War of the Air Cars

Copyright © 2009 Craven Lovelace. All Rights Reserved.
This entry was posted on Sunday, June 14th, 2009 at 5:52 pm.
As events in our brave new computerized world make clear, technology often impacts on the lives of common men — especially when it is drafted into service by the petty foibles of human ego. Submitted as an example is the tragic, true story of the War of the Air Cars — a story catalyzed by human ambition and pride, but one which could never have been told were it not for the 1950s invention of a substance called “GRP,” or “Glass Reinforced Plastic.” By the early ’60s, this lightweight, easily moldable — and highly impact-proof — material was better known as “fiberglass.”

By then, of course, America and this substance called plastic were deeply commingled in the throes of their fitful love affair. The Walt Disney comedy, THE ABSENT-MINDED PROFESSOR, with its vivid and funny representation of the super-elastic miracle substance “flubber,” is a fairly typical Valentine from the Hollywood of 1960 to this marvelous, still new material that, like computer technology today, had quickly infiltrated nearly all other industries and changed forever the way business was done.
One industry thusly changed was the automotive industry. In the ’50s, a rich entrepreneur from Cincinnati by the name of Powell Crosley revolutionized the business by offering kit body sports cars. He provided chassis and plans; the buyer provided fiberglass and elbow grease. These kits were advertised in automotive magazines and, although they appealed to only a small fraction of the car market, they proved very popular with devout auto buffs. Within a decade, there was a thriving subculture of amateur car builders and designers. A common procedure was to strip a standard “Big Three” auto down to the chassis and then rebuild the body out of fiberglass from custom designs. Car design competition became a staple of auto shows.
George Barris was one man who quickly rose to the top of this milieu. A dapper, small man with an instinctual understanding of the importance of appearance, he had formed Barris Kustoms in Lynnwood, California with his brother during the early years of the custom car craze, and soon began to tailor his work for nearby Hollywood. By the end of the ’50s, Barris cars had already been featured in several films — mostly low-budget Mamie Van Doren potboilers and the like. But late in the decade, Alfred Hitchcock hired Barris to do custom car work for NORTH BY NORTHWEST, and soon the big studio floodgates opened and Barris’ work was very much in demand. Eventually, he would become the king of custom cars in television and film, building a fortune and continuing to provide special autos for big-budget productions into and throughout the ’90s. Among his most famous creations are the Batmobile from the mid-’60s series, BATMAN; the Munster Koach from the absurd sitcom, THE MUNSTERS; the beloved Weinermobile used in Oscar Mayer commercials; and the jalopy truck driven in the ’60s by THE BEVERLY HILLBILLIES. (Barris would be called on many years later to recreate that vehicle for 1993’s cinematic reinvention of Jed Clampett and kin.) He also designed special cars for many rock acts, including Elvis Presley, the Beach Boys, the Raspberries and Paul Revere & the Raiders.
As Barris established his formidable reputation during the ’50s and early ’60s, another man also rose to prominence in the world of custom car design. This man and Barris often found themselves competing at car shows, essentially with just each other. Like Barris, this man was known for his richly imaginative and playful car designs, and had won many trophies over the years. But in every other way, there could be no two individuals more dissimilar than George Barris and Ed “Big Daddy” Roth.

Just to glance at their publicity photos from the era is telling. A typical shot of Barris from the time showed him standing next to one of his newly designed vehicles — perhaps somewhat clenched, but sharply attired in suit and tie and usually accompanied by a pretty model.

And then there was Big Daddy. A self-described “slob,” Roth was often photographed perched over his latest creation wearing a t-shirt or Hawaiian short-sleeved shirt — that is, when he was wearing a shirt at all. He was just as likely to be posed with his big beer gut hanging over his pants, and paint — or plaster-of-paris — or oil — still coating his hands. The one constant in photos of Big Daddy was the huge, goofy grin pasted across his lumpy mug — the grin of someone very much loving the work he was doing.
It wasn’t just temperament which divided Big Daddy and Barris. They were also very different in how they approached custom car design.
For Barris, it was a profession. He competed on the car show circuit for prestige and publicity, but at the end of the day, it was selling his automotive creations to studios and private buyers that put the bread on his table. On the other hand, Big Daddy approached custom car design as an avocation. He made his money selling drawings (usually of his most famous character, Rat Fink), signs and t-shirts at car shows, or doing pinstriping and custom paint work. Although he competed with fierce pride in design competitions, he rarely sold his car creations. They served more as publicity for his art. Indeed, they often were his art.

