Whenever I see a 1969 Corvair, it conjures up mixed emotions; the unpleasant reality that by 1969, even I—an ardent Corvair enthusiast—was more interested in cruising around in a Chevelle SS396, content to fondly remember the '65 Corsa it replaced. I sensed, but did not know the bosses at Chevrolet had grown weary of the Corvair and lost interest in promoting it or defending it against unfounded and unfair claims.

I was powerless to influence the decision makers who had decided to halt development as far back as 1965. I remember the empty feeling. It was similar to the feeling many people had when The Beatles broke up in 1970—grave disappointment that something truly great—an entity with boundless potential to be even greater— was to be no more.

When I see a 1969 Corvair, it reminds me of a distinguished senior citizen—a sort of Sunday-best version of a former champion—the wire wheel without the spinner. Yet even without the turbocharger, without its mates the Spyder, the Corsa, the Yenko or the Fitch Sprint, the venerable Corvair Monza maintained its dignity to the bitter end. For that reason, the '69 model makes me proud.

Today, when I see a new VW bug, Mini, T-Bird, Chysler 300 Hemi or any other newly produced retro vehicle, I dream of a new Corvair.

It would take immense balls at the executive level and a lot of development money for Chevrolet to visit the muses and summon the true spirit of the Corvair, the one that dared to be different and did almost everything well, albeit before its time. Do it right, and I'll be happy to park mine right next to a Porsche.  

The '69 pictured here belongs to Wayne Janis of Phoenix, Arizona. It is Cortez Silver Monza with a blue interior, and is equipped with the 110 horsepower engine and Powerglide transmission. Kudos to Wayne for preserving one of the last of the breed.