Groovy

Groovy (pronounced groo-vee)

(1) Of, pertaining to, or having grooves.

(2) Set in one's ways (obsolete).

(3) Cool, neat, interesting, fashionable, highly stimulating or attractive; excellent. (used in the 1940s and then more frequently in the 1960s and 1970s; now dated but often used ironically).

(4) Inclined to follow a fixed routine (obsolete).

(5) A programming language for the Java Virtual Machine (JVM), now under the auspices of the Apache Software Foundation.

1853:  The construct was groove + -y.  Groove was from the Middle English grov, grove, groof & grofe (cave; pit; mining shaft), from the Old English grōf (trench, furrow, something dug), from the Proto-Germanic grōbō (groove, furrow”, from the primitive Indo-European ghrebh- (to dig, scrape, bury).  It was cognate with the Dutch groef & groeve (groove; pit, grave), the German Grube (ditch, pit), the Norwegian grov (brook, riverbed) & the Serbo-Croatian grèbati (scratch, dig).  The earlier form in Old English was grafan (to dig) and from here there’s a lineal descent to groove and, at some point, a fork led to “grave”.  The –y suffix was from the Middle English –y & -i, from the Old English -iġ (-y, & -ic”, suffix), from the Proto-Germanic -īgaz (-y, -ic), from the primitive Indo-European -kos, -ikos & -iḱos (-y, -ic).  It was cognate with the Scots -ie (-y), the West Frisian -ich (-y), the Dutch -ig (-y), the Low German -ig (-y), the German -ig (-y), the Swedish -ig (-y), the Latin -icus (-y, -ic) and the Ancient Greek -ικός (-ikós); doublet of -ic. 

Groovy was first noted in 1853 in the metal working trades as a literal descriptor of the surface texture of metals and evolved into the general sense of “of or pertaining to a groove” and oral (either a dialectic form or specific to metal working) use may pre-date 1853.   One colloquial figurative sense was "having a tendency to routine, inclined to a specialized and narrow way of life or thought", attested from 1882 and linked to the idea of a grove being “something permanent, static and unchanging”.  That sense died out and the next figurative use was entirely different.  The alternative spelling groovey is achingly rare.  Groovy is a noun and adjective, grooviness is a noun and groovier & grooviest are adjectives; the noun plural is groovies.  The reason why English never evolved to create ungroovy or nongroovy is there were already number of words adequately to convey the idea, the one most associated with the 1960s counter-culture being "square" which used to convey the quality of "someone honorable & upright".  It's possible the purloining of "square" was developed from the familiar "straightlaced" although the eighteenth century "squaretoe" was an epithet applied to disparage the "prim & proper"; this later form is though unrelated to the hippies' use of "square".

In the groove: Lindsay Lohan DJing with former special friend, DJ Samantha Ronson.

The slang sense in the context of jazz music is from circa 1926 and was used by musicians to convey a professional compliment: "performing well (without grandstanding)”.  This seems to have migrated to adopt its modern sense to describe something wonderful in the late 1930s although it even then tended to be confined to the young and, outside of parts of some US cities, doesn’t appear to have enjoyed wide use.  It became widely popular in 1960s youth culture which spread world-wide, including beyond the English-speaking word.  Despite falling from favor after hippiedom passed its peak, it’s never actually gone extinct and occasional spikes are noted, triggered usually by some use in pop-culture.  Generally though, it’s been out of currency since the 1970s although still used ironically.

Groovy.  1970 Plymouth Hemi Cuda with Mod Top.  This is the only Hemi Cuda with the Mod Top option.

The psychedelic Mod Top was a Plymouth factory option in 1969-1970.  Ordered mostly in yellow, the flower power themed material was supplied by the plastics division of Stauffer Corporation, chosen for their expertise in the manufacture of durable, brightly patterned tablecloths and shower curtains.  The company, dating from 1907, remains in family ownership and still operates but it’s not known if it's one of the Stauffer families which are branches of the Staufer Dynasty (known also as the Hohenstaufen) which provided a number of medieval German kings who were crowned also as Holy Roman Emperors.

In the curious way Chrysler allowed its divisions to operate in the era, Dodge, Plymouth’s corporate stable-mate, offered a similar option called the Floral Top, the material for which was supplied by another company.  The companion to the Mod Top roof was matching vinyl paisley upholstery and floor mats which could be mixed and matched, some cars built with one but not the other although, despite it being possible, no convertible buyers (who by definition couldn’t tick the vinyl roof box) opted for the hippie interior.  Technically, Stauffer used exactly the same design technique they used when applying flowers to tablecloths and shower curtains: endlessly repetitive patterns which repeat every 3-4 feet (900 mm-1.2 m), the same model used with most fake surfaces which emulate granite, marble, timber etc.

Few finds attract collectors like factory one-offs, genuine rarities produced by a manufacturer despite officially not being available in that configuration.  The 503 1969 Dodge Daytonas, made only because NASCAR’s homologation rules demanded 500 be built to make the aerodynamic modifications eligible for competition, have long been sought-after, trading these days well into six figures.  It does seem Dodge may have made one with the Floral Top, despite it not being a Daytona option although the evidence for it being a genuine factory product is undocumented, based instead on oral testimony.  Many experts do seem convinced and, during the era, such unicorns were far from uncommon.

Plymouth Mod Top: The yellow / green / black floral vinyl was available on the 1969 and 1970 Plymouth Barracuda and Cuda (not Gran Coupé).  The fender tag codes were V1P (roof) and F6J or F6P (interior trim).

Plymouth Mod Top: The blue / green floral vinyl was available on the 1969 Plymouth Satellite and the 1970 Barracuda and Cuda (not Gran Coupé).  The fender tag codes were V1Q (roof) and F2Q (interior trim).  

Dodge Floral Top: The green /gold / lite- blue floral vinyl was available on the 1969 Dodge Dart, Coronet and Super Bee.  The fender tag code was V1H (Roof).  Dodge didn't offer the interior trim option. 

