by Michael Lamm and Dave Holls

This 100-year history explains why cars looked, and look, the way they do, who designed what, and why. The original hardcover book was voted “must have” by major enthusiast magazines in the U.S. and Europe. The book also won the Society of Automotive Historians’ prestigious Cugnot Award.

The book is now out of print, but you can enjoy the DVD as one of the world’s best automotive reads and then keep it in your library for handy long term reference. The DVD contains the original book in its entirety: 308 pages, more than 900 photos, complete text, captions, sidebars and index. Nothing’s left out. The disc is fully searchable and very easy to use. The DVD remains the “book” of choice for everyone interested or involved in the history of car design.

To order a copy of the DVD, contact Michael Lamm.

Excerpt from the book.

This short selection from the beginning of the book defines the origins of a few of the body design terms studios use in creating surfaces.

It all goes back to shipbuilding

It’s no big secret that a lot of early motorcars took their body design from carriages. But it’s less obvious that carriage design evolved from shipbuilding. As with so many other arts and crafts, it all began with the Greeks.

In the 19th century, archeologists discovered mysterious lines scribed on the floors of Roman temples. What did these odd lines mean? The scholars discovered that they were the outlines of huge Roman ships, drawn in plan view (plan view means “as seen from directly above”). The smooth temple floors made an ideal surface to loft a ship’s hull full size.

The Greeks, Norsemen, Southeast Islanders and even some tribes of American Indians used a variation of this same idea.They would draw a full-sized hull outline on a sandy beach, plant sticks around the perimeter, and then connect the sticks with thongs. Finally they’d string more thongs diagonally across the hull to indicate the ship’s ribbing.The resulting “blueprint,” crude as it was, be-came the working drawing for a trireme, a packet or a war canoe.

These techniques worked well enough for the ancients, but as ships grew larger and more complicated, the blueprints had to be refined. For one thing, a simple plan view drawing gave the shipwright only a two dimensional, incomplete map to work from. What he really needed was a set of plans that showed in a way that workmen could read and follow.

So in the 1600s, European ship designers came up with a system for representing all three dimensions on a flat sheet of paper. This system involved basic geometry. Automobile stylists still use it today to map out autobody surfaces, but they now let computers do the mathematical calculations.

Once a ship’s designer had the ability to indicate to the carpenter or ship-wright exactly how the finished hull ought to be constructed, style started to enter the picture. Ships evolved from the tall, ungainly craft that sailed the ocean blue in 1492 to the sleek clipper ships of the mid-1800s. Amazingly, in that transformation, the fundamentals of ship-building didn’t change. What did change was that the ship designer-call him “stylist”-could and did get involved in the building process.

It’s easy enough to see that the design system that evolved for ships’ hulls carried over first into carriage building and then into auto body design. In the 18th and 19th centuries, the first step in designing a ship’s hull meant carving a scale “half model” from wood. A common scale was one inch to four feet, or 1/48. And the half model was exactly what it sounds like: not a representation of the entire hull but just half of it, split vertically down the middle and flat from the keel line up. This half-hull model was usually carved from a stack of planks, or layers. The planks fit tightly together, one atop the other, and they were held in place with tapered pegs that fit into vertical holes. The model did not have masts or sails.

In the shipyard loft, the “loftsman”—the person in charge of scaling up the half-hull model—would first draw out the lines of each hull section and then, from those drafts, make full-sized templates, or “molds.” The ship’s carpenters and craftsmen in the shop below then used these templates to cut and size the wooden beams that formed the ship’s main framework. By using the same templates first on one side of the hull and then the other, the two halves of the finished framing came together as mirror images.

Now it’s important to recognize that any mistake the hull designer or the master builder might have made in his original scale model got magnified, often by a factor of 48 or more, when that model was lofted full size. And since any scale model always did contain surface flaws, it was up to the loftsman to “fair” the full-sized representations. Fairing meant, first and foremost, making an ungainly or flawed design efficient as it moved through the water. Fairing meant smoothing the surface, sculpting the lines, reshaping, streamlining the hull, because a smooth, streamlined hull made the ship go faster, and speed meant money. Speed made the ship more profitable. So profit became the main motive for fairing a hull.

But fairing also had an aesthetic component. The art of fairing meant that the loftsman had the authority to change the full-scale drawings and templates so the lines looked “right;” so that the hull had what was generally accepted as a “proper” shape. The hull should look pleasing; it should look graceful and “fair,” as in “a fair young maid.” A good loftsman had an eye for fairing, and his aesthetic sense was as critical to the design process as his ability to make the hull efficient. Fairing, then, became the act of combining efficiency with beauty.

In the scaling-up process, the loftsman had the authority to “fair” or smooth outany irregularities in the hull shape, both in terms of fluid dynamics and aesthetics. He thus became the final arbiter of the ship hull’s styling.

