It started in a South Bend, Indiana workshop in 1852. Brothers Henry and Clem cranked out three covered wagons. That was it. Five siblings total would eventually run the show. By 1872, they weren’t just building wagons. They were the largest horse-drawn vehicle manufacturer on the planet.
Fast forward to 1902. J.M. “Wheelbarrow Johnny” Pressey took the presidential chair. Studebaker dipped its wheels into the automotive pool with electric cars. Gas engines soon joined the lineup, then quietly phased out the electrics. Enter Albert Russell Erskine. He started as an accountant. He ran the company from 1915 to 1933.
“I eat obstacles for breakfast.”
Erskine didn’t just say that. He lived it. His energy was contagious. Efficiency skyrocketed. Sales and profits multiplied like rabbits. The company dominated the medium-price sector. But Erskine had bigger dreams. He wanted to crush the economy at both ends. Low and high.
1927 brought the light six. They called it the Erskine. It put the brand in the budget tier. Then came 1928. Pierce-Arrow was acquired. Suddenly, Studebaker had a luxury entry. A strong one, too.
Then the stock market crashed in 1929.
Optimism became a liability. While the country starved, Erskine paid out massive dividends to shareholders. He bet on a quick recovery. It didn’t happen. The Depression deepened. Cash reserves evaporated. Studebaker was in a precarious position.
The Erskine car? A dud. Sales were abysmal. By 1930, it was rebranded as the Model 53 Six. Undeterred, Erskine tried again. He launched the Rockne. Named for Knute Rockne, the famous Notre Dame football coach.
The Rockne lasted barely two years. Over 36,000 were built between 1932 and 1933. Priced between $585 and $735. In a Depression? That should have been a steal. It wasn’t. The engines lacked power. Workmanship was suspect. Erskine kept making errors. Like naming a model the Dictator.
Sold through 1937. In an era when Hitler and Mussolini were consolidating power. The name felt unpatriotic. Yet it stuck.
Look at the 1930 lineup. Excluding the Erskine, Studebaker offered six engines across seven series. It was a catalog of confusion. The 115-inch wheelbase Dictator and the 120-inch Commander both used 221-cubic-inch inline-six and eight-cylinder engines. Similar power. Different badges. The 114-inch Standard Six anchored the budget end.
At the top of the food chain sat the President Eight. Magnificent. Offered on a 125-inch chassis. Or a special, stretched 135-inch platform. These were the finest automobiles South Bend built in that decade. Maybe ever.
But they couldn’t save the company from itself.
Зміст
The Engine Lineup and Wheelbase Wars
Studebaker’s strategy in the early 1930s was less about cohesion and more about coverage. The company threw everything at the wall. The goal was to catch every buyer who could still afford a car.
The 1930 model year exemplified this scattergun approach. The standard engines were inline units. A six and an eight. Both displaced 221 cubic inches. They shared similar power outputs but served different roles.
The six-cylinder engines powered the entry-level models. The Standard Six sat on a 114-inch wheelbase. It was the volume seller. The entry point. But the eight-cylinder variant found its home in higher trim levels. The Commander series rode on a 120-inch chassis. The Dictator used a 115-inch wheelbase.
Why so many options? Erskine believed volume was king. More series meant more dealers. More dealers meant more visibility. It didn’t matter if the platforms felt redundant. The market was shrinking. You had to cast a wider net.
The President Eight stood apart. These were luxury cars. Built for comfort and
The Great Depression Cuts
By 1931, Studebaker made a hard cut. They axed the Dictator Six entirely. The Dictator Eight stayed. But the metal stretched. Wheelbases grew to 124 inches for Commanders. Presidents got even longer frames—130 or 136 inches depending on the trim.
Under the hood, things got meaner. Mid-year, the 221-cid Dictator eight jumped from 70 to 81 bhp. The big 250.4-cid Commander engine hit 101 horsepower. Prices followed. They shifted to a broader $795–$2550 range. Down from the previous year’s $895–$2595. Inflation wasn’t the issue. Sales were.
Rockne and Recovery Attempts
The lineup survived into 1932 unchanged. Then the Rockne arrived. It took a small 205-cid six or a tinier 190-cid six. Meanwhile, the senior six got a stroke. 230 cids. 80 bhp. It went into a new 117-inch Standard chassis. That same frame held the Dictator Eights. Commanders gained an inch. Presidents settled on a solid 135-inch wheelbase.
1933 brought more shrinkage. Commanders stayed on 117-inch frames but dropped to a smaller 235-cid straight eight. Power remained at 100 bhp. Nearly identical output. Less metal. The President kept its 135-inch chassis and the butter-smooth 337-cid 135-hp eight.
A return of the 125-inch wheelbase President. This time with a 250-cid eight making 125 bhp. The Dictator name was wisely retired for good. Or so it seemed.
The Name Returns and the Fall
Curiously, the Dictator name came back in 1934. Standard, Special, Deluxe. 113-inch wheelbase. A 205 six with 88 bhp. Commanders rode a 119-inch frame with a revived 221 eight. 103 bhp. Presidents got downgraded. A 110-hp 250-cid eight. They sat on a shorter 123-inch chassis.
