The quest for a new car can be a journey filled with unexpected turns and considerations, especially when navigating the unique automotive landscape of a country like Uruguay in the 1970s. My father, a practical man with a penchant for reliable six-cylinder engines, found himself in this very situation when our trusty 1968 Nova needed replacing. Little did we know, our search would lead us to the Chevrolet Chevette, a compact car that would become a memorable part of our family history.
The Uruguayan car market in the late 70s was not the sprawling, diverse marketplace one might find in North America or Europe. Options were limited, and even with budget aside, availability was a key factor. Before diving into major expenses, we explored what was available, considering factors relevant to our local context.
Our initial considerations leaned towards familiar territory. Dad, comfortable with the robustness of six-cylinder engines, prioritized this configuration. An intriguing opportunity arose with an advertisement from the American Embassy, offering two vehicles via tender: a low-mileage 1975 Nova and a well-used 1970 Argentine Falcon. Naturally, we investigated both.
The Nova was impressive. Nearly new, boasting a 250 cubic inch engine, automatic transmission, power steering, and power brakes, it ticked many boxes. It was a base model, devoid of air conditioning and finished in a golden brown with a matching interior. However, embassy regulations at the time restricted test drives; inspection was limited to a mechanic starting the engine. Adding to the complexity, due to its recent import status, the Nova was subject to taxes, even for diplomats, pushing the price to a hefty $11,000 USD in 1975. While the exact price of a new Nova then is hazy, this seemed inflated.
Image of a 1975 Chevrolet Nova showcasing its classic design and features relevant to the car considered in Uruguay.
Despite the price, Dad submitted a bid, but was ultimately outbid. A practically new, two-year-old Nova was a highly sought-after vehicle in Uruguay, justifying the competitive bidding. The Argentine Falcon, conversely, was quickly dismissed. Visibly worn, needing a repaint, it felt outdated despite its age. For an American familiar with the 1962 Falcon, it would have felt familiar, including the left-hand starter – a detail highlighting its older design cues.
The Argentine Falcon, while not our choice, represents a segment of automotive history. These cars, now over half a century old, are often well-preserved, a stark contrast to the neglected state of the six-year-old Falcon we inspected in 1977. Interestingly, Argentine cars of this era frequently feature aftermarket headrests and shoulder belts, mandated by local road safety laws, a common sight even on smaller cars like the Fiat 600.
We continued our car search, venturing to a local import dealer. There, two Chevrolet models caught our eye: a 1975 Chevelle 4-door and a 1975 Chevrolet Opala, parked side-by-side. The Opala, a Brazilian variant of the Opel Rekord C, utilizing Chevy II engines and drivetrain, didn’t particularly resonate with us. However, the Chevelle warranted closer inspection. Something seemed amiss. The interior was entirely black, the upholstery felt like plastic, and a check of the dashboard revealed the absence of air conditioning. Under the hood, power steering and brakes were present, along with a six-cylinder engine, confirming its basic specification.
Image of a 1975 Chevrolet Chevelle Malibu, representing the model line considered, albeit in a simpler trim than depicted.
This 1975 Chevelle was far more basic than models typically seen in promotional materials. It lacked a vinyl roof, SoftRay glass, and sported basic hubcaps. In earlier years, it might have been designated a Chevelle 100, emphasizing its no-frills nature.
Dad quickly assessed the Chevelle, his practicality prevailing. “No way,” he declared, citing parking difficulties near his office and concerns about fuel consumption. He pointed out the basic ventilation system, hinting at the limitations of acquiring another American car soon. His attention then shifted to the Opala, which appeared brand new with only 11,000 kilometers on the odometer. It featured a 151 CID engine, a three-speed manual transmission, power brakes, and a radio – a fairly basic configuration. A significant drawback, however, was its color: air force blue. In a time of military governments across Latin America, and with Dad being a chief cardiologist at the Central Military Hospital, driving an air force blue car daily seemed like unwanted attention. Despite a reasonable price, both the Chevelle and Opala were passed over, and we reverted to waiting to see how the overhauled engine in our ’68 Nova would perform. As the story reveals, that engine’s lifespan was limited.
Image of a Chevrolet Opala, similar to the Brazilian model considered, highlighting its Opel Rekord C origins and Chevrolet styling cues.
The Opala, though resembling the Opel Rekord C, possessed distinct Chevrolet styling, particularly in the front end, reminiscent of the 1972/1973 Chevelle. The rear featured Chevy-esque round taillights, a design often enhanced by Brazilian owners adding a third set for a mini-Impala aesthetic.
