Years ago, I worked for a new car dealership called Foreign Motors of Boston doing new car prep and light maintenance. The "Foreign Motors" moniker might seem odd today, but back in the late 1960s/early 1970s there weren't many stand-alone import car dealerships, the exception, of course, being Volkswagen. Foreign Motors carried Bentley, Mercedes-Benz and Rolls-Royce, as well as an eccentric French automobile called the Citroen Sport Maserati, better known as the Citroen SM.

From a technical standpoint, the SM was from another planet, especially when compared to the Ford Falcon and Ford Galaxie 500 my mom and dad drove back in those days. Its sophisticated hydropneumatic suspension, self-centering rack-and-pinion steering, front-wheel drive and, on European models, headlights that turned in concert with the wheels were all ahead of their time. The engine was a Maserati-built DOHC 90-degree V6 with solid lifters and three Weber 42 DCNF carburetors that produced 170 hp. Top speed was 138 mph with a five-speed manual, 128 mph with an auto­matic. I thought it was an amazing machine and simply fantastic to drive. Heck, it was the first supercar I can think of that had a V6 engine. Most had huge V8s or V12s. At the time, a V6 was not considered powerful.

The SM's base price was $13,350; though cheap by today's standards, that was quite a hefty sum in the early '70s. And the options could cause the price to increase, often significantly. Regardless, I wanted one, and was finally able to buy one 17 years ago. Today, my SM has 120,000 miles on it, and I haven't had any problems.

The appeal of French autos can be found in the unique approach with which they are designed. Italian cars are about passion; English cars about quirkiness; German cars, engineering; and American cars, staid reliability. French cars tend to be about intellectualism and architecture. They are smartly engineered, look impeccable and have a hard-to-define character.

And not just Citroens. Take my Delahaye Type 135 Competition, for example. Every switch on that car, from the headlights to the ignition, is in the Off position when you pull the knobs toward you. You push them in to turn them on. This is almost perversely different from every other car. When I bought the Delahaye, I'd sit there cranking the ignition, rrrrhh, rrrrhh, and couldn't get it to start. I'd push a switch in and vrrroooommmm, it'd start. Very odd. "Vive la différence," I say.

Some people, on the other hand, had a hard time accepting the eccentricities. My dad, a prize—fighter and insurance salesman, was an up-from-the-streets kind of guy. When I was 7 years old, he bought a 1957 Plymouth Belvedere. It had the 200-hp V8, and big fins out back. Purely American made. Around the same time, his brother, my Uncle Tony, pulls up to our house in a Renault Dauphine (which means "princess" in French). It had a city horn, eep, eeepp! and a country horn, BEEP, BEEEPP!

My father took one look at the Dauphine and said, "What the hell is that? What kinda man drives a little car like that?" Twenty years his junior, Tony was a musician and an artist. "Where's the engine?" asked Dad. My Uncle Tony pointed to the back. "What is it, broken?" said Dad. "It's in the trunk?" In full disbelief, my father pointed to his Plymouth and yelled, "Look at my car. It weighs 2 tons. By the pound, you coulda got so much more car for the same money."

And he was right; buying French cars wasn't very fiscally responsible. Recently, I purchased a 1970 Citroen DS21. In its time, it was a top-of-the-line model and extremely comfortable. It cost $4329 and came without any of the typical bells and whistles. A loaded 1970 Buick Electra 225 with Turbo-Hydramatic, air conditioning, electric windows, power this and power that was only $4802. So why would someone buy a DS21 when, for comparable—money, they could get more car with, say, the Buick? The reason is that they wanted something unique, great looking, quirky and futuristic. Something outside the mainstream. Something that held style in just as high regard as performance. For this person, price was not a factor.

As for me, I like the Citroen's oddness and the way it's put together. I like the ride that's sort of soft and feminine mixed with that masculine appearance. You either find it appealing or you don't. It's that simple.

French cars ultimately failed in America because they weren't price competitive and they had reli­ability issues. People ask me if they could ever come back, especially now that Renault is linked to Nissan. It must be tempting--the U.S. market is huge. However, we now live in a time when there is a "sameness" to all cars--the headlights have to be this high; the bumpers have to be able to withstand such and such an impact. If you hit a pedestrian in the knee and he doesn't get up laughing, the car's not acceptable. That's not the French way.

Citroen and other French cars might come back to America some day, but not as we once knew them. For new things to succeed in the U.S.--like the Wankel rotary engine--they can't be just different or just as good. They have to be better.

You want to know how different the Citroen is? I have the most sophisticated tire-changing machine in the world in my garage, but I can't use it to change the tires on my DS21 because there's no hole in the wheel! Now that's French

For enthusiasts of he the Citroen DS21, style was key. Price was an afterthought.

The Citroen SM, with its front-wheel drive and swiveling headlights, was well ahead of its time.

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