The Keeper - Citroën CX
After 40 cars, this stealth Citroën CX will stay
09/24/2018
Vacationing in Aruba, Dan McCarville did what he usually did while reveling in the island paradise: Scan the craigslist ads in upstate New York for old cars. He was a man obsessed, as he forever had been; it just wasn't always with cars.
Few of us come to cars late in life; there's almost always a spark early on, somewhere. We're not sure we'd call it a spark in young Dan's life, but there were cars, if more by necessity than choice. He says his father could often be found tinkering with a car, but only because he had to keep it running, and his boy was drafted in as an assistant. "At 9 years old, I was in the garage in the dead of winter doing a valve job on a Studebaker," Dan said; so it's little surprise he allowed cars to pass out of his life for many years.
What he found instead was work. Seven days a week, he burrowed deep into the corporate world, putting aside childhood pursuits and dreams of everything but success in business. "I was a workaholic at a national company," he said. "I never worked on a car until 1990."
What happened in 1990 was that Dan had a change of heart. Reexamining his priorities, it was time for less job, more family, and more fun. Among other things, that meant a 1965 VW 21-window bus. Dan soon became a regular sight at Connecticut and other regional VW meets, his immaculately restored van taking first place every time it was shown; 21 firsts in 21 shows, as he relates it, after which he was ready for his next project. "I always end up getting tired of cars and selling them," he said, and through the Nineties and Oughts, 40 more cars came and went, "Ranging from Land Rovers to Alfas and Fiats...all of which I restored." The eclectic list includes a single American car, a 1960 Ford; the rest are generally oddballs: a 1969 Subaru 360 (the long "wagon" version); a V-4 Saab; 1963 Mercedes-Benz 190D. "Once I got started, I just didn't stop!" he said. Even his "new" cars are weird, including a daily-driver Cadillac Catera, which he says may be the only one remaining on which everything works; and a Mercedes 560 SL convertible, "my twice-a-year cruising car."
So while he had never owned a Citroën before, when he saw the ad for a 1989 CXA, he wasn't daunted by the idea of an obscure model. He called the seller from Aruba, and flew back the next day to take a look, but his first question wasn't so much "how is it," but "what is it?" Dan's car looks like a Citroën CX, but no such thing was sold here. In fact, Citroën never sold something called the CXA, anywhere--but CX Automotive did.
Together with Georgia's CINA, these importers brought in somewhere between 400 and 1,000 assorted Citroëns in the Eighties and early Nineties, apparently mostly CXs, not only without any support from the parent company, but over their active resistance. The idea was that there was still demand for the cars in America, but the model had been forced out of the country years before by a ban on height-adjustable suspension. Citroën never brought it back when President Ronald Reagan lifted the ban, but if it wasn't economically feasible for a massive automaker, maybe a cottage industry could do it.
Maybe. CXA attempted to buy the cars wholesale from Citroën, but they weren't biting, and legend has it that they had to pay retail for them from European dealers, then do their best to federalize them at a facility at Oisterwijk, the Netherlands (they never did achieve California certification). As a result, you were looking at about $50,000 for the top-of-the-line Prestige, competitive with a Jaguar XJ6 Vanden Plas or Mercedes-Benz 300 SE sedan. You could also have had the new Saab 9000CD, with vaguely similar notchback styling, for $30,000.
Given the potential liability, we're not surprised that Peugeot/Citroën was uncooperative, and that they complained loudly and publicly. Legal action followed, but there was little they could do to stop CXA from buying cars retail. However, they could force them to remove the Citroën name, not just from the car, but the registration--this is, in fact, not a Citroën, but a CxAuto Prestige, complete with five-year, 50,000-mile warranty.
"Prestige," for the trim level, is, in fact, all it says on the car. If you know Citroëns, it's easily identifiable; if not, it's one you're not going to guess. The wheelbase is an incredibly long 122 inches, CXA advertising it as the longest for sale in America, pipping even the mighty Cadillac Brougham by half an inch (but apparently presuming their customers weren't cross-shopping a six-figure Rolls-Royce Silver Spur, which had a couple of inches on the CXA). With the body-color grille, restrained trim and rear wheelcovers, it's an imposing sight. Dan shows it and says, "The Mustangs and Corvettes, people look at them, but they're four or five deep around this car." And that's just the exterior.