It’s not known how many survive, many a vinyl roof being removed or replaced with a solid color after the hippie vibe became unfashionable but some with the option have become collectables and reproduction vinyl is now available for those wanting the vibe back; the closer to the original condition a car can be rendered, the higher the value.  The nature of the unfortunate accessory is such that it’s never going to influence the price to the extent a rare or desirable engine or transmission might but, for the originality (or at least the replication) police, these things are an end in themselves.  Available in yellow or blue and with matching interior trim, 2792 freaks ordered these in 1969 but by 1970, only 84 repeated the mistake.  Altmont prevailed over Woodstock; the 1960s were over.

There however the patterned roof didn't die although the grooviness did.  Despite it being the intermediate-sized Satellite which in 1969 which attracted the most mod-toppers, Plymouth the next year restricted availability to the pony cars and demand proved embarrassingly modest.  Not discouraged, the factory in mid-year offered a somewhat subdued variation on their full-sized line, the Fury, a flourish perhaps surprising given the evolution of the market segment.  Until the 1960 model year, the “big three” (General Motors (GM), Ford & Chrysler) had each produced essentially one mainstream line, low-volume specialties such as the Thunderbird and Corvette just lucrative niche players.  Beginning in the 1960 model-year, that would change, increasing prosperity encouraging and the growing success of smaller imports compelling Detroit’s big three to introduce first compact, then intermediate and later sub-compact ranges, what came to be called the full-sized cars having grown just too big, heavy and thirsty for many.

The market spoke and the full-sized ranges, while remaining big sellers, gradually abandoned the high-performance versions which had once been the flagships, the smaller, lighter intermediates, pony cars and even the compacts much more convincing in the role.  By 1970, the big cars ran a gamut from stripper taxi-cabs to elaborately fitted-out luxury cars (which grew so big they cam later to be called "land yachts") but attempts to maintain a full-sized finger in the sporty pie was nearly over.  By 1970, only Ford still had a four-speed manual gearbox on the option list for the big XL and Chrysler, although the lusty triple-carburetor 440 cubic inch (7.2 litre) V8 could be had in some Fury models, it was available only with the TorqueFlite automatic.  All GM’s big stuff were now definitely heavy cruisers.

But Plymouth clearly believed the Fury still offered some scope in other stylistic directions; it was after all a big canvas.  Mid-way through the year, quietly slipped into the range was the "Gran Coupe", based on the Fury II two-door sedan but bundled with a number of otherwise extra-cost options including air conditioning and some much admired concealed headlights.  What was most obvious however, was the paisley theme, a patterned vinyl roof with matching upholstery, most Gran Coupes finished in a newly created copper tone paint although other colors were available.

1970 Rover P5B 3.5 Coupé.

The Gran Coupe was retained for 1971 but the coachwork was the more elegant pillarless hardtop in both two and four-door models, the latter still known as a coupe, attracting some criticism from pedants but in the UK Rover had offered a four-door “coupé” for a decade although, Rover at least cut down the P5’s roof-line a little, a nod to the history of the word coupé (from the French coupé, an elliptical form of carosse coupé (cut carriage), past participle of couper (to cut)).  Shameless, Plymouth ignored the etymology and invented the un-cut coupe, clearly believing gluing on some Paisley vinyl vested sufficient distinction.  The factory also imposed some restraint on buyers: although the Gran Coupe was available in a variety of colors, only if the standard interior trim (tan) was chosen would the Paisley patterned upholstery be available and, befitting the likely ownership of the big machines, the vinyl roof was inconspicuously dark rather than the swirling psychedelia of the groovy Mod Top’s swirls.  It was for years the end for any exuberance in the full-sized lines.  Ford dropped the manual gearbox option after 1970 and Chevrolet had already removed the SS option for the Impala; big engines would remain, indeed, they would grow larger but power would drop, the full-sized lines of both now hunting those wanting cut-price Lincolns and Cadillacs.  Plymouth had already abandoned the Mod Top after a lackluster 1970 and the more dour Paisley vinyl lasted only another year, consigned to history with the triple-carburetor 440.  Happily, decades later, big-power engines would make a comeback but fortunately, the Paisley vinyl roof remained forgotten.

"Rich Burgundy", before & after UV exposure.

Chrysler's use of the term "paisley" was actually a bit misleading; only some of the groovy vinyl was a true paisley but the marketing people liked it so applied it liberally, even to fabric with big yellow sunflowers.  Customers didn't however share the enthusiasm felt by the sales department and by mid-1970, Chrysler realized they had a lot of bolts of un-wanted "paisley" vinyl in the warehouse; this was some time before just-in-time (JIT) supply chains.  The inspired suggestion was to dye the vinyl a dark purple and offer it only with the "Sparkling Burgundy Metallic" paint which was exclusive to the Imperial line, the theory being the same as used with hair-dyes: dark can always cover light.  Some (quick) tests suggested this was true and in September, the 1971 models began to be shipped to the dealers, some of which were parked outside... in direct sunlight.  Almost immediately, the "rich" burgundy vinyl began to fade.  Chrysler replaced the tops with either black or white vinyl and this time the "paisley" option was killed for good.  A handful were actually sold with the purple fabric still attached, later to fade, at which point most owners took up the offer for the white or black re-cover, depending on the interior trim chosen.  Few burgundy examples survive although at least one which has spent the last fifty years protected from the ultra-violet still exists as it left the factory.

Album

Album (pronounced al-buhm)

(1) A bound or loose-leaf book consisting of blank pages, pockets, envelopes etc, for storing or displaying photographs, stamps, or the like, or for collecting autographs.

(2) A digital collection of photographs, stored on a computer or mobile device for viewing, displaying, or sharing.

(3) A record or set of records containing several musical selections, a complete play or opera etc.