The numbers tell the real story. Sales crashed. Over 123,000 units in 1930. Under 26,000 by 1932. Studebaker fell from fourth place to eleventh. By 1933, they were fourteenth in the industry.
Receivership. The merger with White Motors died. Hope evaporated. Company head Albert Russell Erskine resigned. Then he took his own life.
New Blood, New Strategy
Into the breach stepped Harold S. Vance and Paul G. Hoffman. Production VP and Sales VP. They would steer the company through 1949. Their first move? Kill the luxury brand. Pierce-Arrow went. The luxury market was gone. Dead.
Then they focused on the idle lines. Getting metal moving again. Not prestige. Volume. Survival. The foundation was laid. Not for glory. For the long haul
The 1934 Recovery and Model Streamlining
The financial bleeding stopped for Studebaker in 1934. The company finally booked a small profit, which was exactly what it needed to unlock a line of credit and escape the shadows of receivership. With cash flow restored, production ramped up aggressively. The factory churned out nearly 60,000 vehicles, a massive leap from the mere 12,500 units built in 1933. That volume surge pushed Studebaker up to eighth place in the industry rankings.
Volume dipped below 44,000 for the 1935 model year, but the rebound was swift. By 1936, output hit nearly 56,000, climbing to roughly 98,000 in 1937. Those numbers secured eleventh and tenth place finishes, respectively.
This turnaround wasn’t just luck. It marked a hard pivot from Erskine’s earlier “full-line” strategy. Studebaker narrowed its focus dramatically. The 1934-35 lineup was stripped down to just three series: the Dictator Six, the Commander Eight, and the President Eight. The Commander Eight, a popular mid-range option, took a two-year hiatus during this period.
For 1934, the brand introduced its “Year Ahead” models. These cars featured streamlined styling with pontoon fenders and rounded grilles—a significant departure from the boxier designs of the early 30s. Rumble-seat body styles, once a staple for family touring, disappeared from the roster in 1935.
1936-1940: Refining the Formula
The momentum from the late 30s carried into the next decade. Studebaker continued to refine its remaining models, focusing on build quality and consistent styling cues rather than expanding the lineup. The “Year Ahead” design language evolved, becoming more integrated and less distinctively separate from the body panels. Production figures remained steady, keeping the brand within the top tier of American automakers despite the deepening depression and shifting consumer tastes.
The Loewy Makeover and the Birth of the Champion
By 1938, Studebaker needed a fresh face. The “potato” aesthetic of the 1936 and 1937 models—while individually handsome on the longer Dictator and President chassis—felt stale. Enter Raymond Loewy. The industrial design wizard behind the Aerodynamic Hupmobiles was brought into South Bend to inject some modern flair. The result was a distinct departure from the rounded trends of the mid-30s.
Loewy’s first act was a prominent, prow-style radiator flanked by pod headlights nestled tightly between the grille and the fenders. Some models even picked up GM-style “catwalk” trim. The lineup shifted, too. The Dictator was gone, replaced by a revived Commander Six on a slightly stretched 116.5-inch wheelbase. Four body styles joined the party. Above that sat the State Commander Eight and the abbreviated State President on a 122-inch frame.
The 1939 update refined this look, pushing headlamps out into the fenders and flattening the grille to match. It was a cleaner, more assertive profile.
Financially, the road had been rocky. A respectable $2 million profit in 1936 evaporated to $812,000 the following year. By 1938, recession had Studebaker in the red with a $1.76 million deficit. But 1939 changed the trajectory completely. Production nearly doubled, hitting 86,000 units, and the climb from there was relentless until war shut the factories down.
The Champion: A Lightweight Savior
The engine of this recovery wasn’t just a stylistic tweak. It was the Champion.
Available as a coupe, club sedan, and four-door Cruising Sedan, the Champion sat on a compact 110-inch wheelbase. Priced between $660 and $800, it sat just $25 to $40 above the “Low-Priced Three” (Ford, Chevrolet, Plymouth). It was a tight margin, but the value proposition was undeniable.
Engineering Vice President Roy Cole and project chief Eugene Hardig had weight-engineered the car to perfection. The Champion’s 164.3-cubic-inch L-head six-cylinder engine was smaller and weaker than its rivals, churning out a modest 78 brake horsepower. But here’s the trick: the car weighed 500 to 600 pounds less than a Commander or President.
The power-to-weight ratio did the heavy lifting.
Sure, it couldn’t touch a V-8 Ford. But it hit 78 mph—keeping pace with or beating the Chevy, Plymouth, and Ford V-8/60. Mileage was excellent. Durability was legendary.
Launched mid-season, the Champion still moved nearly 34,000 units in 1939. That volume bumped Studebaker back up to seventh place in the industry. Combined with a reduced break-even point of 75,000 cars (thanks to Hoffmann and Vance), South Bend banked $2.9 million.
1940 Refinements and the Last Pre-War Years
You don’t fix what isn’t broken, especially when you’re running out the clock on the decade. So, 1940 brought only minor tweaks to the Champion: finer grille bars, sealed-beam headlights (now industry standard), new Custom DeLuxe trim, and a second coupe variant featuring a rear “opera seat.” Series production nearly doubled again, reaching 66,264 units.
