“There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone.”

Quoting one of Rod Serling’s ominous intros to the old “Twilight Zone” TV series may be corny and clichè today, but one glance at this old custom Corvette wagon and suddenly, one straddles all of the above in an instant.

Let’s turn the clock back 46 years to the beginning of the swingin’ Seventies. By all accounts, it was an interesting time…

Charles Manson sentenced to oblivion. Little did we know, including him, that he would die of old age in prison.

In 1971, Richard Nixon was in his first term as President. Led Zeppelin released “Stairway to Heaven,” and Charles Manson got the death penalty. Lance Armstrong, Winona Ryder, Mariah Carey and Tupac Shakur were born, and Apollo 14 landed on the moon. 

The mighty Zeppelin released their fourth album and changed music forever.

And somebody, somewhere, cut up a perfectly good Stingray, added a rainbow unicorn on the hood and massaged it into the long-roof beauty you see here.

Janis Joplin, 1971

A look at what fashionable peeps were wearing in 1971 explains a lot about this Corvette. In fact, we suspect the person who directed this build might have had a pair of green plaid bellbottoms or a velour jumpsuit next to their burnt-wood waterbed and matching dresser.

Eckler and Greenwood body kits were all the rage back in the day–as well as station wagon conversion kits–though this restyle appears to be a one-off. Poor old C3s were susceptible to this carte blanche re-arranging, and few were handled tastefully.

A gander into the back of this wagon and pot seeds still lodged in the loop pile carpet yearn for some trapped moisture to germinate and bring them back to life.

Leprechauns meet Soul Train?

Probably unlikely though as the cobbled together rear window looks non-functional, unknowingly trapping the fumes of 46 years and percolating them to a musty, yet barren perfection.

The unicorn on the hood is a  precursor to the nuttiness we now take for normal in the “Wild West” age of the internet.

The flares are heavy handed and hideous, the proboscis grafted onto Bill Mithell’s brainchild is both maudlin and grotesque, and it’s new, botox resin engorged “face” blankly stares into your psyche.

And yet, we can’t look away.

Here’s the kicker; what was once an embarassing exercise in bad taste, is now an exceedingly rare artifact of a long extinguished era.

One could argue, NOTHING should be altered on this car.

Oh boy.

The St. Louis factory where GM built this car is gone. The old union workers that built the car are gone. The freaky America that authored this car is gone, replaced with an ugliness that makes this car and the old days–for better or worse–seem naive and innocent.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…

For now, this old ‘Vette is the closest we’ll get to touching the hem of Janis Joplin’s velvet hip huggers. A last faint whiff of blood, sweat and fiberglass resin. The final play of a thunderous mechanical sonnet burning down the avenue, custom Coke bottle fenders fading into the mist. Most importantly, it’s a look at our own reflection. Who we are, where we came from and what lies ahead.

Here’s the Serling-esque part. All of the above still lives and breathes, safely tucked away in this old vessel of curvy fiberglass.

This car is for sale and needs a sympathetic shepherd of forgotten souls. Is that you?

Twilight Zone indeed.

A ‘Vette wagon isn’t a bad idea. I’ve always like this red example.  No bong water detected either.