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In Search of the Holden Piazza
By Chris Warr, Joe Kremzer Allen & Unwin
Copyright © 2006 Chris Warr & Joe Kremzer
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-74115-603-4
CHAPTER 1
'Piazza is a penthouse of pleasure and performance.'
While we were ready to go in search of the Holden Piazza, our Holden Piazza wasn't. Cruising north along the highway 14 kilometres out of Hobart, still 272 kilometres short of the Bass Strait ferry terminal, Alyce began to sound like a helicopter, a helicopter that was getting closer by the second. It was as if 1980s super-chopper Airwolf had risen from its secret hangar and was rapidly approaching us from behind. Joe and I looked at each other in disbelief. We couldn't fathom that the journey that had been years in the making was about to stall so close to home. We pulled off the highway and began the lengthy task of diagnosing Alyce's problem. This was made all the more difficult by the fact that neither Joe nor I can tell the difference between a differential and a mud flap.
So full credit to us when we altered our initial diagnosis from serious engine failure to a muffler problem. Then we further revised our diagnosis to a rear tyre problem ... that is after we actually got out of the car. It seemed that in our quest to save money we perhaps shouldn't have opted for retread tyres. Seems said tread had begun to fall off said tyre. We later learnt that tyres have speed ratings. A speed rating is the speed that a tyre can withstand without flying apart. Apparently, genuine sports cars like the Piazza need decent tyres with a higher speed rating if you are going to drive them on the highway. The relief and happiness we felt knowing it was only a rogue tyre that had temporarily stopped us in our tracks soon dissipated when we realised we would have to pull pretty much everything we packed out of the car to reach the spare.
We immediately discovered one of the items we had neglected to bring ... a tyre wrench that actually fitted the nuts on the wheels. We had made a point of making sure there was a jack and tools in the boot of the car early in our preparation, because after all, what sort of morons would set off on a 20 000-kilometre journey without a few essentials like that? Little tip for new players: just because you buy a car with a jack and tools in the boot, never assume that they are actually going to fit.
Chris and I set about attempting to rectify our latest setback in a calm and rational manner. After storming around our now empty vehicle, swearing profusely and lamenting 'the worst f*cking idea you've ever had Warr', I remembered my girlfriend's parents had furnished us with a fairly comprehensive tool kit. I'd always thought that Danni's parents liked me, but thankfully it seemed they liked me enough to donate enough equipment to ensure that I would make it back in one piece. Then again, maybe they were hoping that having enough tools would help take me far, far away from their daughter ...
We found a socket that fitted the wheel nuts perfectly (who says I'm not handy with a wrench?), removed the mangled rubber, fitted our spare dodgy retread, and were soon back on the road singing along to the Beatles classic 'Back in the USSR', the lyrics to which Joe had thoughtfully rearranged to have us sing 'Back in the Piazza'.
With such lyrical chops I just can't understand why our band never made it.
With our minor setback successfully dealt with, we travelled up the Midlands Highway, the main arterial linking Tasmania's major population centres, contemplating just what the next couple of months might hold. No one honked their horns at us despite the plea by local ABC radio to farewell us by doing so, unless the honk we got coming into Devonport wasn't actually for cutting in front of a car at the last minute as we navigated our way towards the ferry.
With a bit of time up our sleeves before we had to board the Spirit of Tasmania we headed to the local Irish-themed pub for a couple of beers. It was while debating the acting merits of the various female 'Home and Away' stars we'd seen on the pub's TV that Joe received an eerie phone call from a friend.
'Did the guy who designed your car do the Delorean?' my mate Aaron asked when I answered the phone.
'Yes he did,' I replied. I was about to reel off some of Giorgetto Giugiaro's more famous designs but Aaron interrupted.
'Well he's dead,' Aaron said, explaining that he had just heard on the radio that the designer of the DMC Delorean (of Back to the Future fame) had passed away over night.
I relayed this information to Chris. We looked at each other for a stunned moment, then couldn't stop laughing. No disrespect to Mr Giugiaro's family, but what were the chances of the great designer dying on the day that we started our quest in honour of his most misunderstood vehicle. Still, this might explain why I hadn't received a response to my letter asking him how he thought his design had faired after it was handed over to Isuzu for manufacture — we're guessing it was akin to how Joern Utzon felt when he left the uncompleted Sydney Opera House. Chris and I then decided we would have a drink in Giugiaro's honour that night at one or all of the ship's three bars. As we crossed the glassy seas of Bass Strait, this is exactly what we did, long into the night ...
The benefit of arriving by ferry in the heart of Melbourne is negated by arriving so bloody early in morning, especially if you've had a few beers the night before. Chris and I had been saying to each other for weeks that we would 'get organised' once we got to Melbourne. Now that we had arrived in Melbourne we weren't sure what getting organised actually meant so we decided instead to head for our favourite breakfast eatery, Greasy Joe's in St Kilda, to fuel up before tackling the day ahead.
