I was in the third grade when my classmate and neighborhood friend, Amy, and I had found a couple of bright blue robin’s eggs outside that appeared to have been discarded and just left there. She and I took compassion on these eggs and after some internal discussion, we decided that we were going to save, warm, and nurture them to healthy hatching, essentially become their bird-parents. We were so determined in this mission that we brought these eggs to our teacher, and it became a pseudo-experiment for the whole classroom. In doing a little research about how mother birds keep their eggs warm by sitting on them, we had the eggs placed on a bed of soft material in an unused terrarium and kept a heat lamp handy for what we believed would aid in incubation.
Downtown, The Loop, Chicago, Illinois. Wednesday, August 25, 2010.
This is probably the third or fourth time this year I’ve made reference to my former gifted elementary school, but it’s relevant also to this story in that this was the kind of “scientific” exploration and creative thinking that was fostered there. As I think about it now, it must have seemed like such a foreign idea at the time to a kid like me that something I cared about was interesting to an adult. Importantly, no one had tried to kill Amy’s or my hope by telling us that those robin eggs were just not going to hatch. Our wonderful, caring teacher and our fellow classmates simply allowed us to believe that with our love, care, and attention, we might help bring some little examples of our Michigan state bird into this world.
Following years of therapy, it has become clearer to me how my tendency to want to be a “rescuer” and my empathic nature had been developed and triggered in many scenarios throughout my life. I had probably wanted to save others the way that I, myself, had wanted to be rescued from a broken family system. This had often played out in me trying to become the savior to some person or thing – whether to abandoned robin’s eggs, broken or unloved toys, other unpopular kids, or even a few emotionally damaged romantic partners over the years. (Spoiler alert: it is never your responsibility to “rescue” a potential love interest from their issues, nor should that ever be your thought process.)
With all of that said, my first instinct when I saw our featured car sitting at the curb was one of pathos.That poor Sebring! My second thought was that its trunk lid left ajar by a moderate rear impact made the car, at least in profile, resemble a grounded bird with a broken wing. Here was an example of a generation of model that had seemed almost universally unloved upon its introduction, and the condition of this example indicated that this particular car was not exactly someone’s prized possession.
The third-generation Sebring sedan arrived for model year ’07 on the JS platform, but the convertible didn’t join the roster until later that year as an ’08 model. One period test I had read before putting this essay together had said that their sample convertible had steering and road feel akin to that of a ’95 LeSabre (ouch), in addition to having an interior that looked and felt cheap. This was all for a hefty price tag of $36,000 ($52,000 in 2024), and that was without the optional $2,000 retractable hardtop. There wasn’t entirely bad news in that profile, with the MyGig infotainment center and stereo system getting high marks.
A family portrait, including the equally-unloved 2008 Dodge Avenger on the same JS platform.
Other reviews from the time were tepid at best, but the interesting thing is that owners of these convertibles, produced for just three model years between 2008 and 2010, seemed to have a lot of nice things to say about them, including that they were comfortable, reliable cruisers. I’ve actually sort of warmed to their styling a little bit, though at the time, it depressed me. The day of this writing was the first time I could recall having seen pictures of the 2003 Chrysler Airflite concept car on which the design direction of these Sebrings was loosely based. The Airflite was a four-door hardtop fastback that leaned heavily into the familiar, retro territory that Chrysler had mined for years by that point, but it was still very attractive. The Sebring we got, though clearly influenced by the Airflite, ultimately came off as its Temu-sourced knockoff.
1988 Chrysler LeBaron Premium convertible.
That may sound harsh, but I’ve been a little disappointed with every mid-sized convertible Chrysler has introduced since the still-stunning J-body LeBaron that had made its debut for ’87. Yes, I did write a few words in defense and admiration of the second-generation Sebring convertible a few years back, and I do like the soft-top PT Cruiser. It’s just that I had such high hopes for what was to follow the gorgeous LeBaron, even if that car did shamelessly crib its style from the TC by Maserati (which, ironically, came to market after the LeBaron). Chrysler progressively mucked up the LeBaron’s stylistic details the longer it stayed in production (all the way through ’95), with a tacky amber-and-red rear taillamp panel and exposed headlights toward the end, but its basic shape was still good. With fingers crossed, I had secretly hoped the next midsize convertible from Chrysler would be an evolution of the LeBaron’s basic look, proportions, and visual identity. Instead, it took me a while to warm to the looks of the cab-forward Sebring that replaced it.
When this gen-three Sebring convertible arrived in mid-’07, it seemed effectively like one hundred eighty degrees from the ’87 LeBaron. Instead of a gracefully, down-sloped hood section, there was this blunt, blocky, upright, almost truck-like appearance up front which was accentuated with a vertically-slatted grille. The sides of the car seemed unusually tall and thick as the side character lines tapered upwards toward the rear. The trunk area, which I thought was the least offensive part of the car, looked overinflated, and with taillamp sections that looked like they came from two different cars. The numbers don’t lie: Compared with an ’87 LeBaron convertible, the ’08 Sebring is 9.0 inches longer (193.8″) on an 8.4″ longer wheelbase (108.9″), only 2.3″ wider (71.5″), and a whopping 7.5″ taller (58.4″). It’s this last dimension that kills my ability to see any “sport” in these.
Edgewater, Chicago, Illinois. Thursday, February 5, 2015.
As mentioned earlier, I love an underdog success story, and maybe that’s why I’ve always rooted for Chrysler no matter what its ownership situation was over the years. I really wanted to like this Sebring when it was new, and in today’s climate of tall CUVs and SUVs populating the streets of my neighborhood, the basic look of this two-door convertible has started to seem a lot more “correct” (or less incorrect) to me in recent years. I have never driven one, and have ridden only in the sedan version which was a perfectly okay ride, though unimpressive. Back in 2013, I rented a 200, the Sebring’s heavily overhauled successor on this same JS platform, and it surprised me by winning me over and making me genuinely like its style, performance, and appointments.
Getting back to this particular car, I understand that its being both sixteen years old and also parked on the street near the local university meant that it was going to have nicks and bruises on it. My unchecked, innate rescuer disposition would want better things for it as an example of a Chrysler that isn’t a minivan, with the Pacifica as the sole, remaining model on the make’s new-car roster in 2024. This Sebring will never be revered for its beauty. Other things will likely break on it before more things get fixed. Will another new Chrysler ever be produced in the two-door convertible configuration? If I had unlimited funds, would I want to pluck one of the final Sebring convertibles off the street, give it some repairs and attention, and keep it for future generations to observe and admire? I could see someone doing that, but it won’t be me, and it wouldn’t be this car.
Edgewater, Chicago, Illinois.
April 2024.