The leather "sofas" inside, as Dan calls them, are the contact point for "the most comfortable ride I've ever experienced." Citroën's venerable hydropneumatic suspension seems to have had the kinks worked out by then--Dan put 6,000 miles on the car in the first season of driving, and hasn't touched it. He says that's a bit of a leap of faith, given that the steering and brakes operate on the same hydraulic system. The apocryphal story is that if it fails, "you lose your brakes and you crash to the ground. It makes for an interesting afternoon."
This car has been the furthest thing from unreliable, though. Visiting the seller the day after flying back from vacation, he found it non-running, although no one could tell him why. It had been sitting for at least six years, and even with only 58,000 miles, it could have been anything. After extended rounds of haggling, Dan finally made a deal and towed it home. He drained and refilled all the fluids, and put in a new battery. Up it started. "What happened next was all the oil came running out of it," he said, a rear seal succumbing to age and disuse.
Dan took the CXA to Beek's Auto in Gardiner, New York, where they pulled the engine and replaced the seal, and that was about it. "There are a fair number around, but not so many in this condition," he said. The A/C blew cold air even while the oil poured out, and the only interior work was replacing a collapsed headliner.
"Being a brave guy, I picked it up at Beek's on Friday and drove to Boston on Saturday," some 200 miles, he said. "It went without a flaw...the scariest part was when people popped out of their sunroof to take a picture." He says that first drive was the scariest, not because of the unproven car but more from the CXA's ultra-sensitive variable power steering and variable assist brakes. Citroën intended the experience to be low effort, and neither brakes nor steering requires more than the lightest of touches. "The Citroën, you don't steer it, you guide it down the road. It corners very nicely, too. It doesn't lean; it has no shocks and springs. You don't slide out of your leather seat when you take a corner."
For him, though, the real selling point was the suspension. "My wife loves driving it, and it's the most comfortable ride I've ever experienced." He says the only thing comparable was a friend's mid-Seventies Rolls-Royce: "I often think about driving that, but this is such an unusual-looking car. But it's so reliable, and being an '89, totally roadworthy."
There has been one incident in Dan's brief year of ownership, but it wasn't the car's fault. Struggling with a recalcitrant key one day, thanks to the ignition interlock, he accidentally popped it into neutral before he started it. No hydraulic pressure meant no brakes, and by the time he grabbed the emergency brake, "I was parked four inches under the back of a Ford F-250." Dan had restored dozens of cars by then, but this one was different, and he sent it out to have the hood done. "I didn't do that; it was too nice a car to let an amateur do."
Owner, Dan McCarville
At shows, "I love to go and talk to people about cars--my cars never have a 'do not touch' sticker on them," said Dan. "I let the kids climb on them," and his dogs travel in the back. But not this one: "I've owned 40-plus cars, but I always get bored," he said. "This is my first keeper, ever."
I turned 18 in late 1977. Ordinarily it would have been just another birthday, especially considering I had my driver’s license less than a year, but it was significant in that I was hired as a valet parking attendant at The Manor, a well-known fine dining restaurant and caterer - that doubled as a very popular wedding venue - located in West Orange, New Jersey. It also meant I could leave behind yard work, dog care, and the sporadic odd jobs of scooping ice cream and delivering newspapers.
The Manor sat on an extensive mountainside property adjacent to a wooded reservation and a golf course, so it was a great place to work outside in the fresh air. Visitors entered the property through tall gates and navigated a tree-lined driveway that led to the grand entrance of the pillared Georgian mansion. Valet parking was free and not required. If visitors opted for valet service, vehicles were driven from the main entrance to either an upper or lower lot. The farthest parking spaces were more than a quarter mile away from The Manor’s front door.
I had been into cars since childhood, so this was a magical job. I was part of a crew of six or seven that worked for tips, and we wore orange coverall uniforms so that we were easily seen at night. We routinely parked and returned more than 400 cars on a busy Saturday, with parties in the afternoon and then again at night, together with public dining.
Jockeying cars for position in shrinking lanes during return rush times made me a better and more precise driver. Another benefit was that I developed a higher appreciation for well-designed dashboards, budding smart controls, and quality upholstery. I preferred gauges to warning lamps, and I intensely disliked the flashing green and yellow dashboard fuel economy indicators that seemed unwelcome in luxury cars. The only way to make the annoying indicator stay green was to coast.
As a crew, we elbowed each other to park the hot imports, such as BMW’s 2002, Datsun’s Z variants, the first Honda Accords, Toyota Celicas, and less frequently, Volkswagen Sciroccos. These were all well-equipped, light, quick, and easy to park. It was also possible to shift them into higher gears for test drives by taking the long way around to the lower back lot. As far as I knew, none of us ever got a Porsche 911 out of second. Our boss knew the joyride risk, so we had to keep numbered dashboard tickets in sequence for assigned spaces that discouraged long drives around the property.
