I’ve been seeing a few 928s lately. Here in Melbourne, they appear to have found a band of (mostly well-heeled) loyalists who enjoy using them as daily drivers.

Not so much the 924 and 944, though. A couple here and there, but they’ve mostly dried up. I can’t even remember the last time I saw a 968. Until this one a few months ago.

In the early 1990s Porsche was spinning into disaster. A record high profit of $173 million for 1984/85 had come off the back of many a stockbroker bonus, but the global financial downturn from 1987 triggered a 40% drop in production. 1992/93 saw a staggering loss of $122 million.

These were the days of long ago when Porsche was but a wee sportscar maker with no family models to hedge the portfolio.

Sure, they’d thought about it now and then. But in the wake of the financial decline their most recent attempt, the 989, was left to wither. Handsome though it was, it wouldn’t have passed the golf-bag criterium.

They did have form in the discount field, though their involvement had always been somewhat inadvertent.

Max Hoffman cajoled them into producing a cheap(er) strippo from the 356 cabriolet.

The 912 came about because what else do you do with a superceded engine that still ran sweet? Unfortunately, 1966 saw twice as many 912s sold than 911s.

The 914 couldn’t decide if it was a Fiat or a Ferrari.

The 924 was a car they designed for someone else, then kept it for themselves when the opportunity arose. Smart move. Front-engined, water-cooled, anonymously-faced and soft compared with the 911, it won over many hearts and sales were great.

On the back of its success, Porsche brought us the 944 in 1981. The Audi-sourced 4cyl was replaced with one of Porsche’s own loosely derived from the 928’s V8. Performance became the focus with added aero for the body. As had the 924, the 944 earned a turbo model with a notable boost in capability. This period saw even the faithful warming to the idea of a front-engined water-cooled Porsche.

By the mid 1980s Porsche had started tinkering with another small car, possibly as a replacement for the 924/944.

It was another inadvertant foray, based on work done for SEAT. Porsche created a baby jet with a mid-mounted boxer 2 litre four. The 984 was posited as both a rag and hardtop convertible, and would have AWD for racing. Development was halted in 1987.

And so the 944 became the 1989 944S2. The engine was enlarged to 3 litres, helping the car deliver 0-60 mph in 6.5 seconds. The exterior took on the revised visage of the Turbo; an attractive upgrade but even more anonymous.

The 944S3 looked more like a Porsche. So they discarded the model name for another. The logical choice for the next number – 964 – had been already used on the 911. They went 4 better.

Porsche justified the new name with a claimed 80% new or modified content. The engine was still the 3 litre, though it was now hooked up to Porsche’s new VarioCam timing system and Tiptronic transmission. Induction and exhaust were modified, a dual mass flywheel and a 6 speed manual were introduced, and the platform tweaked.

In other words, a 924S4.

At first glance, the upgraded face was a rehash of the 928. However it does feature a small but significant difference.

Where the upper seam on the 928’s bumper was a straight line, the 968 featured lines that instead followed the trunklid seams and curved under the headlights. The language was used awkwardly on the 984, and perfectly on the 965.

It found its true home on the 911. A crucial element in helping the 993 (top right) overcome the heavy jaw of the 964 (bottom left) and sending this classic shell off in true style. This seamline also led to the much-derided (but loved by me) fried eggs on the 996.

It was first seen in public on the 968, plastered on in the name of consistency.

Though never intended to see daylight, the raised headlamps say much. Where the floating pods on the 928 were a superbly-crafted hidden gem, the 968 application demonstrates the presence of a significantly lower care-factor.

The rear lost its party; the disco floor was replaced with the smooth stylings of 928S4.

The whole styling exercise recalls the Jaguar 420. An older junior model updated late in its life with senior-looking sheet metal. But where the 420G and 928 have the visual breadth to support their expansive curvature, both the 420 and 968 suffer mostly for their relative narrowness.

Cars that looked decidedly less than the sum of their parts.

The public too was nonplussed about the 968. First year sales numbered over 5000 (a jump of 2000-odd over the final year 944), but declined for a four-year output of 12,776.

In contrast, 163,000 944s had been built over nine years.

Was the 968 the Beverly Hills Cop 3 of the 924 range? The collar-up cabriolet was seen briefly in that auspicious motion picture, being stolen by Axel pretending to be a parking valet (guffaw).

It wasn’t all sarcastic mirth. The 1993-95 Club Sport was a 100kg lighter strippo with a 0-60 of 5.6 – 6.3 seconds depending on your source.

In an episode mirroring the early 912; the UK created the 968 Sport model based on the Club Sport but with rear seats, electric windows, electric release boot and central locking. It undercut the standard 968 by £5500 and outsold it 306 units to 40.

You could get to 60 in 4.7 seconds in one of the sixteen 1993 Turbo S examples. Or even faster in one of the four 337/350 bhp Turbo RS racers.

There’s no doubt the 968 was a capable car.

But it emerged at a time when the Europeans were showing signs of lag. Japanese performance had taken a quantum leap, the shapes were fresher, the experience refined and the sticker more pleasing.

Despite it being a Porsche, the 968 couldn’t meet this value-proposition.

And so it was to the Japanese that Porsche turned to help them out of their financial mire in 1992.

With Wendelin Wiedeking leading the charge, Porsche implemented lean production and continuous improvement under their own label of ‘operational excellence’. It was an enormous undertaking shepherded through by the then 40-year old Wiedeking’s blunt drive.

By 1996 profits were returning and the amount of hours spent building a 911 had nearly halved.

The 968 was likely a hindrance to Wiedeking during this period. After 17 years of having Audi build the 924/944 for them, Porsche took production of the 968 in-house at Zuffenhausen – a decision made before the losses arrived. Accommodating this new but dead-end model into a rapidly evolving line system would have felt like an exercise in futility.

In 1995, Porsche canned the 968 along with the 928.

Waiting in the wings was their first bespoke junior.

