Imagine traveling along at speed outside the car, just aft of the drivers door and in front of the rear wheel, no seat belt, no shields, no nothin', just you on a seat perched precariously on a slide-out seat. We've never heard of or seem anything this bonkers on a production vehicle before and it sure does give you an idea how far we've come as a safety conscious society. It had to be a surreal design meeting; "Yeah, it's a two seater, but we need space for four as a selling point." (furled brows and furtive glances shoot through the cigarette smoke hanging in the room) "I've got it! We'll put a folding seat on a sliding shelf!" "Brilliant!"

Even with the seats stowed away, the Kissel is actually an extremely handsome car for the era, everything about it is elegantly styled and beautifully finished, hearkening back to a very different kind of luxury in a very different time.

Sure, it might not look like much, but this vehicle is quite remarkable, especially for the time. Karl Benz was the first to patent the notion of a boxer engine, but this example is the first we've seen of that vintage that actually runs. The engine is kept running smooth by case oil like a modern engine, but the pistons also get a central oiler mounted on the buckboard, carburetion comes from a single unit branching to each head (which we assume would lead to a constant rich/lean condition since it's mounted biased to one side), each head has two valves which are inserted through holes filled with giant screw-in plugs, and poke out the other side and are retained with externally mounted valve springs. The whole shebang is kept running by a huge cast-iron flywheel and generated a scalding 14 HP and came with not one, but two speeds — quite a hot rod. It came with tag of $825 before options, that's around $19,500 in 2009 US bucks, competitively priced with Henry Ford's Model T at the time, though still out of reach of most Americans.

This gem was sitting riverside at the Orphan Car Show, and gathered a constant crowd. Even though DeSoto was already on the way downhill before World War 2, Chrysler whipped this vehicle up as soon as production resumed and though it didn't sell terribly well (the relatively high $2,093-2,631 asking price probably had something to do with that), you can't argue with its piles of style. It's got everything we love about post war-era cars, a flat-head straight six, acres of chrome, effortless passenger room and so much wood you wonder how the forests survived. Just look at that rear door, four different types alone. Then there's the rear load floor deck which would be taken up and modified in the Kaiser Traveler a few years later, super cool. Imagine driving this car and attempting to avoid a solid blinding from all that dash chrome, that's a problem we'd probably suffer through without complaint.

We didn't expect to see a super-rare Davis at Ypsilant's Orphan Car Show last weekend, but there it was, in all that maroon glory. Just look at it, it's sexy weird, there's something so right and so wrong about the shape. It makes sense and yet it doesn't, like an aerodynamic door stop with wheels. It's all aluminum construction keeps weight down and a Hercules four cylinder with a mighty 60 HP gets it going, but with only 13 examples ever produced, it's a fascinating example of a terrible idea done brilliantly well.

The Ghia coach building company developed this GT body over a Fiat chassis for the 1960 Turin motor show, and eventually went to production with a modest 2.3 liter, 136 HP six cylinder, it also attracted the attention and American entrepreneur Bert Sugarman. Bert liked the car, but the motivation was lacking, so he dropped a Plymouth 273 V8 Barracuda with 235 HP in it and brought it to the US, selling some 52 examples with the "450SS" belying the engine displacement.

This particular example was owned by none other than Wilt "The Stilt" Chamblerlain, who found it to be the only sports car he could actually fit in. While he owned it, he took it in to a young upstart to the hot-rod industry, one "Boyd Coddington" for a full restoration and upgrades to the powerplant. It was part of Chamberlain's estate at the time of his death and still remains titled in his name.

The little details on this car make it an excellent example of custom coachbuilding of the era. Notice the lack of door handles, instead, an indent in the rear fender to pull it open. The handsome curved wood dash with elegant gauges, row of switches on the dash are labeled only by number instead of function (you had to know what they do), the wire wheels, functional vents, and various other Italian design elements. Mr. Chamberlain certainly had some taste.

It's not a Stutz, but another great American marque resurrected during the Malaise era: Packard. OK, so it's not really a Packard. Underneath it's just an '85 Buick Riviera that's obviously been stretched...a lot. That white Cadillac Eldorado you see in the background felt like a Civic Coupe next to this thing. Just look at it sitting there; you can actually see the curvature of the Earth relative to it! What's better, this wasn't just a crazed one-off creation: There's a second one that's identical! In fact, there were a bunch of these neo-Packards made, starting back in the late '70s. The guy responsible was a coachbuilder in Ohio named Budd Bayliff, who apparently liked the style of the contemporary Stutz cars but wanted to recreate that look with fewer modifications. Up close, it's blatantly obvioius that much of what made this a "Packard" was a conglomeration of chromed plastic emblems. Nonetheless, if a new Malaise era means we get death wagons like this, we're all for it.

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What if this had become the standard-issue military vehicle during the war? Would the entire SUV market as we know it today have ceased to exist? Or would all Hummers have been pyramid-shaped? Would we have parking lots that looked like pie charts? Okay, we need to go lay down for a while and think this over.

Images copyright: Mark Arnold / Jalopnik.com

Back when stock car racing meant racing cars that were actually close to stock, the Hudson Hornet had one huge advantage: unibody construction. That meant a significantly lower center of gravity than the sedans from Ford, GM, or Chrysler, and much better handling as a result. Yes, believe it or not, handling was a big factor in going around an oval track. So, like the character in the Pixar's Cars, the Fabulous Hudson Hornet was once a dominant racer. This #92 car was driven by Herb Thomas, who became the first ever two-time NASCAR champion, winning the title in 1951 and 1953. When men were men.

Images copyright: Mark Arnold / Jalopnik.com

It's got four doors, a tailgate, a hatchback, and a rear seat that folds down to transform the trunk into a truck bed. No, it's not some mythical Jalopnik customization. It's the Kaiser Deluxe Traveler, and it came this way straight from the factory in Willow Run, Michigan. This is a 1951 model, but the multi-purpose hindquarters were first put into production back in the late '40s. Why, oh why, can't we get something like this today?

Images copyright: Mark Arnold / Jalopnik.com

Yes, as the creators of the infamous Gremlin, the asymmetric Pacer, and the tape-stripe-tastic Spirit AMX, the American Motors Corporation will forever be remembered for making the worst American hatchbacks in history. But they're so ugly and quirky that they've actually moved full-circle and become lovable over the years. Well — at least the Gremlin and Pacer have. The world might need some more time to really appreciate the glory that is the louvered-rear, "rally-tuned" special that was the Spirit AMX. This 1980 model was the last car from AMC to wear the once-respected AMX badge. Underhood was a 4.2-liter inline six, which wasn't as bad as the hamster-powered four-banger in a Chevette, but not exactly a pavement-melter either. Be that as it may, have you ever seen a malaise-era compact look so badass? Didn't think so.

Images copyright: Mark Arnold / Jalopnik.com

Though looking practically identical, the black car is a 1952 Nash Statesman 2-door, and the maroon sedan is actually a 1950 Ambassador. Sure everybody usually associates Nash with the cute little Metropolitan, but these Ambassadors were actually quite spacious. One interesting fact, is the 1950 models were the first non-GM vehicles to use the General's Hydramatic transmission. But frankly, we don't particularly care what's under the skin. Just look at them. They're fantastic examples of a relatively minimalist streamline design, like bullets with wheels and bumpers. Maybe we're seeing things, but we think the black coupe feels like a bigger, Americanized version of the original Saab 92001 . Either way, we've got plenty more of the poor orphan cars that we'll be showing off over the week.

Images copyright: Mark Arnold / Jalopnik.com