Photo: Hemmings Archives
I have many fond memories of the job. To start, the things people left in their vehicles were nothing short of amazing. There were open bills with private information in plain view, and mail of every other conceivable variety, as well as checkbooks, laundry, arts, and crafts in all stages of non-completion, sticky food wrappers, and other trash. I also quickly learned that a tip amount didn’t always correspond to the expense or condition of the car after one guest left a caged guinea pig in his 1967 Pontiac Le Mans when he arrived late for a wedding reception. Aside from needing to be washed and vacuumed, that car was quite fragrant. It was a dry day, so I lowered the side windows, and we took turns checking the pet as we ran to and from other vehicles. Later, the guest told me he was glad the party was over and was eager to reunite the guinea pig with his young daughter. Having noticed us checking on the pet, the car owner gave me the biggest tip I ever got to fetch a car.
Another unusual thing happened while parking a 1975 Buick LeSabre sedan. Two people got out and went inside for dinner and as I got in immediately noticed the aroma of freshly baked bagels emanating from two gigantic bags that took most of the rear seat, nearly reaching the headliner. After parking the car, I was spooked by a low voice from the far-right of the back seat that asked, “Howee doin’?” I had not seen the slight fellow partially hidden by one of the tall bags, and all I could ask was if he intended to go inside. He said he didn’t want a fancy dinner, just a nap. He offered bagels to the entire crew, which were delicious, and stayed in the car and slept for two hours.
Rare cars would roll up on occasion, including one almost everyone guessed was a Maserati, though I recognized it as a Facel Vega. The exhaust growl of the Chrysler Hemi V-8 was positively rhapsodic, and the grand tourer had polished wood throughout its interior. We parked it in a special spot on an outer aisle near the front door and overheard customers speculate what it was while waiting for their own cars. When the tweedy owner eventually came out, my boss, Ray, was determined to sound smart and amuse himself. He conspicuously and formally signaled, “Christopher, the Facel Vega, please.” Seeing where we placed his pride and joy, the owner gleamed. He may have enjoyed that moment more than his dinner.
Another story involved a regular customer’s Cadillac Seville during lunch hour, when Ray often let me work alone so he could get a break. Two County Sheriff’s detectives stopped to tell me they were looking for two inmates who had escaped from the local penitentiary wearing–what else–orange coveralls. They were last seen running on the neighboring golf course. Of course, we always left keys in the ignition of parked cars. The detectives asked how many cars remained from lunch, and whether I could account for each. To my dismay, the Cadillac (one of only three cars left in my charge) was gone! The owner was very classy when the detectives needed his license plate number and unselfishly said he was glad I had not run into the thieves. Luckily for me, the car was recovered unscratched at a nearby shopping center, but we never heard if the thieves were caught.
I rarely drove a car onto the open road, but one exception was a permanent resident’s 1976 Rolls Royce Silver Shadow. The luminous dark red sedan was overdue for its annual state inspection and the owner’s wife “volunteered” me to drive it to the inspection station in the next town. The engine was so quiet and vibration-free that I had to concentrate to hear it. The interior was beautifully appointed with the finest leather I had ever seen or touched. Intuitive controls were set in burled walnut. In my opinion the steering wheel was somewhat primitive and too hard for an ultra-luxury auto, but it was a minor nitpick since the car was a magic carpet. It literally floated when put in drive. As expected, there were no buzzes, squeaks, or rattles. It handled well and predictably with adequate road feel, despite its considerable weight. Power came immediately at the slightest touch, suggesting ample reserve, and the Rolls-Royce stopped on a dime.
Photo: Hemmings Archives
Admittedly, I was very nervous driving it, even when it seemed other drivers stayed out of the way once I reached a multi-lane avenue. The inspection station was in a not-so-nice area on a narrow, bumpy street, and being near closing time the station was busy. I had to get in a line that snaked around the block and all I could do was hope nobody hit the darn thing.
As I crawled to the entrance, the inspection staff was laughing and pointing at me, still wearing my orange coveralls: “Hey kid, how did you get out of jail and where did you get that car?” Fortunately, my uniform sported a company crest. Seeking mercy, I said it was the boss’ car. Then the Rolls failed its emissions test. Adding to the insult, the dented, oxidized Volkswagen Beetle behind me passed with flying colors. In those days, a sticker with a big red circle signifying failure was affixed to the windshield’s lower left corner. You couldn’t miss it.