One might say the 968 was Porsche by-the-numbers.

On the other hand, this is the ultimate refinement of a model from a company that has earned its stellar reputation by consistently and brilliantly developing a base model over long periods of time.

Your call.

Rlplaut’s COAL series has been a superbly engaging read. Amongst the cars and partners, there’s been much about his career in computer programming. Until his stories, I have had little interest in this subject but a recent article in The Guardian has also opened my eyes to the beauty of early computing. Maybe I’m hijacking the CC code of subject matter with this piece, but at least this cover model – the Pilot ACE from a design by Alan Turing – has four wheels.

These images are the work of photographer James Ball who practices under the name Docubyte, and the series is called ‘Guide to Computing’. James located a number of archaic computers in various collections around the UK and photographed them. The photos were then retouched by his colleagues at INK to look like new, eliminating all signs of age and disrepair.

This one’s my favourite – the CDC 6600 designed by Seymour Cray in all its ‘2001: A Space Odyssey-like’ glory. There may be some wondering at the point of this exercise, but consider this. Some of these computers were built as industrial equipment, and would never have had a glossy brochure or been subject to high-quality photography when they were new, so James has allowed these fascinating units to be seen afresh.

Docubyte is selling copies of these images, just click on the link below for more info.

Beautiful and inspiring stuff.

Further Reading:

Docubyte – Guide to Computing

The Guardian article on these works

Since 1950, 754 drivers have started in a Formula One Championship Grand Prix.
Of those, there have been 106 different race winners.
Of those, 32 have won the World Drivers’ Championship.
Of those, only one has won a championship driving a car of his construction.

On this day 50 years ago, that singular distinction became Jack Brabham’s.

In July 1966, spectators at the Dutch Grand Prix were witness to a curious sight. An elderly man dressed in racing overalls with a long flowing beard and jack handle for a walking stick was limping along the racetrack. By now Jack Brabham was the old man of the Formula One racing scene.

He was born forty years earlier in Hurstville, about 10 km south of the centre of Sydney. An only child, Jack was prone to shenanigans. One time his parents took the handlebars and seat off his tricycle to teach him a lesson. He figured out how to steer it with the pedals while sitting on the bar ahead of the vacant seat pole.

Before Jack was a race car driver, he was a race car constructor.

He left school at fifteen, and learned fitting and turning skills on the job. When he came of age, he joined the Royal Australian Air Force hoping for a fly during the war. By then, however, the Air Force didn’t need anymore pilots so instead Jack was trained as a flight mechanic. After hostilities ended he set up business in a workshop built for him by his uncle in his grandfather’s backyard.

He soon met Johnny Schonberg, recently discharged from the US Navy. Johnny was a weekend midget car racer. Midget racing was just about the crudest version of oval track racing around. If you wanted to avoid the gravel and dirt spray from these almost-constantly-sideways cars, you needed to get to the head of the pack and stay there.

In 1946 Jack made Johnny a very durable midget racer, building a 1,350cc engine and placing it on a custom-fabricated chassis.

Johnny’s wife convinced him to give up racing, and within a year the car was Jack’s. In his first season, Jack won the New South Wales state championship. He took up hill-climbing in his midget racer, and he was so quick on his first try the organisers decided his midget was not eligible because it didn’t have four-wheel brakes.

Jack took the midget back to his workshop, fitted brakes all round and entered the Australian Hill Climbing Championship. And won it.

Eventually Jack found himself in Coopers. After driving the smaller mid-rear engined Mark IV and Mark V models, he set his sights on a more substantial racer, this one with a 2 litre Bristol engine. He found it at a deceased estate, unused and quite expensive. After organising sponsorship with Redex, Jack and his father were able to buy the Cooper-Bristol.

He christened it the ‘Redex Special’ which just brought more problems. Entered in the 1953 Australian Grand Prix, it was promptly banned by the Confederation of Australian Motorsport for its bodyside advertising. Fed up with CAMS’ conservatism, in 1954 Jack took to New Zealand with its own vibrant racing scene.

By 1955, Jack was in England. The Big League. And the little league.

The Big League was the Formula One championship. Although racing in Australia had been recorded as far back as 1904 (at Sandown Park, above), and we had run our first Grand Prix in 1927 or 1928 (depending on who you believe), it was not until 1985 that our Grand Prix was actually a part of the World Championship.

By 1934 there were 18 Grands Prix across the globe, but with the after-effects of the war a rationalisation of this spread took place.

In 1950, the Federation Internationale de l’Automobile instigated the World Drivers’ Championship. For the first time, points accrued from seven official Formula One races would contribute to an overall winner for the season – awarded that year to Dr. Nino Farina in an Alfa 158. Over the 1950s and 1960s the number of eligible races grew to about 10.

For 1950 and 1951, the cars running under this formula were allowed engines of 4.5 litre naturally aspirated, or 1.5 litre supercharged.

Alfa and Ferrari dominated the championship’s first two years. For 1952 and 1953, the FIA changed the rules to try and even the field. Cars running under the previous Formula Two classification of 2 litres un-supercharged were allowed, and these made up most of the entrants.

1954 and 1955 saw a return to Formula One classification, with un-supercharged 2.5 litre engines the maximum allowed limit.

Meanwhile a new type of racing class has sprouted. Known as the 500cc class, these little league motorcycle-engined racers were created to suit the lower budget of the majority of enthusiasts.

One marque that came to prominence was Cooper, run by Charles (standing) and his son John (seated). Though John was an aspiring driver the Coopers found greater success as a manufacturer, with many buyers for their little cars. Their racers had the engine situated behind the driver – a configuration that allowed for a shorter chain-drive.

The mid-rear engine was nothing new; the pre-war GP Auto Union racers designed by Ferdinand Porsche (and driven here by the great Tazio Nuvolari) being the most notable antecedents.