As we downed our respective fry-ups, a scan of the morning paper revealed that our hangovers were ill-earned; Giorgetto Giugiaro was still alive and kicking, it was John Delorean who had passed away (hmmm, maybe there's another book in that one).
However, on the plus side of our hangovers — if there is such a thing — we happened upon an unregistered Piazza in a supermarket car park. We'd only been in Melbourne for a couple of hours and already we'd managed to find a Piazza just metres from our breakfast pit stop.
We hoped that the slightly dilapidated silver jalopy we'd stumbled upon wasn't going to be the finest example we'd encounter. Although nothing special in terms of an auto, Chris and I still excitedly snapped away, hoping to capture our find from all angles. I'm sure a few passers-by found our behaviour a little odd, but as far as we know nobody reported us to the terrorism hotline. Apparently it takes more than two seedy-looking blokes and a bomb to arouse suspicion these days. Stumbling upon this Piazza completely by accident made us figure that this quest was going to be a piece of cake.
Next stop, Holden head office at Fishermans Bend.
We'd like to tell you that it was our tough negotiating skills that got us access to the big wigs of Australian motoring, but truth be told our mate Scott — at whose flat we were staying — is a Holden employee and keen supporter of the Piazza Search (you'd have to be to put up with us taking up most of your lounge room floor for numerous nights). Somehow, he organised a meeting for us with such Holden luminaries as Ross McKenzie, Executive Director of Sales and Marketing; Ed Jaworski, Financial Controller; Neil Pogfon, Vehicle Planning Manager; and Rod Alford, Sales Promotions Manager, and more importantly a multiple Piazza owner himself.
These days these blokes were all high up in the corporate structure, but they were all involved in the introduction of the Piazza to Australia nearly 20 years earlier. And, for some unknown reason, they had agreed to the discuss the impact of the Piazza's introduction to the Australian motoring market with two guys who had their hearts set on seeking out and recording as many examples as possible of a car that had gone down in motoring history as one of their company's greatest sales failures.
Oddly though, not one of them could actually remember much about the Piazza. Seems there were bigger problems at Holden in the mid-80s than one overpriced sports coupe which had sunk like a lead balloon. Seems to be a case of 'if you remember the Piazza in the 80s then you weren't there'.
Without knowing too much about what was happening behind the scenes at Holden 20 years ago, at a guess I'd have one word for you: Camira. Seriously. Whoever would have thought that one was going to fly?
The general consensus though was that most likely it was the prohibitively high price tag which nobbled sales in Australia. They did concede, however, that perhaps Holden dragged their feet a little when it came to importing the Piazza. After all, Isuzu commenced manufacturing and selling the car in Japan as early as 1981. By the time the Piazza reached the Holden stables in 1986, the horsepowers had bolted — the floating of the Australian dollar saw the Japanese yen strengthen considerably against the local currency, pushing up the price of imported cars, and rivals in the same class had begun producing better and cheaper cars such as Toyota's impressive Celica.
Holden also believe the Piazza received harsh treatment from the Australian motoring press, especially in terms of its handling. Reviews of the day included observations such as the belittling, 'Piazza — an overpriced understatement'. The direct, 'almost whichever way one looks at it, the Piazza is a disappointment'. The more direct '... the Piazza is such a disappointment, and at such a price!', and the even more direct '... it is not the exciting car we had hoped it would be'. And the melancholy, 'unrequited expectations often leave the heart heavy'. When it came to handling, the critics were particularly harsh, saying 'The Piazza is a real handful in performance driving: bump steer, roll oversteer, understeer and alarming nosedive under brakes — it's all there.' In summary, 'On good roads and in capable hands the car will thrill a lot of people; on bad roads and in inexperienced hands, this same Piazza will frighten a lot more people.'
We left the meeting with the feeling that we hadn't really enhanced their respective days, but were grateful for the opportunity to pose a few hard-hitting questions and to receive a semi-official response from Holden to our quest.
Next up the Piazza Search juggernaut threw us our second phone interview with Peter Hellier and Judith Lucy on their nationally syndicated afternoon radio show on Fox FM. I tried to convince Joe that we had now reached minor minor minor celebrity status and that I was prepared to make the leap to the next level of minor minor celebrity status. He was, however, hesitant to assign any such status just yet, instead preferring to wait for the ultimate minor-celebrity litmus test — a spot on breakfast television. I was hanging out for 'Good Morning Australia' although I know Joe has a bit of a soft spot for Mel on the 'Sunrise' program.
With our media commitments out of the way, we were free to attend to some of the more pertinent issues associated with tracking down Piazzas, like finding the little buggers.