I finally relaxed when I pulled the Silver Shadow into the familiar driveway without incident. To my surprise, the owner’s wife was happy to see that the car failed, because now she could get it tuned up without further debate. Apparently, her husband was always working and neglected his cars. We were reminded of that later when we had to jump the battery in his seldom-driven Jaguar XJ12. The next time I saw the Rolls it had a proper inspection sticker.
After parking cars for eighteen months, I transferred inside to become a bartender as my college days progressed. I missed handling the cars, but not enduring cold winter nights or donning those orange coveralls. Over the years I have almost always insisted on parking my own car, but when valet parking is unavoidable, particularly in a city, I tip in advance. It’s remarkable how a few dollars will often gain a spot close to the attendant’s booth, sometimes with a safety cone next to our car.
Americans rediscovered factory performance thanks, in part, to NASCAR’s first official Strictly Stock (quickly renamed Grand National) race, held on June 19, 1949, on Charlotte Speedway’s ¾-mile dirt oval. What made the 200-lap contest compelling to the 13,000 attendees was a relatable starting field of 33 factory-stock cars (with minor provisions allowed for safety). Of the nine makes that took the green flag (Buick, Cadillac, Chrysler, Ford, Hudson, Kaiser, Lincoln, Mercury, and Oldsmobile), Jim Roper and his 1949 Lincoln were declared victors following the disqualification of Glenn Dunnaway and his 1947 Ford, the latter’s rear spring having been modified for its day-to-day life as a moonshine hauler.
By the end of the 1955 season, Buick, Chevrolet, Oldsmobile, Chrysler, Dodge, Plymouth, Ford, Mercury, Hudson, Nash, Studebaker, and even Jaguar, had been added to the list of race-winning manufactures. Absent was Pontiac, though not for a lack of effort. Thirteen drivers had entered Pontiacs, a combined total of just 25 races. Freddie Lee provided the best result, a fourth, at Carrell Speedway in Gardena, California, on June 30, 1951.
Photo by Matthew Litwin
Race wins touted in national headlineswere not lost on manufacturers, so by the start of the 1956 season nearly every major domestic brandhad invested performance resources into NASCAR. Pontiac initially supported two teams: Jim Stephens (Stephens Pontiac), and A.L. Bumgarner (Brushy Mountain Motors). Each were armed with a new-for-1956 engine designed for racing: a 316.6-cu.in. V-8 fitted with dual Rochester four-barrel carburetors that, along with a high-performance camshaft, dual-point distributor, specialized valley cover, and 10:1 compression cylinder heads, conspired to produce 285 horsepower (in street trim, mind. It’s well-known that racers knew how to make more horsepower).
A Pontiac win looked favorable, beginning with the sixth race of the season at the Daytona Beach/Road race, where Stephens’ two-car effort - with Ed Kretz and Cotton Owens - qualified 3rd and 4th, while Junior Johnson, in Bumgarner’s Pontiac, qualified 26th in the 76-car field. None saw the checkered flag. Johnson crashed, and the Stephens effort was met with mechanical woes. It was a sign of things to come. Strong as Pontiac was, bad fortune and mechanical reliability were its Achilles’ heel. Pontiac attained just 17 top 10 finishes with a best of 3rd recorded by Pat Kirkwood in a Stephens’ Pontiac.
Going winless, coupled with poor street ability of the dual-quad 316.6 V-8, spurred Pontiac to develop Tri-Power and fuel-injected 347-cu.in. engines for 1957. They became instant hits on the track - the brand notched two wins prior to a June rule change that mandated a single four-barrel induction system - and on the street, leaving the dual-quad 316.6 a nearly forgotten footnote of Fifties factory performance.
Rare reminders, however, still exist, such as this bred-for-NASCAR 1956 Pontiac twin Rochester carburetor and intake manifold assembly spotted for sale at the 2023 AACA Eastern Fall Meet in Hershey, Pennsylvania. Also included as part of the $4,500 package price was the system’s specific air cleaner assembly, which looked similar that of Cadillac’s (the two reportedly would not interchange without modifications). Save for rebuilding the carburetors, it looked ready to install on a specific “HY” stamped block.
ASKING PRICE:$4,500
FOUND AT: 2023 AACA EASTERN FALL MEET (HERSHEY, PENNSYLVANIA)