(4) The package or container for such a record or records:

(5) A collection of audio recordings released together as a collected work:

(6) A printed book containing an anthology of writings, reproductions of photographs or artwork, musical compositions etc.

(7) In Ancient Rome, a white tablet or register on which the praetor's edicts and other public notices were recorded.

1645–1655: From the late Middle English albo (souvenir book), from the Classical Latin album (a board calked or painted white, onto which was inscribed in black, certain public notices, most notably the Annales Maximi, compiled by the Pontifex Maximus, high priest of the Collegium Pontificum (College of Pontiffs) which listed the year’s most significant events and appointments).  In Latin, the literal meaning of album was "white in color; whiteness", a noun use of the neuter of the adjective albus (white).

Album of Frederick Handel's (1685-1759) Messiah (1741) on 18 x 78 rpm shellac records; Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, under Sir Thomas Beecham (1879-1961), RCA Victor, 1947. 

The word was revived in Prussia circa 1645 by German scholars whose custom was to keep an album (amicorum) of colleagues' signatures, the meaning later expanded to include "book with blank leaves meant to collect signatures and other souvenirs" and according the entry in Samuel Johnson’s (1709-1784) A Dictionary of the English Language (1755), the album was "…a book in which foreigners have long been accustomed to insert autographs of celebrated people."  Photographic albums (in which people mounted photographs) were first advertised in 1859 and in 1882, the publisher Stanley Gibbons added to their catalogue the “stamp album” to meet the demand from the increasingly popular (and sometime profitable) hobby of philately.  The word became the popular descriptor of the (twelve-inch (300 mm)) 33⅓ rpm LP (long-playing) record in the 1950s although the term had earlier been used of (what would later be known as “boxed sets”) the bundled collections of 78 rpm records which, for certain recordings, demanded dozens of disks.  The use of “album” was an allusion to the resemblance of the paper sleeves, in which the shellac (and later polyvinyl chloride (PVC and usually called “vinyl”)) disks were stored, to the pages of autograph or stamp albums.

Lindsay Lohan's discography: Speak (Casablanca, 2005) & A Little More Personal (Raw) (Casablanca, 2005).

The Grateful Dead, Anthem of the Sun (1968).

The twelve-inch vinyl LP was an ideal format for commercial music distributors because it allowed 40-50 minutes of product to be packaged on the one disk, thereby permitting even long opera performances to be released as an album which required usually no more than 3-4 disks.  In popular music, the 50 minute limit (which technology did later permit to be extended to about an hour) was perfect and there many releases which barely troubled the lower end of the limit, format allowing acts to release several albums a year, each with perhaps a dozen songs (“tracks” as they came to be called).  This corresponded well with both creative output and the occasional release of a live performance and when required, double albums could be recorded and by the 1970s, there were even some triple and quadruple-disk albums.

The Incredible String Band, The 5000 Spirits or the Layers of the Onion (1967).

The eight-track cartridge and the much more successful cassette tape proved handy as portable media but operated less as a competitor than an adjunct to the vinyl product and it wasn’t until the compact disc (CD) gained critical mass in the mid-1980s that the 12 inch format came to be supplanted.  The CD was another format which proved ideal for the industry, particularly during the first decade-odd of its existence when the duplication hardware was for most (unlike cassette decks which were bundled with mainstream (3-in-1) stereo systems), prohibitively expensive.  The CD didn’t add greatly to the duration available for recording but the sound quality was superior (some vinyl audiophiles still dispute that), unit production and distribution costs were lower and windfall profits were raked in as the early CDs were sold at high prices and many consumers actually duplicated at least some of their vinyl collection as well as buying new releases.  Thus the “album age” lasted until displaced by the digital era which made possible the consumer’s (probably long-standing) preference to purchase the individual tracks they prefer.

Iron Butterfly, In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida (1968).

Until largely displaced by the smaller CD, the twelve inch album sleeve existed as a form of pop-art which attracted its own school of criticism.  Between the mid-1960s and late 1980s, small industries arose to create the artwork and there was even a niche in specialist publishing which produced compilations, the more psychedelic efforts especially popular and the “gatefold covers” used for the double and triple albums even permitted a wider vista; the results sometimes good, sometimes not.  The so-called “concept album” appeared to have had little effect on the album cover artwork which is surprising given it was such an obvious way to encapsulate a “concept”.  However, the definition of the “concept album” was always vague and while there were plenty with some discernible theme, it could with others be difficult to work out just what the “concept” was supposed to be.  Still, it was a word which suggested ambitions beyond a collection of three-minute singles and in the 1960s there was a growing industry of earnest critics, anxious to find meanings and ready to fill in the gap if none was immediately obvious.  Sometimes they would write as if influenced by TS Elliot, sometimes they'd just gush and if the idea had been delayed a generation, they would probably have called them "paradigm albums".     

There were great moments in album covers but, unfortunately, the memorable cover for Svetlana Gruebbersolvik's My Lips are for Blowing was a fake.  Beginning in the 1960s, the album cover with its standardized 12 x 12 inch (300 x 300 mm) format became a sub-genre of pop-art, the movement lasting until the smaller media of the CD rendered the packaging obsolete.  The twelve inch format has enjoyed something of a twenty-first century revival but the volumes are too low to support the scale of graphic-art industry which once flourished. 

Undertaker

Undertaker (pronounced uhn-der-tey-ker)

(1) A person whose profession is the preparation of the dead for burial or cremation and the management of funerals (like embalmer, now mostly a historic reference, the preferred modern terms being funeral director or mortician)

(2) A person receiving land in Ireland during the Elizabethan era, so named because they gave an undertaking to abide by several conditions regarding marriage, to be loyal to the crown, and to use English as their spoken language (obsolete, now used only for historic references).

(3) A contractor for the royal revenue in England, one of those who undertook to manage the House of Commons for the king in the Addled Parliament of 1614 (obsolete, now used only for historic references).