After the war, efforts were made to reintroduce mid-rear back into racing’s top level. However, even during the 1952 and 1953 reduced displacement years, attempts such as Ernst Klodwig’s Heck-BMW made no real inroads into the big league and the idea was generally viewed as a gimmick.

Cooper’s larger front-engined cars had run to middling F1 success during the 2 litre years – Mike Hawthorn’s 3rd at the 1952 British GP was its best championship result. But these cars were not competitive at the 2.5 litre level and Cooper showed no interest in re-entering Formula One, let alone developing the mid-rear configuration for the formula.

Upon Jack Brabham’s 1955 arrival in Britain, he had purchased a second-hand Cooper. Unlike his ‘as new’ Redex Special, this one was a tired example. It was initially powered by an Alta engine and he soon replaced this with a Bristol unit. Jack entered it in non-championship races, but earned no podiums.

Jack got on with very well with John Cooper if not so much with his father Charles; it was John who came up with the nickname ‘Black Jack’ on account of his jet-black hair, five o’clock shadow and somewhat taciturn nature. Despite his lack of competition success, the Coopers started to notice Jack’s mechanical capabilities.

In the middle of the 1955, Jack had a proposal for the Coopers.

In 1951, the Coventry Climax FW (Feather Weight) 1,020cc 4 cylinder motor was introduced. Though it was the work of engineers with significant automotive experience – Harry Mundy and Walter Hassan – it was produced for an entirely different purpose. This was a fire pump engine; a portable unit designed to the British Government’s new specification of pumping twice the water from a unit half the weight of the previous specification.

However, by 1953 the British manufacturers of small racers had discovered its potential.

Manufacturer Kieft was first to put the Coventry Climax into one of their small racers, and before long Cooper did so too. For 1955, their designer Owen Maddock had developed the ‘bob-tail’ T39; a monoplace sports racer with a 1,089cc version of the engine mounted mid-rear.

Jack convinced the Coopers to let him build a T39 with a 2 litre Bristol engine, and in return he would work on their other cars for nothing.

The T40 was rushed to completion and entered in the British Grand Prix at Aintree where Jack diced with the best drivers of the era, as above with Hawthorn in his Ferrari. The Cooper retired with a broken clutch.

Jack fettled the T40 and took it back home to run in the 1955 Australian Grand Prix, held at Port Wakefield and run under Formula Libre (open formula) classification. He won the race and sold the car to help pay for his next European campaign.

Having driven both front and mid-rear engined Coopers, Jack had gained a first-hand understanding of the benefits of the latter’s configuration and had a (not unique) intuition that it could work in Formula One.

With the engine behind the driver, the main principles in play were a better weight distribution and improved inertia characteristics. The Auto Union cars were conceived to these principles, but were still enormous machines. A compact engine would better concentrate the driver torso/engine mass, and allow for a much smaller (hence lighter) vehicle which in return would need less overall power. For comparison purposes, above centre is a 1956 Maserati 250F, said to be the best balanced front-engined car in the estimation of many drivers.

With the mid-rear mounted Climax engine, 1956 saw success for the Cooper in Formula Two, a category recently dominated by Colin Chapman’s front-engined Lotuses.

By 1957 Jack was employed by Cooper as a works driver. The Formula Two cars would occasionally run in the same races as their senior brethren, but the Formula One wins were still not there.

Despite this Jack was becoming a popular driver with the crowds and it wasn’t just his sideways driving that caught their attention.

After an all-too-rare shunt at Monaco that year in his works Cooper during practice, Brabham’s engine was transferred into gentleman privateer Rob Walker’s T43. With Jack driving, it was running third when the fuel pump broke.

He got out and pushed the car out of the tunnel to the finish line for sixth place.

In 1958, a Cooper won its first championship Formula One race at the Argentinian Grand Prix. It was the same Rob Walker T43 from Monaco but with an enlarged 2.2 litre engine. The driver was Stirling Moss.

‘It was a bit annoying,’ Jack admitted. ‘But I made up for it later.’

The 1958 Monaco Grand Prix was won by Maurice Trintignant in a Rob Walker Cooper T45.

This car was very much like the T43, but with one significant difference.

Since arriving in England, Jack had been writing letters to a colleague back in Sydney.

Ron Tauranac had met Jack through the Australian racing scene and had even beaten Brabham once in a hill climbing championship, driving a car in the Cooper idiom of his own construction known as a Ralt. He had come to appreciate Jack’s broader capabilities when giving him some machining work through his fulltime job at CSR Chemicals, and their friendship continued when Jack left for overseas.

Jack had sent Ron an Autocar illustration of the T39, showing the Cooper racing chassis married to the Coventry Climax engine, with a few of his own notes scribbled on the sheet. Ron took those suggestions, and fashioned a set of step-down gear patterns for the Cooper-Climax racers. On one of his visits to Australia, Jack picked up Ron’s work and had it applied to a T43 Cooper in England.

The resulting T45 driven by Trintignant to Monaco victory had an engine sitting 3 inches lower than its predecessor, lowering its centre of gravity and significantly improving its cornering ability.

It’s important that I don’t understate the role of Owen Maddock (second from right) in this story. For the entirety of Brabham’s time at Cooper, Maddock was the chief engineer and primary designer of the vehicles Jack drove. He and Brabham didn’t get on personally; Jack considered him too conservative, but neither let this affect their professional relationship.

In truth, though, Jack was the impetus for the team. As Cooper mechanic ‘Ginger’ Devlin would later relate; ‘Jack was worth ten men and he kept the team together. Say we were still working at two in the morning and Jack said “Why don’t we try this?” we’d do it willingly because Jack would have worked everything out and we knew it would make a difference.’

In late 1958, Jack journeyed to Paris. Cooper was using the ERSA gearbox also found in the Citroen Traction Avant, and it was having trouble handling the power from the more powerful Climax engines. Jack showed them where to add ribbing to the casings for greater strength, and they had 25 gearboxes ready within 3 weeks. Those gearboxes would last the next three seasons.

