Junkyard Find: 1977 GMC Rally STX Van
Custom vans got big enough by 1977 that Detroit got into the business of making crypto-custom passenger vans right at the factory. While plaid upholstery with sporty STX logos doesn’t quite measure up to a mural of Zeus hurling lightning bolts at an Aztec warrior on the Mars Base (with matching four-foot airbrushed bong in a special bracket next to the driver’s seat), The General still moved a fair number of STXs during the Middle Malaise Era.
My parents had a close cousin of this van when I was a kid, and I spent many hours squabbling with my sisters in GM passenger-van bench seats just like these. I wonder how they’d look in my ’66 Dodge.
Loaded! Heavy-duty shocks and springs, 350 engine, “Buckskin” cloth interior, 3.40 gears, and an AM pushbutton radio. The one-ton Rally STX (the trim level above both the VanDura and Rally vans) retailed at $5,871, versus $4,496 for the one-ton VanDura. Adjusted for inflation, that’s about 22 grand for the STX. The current GMC Savana starts at $28K, which means Malaise van buyers got out of the showroom with more of their rapidly depreciating dollars still in their wallets.
Murilee Martin is the pen name of Phil Greden, a writer who has lived in Minnesota, California, Georgia and (now) Colorado. He has toiled at copywriting, technical writing, junkmail writing, fiction writing and now automotive writing. He has owned many terrible vehicles and some good ones. He spends a great deal of time in self-service junkyards. These days, he writes for publications including Autoweek, Autoblog, Hagerty, The Truth About Cars and Capital One.
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I drove a Shorty '79 Chevy G-10 350 propane powered van for 3 years, and I loved everything about it. It was my work service van and was solid, super dependable and with the posi diff; nearly impossible to get stuck. It was already 11 years old and high mileage when I got it, but had been well-maintained. Another Service tech had it after me, and after numerous fender benders it was retired.
As the boot camp company marched then marched more then more, relentlessly, endlessly, toting those bolt-action Springfield rifles filled with lead to make them heavier I drooled every time we passed the black Chevy van parked near the base dental clinic where the quickest methods to perform the needed dental care upon us less-than-human worms, society's dregs, were sent for dental inspection and the least amount of care that had to be rendered. Sub-humans unworthy of any consideration other than keeping us alive so that no Senators inquired about any of us to appease some buttinski mother at home concerned about her vile spawn losing a few teeth or found bleeding to death in the shower or hauled off after performing the final fatal task efficiently without screwing up; thus attaining a momentary notification to the rest of us dregs from the company commander (Navy term for drill instructor, DI)that at least there was one among us that could do something properly. That van represented freedom to me. Mobility. A couple times the enlisted dental tech had the rear open as we marched past yet again. Carpets upon floor, walls and roof.Shag-type, of course. Bright orange. Some wood paneling but not much. A bed and bean bag chairs. Drool. Funds later, post-boot camp, allowed buying a used Plymouth Duster and that was fine with me. Vans were selling at a premium in California back then, always beyond my financial reach for a half-way decent one, even in the used market. I still recall the feelings that Chevy van created in my dreg brain. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RiEIToOWr64