(4) A person who undertakes something (became rare because of the likelihood of confusion with funeral directors but "undertake", "undertaking" and "undertaken" now common).  Historically, the word was associated in Middle and early Modern English with those running businesses but as the association with embalming and burials became pervasive, it came to be replaced with the French entrepreneur.

1350–1400: A compound word under- + -take- + -er, a back-formation from the earlier undertake (after undernim (from the Middle English undernimen, from the Old English underniman (to take in, receive, comprehend, understand, blame, be indignant at, take upon oneself, steal), the construct being under- +‎ nim.  It was cognate with the Dutch ondernemen (to undertake, attempt) and the German unternehmen (to undertake, attempt).  Under is from the Middle English under-, from the Old English under-, from the Proto-Germanic under, from the primitive Indo-European n̥dhér (lower) and n̥tér (inside).

Take is from the Middle English taken (to take, lay hold of, grasp, strike), from the Old English tacan (to grasp, touch), of North Germanic origin, from the Old Norse taka (to touch, take), from the Proto-Germanic tēkaną (to touch), from the primitive Indo-European dehig- (to touch).  Gradually, it displaced the Middle English nimen (to take), from the Old English niman (to take).  It was cognate with the Icelandic and Norwegian Nynorsk taka (to take), the Norwegian Bokmål ta (to take), the Swedish ta (to take), the Danish tage (to take, seize), the Middle Dutch taken (to grasp), the Dutch taken (to take; grasp) and the Middle Low German tacken (to grasp); tackle is related.

The –er suffix was added to verbs to create a person or thing that does an action indicated by the root verb; used to form an agent noun.  It added to a noun it denoted an occupation.  The suffix is from the Middle English -er & -ere, from the Old English -ere, a borrowing from the Proto-Germanic -ārijaz, thought to have been borrowed from Latin -ārius and reinforced by the synonymous but unrelated Old French -or & -eor (the Anglo-Norman variant of which was -our), from the Latin -(ā)tor, from the primitive Indo-European -tōr.

Mercedes-Benz 600 Hearse

In English, undertaker was an agent noun from the verb undertake, the early meaning, strictly speaking, "a contractor of any sort hired to perform some task" but it was applied mostly to those engaged is some sort of commercial enterprise.  There had long been instances of the use of “funeral-undertaker” but by the 1690s, “undertaker” had come to mean almost exclusively those whose profession was to “embalm and bury”.  Most etymologists conclude this organic shift to linguistic exclusivity came via the word being used as a euphemism for the mechanics of the profession, matters of mortality something of a taboo topic.

Undertaker faded from use as “mortician” and “funeral director” came to be preferred, firstly in the US with the latter soon becoming the standard form in the rest of the English-speaking world.  It was at the July 1895 meeting of the Funeral Directors' Association of Kentucky that it was proclaimed “…an undertaker will no longer be known as an "undertaker and embalmer." In the future he will be known as the "mortician."  This soon spread and the term undertaker is now almost unknown except in historic references or in figurative use in fields such as politics and sport.  In general use, the words "undertake", "undertaken" or "undertaking" are now used to describe just about any activity and with no sense of a taint of association with corpses. 

In the narrow technical sense, even in modern use, the terms funeral director, mortician, and undertaker mean the same thing (a person who supervises or conducts the preparation of the dead for burial and directs or arranges funerals"  Nuances have however emerged, especially in the US where a funeral director tends to be someone who owns or operates a funeral home whereas the term mortician implies a technical role, a person who handles the body (the embalmer) in preparation for a funeral.  Often of course, these roles are combined, especially in smaller operations so for practical purposes, funeral director and mortician are generally interchangeable.  Although it would probably once have seemed a bizarre construction, there are also now funeral celebrants who officiate at ceremonies not (or only vaguely) connected with religious practice and are thus analogous to the civil celebrants who perform secular marriage ceremonies.  They're not directly connected with the school of thought which prefers to "celebrate a life" rather than "mourn a death" at a funeral, an approach which can be taken even in an overtly religious service.  

So it's largely a matter of how those within the profession prefer to style themselves and Funeral Director seems now the most popular choice although mortician remains widely used in the US.  Mirriam-Webster provides:

Funeral Director: A person whose job is to arrange and manage funerals.

Mortician: A person whose job is to prepare dead people to be buried and to arrange and manage funerals.

Undertaker: One whose business is to prepare the dead for burial and to arrange and manage funerals.

1967 Mercedes-Benz 600 (W100) hearse by German coach builders, Pollmann of Bremen.

Built on a (lengthened) 1967 short wheelbase (SWB) platform, it’s a genuine one-off, the only 600 hearse ever built.  The story (which may be true), repeated whenever it’s offered for sale, is it was originally a sedan purchased by a German farmer (always referred to as Herr K) whose particular experience of the Wirtschaftswunder (the German post-war economic miracle) was the massive capital gain he enjoyed when he sold his farmland for urban development.  Happy, he bought Mercedes-Benz 600 (in champagne metallic gold) for his wife and commissioned an architect to design a house for them to enjoy.  Unfortunately, he arrived home one day to find the ungrateful hausfrau had run off with the architect and, unable to bear to keep the 600 because it was a reminder of the strumpet’s infidelity, he returned the car to the dealer to off-load.  It was sold to the coach-builders Pollmann which converted it to a hearse which seems appropriate although it's not known if the former farmer was impressed by the symbolism of the transformation.  It was used for some years for the purpose for which it was designed and has since been restored by US-based expert in all things 600esque, Karl Middelhauve.

The Machete funeral hearse

Lindsay Lohan in habit, emerging from hearse in Machete (2010).  The Machete hearse was based on a 1987 Cadillac Brougham (1987-1992).

