Long before the Internet, and even before the hand-held calculator, people needed a way to make quick calculations without doing a lot of mathematical computation. The slide rule, a 17th-century device, rapidly became the most commonly used calculation tool in science and engineering.

The slide rule was the inspiration for countless pocket calculators, referred to as “slide charts.”

Typically made of cardboard or plastic, a slide chart was typically task-specific, and these handy devices could be tucked in a pocket for quick reference. For decades, the slide chart was the go-to gadget for engineering, aviation, photography, finance, construction, machine work, surveying, and even cooking!

An example of a common slide chart:

Of course, it goes without saying that there are people who collect these, and they’re still used in certain industries today. But we’re interested in Datsun collectibles, so here’s a few Datsun-specific slide charts that I think you’ll find interesting – Enjoy!

In 1961, Motor Trend predicted, “Datsun will soon have a lot of Americans driving cars marked Made in Japan.” There’s no question they were right, and the road test they conducted on the Bluebird and Fairlady Roadster are pretty awesome to read, 53 years later!

In 1967, Datsun was still an unknown quantity to the American motoring public. Car & Driver reviewed the 1967 Datsun 411 in both sedan and wagon form – they proclaimed several of its virtues, while bemoaning other characteristics. Either way, it’s a great read for early Datsun enthusiasts!

The following is a listing of books pertaining to Datsun vehicles over the years. Some may be out of print, but can often be found by searching ebay, Amazon, used bookstores, or even your local library!

If you run across a book that’s not listed here, please let us know – We’d love to include it in our listing. Email us at [email protected]!

Finding a replacement key for your Datsun can be a challenge if you don’t know what to look for. Here’s a chart showing all of the correct keys, by model, for the Datsun lineup.

“They don’t make ’em like they used to…”

As Datsun enthusiasts, we all know that the chances of finding an early Datsun 510 that is stock and unmolested is usually pretty impossible. While there are several examples of well-preserved stock 510’s in North America, there is one particular car that really stands out. We’d like to tell you more about this amazing car… but more importantly, we’d like to tell you the story that goes along with it.

On November 9, 1971, Arthur Hughes purchased a 1972 Datsun 510 4-door sedan from Brasso Datsun in North Vancouver (Canada’s largest Datsun dealer). The car was intended to be driven by his aunt, who, due to her age, could no longer drive a larger car. The 510 came with most of the available options: Automatic transmission, tinted glass, rear window defroster, AM radio, dual side mirrors, engine trouble light, complete undercoating, and radial whitewalls and several other options.

In January 1979, Arthur’s aunt passed away, but bequeathed the 510 to Arthur in her will. At that time, she had only put 7,000 miles on the odometer. Amazingly, even the factory-installed clear protective vinyl was still on the rear door panels.

This factory-issued manual contains all the information you need to troubleshoot, maintain and service the fuel injection system on your 1975 to 1980 Datsun.

The manual covers fuel injection systems for the Datsun 810, the 200SX, and the 280Z and 280ZX.

The manual is broken up into sections for ease of use – Click the link for the section you wish to view.

Section 1 – Principles of Operation

Datsun EFI Fuel Circuit
Datsun Fuel Injection Air Flow
Sensor Inputs to Control Unit
The Cold Start System
EFI Electrical System

Section 2 – Datsun EFI Troubleshooting

EFI Quick Checks (without special tools)
EFI Multimeter or Volt/Ohm Meter Checks
Wiring Diagrams (All Models) 1975 – 1980
EFI Troubleshooting with Kent/Moore J25400 Analyzer

Section 3 – Adjusting EFI Settings

EFI Adjustments

Part 2 of “Datsun Competition Parts Catalog 1976” – Click here to return to Page 1!

Katayama himself knew that from their point of view there had been too many American articles about this wonderful entrepreneurial Japanese businessman in Los Angeles who had made Nissan such a success, who had become so Americanized. and who was, it seemed, an honorary sheriff in half the counties in Texas. Too many people had said that it was Katayama’s company and that the 510 was Katayama’s car. All that, he knew, would hurt in Tokyo, but he did not care. He knew that they thought he had gone too American, that his clothes were considered too sporty and his manner too informal, and that every request he made to modify the car, no matter how valid, and no matter that Tokyo followed up on it, would eventually help to undo him back home. There he was seen as a spokesman for America against Japan, a man who had been implicitly critical of the existing Datsuns. He had had no illusion about his position from the start. “Everything I do right here,” he told his closest American associates, “will be considered something I did wrong by Tokyo.”

