thing existing and although conceived as a niche product, immediately it proved so popular (and profitable) that GM abandoned their principles and authorized on-going production.  The GTO is often referred to as the “first muscle car” (a formula which would come to be explained as “a big powerful engine from a large, heavy full-size put into a smaller, lighter vehicle) and while that’s arguable, it was certainly the 1964 GTO which defined the original 1960s “muscle car”.  Actually, the formula, on both sides of the Atlantic, had been in use since the inter-war years but what was unique about the US of the mid-1960s was a combination of circumstances: A booming economy and a large and growing cohort of males aged 17-25 with the cash or credit rating to afford to buy muscle cars.  Really, there was probably no animal on earth better suited to advertising something like the GTO and soon the imagery was all-pervasive, “Tiger Gold” added to the color chart.  Even before the release of the GTO, Pontiac had used a tiger theme in its advertising but it’s the GTO with which it became most associated.

Pontiac GTO advertising, 1965.  Now, were a company to use a tiger skin to try to sell something, they'd be cancelled.  Times have changed.

The original GTO wasn’t quite as muscular as the original press car provided to Car & Driver magazine for their infamous “comparison test” against a Ferrari 250 GTO, printed in the March 1964 edition.  That Pontiac GTO had not only a much bigger engine but was also modified to the point it was close to race-ready and was certainly nothing like the ones in showrooms but despite that deceptive and misleading trick, the ones customers could buy possessed sufficient charm to convince over 32,000 people to pay the retail price, some six times the marketing department’s projections.  Whether the use of tigers in the advertising and promotional material much contributed to the popularity isn’t known but as a piece of name association it worked not at all; by 1966, by which time Pontiac was shipping close to 100,000 GTOs annually, it was obvious males aged 17-25 had settled on the nickname “the Goat”, not an animal which would have been an obvious choice to apply to a high-performance car with youth appeal.  However, that’s how the English language works, and “the Goat” was a playful, phonetic shortening of GTO although recent revisionists have suggested it was an allusion to the car being “the greatest of all time” (that link with “goat” coming much later) or in “eating up the competition”, the GTO was emulating the goat’s reputation for eating just about anything.  There’s nothing to support these quasi-theories and there’s no doubt the nickname came from nothing but sound-play. Beginning in 1967, Pontiac switched the theme of its advertising from the tigeresque to “The Great One”.

Another big, dangerous cat: Advertisement for the 1976 Mercury Cougar.  Despite the apparent implications, not until early in the twenty-first century would “cougar” pick up the informal meaning: “an older woman who seeks sexual relationships with much younger men”; Mercury truly was ahead of the linguistic curve.

The big cats have provided names for manufacturers to use for cars; there have been Tigers, Lions, Jaguars, Cheetahs and Leopards (there is even a Leopard tank, in production since 1965 and now in its third generation) and there was also a Mercury Cougar.  Introduced in 1967 as a kind of up-market Mustang, it’s significance is not only that immediately it was highly successful but that it was the last truly successful Mercury; with some three million sold over 35-odd seasons, it was the marque’s biggest selling nameplate although from the late 1970s, Cougars bore scant resemblance, physically or conceptually to the classic original.  The press reports in 1967 made much of Ford’s admission the Mercury was an attempt to “build a Jaguar”, noting the statement was intended not to be read literally but rather an indication of a wish to build the sort of car which would appeal to someone who would buy a Jaguar.  The consensus at the time was Mercury had succeeded in building a fine car although whether many Jaguar customers were convinced isn’t known.  Some of the Cougars produced in the first four seasons of its long life were legitimate parts of the muscle car ecosystem but by 1976 when the above advertisement appeared, built on the intermediate Ford Torino’s platform, the Cougar it was little more than a slightly smaller Ford Thunderbird; that was bad enough but things would get worse.