In 1959, Jack Brabham finally saw the Formula One chequered flag in the 2.5 litre T51 Cooper-Climax.

For all this talk of Brabham’s mechanical nous, he was also a top driver and fierce competitor. Stirling Moss – arguably the best driver of his generation – rated Brabham on the track; ‘I would say he was probably one of the toughest drivers I ever raced against. Most of the drivers, once you’d passed them, you can forget about them, but (with Brabham), you never knew. He was always there, hunting along. He was competitive, I mean, he wanted to win.’

Brabham’s first victory came at Monaco. Stirling Moss was also driving a T51, but one fitted with a Colotti gearbox that failed during the race.

After that it was wins for Jack at the French and British Grands Prix.

The 1959 season came down to the last race. Brabham was ahead in championship points, but Moss and Tony Brooks were still in the running.

It was a long wait. The US Grand Prix at Sebring was held in December, three months after Monza. The weekend before the stateside Grand Prix, Jack participated in a race at Nassau during which a stone had flown into his goggles filling one eye with shards of glass.

Despite the discomfort Jack had a good race at Sebring and found himself leading.

A mile from the finish line the car ran out of fuel. It coasted for 500 yards then stopped.

As he had done two years before at Monaco, Jack got out and started pushing.

He coaxed his T51 up the track’s slight gradient and watched the other cars flash by. Brabham knew Moss was already out of the race and saw Brooks coming in third. He reached the finish line and collapsed to the ground, utterly exhausted.

The officials led him to a caravan, and for a short while he regained himself. Inside, away from everyone, he did a mental tally of points and realised that he had won the 1959 World Drivers’ Championship.

In 1958, the FIA added another championship alongside the drivers’ title for the team that accrued the most points. Cooper won the World Constructors’ Championship in 1959.

1960 saw Brabham win his second World Drivers’ Championship in the ‘lowline’ Cooper-Climax T59.

It featured a suspension arrangement conceived in Sydney, sketches of which had been sent to England via airmail.

By Ron Tauranac.

With his newfound fame, Jack embraced the opportunities that arose; product endorsements for the Rootes Group and various other products, as well as ghost-written pieces for the press. Though not as media-hungry as Stirling Moss, he still had a deep appreciation of the money that could be earned via this route. It has to be remembered that though the top Grand Prix drivers were well paid, their remuneration was nothing near what is earned today.

Between championships Jack Brabham set up a garage and dealership in Chessington, Surrey, selling Rootes, Standard Triumph and eventually BMC cars.

He used his reputation to market tuning kits and Q-cars for various models, the most potent of which was the Triumph Herald fitted with a 1,220 cc Coventry-Climax engine.

Jack asked Ron Tauranac to join him in England. Ron was reluctant; he had a good job and a family to consider. Jack sent him a return ticket; if Ron decided he didn’t want to stay he could just get on the plane back to Australia. Instead, Ron exchanged it for a one-way flight and used the rest of the money to bring his family over.

Ostensibly, the move was to help Jack at his garage dealership.

Secretly, they planned to start producing their own Formula Junior cars.

By 1961, Formula One racing had been changed forever. The starting grid was now filled with mid-rear engined cars.

Even that recalcitrant late-adopter, Enzo Ferrari – who had scorned these British garagisti – finally followed suit. And did so with a vengeance. He owned the 1961 season with Phil Hill and Wolfgang von Trips in his sharknose Ferrari 156. Things ended tragically with von Trips and 14 spectators dying in a racing accident and the driver’s title went to the classical-music-loving American.

1961 had seen Jack beat another new path – to Indianapolis.

A special 2,750 cc offset version of the Cooper-Climax was prepared and sent to the US for the 500. Before the race, AJ Foyt took a look at the car and called it ‘a bunch of pipes lashed up with chicken wire.’ It qualified 2 mph slower than the pole sitter, and started the race in thirteenth spot. Despite his car chewing through inadequate tyres Brabham finished ninth, and the clock had started ticking for the front-engined Offys.

But Jack didn’t win a Formula One race all year during the 1961 season. And he had grown tired of Charles Cooper’s negativity and resistance to change.

‘Charlie Cooper didn’t like spending money and I had the feeling that we were just not going to go on winning races like we did in 1959 and ‘60. He kept saying to me, “Why change it when you’re winning?”’

At the end of the 1961, Jack left the Cooper team.

The business Jack had set up with Ron Tauranac was named Motor Racing Developments, a 50/50 arrangement between the two men. It would manufacture race cars and run a Formula Two team. Whilst in Switzerland, journalist Jabby Crombac told Jack his company’s initials were somewhat reminiscent of the French word ‘emmerder’ (to give someone the shits). Jack got on the phone to Ron and they agreed to rename the business Brabham Racing Developments.

Ron Tauranac was the designer of the BRD cars. His first was a Formula Junior for Australian driver Gavin Youl. It was another journalist, Alan Brinton, who later suggested the cars be coded BT for Brabham Tauranac, and this first car was retrospectively named the BT1. Jack was actively involved in its construction, doing the most difficult machining for Ron.

Jack formed another company, the Brabham Racing Organisation. This would be the Formula One team, and a customer of Brabham Racing Developments.

Although it all seems pre-ordained now, Jack’s decision to leave Cooper caught Ron Tauranac on the hop and he didn’t have a car ready for the start of the 1962 season. Jack ran an outdated Lotus 24 until late July when the BT3 was ready. It debuted in its attractive turquoise and gold livery at the Nurburgring, and scored its first championship points later that season at the US Grand Prix.

However, even a change in livery to Australia’s informal national colours of green and gold for 1963 brought no victories for Jack.

In 1964, the Brabham Racing Organisation earned its first championship victory, with Dan Gurney’s BT7 winning in France. Gurney followed that with another win in Mexico the same year.

1965 would not prove so fruitful.