Unlike ships’ hulls, the designing of carriages was almost never preceded by a scale model. It’s possible that a few carriage makers did use models, perhaps made of wood or sculptors’ clay, to help customers visualize what they were buying. But models weren’t common in carriage design, even in Europe. Rather, what carriage builders did was to first make detailed sketches, usually 1/10 or 1/12 scale, and the loft those sketches full-size on big, upright wooden panels.

To save space, the technique of lofting a carriage involved drawing a side view and then also superimposing half of a plan view on top of it. Both views were crammed onto the same board, and the drawings were kept separate and readable by being done in different colors. Offsets were called out on separate sheets of paper, and sometimes templates were made for the carriage body, but mostly not. This same technique evolved into the design and construction of automobile bodies and was used well into the 1980s.

A few photos and captions from the book.

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Reviews

SpeedReaders
On the chance that this is the first you’ve known about this book—that it’s all brand new news to you—you may not be familiar with the co-authors. Dave Holls was a professional designer, employed his entire 39-year career at General Motors. At the time of his retirement, he had risen to the number two man at GM Design with the official title Director of Design. But more than merely a working designer, Holls was a life-long student of design, maintaining voluminous personal files and photos on design and design history. Mike Lamm, co-founder and first editor of Special Interest Autos, is the author of many books. He is known and respected for his carefully researched and very readable prose. Together Lamm and Holls covered in detail, that amazed even the most knowledgeable, the story and history of the automobile in America in their seminal work A Century of Automotive Style; 100 Years of American Car Design. More…

His time at Ford, White Motors, and as an independent designer will be featured in Part 2.

More information about the Monza GT, including the brochure, is under the GM Brochures link.

Text, images and captions on this post come from a 60-page reprint from Car Styling Vol. 18, 1977. I saw Larry Shinoda only once, at the SEMA show in the early ’90s.

Forty-seven year old Larry Shinoda is one of a number of Sourthern California native sons who have carved out successful careers in the automotive industry in Detroit. Few men have so dominated the field of transportation design from passenger automobiles, land speed record cars, Indianapolis and Can-Am racers, to motor homes, heavy-duty trucks, dragsters, snowmobiles, go-karts, farm tractors, farm implements, garden tractors, portable hi-pressure washers, and even lawn mowers, Larry Shinoda has lent his legendary touch.

Lawrence K. Shinoda. A child prodigy raised in the west coast world of racing. A man who blew apart or conceptions of what a car should be. A stylist/designer whose career has been as controversial as many of his designs.

Shinoda is outspoken, candid, humorous, and firmly believes in what he is doing. And what he is doing is creating some of the most exciting machinery and products seen on or off the road.

Shinoda spent twelve and one half years with General Motors. By the time he resigned his position as Chief Designer for Special Vehicles in 1968, he had left his imprint on every 1963 production and special show Corvette of the era, not to mention every special show Corvair, including what he feels is one of his personal most favorite projects and best contributions in design, the Monza GT show car, some of the Wide-Track Pontiacs, Z028 Camaro, the Astro series of show cars, and a fistful of others.

He was an artistically gifted child. A giant painting he did while in the third grade was displayed at the Los Angeles Country Fair, and later in the Los Angeles Art Museum for several years. But for Shinoda, the road to auto styling/design was through racing.

Nisei Shinoda was born in Los Angeles, California, March 25, 1930. He attended grade school in highland Park and Junior High School at Luther Burbank Junior high.

The Second World War saw Larry and his family evacuated to the Manzanar Concentration Camp in early 1942. This camp was in the cold, dusty, Owens Valley of California, situated between the Sierra Nevada/Mt. Whitney range and Inyo-Kern/Death Valley range. Larry’s father, the late Kiyoshi Shinoda, died when Larry was only three years old. His father’s family founded the San Lorenzo Nursery Company in San Lorenzo, California (near Oakland) in the early 1900s.

On graduation from Eagle Rock High School in 1948 and two years at Pasadena City College, Larry was called to active duty in the Air National Guard/Air Force fot two years which included a 16 month stint in Korea. He decided the nursery business was not his cup of tea and was drawn to the automotive industry through racing and by enrolling in Art Center School (Art Center College of Design).

While attending Art Center, Shinoda was racing his ’29 Ford roadster at the drag races turning the quarter mile at 138.88 MPH with an Oldsmobile V8 engine. In 1953 he was at the SCTA Bonneville Nationals with a Chrysler powered roadster that earned him the Class D record with a two way average of 166 MPH. He was also eligible for top eliminator at the first NHRA Nationals at Great Bend, Kansas in 1955. He won the Fuel Roadster class with an Ardun overhead adaption for the Ford flathead V8 engine. The Ardun heads were originally designed by Zora Arkus Duntov (the engineering father of Corvettes) while he worked for the Allard Motor Car Company in England. Duntov was to become a good friend and highly repsected person for Larry in later years at General Motors.

