Space-Age Dreams & Shaky Schemes | The Rise and Fall of the Dale and Its Infamous Creator

“Liz arrived in court every day in mini-skirts. Now here’s somebody who’s over 200 pounds, over six feet tall, and has the demeanor of, ‘I am a new Henry Ford.’” — Robert Youngblood, Retired D.A.

The Dale: A Dream Born from Crisis or a Mirage on Wheels?

In the 1970s, as Americans battled mile-long gas lines and skyrocketing oil prices, the world was desperate for a solution to its energy woes—much like today’s push for electric vehicles. Back then, the future of transportation seemed to hinge on fuel-efficient cars, just as the likes of Tesla, Rivian, and Lucid Motors are leading today’s charge toward sustainable energy. Visionaries like Elon Musk (Tesla’s Model S and Model 3), RJ Scaringe (Rivian R1T), and Peter Rawlinson (Lucid Air) promise cars that are not only efficient but revolutionary.

In the midst of this modern-day innovation frenzy, one can’t help but see echoes of another audacious promise made during the 1970s energy crisis. A bold woman stepped into the spotlight, offering salvation in the form of a car that could deliver an unbelievable 70 miles to the gallon, withstand a crash with a brick wall, and cost just $2,000. The car was called the Dale. The woman behind it was Geraldine Elizabeth Carmichael, and she was about to take the world—and its wallets—on a wild ride.

Elizabeth Carmichael: The Mystery Woman with a Plan

Geraldine Elizabeth Carmichael, or “Liz” to her associates, seemed like a figure out of a 1970s technicolor dream. She described herself as a widowed mother of five, a farmer’s daughter turned mechanical engineering genius with degrees from Ohio State University and Miami University. She confidently presented herself as a trailblazing entrepreneur with the education and expertise to revolutionize the automotive industry. She founded the Twentieth Century Motor Car Corporation and began marketing the Dale as the fuel-efficient hero Americans desperately needed during the energy crisis.

But those prestigious credentials weren’t exactly true. Back in the 1970s, verifying someone’s academic claims wasn’t as simple as a Google search or email to admissions. The lack of accessible records allowed Carmichael’s fabricated backstory to take root, adding to her mystique. And the mystique didn’t stop with her car’s promises. Carmichael herself was an enigma. Where did she come from? And how did she conjure this miracle of engineering seemingly out of thin air? As it turns out, the answers were far more fascinating—and far more troubling—than anyone imagined.

The Dale’s Big Debut

Carmichael’s marketing campaign for the Dale was nothing short of genius—or perhaps audacious. She promised a car so advanced it could “absorb four times the impact of a Cadillac without serious damage,” all thanks to its supposed “rocket structural resin” body. The Dale was touted as indestructible, stylish, and, above all, affordable. It was a pitch so bold that it seemed to silence even the most skeptical voices. Investors flocked to her company, eager to get in on the ground floor of what promised to be a revolutionary product. After all, who wouldn’t want to back a vehicle that sounded like it belonged in a sci-fi blockbuster?

Perhaps there was more to their eagerness than mere hype. America in the mid-1970s was a country in search of hope. The revolutionary fervor of the 1960s had faded, and the wounds of the Vietnam War were still fresh. People were ready to believe in something that felt progressive, uplifting, and helpful. Investors didn’t just want the Dale to succeed—they needed it to succeed, because believing in it felt good. It was a dream that offered a rare glimmer of optimism during a time of uncertainty.

“It could ‘absorb four times the impact of a Cadillac without serious damage.’”

That optimism made what came next all the more shocking. In late 1974, when the first prototype was unveiled, the cracks in Carmichael’s promises became all too real—literally. Painted in a cheery bright yellow, the sleek, compact Dale looked every bit the part of the futuristic car Carmichael had described. That illusion shattered during its first test drive. The car suffered significant mechanical failures, particularly in its fragile one-wheel transaxle drive unit. It was obvious to anyone watching that the Dale was far from road-ready, let alone revolutionary.