1961 to 1965 were known as the 1.5 litre years in Grand Prix, for the maximum engine displacement (un-supercharged) allowed by the FIA during this period. As had Phil Hill in 1961, John Surtees won in a Ferrari in 1964, and Graham Hill won with a BRM in 1962, but these years were dominated by two other men.

Colin Chapman had taken the mid-rear engine idea and developed its next tangible improvements. He made his cars monocoque-bodied and used the new V8 Coventry Climax engine as a stressed member, significantly reducing the weight of these frame-less racers.

He also changed the driver’s position, resetting him almost prone with a seat-back angle of 55 degrees, thereby reducing the frontal area of the car even further. His 1962 Lotus 25 is shown above in comparison to the 1959 Cooper T51.

Chapman’s number one driver was Jim Clark. Clark initially had difficulty adjusting to the new seating, but as he put it himself; ‘Once I had mastered the new position, I wondered how I had ever driven a racing car any other way.’

Jim Clark won the 1963 and 1965 Formula One World Drivers’ Championships, and with Colin Chapman set the benchmark for the 1.5 litre years.

While Formula One wins were proving sporadic, Jack and Ron were doing better in Formula Two. After a successful 1964 season, they were approached by Honda for 1965. This following extract from a 1990s article by Mike Lawrence in Classic and Sports Car is a vivid illustration of Jack the driver, leader, team player and businessman.

‘When Honda bought a Cooper prior to its entry in F1, the Weber carburettors baffled its engineers. Jack interrupted one of his trips home to show them how it should be done. The fledgling Honda team was knocked out by the fact that the World Champion made the effort and, after they had seen him at work, they were devotees for life. When Honda decided to enter car racing, it approached Lotus to build an F1 car and Jack to run an F2 team. Colin Chapman received a mock-up of the Honda F1 engine and sat on it, to delay Honda’s entry to F1 and to wind up Coventry Climax. Chapman was crossed off Honda’s Christmas card list but, to this day, Brabham and Tauranac are consultants to Honda.’

‘Jack ran an F2 Honda engine in 1965 and, for the first race, he qualified nine seconds off the pace. Instead of throwing his toys out of the pram, he taught the small band of of engineers how to go motor racing. These men included two future presidents of Honda, Tadashi Kume and Nobuhiko Kawamoto. At the last race, he took pole and finished second, just 0.6 seconds behind Clark’s Lotus. Brabham and Tauranac then told Honda precisely what sort of engine to build – the first had been peaky, and its shape made it impossible to install harmoniously. Honda responded and delivered an entirely new unit within a few months. Tadashi Kume says: ‘Jack and Ron taught us how to win races.”

‘It was not luck, it was Jack’s integrity and engineering input that turned Honda from a makeweight into a winner. In fact, it could have been 11 wins [instead of ten for the 1966 F2 season] because he spun out of the lead at Rouen. All the race reports say the gearlever came off in his hand, but Nobuhiko Kawamoto knows the true story.

‘“Before the race I received a call from Mr Honda who was concerned that the engines were lasting so long that we were not learning anything. He wanted us to run an engine until it broke so I built one with a used crankshaft and bearings. Jack-san did not finish the race, the engine seized five laps from the end and he spun. He walked back to the pits and we were apprehensive, thinking that he would be angry. Jack-san, however, smiled and pulled the gear lever out of his pocket so everyone, including the journalists, thought he had retired because of the lever. He did it to protect Honda. He was a demanding man, a hard man to work for, but he had a great heart.”’

Despite the cameraderie and respect between them, Ron Tauranac wanted out of BRD. Though he never sought the limelight, he had some regrets about working under the Brabham moniker.

In 1965 he told Jack he wanted the build the cars himself, and then sell them to Jack without engine for £3000.

Jack thought about it for a while and returned with a counter proposal. He would combine the manufacturing business and Formula One race team into a single entity, with a 50/50 partnership between the two men covering this reconstituted Brabham Racing Organisation. As a final kicker, he offered to double Ron salary. Ron accepted.

Tauranac’s misgivings about continuing with BRD might have had something to do with the new 3 litre limit for Formula One to commence in 1966. He had been designing a car, the BT19, to accommodate the upcoming 1.5 litre Coventry Climax flat-16 engine, which was made instantly redundant with the announcement of the new engine parameters.

Preparations were made in earnest for the 1966 season by all the manufacturers. Enzo Ferrari had Mauro Forghieri design a new V12 that was capable of 360hp. For Cooper, Maserati built a V12 with a similar output. British Racing Motors’ plans were the most ambitious, an H16 layout (as seen above) with a nominal output of 400 hp. The BRM and Lotus teams were to use the H16, and Brabham was offered it as well.

But Jack had another idea.

Back in 1962, Lance Reventlow had taken a Scarab to Australia and Jack had been able to get a first hand look at its powerplant. It was a version of the small aluminium 215 cu. in. V8 Buick engine that would later find its way across the Atlantic into the Rover cars. GM had abandoned these engines for production cars after 400,000 units had been produced due to excessive wastage from miscast blocks, but the bespoke nature of motorsport could overcome this issue.

Jack had already persuaded Australian company Repco to build some 2.5 litre versions of this small GM engine for the local Tasman racing series. A business called Repco-Brabham Engines was established and run by Frank Hallam (second from right) in Maidstone, Victoria to produce the engines. Though Brabham had no equity in this business, he was sure to receive preferential treatment.

The RB620 was designed by Australian Phil Irving (left), the creator of the Vincent Black Shadow motorcycle engine. Irving’s modifications to the Oldsmobile block (with its extra stud per cylinder compared with the Buick version) were so comprehensive, Repco-Brabham was to claim it as their own design.

In September 1965, Jack Brabham asked Repco-Brabham to prepare a 3 litre version of the RB620 for Formula One. With an output of around 310hp it would be down on power relative to most of his competitors’ units, but Jack’s thinking was pristine.

