Diatribe: Whatever happened to bona-fide seat covers?

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Whenever the subject of new cars and new car accessories comes up, the first and probably most important topic is the vehicle’s audio system. It seems unless you have a decibel level that will cause your ear drums to explode and gush blood you might as well be listening to a talk radio station.

No matter the quality of the sound system, I have no desire to understand lyrics to a Cee Lo Green recording. I have enough trouble understanding lyrics sung by Johnny Mathis, and he had the clearest enunciation in the history of records. But do you know what you seldom, if ever, hear at a gathering of car enthusiasts? The type of seat covers they buy.

No, I’m not talking about upholstery, leather or cloth. I’m talking about good old-fashioned custom-made or generic seat covers. If you know what I’m talking about, then you know what it was like to outrun a stegosaurus on the way to school uphill all the way there and back from your house. I can’t remember a new car my parents had when I was a kid for which they didn’t purchase seat covers. We owned junkyards and an auto parts store, and my dad actually sold seat covers that were specifically made for certain cars.

Also, there were several prominent makers of seat covers. Among them was an oddly named company called Fingerhut, out of St. Cloud, Minn. Fingerhut made clear seat covers, mostly out of a strong plastic. If your vehicle had a unique pattern to the upholstery the clear covers allowed it to be seen. However, air conditioning wasn’t common in vehicles during those days and that made summers even hotter. Sitting on those seats on a scorching day was what the first night in a state prison must be like. And forget about leaving the seat after a long drive — especially if you were dumb enough to have done so without wearing a shirt.

Subzero weather wasn’t much better. That these things didn’t crack and peel by the end of winter was actually a testament to their strong construction.

As with anything else, there were those who improvised. Not every one could afford a set of seat covers. So what did they do? The same thing my mother did whenever she bought a new sofa (couch, in those days); she put a bed sheet on it. Oftentimes we had these beautiful seats in our new Oldsmobiles or Lincolns or even the occasional Cadillac. But you’d never know it by looking at the interior. It looked like a bed made by a college student in his dorm room. Yes, they did the job but it didn’t do anyone’s image any favors when they were tooling down the road with part of a bed sheet hanging out the door.

I don’t remember what year seat covers were officially labeled “deceased.” It could have been as late as sometime in the 1960s. But just like some of the more popular accessories of their day, seat covers joined steering wheel knobs, ooga horns, blue dot taillights, continental kits, full-sized spare tires, spinner hub caps, et al., in the great remember when junk heap.

Now most vehicle manufacturers have developed fabrics and leathers that are almost totally resistant to punctures, scratches, flatulence and most burns. I’m sure there’s a hidden cost for this development, and I would bet it’s much more than a set of seat covers would cost. However, even though I’m from Indiana, I can’t see a Jeep Grand Cherokee with a clear set of Fingerhut custom-made seat covers – or a Mercedes S-Class with a printed bed sheet covering its rich leather trim. At least now, though, I don’t have to worry about leaving parts of my flesh on clear plastic seat covers on a 100-degree day.

Al Vinikour is a Midwest-based freelance auto writer. Proving a mind is a “terrible thing to use” he sometimes sits in traffic and ponders about things — generally auto-related — that make him mad. Believing the “pen is mightier than the sword” (and generally results in a whole lot less jail time), he vents his anger through a word processor and produces the Driver’s Side Diatribe column. E-mail him at vinikour@comcast.net.