The first call we made was to a bloke named Nick. It turned out he had a silver Piazza parked in a supermarket car park in St Kilda. Bingo. It was the one we had seen at breakfast. Spooky huh? Nick was a former Tasmanian living in Melbourne who had purchased his car a few months earlier. He had it shipped down from Queensland and was keen to get it back on the road. We didn't have the heart to tell Nick that he might be up for a few quid.
You see, Nick's Piazza was a heap of crap. It was unregistered, a little rusty and generally looking every single day of its near 20 years. Which is not meant in anyway to offend, Nick. Some of the cars on our journey would for one reason or another prove to be pretty extraordinary vehicles; the vast majority, however, were dead standard Piazzas. Or just dead. Nick's car was an example of the latter.
While Nick was actually unable to get his silver rocket started on the day we arrived to inspect it, he assured us that having taken it for the odd sly spin around the back blocks of St Kilda, it did have plenty of go. For a young fella, we guessed about 23 or 24, Nick had certainly owned his fair share of vehicles. Nick described himself as mechanically capable rather than a full-on rev head, but Chris and I had our doubts as he listed the cars he'd previously worked on and how he'd modified 'fairly quick' production vehicles — including Celicas and V8 utes — into monsters powered by high octane fuel and testosterone. So why a Piazza we asked?
Nick explained that he was initially after a little runabout to take him and his mates to the beach, but when he found out that these little babies were just about un-driveable from the moment they rolled off the production line, he knew he had to get one.
He then proceeded to grab the full workshop manual and electronics schematics from inside his Piazza and relayed to us the areas that he was going to soup up a little. But while he was flicking through the 500-odd-page manual, reality must have set in for Nick because by the time we got back to Melbourne a few long months later, he'd sold the car to someone a bit more committed to the cause. Although it's clear he was not a true connoisseur, we were truly grateful to Nick for introducing us to our first Piazza of the trip. One down, who knows how many to go.
CHAPTER 2
'Piazza. Even its Italian name quickens your pulse.'
The next day marked probably the most momentous occasion of our search, nay our lives. We got up early, pressed the only collared shirts we had packed, and headed for the leafy Melbourne suburb of Glen Waverly. It was an occasion befitting ironing, after all one has to make a good impression when hob-knobbing with quiz show royalty. Yup, we were off to meet the man who inspired our quest way back in 1986, the one and only Cary Young.
When Joe and I first decided to undertake the important task of locating the remaining Piazzas in Australia, we knew it would be remiss of us not to at least try to meet the great man. In light of this, I carefully drafted an email to the quiz master in the hope of firstly being able to articulate to him what the hell Joe and I were actually doing and secondly trying to get him to provide a response.
As the weeks and months went by my greatest fears began to seem realised — after all what sensible, (highly) intelligent bloke heading towards retirement would want to meet two idiots claiming to be living out a drunken whim and probably just taking the piss anyway?
Then, returning to my desk one afternoon from a particularly dreary meeting, I habitually checked my email in the hope that someone had sent me something other than work to help pass my day. Low and behold, there in my inbox, was a message from the great man himself. I was so overwhelmed I had to remind myself that it was probably just a polite 'sorry not interested'. Instead, it was a long email apologising for not getting back to me sooner. Turns out Cary had been holidaying in Central America. Probably one of a long list of holidays he had won on 'Sale' but had yet to take. His email also confirmed that not only had he indeed won a Piazza on 'Sale' but he still had it! Cary went on to say that he would be more than happy to catch up for a chat about his car and his time on the 'world's richest quiz'. I felt like we had just won the major prize, cash jackpot and got to snog 'Sparky' Platt all in one!
We encountered a little difficulty on our trip to Glen Waverly. Rather than sour relations with my co-driver at this early stage of the trip, I politely asked if he was aware that north always lies at the top of maps.
C'mon, hands up who else knew that?
Turns out I was able to teach Chris something that day, so that was nice.
When Alyce, Chris and I pulled up at the specified address, Cary immediately strode out to meet us. We both sat transfixed. Not because we were star struck (which we were), or because Cary's very presence made us feel awed (which it did), but because of the enormous band of gold wrapped around his wrist. 'Had to have won it on "Sale" was the thought that immediately lodged in both our minds.' Turns out we were correct. Cary's ludicrously expensive watch had been a prize, and in its day it had the distinction of having the thinnest face of any watch ever made. Cary, however, wore it not because it was a flashy, world-record-setting timepiece, but because it had kept perfect time for the last 20-odd years.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from In Search of the Holden Piazza by Chris Warr, Joe Kremzer. Copyright © 2006 Chris Warr & Joe Kremzer. Excerpted by permission of Allen & Unwin.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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