With the change in formula, Jack suspected that there would be teething troubles with all these new and complicated engines. He reasoned that a basic, robust and lightweight unit might be the answer to successful season of racing. Simplicity was key to Irving’s design; budgetary contraints had limited the engine to an sohc valve arrangement, but he had deliberately designed the chaindrives and head as a combined demountable unit for ease and rapidity of repair without disturbing the engine’s timing.

For all its deficiencies in outright power, the RB620 had a superb torque range suited to the twistier circuits.

The RB620 3 litre was placed into Tauranac’s BT19 car, with only minor modifications to the rear of the frame. Despite the advances in monocoque construction, Ron had opted to maintain a spaceframe arrangement for ease of repairability. As Jack put it in his autobiography;

‘My whole aim was to make the car a finisher. If it won races, all to the good, but in order to win you must finish.’

Monaco Grand Prix, Monaco. May 24, 1966.

The opening race of the 1966 Grand Prix season. Starting 11th on the grid, Brabham was soon out with a stuck transmission. The race was won by Jackie Stewart in a BRM. The H16 had been driven during practice, but was not raced and Stewart’s engine was instead a 2 litre V8. Lorenzo Bandini came second in a 3 litre Ferrari.

Belgian Grand Prix, Spa-Francorchamps. June 12, 1966.

Seven cars were out on the first lap after Jo Bonnier connected with Mike Spence in heavy rain, resulting in a cascade of accidents. Jack Brabham finished in fourth, but it was John Surtees in first and Bandini in third that told of Ferrari’s genuine threat for the season.

French Grand Prix, Riems. July 3, 1966.

Brabham started in fourth position, but moved to second on the first lap and slipstreamed behind Bandini’s Ferrari. By his own admission that tow was the only thing that kept him so close to the more powerful prancing horse. Bandini led for 31 laps before a broken throttle cable thwarted his race. Brabham took the lead and won.

It was the first ever F1 championship victory for a driver/constructor. The press were ecstatic.

British Grand Prix, Brands Hatch. July 16, 1966.

Brabham took pole and led from start to chequered flag. Teammate Denny Hulme came second in a slightly longer wheelbase BT20. Jack was thrilled with his team’s one-two finish.

Dutch Grand Prix, Zandvoort. July 24, 1966.

Jack had turned 40 a month back, and was copping stick from the press for being the oldest driver in the Formula One field. Not one to take this lying down, he donned a fake beard and hobbled to his car. As he later recounted; ‘I just had to win after that.’

He did.

German Grand Prix, Nurburgring. August 7, 1966.

The Nurburgring was – and still is – the most daunting track in Formula One. 17 miles of endlessly undulating curves and twists making it hard to sustain a consistent driving line.

‘The German Grand Prix was extremely wet. It was a shocking race, actually, and a very dangerous one; I guarantee we drove every lap under a different set of circumstances, because of rain showers on different parts of the circuit. I got a lot of satisfaction out of winning that race, because it was the first Grand Prix I had won at the ‘Ring. I look back on that as more satisfying for me personally than perhaps any other race. John Surtees was second and Jochen (Rindt) third.’

Italian Grand Prix, Monza. September 4, 1966.

Another victory for Ferrari, but it was not Surtees driving. He had fallen out spectacularly with team manager Dragoni after the Ford GT40s wiped the floor at Le Mans, and resigned from Ferrari mid-season to race a Cooper-Maserati. Monza was instead won by Ludovico Scarfiotti.

With four victories under his belt and two races to go, no other driver was going to be able to top Black Jack’s points tally.

On September 4, 1966, Jack Brabham was officially the winner the 1966 Formula One World Drivers’ Championship.

In a car of his construction.

To put this accomplishment in perspective, only two other men have won a Formula One championship race as both driver and constructor. One was Dan Gurney.

‘In 1963 (Jack) hired me as his team mate for his newly established Brabham F1 team and during the next three years we really got to know each other. We discovered we shared similar traits. We were not only interested in driving racing cars but in building them, improving them, searching for every tiny bit of technical advantage we could find. In 1966 we went our separate ways and I followed the trail he had blazed by trying to build, race and win with my own F1 cars.’

As a driver, Gurney made his mark on the international scene. His entered Formula One in 1959 and, as well as giving the Brabham team their first Formula One championship victory he did the same for Porsche in 1962.

With AJ Foyt he won the 1967 Le Mans 24Hrs in a Ford GT40 Mark IV, but his record as a driver is perhaps overshadowed by a 1971 victory piloting a Ferrari 365 GTB/4 Daytona in an informal road race held on US soil and run from sea to shining sea.

As a constructor, Gurney found most success at home. With Carroll Shelby, he formed All-American Racers and the cars created by this team were known as Eagles. In 1968, Gurney piloted an AAR Eagle in the Indy 500, coming second to Bobby Unser who was also driving an Eagle. This was the first of three Eagle victories in the 500, though none had Gurney behind the wheel.

Since its inception AAR has run with success in multiple domestic series and continues to astound with the 2012 DeltaWing racer.

In 1966, Dan Gurney entered Formula One with the slightly renamed Anglo American Racers team. The cars he produced in conjunction with Len Terry were some of the most beautiful monoplace racers ever. With its distinctive beak, an Eagle could be recognised at a glance. The first F1 Eagle was powered by a Coventry Climax engine, but midway through the season it received a V12 designed by Aubrey Woods and built by Harry Weslake, who gave the Eagle-Weslake half its name.

In 1967, Gurney drove an Eagle-Weslake to victory in the season-opening Race of Champions at Brands Hatch – although this Formula One race was not part of the championship.

That year Gurney won the Belgian Grand Prix at Spa in his number 36 racer. It was the only championship victory he would take in one of his own cars, before bowing out as an F1 constructor in 1968.

The other driver/constructor to win a Grand Prix was Bruce McLaren.