The Commanders and Presidents stayed put mechanically. Wheelbases and engines remained unchanged from the 1938-39 setup. They did lose their convertible sedans, narrowing the lineup to a coupe, Cruising Sedan, and two-door club sedan. The Commander kept its business coupe option. Visually, their fronts grew sharper and more Lincoln-esque, featuring split, heart-shaped vertical-bar grilles. They cost more, obviously—Presidents ran about $125 over comparable Commanders, which themselves sat $200 above the Champs.
It was a stable lineup. A profitable one. But the world was about to change, and with it, the American automotive landscape.
For more on defunct American cars, see:
- AMC
- Duesenberg
- Oldsmobile
- Plymouth
- Tucker
1941, 1942 Studebakers
The 1941 Refinement and Sales Peak
Raymond Loewy didn’t just tweak the 1941 Studebaker line; he sharpened it. The result was a lower, wider front end dominated by vertical bars and a nose that looked meaner than its predecessor. Inside the metal, the engines got the same treatment. Studebaker stroked the Champion’s inline-six to 169.6 cubic inches, bumping output to 80 bhp. The Commander’s six saw a subtler lift to 94 bhp, while the President’s silky straight-eight, supported by nine main bearings, hit 117 horsepower.
Sales numbers tell a mixed story for that model year. Studebaker slipped from eighth to ninth place in total production volume. But the volume leaders were having a field day. The Champion line moved nearly 85,000 units, cementing its status as the brand’s best-selling single line ever. The Commander followed suit, climbing from just under 35,000 to nearly 42,000. The President, true to its low-volume heritage, sold just under 7,000 units, a modest gain of 500 over 1940.
The War-Shortened 1942
The 1942 models arrived with a heavier, wider face that bore an unfortunate resemblance to contemporary Chevrolets. Marketing departments rebranded DeLux-tone models as “Deluxstyle,” a change so minor it barely registered. The real news was the “Turbo-matic Drive,” an optional feature for Commander and President buyers. It wasn’t a true automatic. Think of it as Chrysler’s Fluid Drive: a manual gearbox equipped with a fluid coupling that allowed clutchless shifts within two gear ranges. It was a compromise, not a revolution.
Studebaker clawed its way back to eighth place in production rankings, building roughly 50,000 cars before the government pulled the plug in February 1942. Consumer auto production ended for the duration of World War II.
Military Muscles and Loewy’s Head Start
When the factories switched gears, Studebaker didn’t just make tanks. They built trucks, airplane engines, and “Weasel” personnel carriers. The truck division, already a stronghold, continued its successful legacy. But the strategic advantage lay elsewhere. Because the 1939 Champion had been such a design success, Studebaker had handed over styling duties to Loewy Associates, an outside firm largely independent of immediate defense contracts.
This independence mattered. While competitors were still figuring out postwar tooling, Studebaker was ready to launch all-new cars in the spring of 1946. They beat everyone to the punch, with the sole exception of industry newcomer Kaiser-Frazer.
The Skyway Champion Transition
Before the full 1947 model could roll off the line, Studebaker needed to keep showrooms stocked. In early 1946, they returned to civilian sales with the Skyway Champion. These were essentially 1942 Champs with minor tweaks. The three- and five-passenger coupes and the two- and four-door sedans kept the same bones. Changes were cosmetic and conservative: an upper grille molding that extended beneath the headlamps, optional lights mounted atop the fenders, and the removal of hoodside moldings.
Only 19,275 Skyway Champions were built before the South Bend plant shifted focus to the all-new 1947 models. It was a stopgap, a breathing exercise before the real sprint.
1947, 1948, 1949, 1950, 1951 Studebakers
Development costs for the 1947 Studebaker models sat at $11 million. These were the first new designs since 1942, the war having paused everything. The sketches dated back to 1940, courtesy of young Robert E. Bourke. That early work caught the eye of Virgil M. Exner, chief stylist at Loewy Associates. Exner hired Bourke after leaving Pontiac. Exner started the Studebaker program but left before the final drawings were done. The result was a hybrid of his vision and Bourke’s.
The 1947 Return
Presidents were still years away. The lineup brought back the Commander and the Champion. The Champion dropped the “Skyway” name. Mechanics stayed mostly the same. Wheelbase stretched by two inches. A special 123-inch chassis went to the new Commander Land Cruiser. It was plush. Price tag: $2043.
Base Commanders kept the 119-inch wheelbase. Both series offered two- and four-door sedans. The four-doors now featured suicide rear doors. There was a long-deck three-seater coupe. A new five-passenger “Starlight” coupe arrived too. Its rear window was a radical three-element wraparound design. Trim levels included base DeLuxe and Regal DeLuxe for about $120 more.
Regal convertibles joined the mix. The Champ cost $1902. The Commander was $2236. Studebaker turned a profit in 1947. Earnings exceeded $9 million. Sales jumped 58.5 percent for the calendar year.
