By now the entire world, or least the world that actually cares, will be aware that General Motors will soon close the lid on its long-time Pontiac marque. Note that I said "marque" not "brand," the latter being a marketing maven's method of reducing a great product to just another vehicle in someone's driveway. My automobile journalist colleagues are already writing the eulogies. Unfortunately those good folks are primarily baby boomers or younger, and thus seem to think Pontiac was born in the muscle car era. I beg to disagree. There were many great Pontiacs long before it acquired a performance image.

My mother once owned a 1934 Pontiac Eight during a time when it was just another old car, and sometimes let me drive it. That 8-cylinder inline engine was smoother than any V-8 before or since and the Pontiac was so spacious that on one occasion my mates and I squeezed a pair of kitchen chairs into the space between front seat and back so that we could accommodate eight guys and gals. But my favorite Pontiacs were the "Silver Streaks" of the 1940s through 50s. Vastly overdecorated by modern standards, those cars were easily identifiable by the chrome stripes racing along the hood and fenders. They spoke of speed, even though it was just an illusion. When applied to the Torpedo fastbacks there was never the slightest doubt that here was a Pontiac to be reckoned with.

What happened to Pontiac in contemporary times was a tragedy forced upon it by, yes, more marketing "experts." The Aztec, possibly the ugliest production car of all times. The Torrent, a badge-engineered minivan that no one wanted. Various Chevrolet and Daewoo clones that should never have worn a Pontiac badge. In my un-humble opinion the last Pontiac worthy of its name was the the Grand Prix of the late 80's, in coupe and sedan guise. You won't find it mentioned in those enthusiast eulogies and more's the shame for this was a Pontiac that honoured its past, providing ample performance with a unique and elegant style. RIP, Pontiac.