Jack had met Bruce back in New Zealand. Bruce’s father Len was active in motorsport and had accommodated Jack at his house during his trans-Tasman jaunts. Bruce was a talented driver, and won a ticket to England to try his hand at the big league. At Jack’s suggestion, Cooper had taken McLaren on as a Formula Two driver for the 1958 season. In 1959 he was promoted to the top series and in 1960, McLaren came second to Brabham in the drivers’ championship.

When Jack left Cooper Bruce became their number one driver, but by the end of 1965 he too had left the much diminished team.

In 1966, he entered Formula One with the McLaren team in a car designed with Robin Herd. It was painted white with a green stripe, chosen so it could be filmed during genuine races to double that of James Garner’s Pete Aron in the fictional John Frankenheimer film ‘Grand Prix’. In 1968, McLaren settled on a vibrant orange hue for his Formula One cars that is still synonymous with his name.

Bruce had also entered the emerging and lucrative Can-Am series for large, relatively unrestricted sports racers. This short-lived but prominent series is where he made his greatest mark; his distinctive orange creations winning 5 out of 6 races in 1967, 4 out of 6 races in 1968 and an extraordinary 11 out of 11 races in 1969 – most of which had come from his own driving.

His sole driver/constructor Grand Prix victory came at Spa, the year after Dan Gurney had done the same. In 1969, McLaren came third in the drivers’ championship, though he had no victories that season.

Perhaps, of the three successful driver/constructors, Bruce McLaren was the most complete package. He was studying for a degree in engineering at Auckland University when he won his driver’s scholarship to England. Being 11 years younger than Brabham, his accomplishments seemed only just starting to accumulate. But he died in June 1970 while test-driving one of his Can-Am cars.

Could it happen again? Maybe; these days it would take someone with the acumen and financials of an Elon Musk and the driving ability of an Alonso or a Verstappen, so I’m not holding my breath.

Behind the 1966 Brabham victory there was, of course, a racing team; (left to right) Bob Illich, Roy Billington, (un-named), John Muller, Cary Taylor, Denny Hulme, Jack, Ron, John Judd, (un-named, possibly Geoff Murdoch from Esso).

At Repco-Brabham; Frank Hallam, Phil Irving, Michael Gasking, Bob Brown, Nigel Tait, Peter Holinger, Kevin Davies, David Nash, Stan Johnson, John Mepstead and Rodway Wolfe.

And most likely others as well.

Along with as Jack’s 1996 driving title, Brabham Racing Organisation won the World Constructors’ Championship as well.

For 1967 it was the RB740 engine with exhausts running up and over. The season came down to the last race again, but Jack had to win for a chance and he only came second. He wasn’t too perturbed, though, with Denny Hulme winning the drivers’ title and his own consolation prize of another World Constructors’ Championship.

1968 was a disaster, with 10 retirements and one DNS out of 12 races. At Spa, however, was more evidence of the Jack of old and new.

Old-school Jack:

On the day before the race, a stripped-down engine had shown that a sub-contractor had used the wrong material for the valve-seats. Jack got on to John Judd in England and arranged to have some new seats made. Jack then flew over in his Piper Twin Comanche with two cylinder heads on board.

At three in the morning, Betty Brabham was woken in her family home by the smell of burning. Jack was in the kitchen with the heads in the oven, shrinking the seats into place. He flew back to Belgium and was ready at the start of the race, the cylinder heads having been fitted while he was able to grab some sleep.

New-school Jack:

Ron had fitted some little wings to the nose of Jack’s car. Jack took it out for a lap and decided he wanted some similar downforce on the rear. Taking an idea from the Chaparral Can-Am racers, a separate wing was fabricated and mounted on rods attached to the chassis.

Ferrari had produced a similar appendage but the Brabham was out in practice before them, making BRO the first constructor to practice, qualify and race a Formula One car with a rear wing by a margin of one hour.

1969 was not much better for Jack, though team driver Jacky Ickx came second in the drivers’ championship, winning the German and Canadian Grands Prix.

As far back as 1965, Jack had been mulling retirement as a driver. But he also knew that if he were to continue in a technical capacity, it would by necessity involve him driving at the limit for testing – in some ways even more dangerous than racing.

And there was also Betty, who wanted to stop worrying about whether Jack might not come home from work one day, and was eager to give their three boys – especially the two younger ones – an Australian childhood.

In late 1969, Jack Brabham took the decision to retire from Formula One. He quietly sold his share in Motor Racing Developments Ltd to Ron Tauranac. (Despite its pardon-the-French acronym, the official name for the company had always been MRD, with BRD and 1966-onwards BRO serving in some sort of ‘trading as’ capacity.)

Jack on Ron; ‘He was the only bloke with whom I’d have gone into partnership. He was conscientious to a fault and peerlessly straight.’

But in 1970, the year he turned 44, Jack was behind the wheel again.

The team had secured Jochen Rindt as number one driver for the season, but at the last minute Colin Chapman made Rindt an offer significant enough to have him stay at Lotus.

Partly out of loyalty to his mate, and partly of his own misgivings about stepping away while he still felt at the top of his game, Jack had a long and awkward conversation with Betty over the phone – and found himself driving for Ron Tauranac.

By his own (never overstated) estimation, Jack had a chance at the title in 1970. He got off to a great start by winning the South African Grand Prix, but the rest of the season was beset by the sort of niggles that turn a winner into an also-ran.

At the end of the year, he left Formula One for good.

With Jack gone, things weren’t the same for Ron.

‘Jack and I would stay with the mechanics until 10 o’clock at night, and then we’d have dinner. But when Jack was no longer driving, there was no one with whom to eat dinner or, indeed, socialise at all. I didn’t like that very much.’

In late 1971, Tauranac sold the Brabham team to Bernie Ecclestone, a mismatched pairing to say the least. Though Ron stayed on, it didn’t last long. He left to take a long vacation before reviving the Ralt brand in 1974, building cars for Formula 2, 3 and Junior to much success.

With nearly 600 Brabham Tauranacs and over 1,000 Ralts to his credit, Ron Tauranac AO is the most prolific builder of open-wheeled racers in the history of motorsport.