Inflation Hits 1948
1948 kept the momentum. $19 million in earnings. Over a quarter-million cars and trucks built. Both were records for the company. Styling didn’t change much. A winged hood medallion made identification instant.
Prices rose across the board. Average increase was $200. Stickers now ranged from $1535 to $2430. Inflation was strong. South Bend climbed to seventh in the industry. Nearly 185,000 cars sold.
The Bullet Nose Arrives
A complete redesign was planned for 1949. Time ran out. Refinements only. Champs got a new grille. Horizontal and vertical louvers created three rows of rectangular openings. The Commander six engine was stroked to 245.6 cubic inches. That yielded exactly 100 bhp. Profits soared to $27.5 million regardless.
1950 marked Studebaker’s 98th year. It would be the best car year ever. Production hit 343,166 units. Preparations for the “second century” began. Grand predictions abounded. The reality would be much shorter. Exactly 14 more years.
To compete with fresher designs, Studebaker gave the basic 1947 bodies a cowl-forward facelift. It was controversial. Designer Bob Bourke recalled the order from Loewy. Loewy spoke with a French accent. “Now Bob, eet has to look like zee aeroplane.” The result was the “bullet nose.” It looked like an aircraft. It had the most bizarre face of any American car since the Graham Sharknose of 1939-40.
The new front added a nominal one inch to the wheelbase. Champs reached 113 inches. Commanders hit 120. Engines remained unchanged. The lineup stayed the same, except for four Champ Customs. They led in price, sitting in the low $1400s. The Land Cruiser cost $2187.
Automatic Drive and the V-8
The big technical news for 1950 was “Automatic Drive.” It was an option across the entire line. Studebaker designed this fully self-shifting transmission with Detroit Gear Division of Borg-Warner. It was the only postwar automatic developed by an independent. Packard had the Ultramatic, but this was different.
Chassis changes came in 1951. Brakes improved. “Center-point” steering made handling easier. Wheelbases were rearranged. All models got a 115-inch wheelbase. Champions gained two inches. Commanders lost five. The Land Cruiser kept its 119-inch spread.
Champ power was unchanged. Commanders got Studebaker’s first V-8. It was standard. Displacement was 232.6 cubic inches. Output was 120 bhp. Conventional design. Overhead cams and hemispherical chambers were considered but rejected.
Rising costs forced price hikes in 1951. A mid-year increase followed. Range ran $1560 to $2380. Buyers paid up. The lively V-8 boosted Commander sales by 70 percent.
The End of an Era
Appearance changes for 1951 were subtle. The bullet nose was toned down. Chrome outer rings were painted. Air vents above the sub-grilles disappeared. Model names were spelled out on the hood leading edges. The bullet nose sold well. You can argue about the aesthetics now. Then, it worked.
Korean War restrictions capped 1951 production at 268,566 units. Studebaker increased market share anyway. From 4.02 percent to 4.17 percent. The second century was already looking short. But the cars were good. The V-8 was a game changer. The automatic made life easier. The bullet nose turned heads. What happened next? Well, you know how this story ends.
For more on defunct American cars, see:
- AMC
- Duesenberg
- Oldsmobile
- Plymouth
- Tucker
1952, 1953, 1954 Studebakers
The plan for a centennial Studebaker in 1952 was ambitious. They wanted unit construction. They wanted an evolutionary bullet-nose. The “N-Series” prototype actually ran. But government restraints on civilian goods crushed the dream. Military orders for war matériel surged. Studebaker pivoted hard.
So they took the aging ’47 platform and gave it one last facelift. Raymond Loewy’s designers slapped on a low, toothy full-width grille. The stylists at Loewy Associates called it “the clam digger.” It was ugly. It was practical. Offerings stayed mostly the same. The only new addition was the Starliner hardtop coupe. It sat at the top of the trim hierarchy.
Champion trims included Custom, DeLuxe, and Regal. Commander trims were Regal and State. Starliners were the premium choice.
Performance didn’t suffer. Studebaker paced the 1952 Indy 500. A Champ and a Commander took class wins in the Mobilgas Economy Run. But the centennial sales numbers were a disappointment. Just 186,239 units rolled off the line.
Then came 1953. The look changed in literal high style. This was the year of the legendary Loewy coupes. Sleek. Low. Clean. They were triumphs of good taste.
There were six distinct bodies. A pillarless Regal Starliner. Pillared Deluxe and Regal Starlights. Commander and Champion variants.
The “Loewy” name stuck, but Bob Bourke did the heavy lifting. Loewy just convinced management to stop treating the design as a show car and put it into production.
The design was flawless from every angle. It rode on a new 120.5-inch Land Cruiser chassis. Other models kept the short 116.5-inch platform. Advertisers called it the “new European look.” Critics still regard it as America’s best automotive design of the decade.
The two- and four-door sedans weren’t far behind. They borrowed the coupe’s lines. They were stubbier. More upright on the shorter wheelbase.
But timing was a killer. Tooling the ’53 line delayed production. Sales ended at a low 169,899 units. Worse, the market shifted unexpectedly. Demand for coupes hit four times the volume of sedans. Management bet on sedans. They lost. Time and sales evaporated while they scrambled to switch lines.