Business with Ford

In late 1954 Ford Motor Company came to California to interview candidates for the Ford Styling Group in Detroit. The top executive of the group was Gene Bordinat, presently the Vice President of Design at Ford. Shinoda had studied at Art Center, and considered himself amply qualified. He was called by the late John Coleman and told to get his stuff together and come in for the interview. Dressed in pegged denim Levis, a Howard Racing Cam T-shirt, and an outlandish Hawaiian shirt, and armed with some race car renderings and car sketches (many of which he had just completed the evening before and while he was waiting for the interview), Shinoda was ready for the Ford brass.

To his way of thinking, Ford would be getting the better part of the deal. Shinoda would have to leave sunny California, his ten dollar a week room and board set-up and a better paying job as a commercial artist at Douglas Aircraft for cold, expensive Detroit and less initial pay. Shinoda wanted Ford to pay trip expenses for him (and his race car) to Detroit for a six month trial. If everything worked out, fine. They would pay him his asking price. If not, he was heading back to Los Angeles at his own expense. Shinoda recalls saying, ”You guys need me more than I need you.”

Despite the young man’s outlandish appearance and outrageous demands, (or maybe because of them), the Ford people were impressed by Shimoda. They agreed to give him a try and Larry Shinoda was on his way. Although the Ford Motor Company was later to have a dramatic impact on his career, Shinoda only stayed a brief year.

During that year he worked for John Najjar in an Advanced Design Studio. Designing portions of the Mercury Turnpike Cruiser show car. He was then transferred to Lincoln Studio and worked for Elwood Engle (who later went to Chrysler as VP of Styling), and George Walker, Ford’s VP of Styling). He worked on the ill-fated 1958 (bigger is better?) Lincoln.

Shinoda moved over to Studebaker-Packard in January 1956. But after thrashing for three months on the new Packard models, The Clipper/Predictor series, and a Studebaker Hawk show model for William M. Schmidt, VP of Styling, Dick Teague, Director of Styling, and his own boss Duane “Sparky” Bondstedt, he realized Packard was doomed as the models were shopped back from the tooling source with a “crash first” notice. While at Packard Shinoda worked with Dick MacAdam (now Chrysler VP of Design), Toshi Sakow (now heads up his own design firm in Teaneck, New jersey) who designed the interior of the European Air Bus airliner and had design many othe rwidely diversified products. John Z. DeLorean, was also at Packard as Chief Chassis Engineer. He and Shinoda left quickly to join GM in September that same year.

Larry at GM

DeLorean to Pontiac as assistant Chief Engineer, under E.M. “Pete” Estes. Shinoda to GM Styling. Shinoda was interviewed by Jules Andratti and Mr. Harley Earl. Mr. Early hired him personally.

After some design work for Chevrolet on the 1959 models,he moved to Pontiac where he helped design the 1960-61 wide track models. Shinoda then moved to an advanced design studio and had his first involvement with Zora Arkus-Duntov on a very early attempt at designing a midship engine Corvette. Ron Hill was the studio assistant and then Chief Designer. Another move to a body development studio, taxed Shinoda’s patience, so he designed Buicks, Cadillacs, and limousines with racing numbers, mag wheels, stripes, and other goodies which upset his boss, to say the least.

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He was finally transferred to the studio which was right for him. Soon some of the most exciting automobiles of the decade began coming out of the special Bill Mitchell/Shinoda studio, which was under the lobby in the basement. The Stingray, the 1963 Corvette, the Mako Shark I and II, the Corvair Super Spyder, the Monza GT and Monza SS. The Monza Jr. (Chevrolet Jr.), The Cerv I and II (Chevrolet Engineering Research Vehicles) for Duntov. The Astro I and the mid-engined Astro II, the XP-819 rear engine Corvette for Chevrolet Research and Development. The theme model for the 1968 Corvette production model, and a raft of specials for Chevy R & D. The Chaparral 2C and 2D race cars.

Shinoda had been promoted to Chief Designer of Chevrolet Studio 3 and moved to the warehouse (bowling alley) studio prior to the Mako Shark II and 1968 theme Corvette.

He was them promoted to Chief Designer for all special vehicles, which included coordinating efforts for engineering staff (Frank J. Winchell) and the corporate R & D groups. During this period he designed a three-wheeled commuter vehicle for Engineering Staff and a four wheel commuter car for Chevy R & D called the “Flint-stone.” It was a small front wheel drive four cylinder Corvair powered unit, which was bootleg modeled at Chevrolet Engineering. Shinoda worked with Vince Piggins and his product performance group on the 1967 Z-28.

Byt 1968 Shinoda was growing restless. Although he maintained his ties with racing, through working on Indy 500 crews, designing some items for Jack Brabham, Bruce McLaren, and the snowmobile line for Rupp Manufacturing and its others products (go karts, mini-bikes, and the off-road Ruppster). Shinoda was looking for new challenges. He was considering an offer from Toyota of America, but some of his friends told him to cool it—something big is in the wind.