Great old cars en route to the crusher.

The federal government's Cash for Clunkers program was so successful that it blew through $1 billion dollars and compelled Congress to find $2 billion more to sustain a stimulus measure that may have saved the U.S. economy. For a car or truck to qualify, it must be worth less than $4,500 or $3,500 (depending on the MPG difference between the old vehicle and the new one) and less than 25 years old. Essentially worthless as vehicles, their time has drawn to a close. But there are a lot of semi-classic rides that make this cut. Famous for their cultural associations, they deserve an appreciation.

The wagon defines this legendary Swedish hauler of the American ruling class, whose heyday ranged from the early 1970s until ... well, now. Enthusiasts refer to the boxy, capacious 240 as a "brick," and its ability to transport large quantities of everything from field hockey gear to Labrador retrievers lent it a certain unpretentious pre-SUV panache. But no longer will parents in WASP-casual couture use the 240 to drop off successive waves of offspring and their gear at Harvard and Yale. Surviving examples found in East Hampton, N.Y.; Berkeley, Calif.; and suburban Boston.

The only American SUV that really had any class, the Jeep Wagoneer—in blue, with wood panels—was to the habitués of Martha's Vineyard, Mass., what decrepit Range Rovers were to the Windsors at Balmoral, Scotland. Produced from the early 1960s until the early 1990s, it was big, it was basic, and it often reeked of dog but frequently added aromas of motor oil, Coppertone, and Mary Jane. Surviving examples found on Nantucket and Martha's Vineyard, where the Grand Wagoneer is the Mercedes of the dunes. See it in its element here.

The last of the great Caddy pimpmobiles was supplanted by bland designs after 1986 and later obliterated by Cadillac's aggressive, Stealth Fighter look of the 2000s. Who can forget the prowlike Caddy grill, framed by boxy headlamps, crowned with a hood ornament, all awash in glistening chrome? Give me a sweet set of whitewalls, acres of creamy upholstery, and a ride built to be enjoyed at speeds under 30 mph. This was the ultimate cruising machine. Surviving examples found on Hollywood back lots, waiting for the next costume drama, set during the Carter administration.

"Joel ... every now and then, say ‘What the fuck?' " The year was 1983, and Tom Cruise would show the pluses and minuses of Risky Business long before anyone had even imagined a CDO. And he would do so behind the wheel of the 928. Joel may have outrun Guido the Killer Pimp in his dad's 928. But for enthusiasts, there was a 928 substitute: the classic 911. Think all Porsches deserve to live forever? Then watch this episode of Top Gear and witness the trials as the co-host tries to keep his 928 alive. Surviving examples found in the more naff upscale retirement communities.

GM did platform engineering like nobody else—taking a base structure and building models for multiple nameplates. A high point of this practice was the G-Body family, rear-wheel-drive two-doors with relatively powerful engines. Plenty of Buick Regals, Chevy Monte Carlos, Oldsmobile Cutlass Supremes, and Pontiac Grands Prix will now visit the crusher. What made these dinosaurs great? They were Rust Belt redneck rides with style, and they could be fun driven slow or driven hard. Surviving examples found up on blocks in various dying industrial towns.