The coupes had structural flaws. The frames were too light. Flexing caused squeaks and rattles. Quality took a hit. Despite the mess, Studebaker scraped together a slim $2.69 million profit for the fiscal year.
1954 brought little visual change. Eggcrate grille inserts identified the models. The “Loewys” returned. A pair of cheap Champ Custom sedans joined the fold. Deluxe and Regal sedans filled out each line.
The real news was the Conestoga. A two-door all-steel station wagon. It was Studebaker’s first. They named it for the “prairie schooners” from the firm’s early days. It came in Deluxe and Regal specs for both Champ and Commander lines.
Under the hood, Commanders got seven extra horses. Brakes were larger across the board. The coupe frame was beefed up to fix the rattles. But the reputation damage from ’53 was done.
The weaknesses were now painfully apparent. Bourke did the math. He priced a Commander Starliner using General Motors’ cost structure. Chevrolet could have sold the equivalent car for $1,900. Studebaker charged $2,500.
Meanwhile, the “Ford Blitz” was in full swing. Ford waged a no-holds-barred price war with GM. Neither giant hurt the other. But independents got wrecked. Studebaker’s model-year volume plunged to 81,930.
Just as things looked blackest, a rescue attempt began. Nash president George Mason persuaded Packard president James J. Nance to purchase Studebaker. The goal was a merger. Nash, Hudson, and Packard would form American Motors. Mason’s “Big Four” dream.
The Packard takeover closed in October 1954. Nance took the helm. A new Studebaker-Packard Corporation was born.
Mason died suddenly that same month. His dream died with him.
For more on defunct American cars, see:
-
AMC
-
Duesenberg
-
Oldsmobile
-
Plymouth
-
Tucker
1955, 1956, 1957 Studebakers
Studebaker was drowning. Even after Packard bought the South Bend plant, the company pinned its survival hopes on a chrome-heavy facelift for the 1955 lineup. They introduced the first postwar President models: Deluxe and State four-door sedans that replaced the Land Cruiser, plus pillared and pillarless State coupes. It was all theater. The machinery got minor bumps. The Champ six engine was stroked to 185.6 cubic inches, pushing 101 bhp. The Commander V-8 actually shrank to 224.3 cid but made 140 bhp, a feat of tuning over displacement. The Presidents got a 232 bore bored out to 259 cid for 175 bhp. To save money, they ditched the complex Automatic Drive transmission for Borg-Warner’s cheaper “Flight-O-Matic.”
Sales didn’t improve. So in January 1955, Studebaker panicked and rearranged the deck chairs. The Commander got a 162-bhp “Bearcat” version of the 259 V-8, with an optional high-power kit adding another 20 bhp. Presidents moved up to a 185-bhp “Passmaster.”
Then came the styling quirks. Non-coupe Presidents and Commanders got “Ultra Vista” wrapped windshields. The President Speedster hardtop arrived with quilted leather, a tooled-metal dash, and paint schemes like “lemon and lime” over black or pink. It cost $3,253. People didn’t buy it. Only 2,215 Speedsters rolled off the line. Neither did the rest of the 1955 range. While competitors broke sales records, Studebaker moved only 133,826 cars. South Bend needed 250,000 just to break even. The math wasn’t adding up.
The Hawk Line and the Packard Lifeline
The 1956 models tried for a squarer, more aggressive look. Large mesh grilles dominated the front. Studebaker introduced cheap two-door “sedanets” for the Champion and Commander, priced under $2,000. The President range got a long-chassis Classic sedan at $2,489. Wagons got new names: Pelham (Champion), Parkview (Commander), and Pinehurst (President).
But the real news was the Hawk. The last designs from the Loewy team, these coupes featured a restrained facelift of the ’53 original. Modest tailfins. A high hood. A square grille. Interiors featured that tooled-metal dash trim from the ’55 Speedster. There were four versions: the pillared Flight Hawk and Power Hawk, and the hardtop Sky Hawk and Golden Hawk. They handled well. They looked good. The Golden Hawk got a 275-bhp 352 V-8 from Packard as its exclusive powerplant. The Champs, Flight Hawks, and Pelham wagons kept the old six. Commanders and Parkviews used 170-185 bhp 259s. The long-stroke 289 offered 195, 210, or 225 bhp in Presidents and Sky Hawks.
The Flight Hawk started below $2,000. The Golden Hawk was $3,001. They were good buys. The problem? They were enthusiast toys. They didn’t move mainstream buyers. Total 1956 sales hit just 85,462, including 19,165 Hawks.
It got worse. By 1957-58, the combined Studebaker-Packard volume couldn’t crack 80,000 units a year. In May 1956, Packard president James J. Nance arranged a bailout with Curtiss-Wright Corporation, led by Roy Hurley. It was “advisory management services,” which is corporate speak for “cash for survival.” Nance resigned. Studebaker chairman Paul Hoffman and president Harold Vance went with him.
Hurley took over. He canceled plans for a new 1957 S-P line. Instead, he got Duncan McRae to restyle the existing cars on the cheap.