Because of this essential difference, Barris never considered Roth as competition in the professional sense. Still, both men found themselves often vying for the same trophy, and eventually began to perceive each other as competitive nemeses. To Barris, Roth was a talented but annoying amateur who often stole accolades with his constant oneupsmanship. To Roth (many of whose friends, in those days, were bikers and low-lifes), Barris was “the Man” — the best there was, sure, but still the Establishment. Roth saw Barris as more P.R. than substance. (”He had the stage presence to sell those 500-buck jobs for five grand,” Roth wrote of his competitor, years later.) And if, in Barris, Roth saw “the Man,” then in himself, he saw the scrappy little guy who could — through the combination of ambition, hard work and fiberglass — bring the champion down.

And, thus, the stage was set for the War of the Air Cars.

It was Barris who lobbed the opening volley, when he unveiled his most recent creation, the X-PAC 400. It was a so-called “ground effects” car that looked something like a manta ray tattooed with the stars and stripes. Basically, it was a simple hovercraft. It was designed with a plenum chamber that, when filled with air, allowed the car to float a few inches off the ground. Barris built small thrusters into the sides of the X-PAC 400 which allowed it to be steered, after a fashion. But it was never highly functional as a vehicle; instead, it was the simple, confident futurism of its upswept fins and low-to-the-ground profile which made Barris’ air car a hot rod show favorite.

Meanwhile, Big Daddy had also designed and built an air car. He called it the Rotar (short for Roth Air Car), and it also featured a beautiful, spacey design with the same patriotic color scheme as Barris’ air car. He often demonstrated the car at shows with the assistance of his friend, Ron Aguirre, who had established his own place in car designer history in 1959 when he was the first custom car designer to add hydraulic lifts to the lowrider cars then very popular with the Latino population in Southern California.

But as the Rotar and the X-PAC 400 began to go up against each other at car show after car show, Big Daddy promoted the improvements incorporated in his Rotar over Barris’ vehicle, such as his car’s higher lift capacity and its ability to work equally well on land or water. This led Barris to begin to add features to his air car. But it was a difficult balancing act — the more Barris added to his car, the more motors and batteries had to be stowed, and it was a constant challenge to keep the car floating. With every improvement Barris made, Roth was at his heels with his own new feature. It was as escalatory as the international arms race then dominating the headlines.

While Roth continued to loudly declare the superior capabilities of the Rotar, there were a few things he failed to mention in his public spiel. Although he had initially designed the Rotar with V-twin engines, Big Daddy ultimately settled for two Triumph engines laid on their sides, each driving a high-pressure propeller. The whole car looked great on the outside — but inside was a Goldbergian contraption jury-rigged from old parts and plywood.

It was, as they say, an accident waiting to happen.

And it did. In 1964, at a car show held at Cobo Hall in Detroit, as Ron Aguirre was demonstrating the amazing Rotar before a crowd of wide-eyed car buffs, its crank snapped and the engines exploded, sending hot motor parts and a very deadly propeller slicing into the crowd of spectators. Several people were hurt, some very seriously.

And that’s how the War of the Air Cars ended — not with a whimper, but with a bang. In the years following the accident, Big Daddy admitted that Barris had won their epic struggle by virtue of better engineering. The Rotar was eventually sold to George Goodrich, who was reportedly rebuilding it in the 1990s. George Barris put his X-PAC 400 into storage, and eventually lost the car. Roth, after another decade of hard living in Southern California, settled down in Utah in 1974, and joined the Church of Latter Day Saints. During the ’80s and ’90s, he began to reapply himself to marketing Rat Fink and his other characters.

Big Daddy Roth passed away from a heart attack in April, 2001. A true American original, and an artistic inspiration to fine artists like Robert Williams, his brash joie de vivre and even his underdog hubris made him an important name in the annals of American popular culture.

Copyright © 2009 Craven Lovelace. All Rights Reserved.
This entry was posted on Sunday, June 14th, 2009 at 5:52 pm.

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Tags: Air Cars, Barris Kustom City, Ed “Big Daddy” Roth, George Barris, ratfink, rotar, x-pac