Yet somehow, incredibly, the buzz around the car didn’t fizzle out. Carmichael pressed forward, with her schemes, confidently collecting deposits and taking orders as if the Dale’s shortcomings were minor inconveniences rather than glaring red flags. Investors, it seemed, were so desperate for the Dale to be the answer they’d been waiting for that they ignored the warning signs. One can only wonder.

The Unraveling

Behind the scenes, the cracks in the Dale’s armor were becoming impossible to ignore. Investigators and journalists began to dig deeper into Carmichael’s company. It turned out the Dale’s “rocket structural resin” was nothing more than plywood and vinyl. The supposedly indestructible windows were cheap plastic, and the vehicle’s overall design was woefully inadequate for mass production.

As scrutiny mounted, Carmichael’s own identity began to unravel. She wasn’t who she claimed to be. In fact, she wasn’t even “she.” Geraldine Elizabeth Carmichael was, in reality, Jerry Dean Michael, a fugitive wanted for counterfeiting since the 1960s. The revelation sent shockwaves through the media and brought the Twentieth Century Motor Car Corporation to its knees.

The Disappearance

In 1975, Geraldine Elizabeth Carmichael faced charges of grand theft, fraud, and securities violations. But before authorities could bring her to trial, she vanished. The Dallas police searched her house, only to find it abandoned—Carmichael and her five children had seemingly disappeared into thin air, leaving behind little more than questions. It seemed as if the ground had swallowed her whole, leaving investors, law enforcement, and the public bewildered.

Nine weeks later, the mystery unraveled slightly when a sharp-eyed neighbor in Miami recognized Carmichael from a news photo and tipped off the authorities. She had been living under the alias Susan Raines, working for a dating service, and maintaining a new life with her children. But the more investigators dug, the more incredible her backstory became. They discovered Carmichael’s prior identity as Jerry Dean Michael, a fugitive wanted by federal authorities for counterfeiting in 1961 and jumping bail in 1962.

Carmichael was arrested on April 12, 1975, extradited to Los Angeles, and put on trial for conspiracy, grand theft, and fraud. The trial itself was as flamboyant as Carmichael’s public persona. Every day, she arrived in court wearing mini-skirts and exuding the bravado of someone who fancied herself the next Henry Ford. At over six feet tall and more than 200 pounds, Carmichael cut an imposing figure, with her defiant demeanor captivating onlookers and frustrating prosecutors. Los Angeles Deputy District Attorney Robert Youngblood later remarked, “Liz did not give one quarter in the course of the trial. There was never once when Liz gave up her position that the people who supported her would vindicate her.”

Despite her unwavering confidence, the evidence against her was overwhelming. Carmichael was convicted of conspiracy, grand theft, and fraud. After being released on $50,000 bail, she spent the next four years appealing her conviction, losing every time. Then, in 1980, she failed to show up in court for sentencing and disappeared once again, leaving her creditors and the justice system in the lurch.

For eight years, her whereabouts remained a mystery, fueling public intrigue and speculation. It wasn’t until 1989, when the story of the Dale and Carmichael’s scam was featured on Unsolved Mysteries, that a breakthrough occurred. Within minutes of the episode airing, a viewer called in a tip: Carmichael was living as a flower vendor named Kathryn Elizabeth Johnson in the small community of Dale, Texas. She had managed to build a quiet life in obscurity, but the jig was finally up. Authorities arrested her at her home and extradited her to California to face justice.

This time, Carmichael was sentenced to 32 months in prison for multiple counts related to her automotive scam. She was sent to an all-male facility, where she served just over two years before being released on parole. Her infamous story, however, left an indelible mark on automotive history. Today, a prototype of the Dale—a strange artifact of deception and ambition—resides in the permanent collection of the Petersen Automobile Museum in Los Angeles.

A Legacy of Ambition and Deception

The Dale never saw mass production, and Carmichael’s promises turned out to be as hollow as the car’s flimsy frame. While dreaming big is admirable, it should never come at the expense of deceiving others to bring that dream to life. When a vision is built on shaky foundations, it’s only a matter of time before it collapses into dust. The story of the Dale serves as a cautionary tale—a reminder that ambition without integrity leads to ruin.

Thanks for joining us on this wild ride through the story of Elizabeth Carmichael and the Dale!

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