Restyled on a Shoestring
The 1957 Studebakers got full-width grilles and grossly distended rear fenders meant to suggest fins. The Hawks kept their prominent fins, which actually looked decent. The lineup was slashed. You could buy Deluxe or Custom Champ and Commander sedans. Pelham and Parkview wagons. Three President sedans. The Golden Hawk. And a new pillared Silver Hawk, available with a six or the 289 V-8.
Studebaker somehow still managed four-door wagons: the Commander Provincial and President Broadmoor. Compression ratios on the 259 V-8 went up, yielding 180 or 195 bhp. The Golden Hawk traded its Packard 352 for a Paxton-supercharged Studebaker 289, still making 275 bhp.
Midyear, they tried the Scotsman. A miserly wagon and two sedans. Six-cylinder power. Minimal features. Under $2,000. They sold about 9,300 units. It wasn’t enough. Total 1957 production ended at 74,738 cars.
The end was coming. The models for 1958, 1959, and 1960 would try to hold the line, but the foundation had cracked.
The 1958 models were a disaster. Studebaker was spiraling into ugly territory, churning out cars designed on a shoestring budget. You had these hastily slapped-together front ends with four headlights and trim that was just too much. The Commander and President lines got new Starlight hardtop coupes on the 116.5-inch wheelbase, but that was it. The rest of the lineup was thinning out fast.
Sales were bad. The Scotsman models managed nearly 21,000 units in that recession year, but total company volume crashed to 62,114. Studebaker might have folded right then if not for one specific vehicle.
The Lark: Slimmed Down and Surprisingly Quick
Enter the compact Lark for 1959. It replaced all the old standard models. Underneath, it used the same basic sedan and wagon structure Studebaker had been using since 1953, but they stripped away years of accumulated sheetmetal. That shed up to 200 pounds off the curb weight.
Designer Duncan McRae took over the looks. Gone was the clutter. He gave it clean, simple lines and a grille that looked surprisingly Hawk-like. Dual headlights made a welcome return.
The engine lineup was straightforward. The 169.6-cid six-cylinder came back, producing 90 bhp in the Lark VI Deluxe and Regal models. These came as two- and four-door sedans, two-door wagons, and a Regal hardtop coupe.
If you wanted power, you looked at the Lark VIII. This series included a four-door sedan, a hardtop, and a wagon. It came standard with the 259 V-8 making 180 bhp via a two-barrel carb. Want more? The optional “Power Pack” added a four-barrel carb and dual exhaust, pushing output to 195 hp.
Weight and space were the Lark’s hidden weapons. Wagons stayed on the familiar 113-inch wheelbase, but the other Larks sat on a new, shorter 108.5-inch span. This didn’t make them cramped. The Lark was surprisingly roomy for a compact.
Performance was punchy. With the 180-bhp V-8, the Lark hit 60 mph in under 10 seconds. Economy was equally impressive, easily clearing 22 mpg. Starting prices under $2,000 sealed the deal. The Lark sold 131,078 units. It was a smash hit.
The Hawk Loses Ground
Studebaker didn’t abandon its “family sports car” concept entirely for 1959, but the range was narrow. The only option was the pillared Silver Hawk. You could spec it with the six-cylinder or either Lark V-8. It added 7,788 units to the total.
That was enough. Studebaker posted its first profit in six years. Sales jumped over 250% from the abysmal 1958 numbers. The company had found its way out of the financial woods.
The Lark was predictably unchanged for 1960. Trim pieces moved around, and the grille switched from horizontal bars to a mesh pattern. Four-door wagons returned for the first time since 1958. The Lark VIII line introduced Studebaker’s first convertible in eight years—the $2,756 Regal.
Prices went up slightly across the board. Combined with aggressive competition from the Big Three, sales took a hit.
Meanwhile, the Hawk carried on, now just called the Hawk. Its main change for 1960 was under the hood. V-8s were now exclusively 289s. Standard output was 210 bhp, or 225 with the optional Power Pack.
The V-8 Hawk was dated, sure. But at $2,650, it was still a fine value and a good performer. Sales, however, dropped by almost half to 3,939 units. Why? A lack of dealers. Continued advertising that focused heavily on the Lark instead. And steadily diminishing demand.
The Decline Accelerates
1961 was ominous. Lark volume fell by more than half. They tried to fix things with revised outer sheetmetal that gave the car a slightly squarer look. Quad headlights appeared on V-8 models.
They also introduced a new overhead-valve head for the six-cylinder, turning it into the 112-bhp “Skybolt Six.” They added a V-8 Lark Cruiser, reviving the luxury-sedan idea. It rode on the wagon chassis and featured a richly upholstered interior with extra rear legroom.
The Hawk returned with a narrow contrast-color panel beneath its fins. A four-speed gearbox became optional. Sales slipped to 3,340.
The writing was on the wall. The Lark was doing better than the Hawk, but it wasn’t enough to stop the slide. Studebaker had survived 1959, but the momentum was gone. The market was shifting again, and South Bend was struggling to keep up.
