The 1958-60 Lincolns and Continentals have fallen into disrepute, particularly among those easily embarrassed by excess in size or styling. One officially sanctioned Lincoln history coyly pretends these cars never existed, its text jumping from 1956 to '61. A more sympathetic author, Paul R. Woudenberg (Lincoln and Continental: The Postwar Years), has suggested that "the public had a hard time understanding the whole concept" -- which would certainly account for the sales figures.

In any case, by 1955, when planning began for an all-new car in 1958, Lincoln was already on its way to becoming an asterisk in automotive history. Ford's flagship has fumbled for an image since the end of the war. But general manager Ben D. Mills thought he had hit upon a winning formula: Lincoln would out-Cadillac Cadillac in exterior bulk and interior room, yet retain a distinctly Ford appearance.

Transforming Mills' concept into metal would be Lincoln's new studio chief, John Najjar, who joined Ford as a tool-and-die maker in 1936. Najjar flared the bumpers, giving the new Lincoln a firm visual base while reflecting the outward-canted headlight pods and mild tail-fins. The flared front bumper led naturally to Corvette-like coves around the front wheel openings. Compared to a '58 Cadillac Series 62, the '58 Lincoln stretched one inch longer in wheelbase, but 12 inches overall, while slipping two inches under the Caddy's overall height.

Ford wanted to consolidate production of the relatively low-volume Lincoln and Thunderbird at a new factory at Wixom, Michigan. Keeping the 'Bird's profile low while adding a back seat necessitated a unit-body -- and that meant that the Lincoln had to go frameless as well.

Now one had ever built a unit-body as large as the new Lincoln; no one knew if it could be done at all, much less in two years' time. But corporate engineering chief Earle S. MacPherson (of suspension strut fame) thought that designing the world's largest monocoque might be fun.

It wasn't. The first running prototype collapsed on contact with a chuckhole. With production little more than a year away, engineers frantically patched the problem with more than 500 pounds of additional steel structure. The increased weight for Lincoln to design an essentially all-new engine, at 430 cid the largest in the industry. With 375 hp at 4800 rpm and 490 lb-ft of torque at 3100, comfortably out-powered and out-torqued the contemporary Cadillac V8 and even the Imperial's 392 Hemi.

Meanwhile the elegant but expensive Continental Mark II floundered in the marketplace; its slow sales no longer justified its unique frame and bodyshell. Continental designer John Reinhart tried to wring a Mark II variant out of the Najjar-designed unit-body, but the proportions were all wrong and the result was so discouraging that Reinhart left the company. Ultimately, the '58 "Continental Mark III" differed only in trim and glass from the Lincoln Capri and Premier -- although Ford presumptuously promoted it as a separate marque. The Mark III's most distinctive feature was a flat, retractable backlight that followed the reverse angle of the standard Lincoln C-pillars. A finer textured grille, round (rather than oblong) taillights, cleaner side trim -- and a $500 premium -- further separated the Continental from a mere Lincoln. A convertible version, steeply priced at $6223, was offered only in the Continental line, and shared the closed Continental's reverse-angle rear glass.

Lincoln production dropped 38.5 percent -- more than double Cadillac's loss in a generally bad sales year. Wixom built only 17,134 '58 Premiers and Capris, plus 11,550 Continentals. With 3048 sold, the slightly bizarre convertible accounted for 26 percent of Continental production, and outsold every other bodystyle except the four-door hardtop.

The Sequoia Green convertible shown here (not the actual picture that was published with the article -- WM) was bought by a small, somewhat eccentric Pennsylvania woman who hung her screen doors upside-down so her cats could see out. She built a special, oversized garage for her new Continental, which she named "Rosie". She also kept a single, open-toe high-heel in the car, which allowed her to pivot from the throttle to the brake.

Current owner Al Daku was only 17 when Rosie arrived in town, but he loved her instantly. For years he tried to buy her, but Rosie's first owner only gave in after glaucoma forced her to stop driving in 1978.

Photos flatten rather than flatter the Continental; the whole, obsessively busy design comes to life only in three dimensions. Rosie's best side might be her rear: chrome fins pointing up, chrome fins pointing down, chrome pots around the taillights reflecting in the thick chrome of the wrap-around bumper.

Ford led the world then in whizz-bang drop-top technology. At the touch of a switch, electric motors unscrew the roof from the windshield header, while hydraulic rams lift the steel tonneau cover and pull the angled rear window -- and with it, the rear edge of the roof -- down into a deep compartment between the back seat and the trunk. Then the rest of the top folds into the same well, and the tonneau slams shut to hide the whole thing. Two bomb-shaped pieces of fiberglass and a stainless-steel strip, clipped on by hand, fill the gap between the front edge of the tonneau and the interior -- effectively hiding any evidence that this vast, open vehicle had a top at all.

Inside, you sit chair-high, with the great chrome helm at your lap. The commanding view seems to shrink the gargantuan Continental to a manageable size. Still, navigating narrow city streets, Rosie demonstrates the meaning of "negotiating" a turn. But out in the farm country, she feels less encumbered by her own bulk. Sure, her body floats and rolls on its soft coil springs, but Rosie stays her course with no need for correction, and goes where she's told in the turns. And while 4927 pounds of automobile negate a good deal of the engine's mighty torque, Rosie still feels pretty lively.

Ford second-guessed the '58 Lincoln's styling before the car went on sale; Najjar was taken off the job, and a new studio chief Don DeLarossa reined-in some of the excess for '59 Lincoln and Mark IV. The result was less distinctive, but no more attractive. Sales remained disappointing until Elwood Engle's handsome, knife-edged '61 saved Lincoln from oblivion.

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