Between 1931-1979, General Motors' Cadillac division offered a line called the Cadillac Commercial Chassis, a long-wheelbase, heavy-duty platform which was mechanically complete but with a partially built body (without bodywork rear of the windscreen, doors and other panels included on request).  Produced on the D platform (exclusive to Cadillac), the "Commercial Chassis" was used by coach-builders to create high-roofed ambulances, hearses (often called funeral coaches in the US) and cleverly designed hybrids which at short notice could be converted from ambulances to hearses or used by a coroner's staff to transport a corpse; these multi-purpose devices were popular in towns with small populations.  The early Commercial Chassis were based on the Series 355 (1931-1935) and the Series 75 (1936-1992) from 1936 and although there were specific modification to the frame, the mechanical components were always shared with the 75 which, used for the big limousines, meant costs were amortized across the ranges.  After 1980, production continued on the downsized platform but there was no longer a separate D platform, the partially bodied cars structurally identical to the mainstream line.

1960 Mercedes-Benz 300d Cabriolet D (left) and 1960 Cadillac hearse (Funeral Carriage) on the Commercial Chassis (right).

Dating from the age of horse drawn carriages, the landau irons (which some coachbuilders insist should be called "carriage bars") on the rear side-panels of hearses emulate in style (though not function) those used on carriages and early automobiles (the last probably the Mercedes-Benz 300 (the “Adenauer”; W186 (1951-1957) & W189 (1957-1962)) Cabriolet D).  On those vehicles, the irons actually supported the folding mechanism for the fabric roof but on hearses they are merely decorative, there to relieve the slab-sidedness of the expanse of flat metal.  The alternative approach with hearses is to use a more conventional glass panel, usually with curtains fitted which can be drawn as desired.  In many cases, there is a desire to make the coffin (casket) as visible as possible because some, to permit the dead a final act of conspicuous consumption, are crafted with some extravagance.

1971 Ford Thunderbird with standard vinyl roof (left) and 1967 Ford Thunderbird with the vinyl removed (right).

There was however one curious use of a stylized iron for a purpose which was both functional and aesthetic.  When, in a sign of the times, the 1967-1971 Ford Thunderbird included a four-door sedan rather than a convertible as a companion to the coupés in the range, the sedans were fitted with the combination of the irons and a vinyl roof.  In this one, unique, case the irons and the vinyl actually improved rather than detracted from the appearance because, built on a surprisingly short wheelbase, the Thunderbird had to be fitted with rather short rear doors (also compelling the use of the front-opening "suicide door" configuration) and to accommodate the shape of C-pillar, each had to intrude on the other.  What the (always dark) vinyl and the sweep of the irons did was conceal the compromise and for that reason, this generation of Thunderbirds is probably the only car where vinyl roofs are rarely removed because exposing the metal results in a very strange look.  Because (1) they're ugly and (2) they trap moisture, thereby encouraging rust, removing a vinyl roof usually improves the appearance of a car but this is the one exception.       

Landau

Landau (pronouned lan-daw (U) or lan-dou (non-U))

(1) A light, four-wheeled, traditionally horse-drawn, two or four-seated (the original landau was for two passengers) carriage with a top made in two parts that may be let down or folded back, the two meeting over the middle of the passenger compartment; in four-seat versions, the front and rear passenger seats would face each other, an arrangement now often called “vis-a-vis seating”.

(2) By extension, a style of automobile based around the design of landau carriages, usually a limousine or sedan-like with a partially convertible roof arrangement, the most rearward part retractable.

(3) A model name for automobiles now with no precise definition but which is usually applied to vehicles with some variation in the treatment of the roof (though not necessarily a configuration).

1743 (1723 in the German): Traditionally thought named after the German city of Landau, where such carriages were first made and called landauers, following the model of the berliner, a carriage with origins in the city of Berlin.  The city of Landau in der Pfalz (Landach in the Palatine German and usually clipped to Landau) is an autonomous (kreisfrei) town in the southern Rhineland-Palatinate.  Land was from the common Germanic element land (land, territory (which obviously endures in English), from the Proto-Germanic landą, from the primitive Indo-European lend- (land, heath); it was cognate with the Proto-Celtic landā.  The origin of the second element is disputed.  The noun plural is landaus.

The Landau

Murkier still though is the opinion of some etymologists that the name of the carriage was really from the Spanish lando (a light four-wheeled carriage drawn by mules), from the Arabic al-andul and the claim by the Germans was just blatant commercial opportunism.  If one accepts the orthodox etymology, in 1723 when first displayed in the city of Landau, the description landauer meant one thing: a two-seater horse-drawn light carriage configured with four wheels on two sprung axles and with a fabric top which could be thrown back (ie lowered) to the rear.  It was a luxury vehicle and much admired but the reaction of customers suggested a larger market beckoned if a four-seat version was available.  Accordingly, production commenced on what was essentially two of the two-seaters joined together, the seats in the traditional (viv-a-vis) arrangement of two benches facing each other and the fabric roofs duplicated, one hinged from the rear, one from the from front and, when erected, meeting in the centre above the passengers.  Access to the compartment was provided by one or two side-doors, the upper section of which was a framed glass window which could be removed (and later even wound-down) and it is to these vehicles that the origins of the modern convertible may be traced, the sense being of something which easily may be converted from open to closed .  In the records of the time, there are drawings of these four-seat carriages with a single fabric roof (a la the two-seat original), hinged from the rear but it’s not clear how many, if any, were built.

Before there were landaus, another carriage had provided an entry in the etymological record.  Designed probably in the late 1660s by a Piedmontese architect under commission from the quartermaster-general to Frederick William (1620–1688; Elector of Brandenburg and Duke of Prussia 1640-1688), several of what came to be known as berliners were used by the elector to travel from Berlin to Paris, then a trip of 1,055 km (655 miles) and upon arrival, the elegant but obviously robust vehicles caused a sensation and immediately the design was copied by Parisian coachbuilders attracted by the ease of construction, efficiency of space utilization and critically, the economical use of materials which made them cheaper to build.  Lighter and with a lower centre of gravity which made them also safer, the French named them berlines in honor of their city of origin and quickly they began to supplant the less practical and frankly uncomfortable state and gala coaches which had been the definitive seventeenth century carriage.

