DEATH OF A Classic

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Lead. It's a word you'll probably be hearing a lot over the next few years, because the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) has launched a major campaign to ban its use in all gasoline motor fuels. But before that federal agency is successful in its effort, you might want to be aware of some facts that could affect you more directly than you might think.

Technically speaking, the "lead" in question is actually tetraethyl lead (TEL), a tox ic, oily compound developed in 1922 as an antiknock additive. At that time, before petroleum refining processes were perfected, the addition of lead increased gasoline's octane rating—its measure of resistance to harmful detonation—from somewhere around 50 to about 75. Modern gasoline, prior to the introduction of lead, has an average octane number in the mid-80s; adding just a teaspoonful of TEL to every gallon raises that figure by about six points, enough to satisfy the needs of nearly all automobile engines.

Unfortunately, the unchecked use of lead in motor fuel has taken its toll. In part, the steady development of efficient, high-compression engines in the two decades from the early 1950s to 1970 reflected the proportional increase in the amount of TEL used during that period. More significantly, the explosive growth in the world's use of automobiles since World War II from just over 50 million vehicles in 1950 to well over 300 million today—has played a major role in the poisoning of our environment.

The fact that high levels of lead contamination have an adverse effect on human health has never been questioned. But more recent evidence suggests that levels of lead concentration in the blood lower than that previously thought dangerous may have some effects as well. Additionally, studies conducted by the EPA and several other institutions show a direct correlation between the total amount of lead used in gasoline and the blood-lead levels of both children and adults.

In her time she must have been an eyeful. Two-tone paint like a picture postcard from paradise. Just the right amount of chrome in just the right places. And an interior you could set up housekeeping in and not mind at all.

You get the picture. A dreamboat.

But that was before.

Not tonight. Tonight she sat motionless on the shoulder and didn't notice the rain doing a soft-shoe on her ragtop. She didn't care that her owner sat sobbing quietly in her Naugahyde lap. She didn't even mind that her hood was lifted to reveal the steaming, dripping, smoking hunk of junk that used to be her heart. Tonight you could sum up how she looked in a single word.