For more on defunct American cars, see:
-
AMC
-
Duesenberg
-
Oldsmobile
-
Plymouth
-
Tucker
Studebaker Lark and Studebaker Hawk
Sherwood H. Egbert took the helm at Studebaker in early 1961, unseating the embattled Harold Churchill, who had held the presidency since August 1958. Egbert wasn’t there to sit around. He immediately brought in Brooks Stevens, the Milwaukee-based industrial designer known for sleek consumer products and aircraft, to overhaul the Lark and Hawk for the 1962 model year. The job was a six-month “crash” project. Company styling chief Randall Faurot was pushed aside, and Stevens delivered makeovers that were cheap to produce but strikingly effective.
The 1962 Makeover
The 1962 Studebaker Lark looked fundamentally different. Quad headlamps replaced the old singles. The rear quarters stretched out. Taillights grew round and large. The front grille mimicked Mercedes-Benz, a nod to Studebaker’s role as the North American distributor for the German brand through Curtiss-Wright since 1958. Rooflines on sedans became crisper. Two-door wagons were axed. In their place came four new Daytona models: a six-cylinder and V-8 version, each available as a convertible or hardtop coupe. Bucket seats and deluxe trim became standard fare for the top tier, along with an optional European-style sliding cloth sunroof for the hardtop.
Stevens applied a different philosophy to the 1962 Hawk. He resurrected the pillarless “Loewy” body style but gave it square, Thunderbird-inspired rear roof quarters. The tail lost its fins entirely, featuring a flat, thrust-forward grille instead. Inside, the dashboard was new: a large rectangle housing a full set of round gauges, with the outer ends canted sharply toward the driver.
Gran Turismo Hawk
This revised model was retitled the Gran Turismo Hawk. It came with only the previous pair of 289 cubic-inch V-8s. Despite being heavy, the 289 was strong, with more power potential than its modest displacement suggested. The optional 225-horsepower engine could push the GT Hawk to 120 mph all-out, with 0-60 mph times dipping under 10 seconds. It was a deft piece of engineering and design.
The strategy worked. Attractively priced with a base of $3,095, the GT Hawk drew nearly 8,400 buyers. Total Studebaker car sales jumped by over 30,000 units, reaching approximately 101,400. That would be the firm’s only gain of the decade.
1963 Refinements and the Wagonaire
Stevens didn’t stop there. He refined the line again for 1963. Larks got raked A-pillars, new windshields, and thinner door-window frames. The grille became finely checked. The interior adopted a Hawk-style dash with round gauges, rocker switches, and a “vanity” glovebox featuring a pop-up mirror.
The highlight of the 1963 lineup was Stevens’ “Wagonaire.” Available in Standard, Regal, and Daytona trims, it featured a unique rear roof panel that slid forward. This provided unlimited headroom, perfect for hauling tall loads. But the design was flawed. The Wagonaire leaked badly, even when the roof was fully buttoned up. This defect likely explains why cheaper, fixed-roof Stude wagons were reinstated midway through the year.
The 1963 line also expanded with six and V-8 sedans in Standard and new Custom trim. Custom sat between Regal and Daytona in pricing. The GT Hawk received a revised grille similar to the Lark’s, round amber parking lights (required by new federal law), woodgrain dash trim, and pleated-vinyl seats.
Avanti Engines
By mid-1963, both Lark and Hawk could be ordered with new “Avanti” 289 V-8s. The R1 produced 240 bhp and cost an extra $210. The supercharged R2 delivered 290 bhp for $372. These engines were named for the grand-touring Studebaker that broke cover in early 1962. Performance was serious. An R2-equipped “Super Hawk” exceeded 140 mph at Bonneville that year. A “Super Lark” with the same engine hit over 132 mph.
For more on defunct American cars, see:
-
AMC
-
Duesenberg
-
Oldsmobile
-
Plymouth
-
Tucker
Studebaker Avanti
Raymond Loewy didn’t just design a car. He designed a lifeline.
The 1963 Avanti stood alone as South Bend’s most stunning product in a decade. The name meant “forward” in Italian. It was a fitting label for a machine built to propel a dying automaker into the future. Loewy, backed by a powerhouse team including John Ebstein, Robert Andrews, and Tom Kellogg, crafted a swooping four-seat coupe. It was exotic. It was sporty. It was everything Studebaker needed.
Brooks Stevens, Studebaker’s usual designer, was busy updating volume sellers. President Sherwood H. Egbert needed something different. He hired Loewy Associates to rebuild the brand’s sagging image. The result arrived in 1962.
Engineering on a budget
Fiberglass was the obvious choice for the body. It cut tooling costs and accelerated production time. It was the same logic Chevrolet used for the first Corvette a decade prior.
But they couldn’t afford a new chassis.
Chief engineer Gene Hardig took the existing Lark rag-top frame and reinforced it. Front and rear antiroll bars. Rear radius rods. Bendix front-disc power brakes. These were newly optional for the ’63 Lark and Hawk, making the Avanti the first U.S. production car with caliper disc brakes.
Under the hood, the 289 cubic-inch V-8 underwent a transformation. It became the “Jet Thrust.”
The base R1 engine used a 3/4-race high-lift cam. Dual-breaker distributor. Four-barrel carburetor. Dual exhaust. Simple. Effective.