The origin of the Berliner is undisputed but there have long been “alternative facts” contesting the genesis of the landau.  The orthodox history is that carriages in the style which came to be associated with the landau were first built in Landau and thus known as landauers, mentioned in Goethe's (Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, 1749–1832) epic-length poem Hermann and Dorothea (1796-1797):

Constantly, while he thus spoke, the crowds of men and of women

Grew, who their homeward way were over the market-place wending;

And, with the rest, there also returned, his daughters beside him,

Back to his modernized house on the opposite side of the market,

Foremost merchant of all the town, their opulent neighbor,

Rapidly driving his open barouche,—it was builded in Landau.

Lively now grew the streets, for the city was handsomely peopled.

Many a trade was therein carried on, and large manufactures.

A barouche was a large, open, four-wheeled carriage and historians of the industry suggest Goethe was describing a landauer and Jane Austen (1775-1817) in Emma (1816) spoke of a “barouche-landau” which combined “…the best features of a barouche and a landau" although the blend was apparently “not a popular innovation” and noting this critique, Austen scholar Jennifer S Ewing, Library Director at Southern California Seminary in El Cajon, pondered whether the “… choice of carriage itself speak to the elusiveness of the Sucklings in Emma, always promised, but never realized?  Such is the way of modern academic deconstruction but carriages were important in Austen’s writings, the size and style of a man’s carriage used to establish the measure of his wealth and social distinction so she was a keen observer of such things.

A more dramatic story is that associated with the epic journey by Austrian Archduke Joseph (1678–1711; Holy Roman Emperor & King Joseph I of Austria 1705-1711) who in 1702 arranged a fleet of 77 coaches to carry him and his entourage of 250 from Vienna to Landau, there to take the command at the siege of what was then the a French border fortress.  It’s claimed the feat of moving the 250 men in 14 daily stages was so extraordinary that the coaches were forever associated with the town of Landau, the French soldiers also so impressed they took the name back to Paris.  It’s a romantic story but Goethe and Austen are more persuasive.

The theory of an Arabic origin of the name is interesting, the argument being the Arabic al-andul (litter, cars (and related to the Sanskrit hindola (a swinging cradle or hammock; an ornamental swing or litter in which figures of kṛṣṇa are carried during the Swing-festival in the light half of the month śrāvaṇa))) came into Spanish as lando (four-seat cart drawn by mules) from which it migrated in the form landau into English & French and was only then brought into German by popular etymological reinterpretation with the place name Landau and formed into landauer.  The Arabic derivation has the advantage that there’s no reliance of anecdotal tales of military adventure or historically dubious claims of manufacturing innovation but it’s wholly inconsistent with the chronology of verified evidence.  The word as the name of a carriage was documented in German in 1723 (and in English by 1743), but there's no trace in Spanish until 1830 and most etymologists think even then likely that it is more likely from the French than the Arabic.

Landaulet and Landaulette

The landaulette was a body style developed early in the twentieth century by car manufacturers and specialist coachbuilders, the construct being landau(l) + -ette (from the Middle English -ette, a borrowing from the Old French -ette, from the Latin -itta, the feminine form of -ittus.  It was used to form nouns meaning a smaller form of something).  A landaulette was distinguished by the compartment being covered by a convertible top while the front remained enclosed (although a landaulette rear-section was sometimes combined with the sedanca de-ville coachwork which had an open section also at the front (sometimes with a detachable top), leaving only a central portion with a permanently fixed roof.  It was once a very popular style used in taxis (in the days before air-conditioning) and was a feature of many parade limousines used for figures such as heads of state when they wished to be more visible to large crowds.  This use is now rare because of concerns about security, some of the old state-cars used in the wedding business, most brides concerned with matters other than assassination.  In the UK, historically, landaulette was used when referring to motor vehicles while the older landaulet was reserved for horse-drawn carriages.

Landaulet, the construct being landau(l) + -et (from the Middle English -et, from the Old French –et & its feminine variant -ette, from the Late Latin -ittus (and the other gender forms -itta & -ittum).  It was used to form diminutives (loosely construed) and was, after the first few years of the twentieth century, always the form used on the continent and refers to the same coachwork as landaulette.  Both words are now rare and it’s only specialists who are likely to apply them correctly.

Mercedes-Benz 600 (W100) Landaulet (long-roof).

Mercedes-Benz, at a leisurely pace, produced 59 600 Pullman Landaulets, twelve with a convertible top which covered the entire rear passenger space, the remainder with a shorter top which exposed only the rear-most seat.  Purchased usually for parade use or other ceremonial occasions, most were built with the six-door coachwork but there were a few which used the four-door body and the vis-a-vis seating.

Mercedes-Benz 600 (W100) one-off landaulet on the short wheelbase (SWB) platform.

The factory for decades provided the Vatican with papal landaulets, used in parades and sometimes they travelled with popes to foreign lands.  After the assassination attempt on John-Paul II, the concept was refined, the convertible top replaced with bullet-resistant clear panels and popes now less frequently appear in open-top cars.  Clockwise from top left: 300d (W189) papal throne, 300d (W189), 600 (W100), 300SEL (W109), S500 (W140), 300GD (W460), G500 (W463), ML500 (W166).  Just about everybody quickly dubbed the new cars "popemobiles".

Rolls-Royce Phantom V (1959-1968) State Landaulet by Mulliner Park Ward (MPW).

Queen Elizabeth II (1926-2022; Queen of England the UK and other places, 1952-2022) and Prince Philip (1921-2021) in Mercedes-Benz 600 Landaulet, Brandenburg Gate, Berlin, state visit, June 1965.  This 600 Landaulet is one of twelve "long roof" cars (often informally styled as the "Presidential") in which the folding fabric roof extended over the whole of the rear compartment.  The remaining 46 600 Landaulets were "short-roof" models where the metal roof extended further rearwards, the fabric over only the rear-seat area.