As we moved into the latter part of 1978, the Uruguayan car market presented a clearer picture of mid-range offerings. Price, rather than size, largely defined vehicle segments. Options in our target range included the VW Brasilia, Fiat 128, Chevrolet Chevette, Renault 12, Ford Escort, and the locally-produced Grumett, a fiberglass station wagon based on the Chevette platform (preceding the Chevette Marajo import). A few less common models also existed in this price bracket. With the exception of the British-kit Escort and the locally-built Grumett, these cars were imported as CKD (Completely Knocked-Down) kits and assembled within Uruguay.
Screenshot illustrating the Grumett, a Uruguayan fiberglass station wagon based on the Chevrolet Chevette, showcasing local automotive adaptations.
The Grumett, sharing mechanicals with the Opel Kadett, and the Brasilia, were among the most affordable, with the Fiat 128, Chevette, and Grumett closely priced, and the Escort and Renault 12 slightly more expensive. For buyers considering the initial group, moving between models was financially feasible, allowing for upgrades to higher trim levels.
The Brasilia, built on the Beetle chassis, was quickly eliminated due to its underwhelming performance, weak brakes, limited cargo space, and noisy cabin. The fiberglass construction of the Grumett also led to its dismissal. The Escort lacked comfort, and the Renault 12 exceeded Dad’s budget at the time.
This narrowed our choices to the Fiat 128 and the Chevrolet Chevette. Brand biases often play a role in car buying, and in our family, Fiats were a subject of lighthearted jokes, leading to its removal from consideration.
This left the Chevrolet Chevette as the winner. We opted for a 1978 model, the Brazilian iteration of General Motors’ “T-car,” globally recognized as the Opel Kadett C and its various siblings. Delivery was set for Tuesday, August 15, 1978, at 4:30 PM, and it received the Montevideo license plate 300-111 – details only a car enthusiast might recall. Three Chevette variants were available: the two and four-door sedan, and the two-door Rally, primarily a trim package. The Rally featured blacked-out chrome (excluding bumpers), a tachometer, vacuum and ammeter gauges, “RALLY” striping, sport wheels, and wider tires. Finding images of this specific Rally model has proven difficult, suggesting either their rarity or extensive modifications over time. The only Chevette Rally immediately available was finished in a canary yellow, a decidedly sporty color for the era.
Image of a 1977 Chevrolet Chevette, Brazilian GP version, visually similar to the Rally trim in color and graphics, showcasing the sporty aesthetic.
The Chevette marked a few firsts for Dad. It was his first four-speed car and his first with a floor-mounted shifter in 30 years, his driving experience dating back to a 1940 Ford A in an era when Uruguay drove on the left. I recall demonstrating the reverse gear engagement: press down, left, and forward.
“How did you know that?” he asked, surprised.
“Because I was the only one who read the Nova’s owner’s manual,” I replied, a fortunate detail given the Nova’s potential for gearbox variations and shifting patterns.
The Chevrolet Chevette became a part of my daily routine as Dad drove me to school. I was entrusted with warming it up in the mornings, a ritual involving opening the choke and listening to the engine sputter in the cold. Dad, a stickler for manuals, adhered to the car’s recommendation of parking in reverse. One morning, forgetting to put it in neutral and with my foot on the clutch, the sporty Chevette rolled backward as I exited. Dad’s quick reflexes avoided injury, but our neighbor’s brand new Citroën Méhari, belonging to a veterinarian, Dr. Martínez, wasn’t so lucky. The Chevette door detached the Méhari’s door and damaged the convertible roof’s retainers. My punishment was a driving ban, but the real consequence was facing Dr. Martínez to deliver the repair bill, a task made more daunting by the Méhari’s newness and his understandable displeasure.
Our Chevrolet Chevette ownership, though relatively brief, was eventful. Mechanically sound and surprisingly agile with its 1.4-liter, 65 horsepower engine, it offered significant fuel economy improvements over the Nova. However, rear passenger comfort was lacking, and its low ride height made entry and exit challenging. Despite our family’s jokes about Fiat’s rust susceptibility, the Chevette developed rust in the fenders, rocker panels, and floor, despite only 60,000 kilometers – considerable mileage for the time, but indicative of early corrosion issues. Dad soon began considering a trade-in, a sign of the Chevette’s limitations outweighing its initial appeal as time passed.
The Chevrolet Chevette, a product of global automotive collaboration and local market adaptations, served as our family car for a chapter, leaving behind a collection of memories – both positive and cautionary – within the broader narrative of automotive history in Uruguay.
Related CC reading:
CC Global: The Brazilian Chevette