Andy Granatelli’s Paxton Products, then owned by Studebaker, added a supercharger to create the R2 package.
But the real story was in the extensions. Studebaker bored out the engine to 304.5 cubic inches. They created three distinct variants:
- R3: Blown. 9.6:1 compression. 335 bhp.
- R4: Naturally aspirated. Twin four-barrels. 12:1 compression. 280 bhp.
- R5: Experimental. Twin blowers. Magneto ignition. Bendix fuel injection. 575 bhp.
575 horsepower in a lightweight fiberglass coupe. The numbers were staggering.
The mold that broke the company
Excitement was immediate. Showrooms expected the Avanti to fly off the lots. It didn’t.
The Molded Fiber Glass Company, which also built Corvette shells, botched the body molds. Production delayed by a critical six months. Studebaker had to set up its own fiberglass production line from scratch.
By the time the bugs were squashed, patience had evaporated. Most buyers with advance orders canceled. They bought Corvettes instead.
Production numbers reflected the disaster. Just 3,834 Avantis were built for 1963, including 500 exports.
Overall, Studebaker’s volume collapsed. Total sales skidded to 81,660 units. Only Lincoln and Imperial ranked lower among major U.S. makes.
The human cost was equally severe. Egbert, who had been hospitalized repeatedly, resigned in November. He never returned. He died of cancer in 1969.
A month later, new president Byers Burlingame announced the closure of the historic South Bend plant. Last-ditch financing efforts had failed. Operations consolidated in Hamilton, Ontario. Management hoped to return to profitability selling 20,000 family compacts a year.
The Avanti was gone. The GT Hawk followed.
A token run of little-changed 1964 models remained. Just 809 Avantis. Just 1,767 GT Hawks. Including exports.
That was it. The exotic dream ended not with a bang, but with a ledger entry.
Why the Avanti matters today
Looking back, the Avanti wasn’t just a car. It was a testament to what happened when engineering ambition outpaced corporate stability. Loewy’s design was brilliant. The engineering team’s work was innovative. But the supply chain failure was fatal.
If Molded Fiber Glass hadn’t messed up the molds, would Studebaker have survived? Probably not. The brand was already bleeding. But the Avanti gave it a final, glorious flash.
Today, those 3,834 units are collector favorites. Not just because of the Loewy styling. But because of the story. A car that promised to save a company, only to become its epitaph.
1964, 1965, 1966 Studebakers
The remaining years were quiet. Hamilton built compacts. The sporty image was dead. The Av
The Final Acts of South Bend
Brooks Stevens left one last mark on South Bend with the ’64 Lark. The body panels were crisp, square, and three inches wider on each side. Overall length grew six inches. The grille flattened out, horizontal and heavy, with an eggcrate center and headlights that sat flush in the fenders. The rear end pointed aggressively upward. Tail and backup lamps sat high on the tail.
Studebaker tried to fight back with price. The stripped Standard became the Lark Challenger. Base price dropped to $1943. The hallowed Commander name returned, pushing the Custom and Regal trim levels out the door. A four-door Daytona sedan joined the mix. Under the hood, the optional Avanti R3 engine shaved 7.3 seconds off the Super Lark’s 0-60 time. Very few bought it. The R3 was also listed for the GT Hawk. That car bowed out with landau roof styling, an optional rear vinyl half-top, a smoother deck, and a matte-black dash.
Sales collapsed. Calendar year 1964 saw fewer than 20,000 Larks sold. Model year totals hovered around 44,400.
Switching to Chevy Parts
By 1965, the Lark name was dead weight. Management dropped it. The lineup shrank to ten “Common-Sense” models. Six-cylinder and V-8 Cruisers. Two- and four-door Commander sedans. A solid-top Commander wagon. The V-8 Daytona Wagonaire came with or without a sliding roof. A new pillared Daytona sport coupe rounded out the list.
Styling stayed virtually the same. That was because the South Bend plant closure meant no more Studebaker engines. Management had to find substitutes. They turned to General Motors. The base engine became the 120-horsepower 194 cubic inch six from the Chevy II compact. The V-8 option was the legendary 283 small-block. Studebaker tuned it to 195 horsepower. It wasn’t ideal. It was all there was.
Hamilton sold almost 20,000 cars in 1965. But they had no facilities to develop replacement models. Studebaker had no real future as an automaker. Financing had dried up. The 1966 models were the end.
The Quiet Exit
The final cars were barely new. They were warmed-over 1965s. Dual-beam headlamps replaced the quad units. A new four-slot grille gave the front a different look. Air-extractor vents replaced the upper taillight assemblies. Studebaker built only 8,947 of them. Then they stopped.
The death of the marque followed a classic downward spiral. Sales dropped. There wasn’t enough money to develop new models to replace the unpopular ones. Sales dropped further. Rumors of demise spread. The rumors killed the brand. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy. Losing Studebaker felt like a shame. But looking at the numbers, it was probably inevitable.
For more on defunct American cars, see:
-
AMC
-
Duesenberg
-
Oldsmobile
-
Plymouth
-
Tucker