The 1961 Lincoln Continental (Secret Service code X-100) in which President John Kennedy (JFK, 1917–1963; US president 1961-1963) was assassinated could be configured as (1) a four-door convertible or, (2) a landaulet with a solid top attached above the driver’s compartment.  It was sometimes also used with a protective Perspex shield for the rear compartment but, infamously, this wasn’t used on the day of the assignation.  After the events in Dallas it was modified to include much more protective equipment and returned to the Secret Service’s White House fleet.

X-100 unprotected (left) and with an array of some of the roof accessories which enabled it to be configured as a four-door convertible, a landaulet or a sedanca de ville (although it was never seen as the latter) (right).  Interestingly, Lincoln's companion division, Mercury, in 1969-1970, sold a version of its full-sized Marauder two-door hardtop as the X-100, nominally a high-performance model but actually using an un-modified (360 horsepower) 429 cubic inch (7.0 litre) version of its 385-series V8.  The X-100 was essentially an attempt to be in 1965 what the "letter series" Chrysler 300s had been between 1955-1965 but the moment had passed and the days of the "banker's hot-rods" were done.  The X-100 was never replaced.

Rolls-Royce Phantom IV State Landaulet by Hooper.

A bespoke creation produced exclusively for heads of state and crowned royalty (the "crowned" bit an important status symbol in royal circles) and never offered for sale to the public (a distinction shared only with the Mercedes-Benz 770K (W150; 88 made 1939-1943) and the Bugatti Royale (7 made, 1927-1933), Rolls-Royce between 1950-1958 made only 18 Phantom IVs, one of which was a ute (a light pickup truck) used by the factory until it was scrapped.  The Phantom IV's other footnote in Rolls-Royce history is it was their first and last passenger car powered by a straight-8 engine.

Daimler DS420 Landaulet by Vanden Plas.

Vanden Plas made only two Daimler DS420 Landaulets but many have been converted by coachbuilders (and some folk less skilled), the results said to be variable.  Many of the converted landaulets were used in the wedding trade, there presumably being genuine advantages for brides with big hair.  The DS420 was in production between 1968-1992 and used the platform of the big Jaguar Mark X (1961-1970; in 1967 slightly revised and re-named the 420G), the sales of which had never met expectations, failing in the home market because it was just too big and in the US because the factory chose to use 3.8 & 4.2 litre versions of the XK-Six as the powerplant rather than the 4.6 litre Daimler V8.  The underpinnings of the Mark X (the advanced suspension design and the four-wheel disk brakes) were several generations ahead of the US competition but the XK-Six was underpowered and lacked the torque required in what was a heavy machine.  A 5.5 litre V8 version with a well-integrated air-conditioning system would likely have been a great success in the US.  However disappointing the Mark X might have been, the long and lucrative career of the DS420 meant that eventually, the platform proved one of Jaguar's most enduringly profitable.

Marriage of the Prince of Wales to Lady Diana Spencer, 29 July 1981 (left), marriage of Prince Andrew to Sarah Ferguson, 23 July 1986 (centre) and marriage of Prince William to Catherine Middleton, 29 April 2011.

Maintained in the Royal Mews, the state landau carriage was built in 1902 by Messrs Hooper for Edward VII (1841–1910; King of the UK & Emperor of India 1901-1910) and first used by him on the day of his coronation procession through London.  Extensively used since, it’s lasted well, unlike the marriages of some of the royal couples who have sat in it to and from the church.  Clearly not superstitious, the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge choose the 1902 Landau although Prince Harry and Meghan Markle decided not to risk the curse, riding instead in one of the five Ascot landaus in the Royal Mews.

The fifth generation Ford Thunderbird Landaus, 1967-1971

1969 Ford Thunderbird Landau Coupé (429).

In what was a case study of supply responding to demand, the Ford Thunderbird which in 1955 had debuted as a two-seat convertible, was re-designed for 1958 as a four-seater, sales immediately rising.  Having already made the correct decision in 1955 to position the T-bird as a “personal car” rather than a sports-car and being rewarded with something which outsold the Chevrolet Corvette more than twenty-fold, it was obvious to rely on (what probably still is) the biggest “big-data” metric of all: what people are prepared to pay for.  Thus the T-bird continued successfully until 1966 as a four-seat coupé and convertible.  By 1967 however, Ford needed to consider not just the competing products of other manufacturers but also the corporation’s own proliferating range, the wildly successful Mustang and its new, up-market derivative, the Mercury Cougar, both of which (and not just at the margins) overlapped the T-bird’s lucrative niche.  Additionally, Lincoln had released a two-door version of the Continental so the T-bird needed somehow to appeal to those considering competitor vehicles yet try to avoid excessive cannibalizing sales within the corporation.

1967 Ford Thunderbird Landau Sedan (428).

Thus the fifth generation Thunderbird (1967-1971), the convertible gone (not to return until the one-off retro-car of 2002-2005), the coupé was joined by a four-door sedan, suicide doors added not just as a novelty but because, as had been the case with the 1961 Lincoln, the wheelbase was just a little too short comfortably to accommodate conventional hinging.  With Lincoln’s four-door convertible in its last days because of declining sales, no such T-bird was offered.  Quite how sincere Ford was in trying not to impinge on Mercury and Lincoln attracted attention even at the time.  The 1967 Thunderbird was the most expensive car on Ford’s list, attracting buyers who ticked much on the option list and they tended to leave the showroom costing much more than any other Ford or Mercury, the most expensive, the four-door Landau Sedan, sitting within a few hundred dollars of an entry-level Lincoln.

1969 Ford Thunderbird Landau Sedan (390) with vinyl roof removed.  In the quest for good taste, removing vinyl roofs from cars of that era is popular but on the four-door T-birds, they really need to be maintained.

