Capsule Review: 1989 Plymouth Grand Voyager

Who really debuted the first ever mini-van? The title remains hotly contested, between Renault’s Espace, and ChryCo’s Caravan/Voyager twins (not to mention the VW Microbus). But to North Americans and Europeans, that’s a moot point; both were first in their respective markets. The 1984 off-spring of Lee Iacocca came from Chrysler’s S-Platform, a stretched version of the K-Car chassis. (Yes, the very chassis that saved the Pentastar brand with its first-ever federal bailout.) By rejecting the normal rear wheel-drive layout of the time, the Voyager came off as a modern marvel. It boasted a transverse-front wheel-drive layout, flexible seating, good fuel economy, a smooth ride and car-like handling– something that took the other two Detroiters several years to figure out.

By 1987, the vans were refreshed with flush headlights, a revised interior and what would ultimately bring the mini-vans into the realm of true versatility: the extended wheel-base “Grand” editions. And they were grand, with fake wood slathered all over the center console, an Infinity stereo, power everything, and the new 3.0-liter Mitsubishi sourced V6 engine, good for a whopping 140bhp. Mom’s 1989 Grand Voyager LE version proved to be the most remarkable, with the wood-grain contact paper slathered all the way down the side, which began to peel when I inherited it as my high school steed of choice. In the 80’s, simulated wood was tres chic.

The Grand Voyagers were the best thing on the market for larger families. They proved endlessly comfortable on long drives to Ohio, endlessly adaptable with the removable seating (provided you could ever get the really heavy seats out in the first place), and kinda reliable. You know; once you got away from the Ultradrive 4-speed transmissions that detonated like an IED at 40K miles. And the power door locks that could trap you inside your van. And the power windows that would fail. And the speakers blowing out. And the ride height leveler going haywire. And the motor mounts collapsing. And the rear wiper failing. And the self-melting turn signals… OK, so the interior held up remarkably well, and the engine lasted forever. At least the Torqueflite 3-speed transmission would prove unrelentingly reliable enough to create Johnny Lieberman’s most hated vehicle on the LA freeways.

My 10-year odyssey with Beelzebub, the screaming white brick of death, cemented in my mind as a van that was well designed, but not much fun to drive (to a 15 year old). While the Grand Caravan wasn’t exactly full of character, it helped create its own identity by the memories and experiences that occurred within into its cavernous interior. With the seats removed, it could fit 17 teenagers on a pilgrimage to Taco Express. FYI.