When he bought a house in Palos Verdes, he knew it would be held against him, that he would be charged with high living. He knew he would never be able to make Tokyo understand that whereas in Japan – because housing was so bad and perhaps because women were not a part of the business world – businessmen entertained by taking one another out for extravagantly expensive nights on the Ginza; in the United States, with its wonderful housing, Americans entertained in their homes. He paid a mere $25,000 for the house, and he loved entertaining there, barbecuing steak like an American but serving sushi beforehand. By American standards the house was very nice, but by Japanese standards it was extraordinarily grand, far grander than those in which his superiors lived at home. The house was always a sticking point. Tokyo never really accepted the idea of the house. A steady stream of high Nissan executives passed through California, looked at it, and held it against him, concluding that if Katayama had a house this splendid, he was in some way ripping off the company. When Katayama retired, his successor sold the house at a profit of about $50,000, and if he had held on a few years more, it would have been nearly $2 million.

The end for him began when Hiroshi Majima showed up in 1975. Majima became president, and Katayama became chairman. Japanese executives had arrived in the past, and Katayama had always been able to deal with them. Majima was different. He was Ishihara’s man, an executive with clout and connections. It was clear from the start that he was there to replace Katayama and that his coming signaled the close of the era. lt was an uncomfortable time for everyone. Katayama, of course, knew a lot more about America and doing business there, and Majima, just as clearly, outranked Katayama by lightyears and was under orders to take the company back from him. Majima did not speak English, and to the Americans at headquarters his manner seemed chilly and evasive. It was hard to get a quick and clear answer from him. He was not comfortable with Americans, only with other Japanese, and he brought more and more of them into the Los Angeles office. For some of the Americans it was their first real recognition that they were working for a Japanese company.

Katayama knew his time was running out. He had stayed on in America past retirement anyway, and now Tokyo was catching up. In early 1977 he received a cable imperiously summoning him home, without explanation. It was as if he had suddenly disappeared. On arrival in Tokyo he was informed that he had retired a few days earlier. His friends back in Los Angeles did not know what was happening but feared the worst. Mayfield Marshall, probably Katayama’s closest friend in the company, cabled him in Tokyo. “Hope they give you more than a gold watch,” he said. A few weeks later Katayama returned. He looked at Marshall and held up his wrist. On it was a gold watch. It was about the only thing they gave him.

He did not particularly want to return to Japan and for a time considered staying on in America in a different business. But he did go back, and in Tokyo, Nissan wanted to hide him. It was almost as if he had come home in disgrace. There was no reward for the job he had done. He was not put on the board. He did not make vice president. He was given a minor job in an advertising subsidiary – “I was farmed out,” he wrote his friends in America. “At least I am beyond the reach of the union.” Nissan tried to minimize any publicity in Japan about the role he had played. When American writers wanting to talk about the American operation showed up, the Nissan public relations people would come up with a short list of names, and though Kawazoe’s was on the list, Katayama’s was notable by its absence.

Not everyone ignored him: In April of 1977 Katayama was awarded a blue ribbon by MITI for his work on behalf of Japanese trade in America. That was a particularly high honor, and it pleased some of his friends back in America, for to them it was as if he had won it in spite of Nissan. But he took little pleasure in the award; to him it had a slightly bitter taste. He sensed that the Nissan people, embarrassed by his success in America and their own failure to recognize it by putting him on the board, had gotten MITI to do their work for them. It was partly a scam, he thought, and he felt oddly detached on the day of the presentation. Later he could not even remember whether or not he had celebrated with a few friends that night. A few months later, there was a party in his honor given by about 150 of his friends and colleagues; they had had to pay for the party themselves, he noted acidly.

In America, Nissan moved quickly against those who had been his nearest associates. Within a few months it got rid of John Parker, whose agency had handled the Nissan account since the first commercial.

But in a way Katayama got his revenge. For in America he had become not just popular, not just admired, but mythic. In 1983, Car and Driver, lamenting that Nissan products, though still durable, had become boring (“Nissan remains innovative only in financial matters,” the magazine noted), published a special tribute to Katayama as a human being and as a car man. By dint of a rare human vision, he had helped make a small, incompetent Japanese company an exciting one, pushing it relentlessly to produce its best. What Nissan needed most now, Car and Driver asserted, was another such man. The title of the article said it all: “WHERE HAVE YOU GONE, YUTAKA KATAYAMA?”