By 1967, the US industry had long come to regard words like “landau” and “brougham”, once technical terms from coach-building, as just handy marketing terms, a brougham now something with more bling and a landau, usually a car distinguished often by sometimes oddly-shaped windows added to the C-panel and the increasingly bizarre ways in which vinyl would be glued to the roof and Ford wasn’t alone in adding fake “landau irons” (sometimes called “landau bars”) to cement the association.  Actually last used as a functional device for a convertible top in 1962 on the Mercedes 300d Cabriolet D (w189), they’d come to be adopted as a decorative flourish on C-pillars, thought to impart come link with the big cabriolets of the 1930s with which they were most associated.  On the two-door T-bird Landaus, that’s how they were used but on the four-door, they gained a new functionally: Disguising unfortunate styling.

The much admired “wrap-around” rear compartment: 1971 Ford Thunderbird Landau Coupé (429).

Just as the suicide doors had been a necessity, so too were the landau irons (which some coachbuilders insist should be called "carriage bars"), used to conceal the ungainly way the desired shape of the C-pillar had been achieved on a wheelbase too short, the vinyl roof another unavoidable trick to draw attention from what would otherwise have been obviously extraneous metal if painted.  The four-door T-birds are probably the only car ever made where a vinyl roof improved rather than detracted from the appearance and the fake landau bars helped too.  Some hearses are built with large expanse of something solid to the rear rather than glass and on those, fake landau bars are added as a flourish to reduce the effect of the slab-sidedness.  Ford’s aesthetic trick was clever but didn’t much help in the showroom, the four-door a slow seller which wasn’t replaced when the sixth generation was released only as a (very big) coupé which went on to great success.

The Ford (Australia) Landau (P5;1973-1976)

Even at the time, to many the Ford Landau can't have seemed a good idea.  Sales of large (compact in 1973 US terms) coupés had dropped precipitously since their brief burst of popularity and the only thing on the market which might have been a competitor, the Chrysler by Chrysler hardtop, had been dropped earlier in the year after eighteen months of disappointing sales.  Ford's own hardtop, debuting late in 1972 had come too late to enjoy much of the earlier fad which probably was a warning of sorts but it also meant there was a warehouse full of hardtop shells for which demand had almost evaporated.  Thus the Landau, a two-door version of Ford Australia's new LTD, a (much) stretched and (much) blingified Falcon, the parts-sharing meaning the Landau could be brought into production at modest cost; from the Detroit parts-bin came Mercury hidden-headlight assemblies and Thunderbird wheel-covers, the later marvelously intricate but so vulnerable to impacts with Australia's high kerb-sides they were soon replaced with units which protruded less.  Underneath lay the familiar combination of Ford's 351 cubic inch (5.8 litre) Cleveland (335) V8 and FMX automatic transmission, the most notable mechanical innovation being the country's first locally produced (as opposed to assembled) car with four-wheel disk brakes, Ford even claiming the numbers of Landaus produced as counting towards the brakes being homologated for series-production racing, the rationale being the Landau's mechanical similarity to the Falcon GT hardtops used in competition.  It sounds improbable but that's how things used to be done.

The Landau's other "mechanical" difference from standard Falcon hardtops was some sheet-metal crudely welded into the rear-window apertures so a more "formal" roofline could be fashioned.  The welding seams were never finished to a fine standard because one feature of the LTD & Landau was a padded vinyl roof which, handily, covered the imperfections.  A padded vinyl roof is a really bad idea because it means a layer of porous foam rubber sits between the vinyl and the ferrous metal of the roof, the moisture accumulating and the rust soon starting, proximity to the coast and the tropics dictating how soon and ultimately to what extent.  It sounds improbable but that's how things used to be done.  Still, it was plush inside, lashings of (real) leather, much (fake) timber and four bucket seats (though despite the bulk of the thing the rear compartment was cramped and the cut-down windows made travel a claustrophobic experience) through the highlights were two real affectations, a twenty-four hour analogue clock and aviation inspired controls for the air-conditioning, recalling those installed rather more extravagantly on European machinery like the Facel Vega.  Just so people knew they were looking at something classy, pressed into the padded roof (about where the welding seams were being hidden) was a (wholly fake) coat of arms with lions rampant, two more escutcheons glued-on inside to comfort the passengers.

As a road car it was capable, even rapid by the standards of the time and the new brakes really were (pre-ABS) world class.  For commuting or touring it was a comfortable and effortless experience, at least for two although it could be hard to manage in urban conditions, the hardtop's already marginal rear-visibility further compromised by the loss of glass and the combination of the coupé's lowered roofline and almost flat rear window meant the rearward view was like looking through a slit.  That was unfortunate because the hardtops had been designed with series-production racing in mind so the rear fenders flared outwards allowing wide tyres to be fitted without modification to the bodywork.  Reversing a Landau could be a challenge but it was one not many took up, fewer than 1400 sold in a three-year run.  The timing of the release had been unfortunate for not only was it now in a dying market segment but within three months, the first oil shock hit.  The 351 V8, even it's more efficient (pre-emission control) form was always thirsty but in the Landau with all the luxury bits and pieces adding some 440 lb (200 KG) to the anyway hardly svelte Falcon Hardtop, it was worse.  When the P6 LTD was released in 1976, although one P6 Landau prototype had constructed for evaluation, the coupé was quietly dropped but now, the survivors are a collectable, one popular modification the removal of the vinyl roof and the proper finishing of the welded cover-plates.

1973 Ford Landau.  Ford added just about whatever could be added to justify the Landau's high price-tag.  The aviation-inspired sliding air-conditioning controls delighted many (although some dismissed them as "an affectation") and the turbine-style wheel-covers were imported from the Detroit parts-bin; while the intricate details were impressive, the "beehive" shape rendered then vulnerable to Australian kerbs and so much damage was reported they were soon replaced with flatter units.  The leather on the seats was real (and Australian grown) and the 24-hour clock was unique in the era but unfortunately, the budget didn't extend to real timber and the "woodgrain" on the instrument panel was plastic.