Despite a tantalising 1970, Jack’s regrets in leaving Formula One were tempered by the deaths of Jochen Rindt, Bruce McLaren and Piers Courage that season. He settled comfortably back into Australia; keeping his hand in motor racing as a manufacturer of VW racing engines as well as enjoying the occasional drive, attending to other business interests including an aviation company and a car dealership, and taking his boys out though the Botany Bay heads for a spot of fishing.

In 1979, Jack became the first racing driver to be honoured with a knighthood.

Sir John Arthur Brabham, AO, OBE passed away in May 2014.

He didn’t invent the mid-rear engined racer, but he was one of the most influential figures in its final propulsion towards a new norm in Formula One.

Nor did he build his 1966 championship-winning car by himself, but he was the hands-on, strategically-prescient and inspirational leader of the team that carried his name.

And on top of all this, Jack Brabham was a bloody good racing driver as well.

Further Reading:

Primotipo.com is a superb website run by Mark Bissett
focusing on motorsports much in the same way
CC covers curbside classics. For anyone interested in the subject,
I strongly recommend wandering through its various blogs,
but I will highlight two in particular:

Rodway Wolfe’s first-hand account of his time at Repco-Brabham
working on the RB620 engine

Rodway’s overview of the 1966 Formula One season
including a closer look at the competitive set

Other Sites:

Mattijs Diepraam writing at 8W on the various attempts
at a post-war mid-rear engined race car

rontauranac.com.au – the official website detailing his output

jack-brabham-engines.com – a great fansite endorsed by Sir Jack himself

The deliberately anonymous car – a tool for the non-aligned industrial supplier to circumvent an implied preference (or as we will see in a few weeks, liability) in their publicity materials. The artist here did a good job; the car seems both familiar and attractive which is not an easy task when you have to make something up, but to be honest it’s earning most of its goodwill from Pontiac.

I also see a Galaxie rear. You see any thing else?

This colonial outpost has a goodly share of CCs from the mother country keeping on. Like this Vauxhall Victor F-series. Even back in the 70s, these weren’t a common sight for me. But I’ve seen this one a few times, it’s in solid but not precious condition.

Curbivore jim took this. Bentley S1 Continental with body by Mulliner gliding through the CBD. An adaptation, only slightly less lovely, of the legendary R-type.

That’s how you do fins.

An automotive photographer once told me dark green was the hardest colour to shoot on cars. This was back in the days of film, and I don’t think it’s so bad these days. However, my old phone camera had developed an extreme warm bias by the time I saw this S1 Silver Shadow, so its gorgeous darker emerald is muted.

Rover P5B sedan on Rostyles all business-like. The four-door coupe overshadows these, but David Bache’s shape succeeds even with the taller roofline.

This image was conveyed to me via cellphone by jim, who received it from Trav O. It’s a Humber Super Snipe one drizzly evening. The image seems to have degraded a lot in transmission, or else it’s a detail from a larger shot. Nevertheless, I love this photograph. The blur takes us to the very edge of recognising the car, and the whole thing feel like a National Geographic shot from 1966.

AVL caught this one in country New South Wales – a Daimler Majestic glowing in the afternoon.

Out of my comfort zone here, but I remember this having a bullnose Morris sort of radiator treatment. Nice deerstalker.

Ford special looking like a cross between the Bristol 404 and a noddy car.

Post-82 Rover SD1. Stuck in traffic. Owner is loving it.

Austin Healey 100. Stuck in traffic. Owner not so loving it. Didn’t want to talk. So I stood there and took pictures. hehehe

Another making an escape.

MG of A.

TR of 6.

FG of Austin. Unlike the Vauxhall, these were all over my Melbourne of the 1970s. This is a favourite childhood shape; it is so characterful and how good is that panoramic windscreen? Best of all are those lower windows for tight manoeuvring. It reminds me of a boxer with bandaging on his face.

1958 Commer. Got no idea what it landed on.

Morris Minor van looking brawny from a distance.

Best for last. A few minutes before I took this shot I was running errands in my mate’s Renault van. I went through a sleepy suburban intersection, on one corner of which was an old garage. With an orange Challenger parked there. After a double-take, I found a side-street and turned around to get some pics. Have not seen a Challenger since time immemorial.

I got out of the van and was just stretching my legs when I heard a ruckus up the road. Reflexively, I pulled my camera out.

Entering the intersection and tracing a sweeping right hander was this little ADO16 in Morris 1100 guise. This picture gives no idea how fast (fully legal, mind) this car was taking the corner while sustaining a poise that was billiard-table level. Hydrolastic!

Next week; Jags.

I delete almost all my blurred shots. They’re not deliberate; they happen by accident as I’m scrabbling to pull my phone out of my pocket, swipe unlock the screen, find the camera button, and press it. This one somehow worked.

It’s a short wheelbase 1968-73 Series 1 XJ. They sold heaps more of these than the LWB version back then. Here the shorter cabin and deep chin conspire with lens distortion and blur to pull the car forward.

Despite the SWB’s dominant sales, Jaguar canned it on the 1973-79 Series 2 soon after launch. Not that the LWB is unpretty. The S2 XJ makes the most sense in terms of aesthetic cohesion; the shallower front bumper lines up with the rear unit in profile. And they’re still chromey.

1979-92 Series 3. I can’t forgive the bumpers. Don’t like the revised roofline either.

But on CC and in the rest of the world these have their many devotees, including the owner of this one. His is the most-used classic Jag I see in my parts.

If you squint, the buttress-less roof profile on this XJS cabrio makes it look like a Zagato tintop variant.

Hi-gloss S2 E-type slinking through a tram superstop.

Nice rear, but for that light panel.

Another piece of blurrendipity. Mk V.

This XK150 was caught exiting a busy roundabout at dusk. With multiple sets of headlights behind and alongside, things were illuminated just right.

I came across this pair just outside Melbourne’s CBD and thought it provided an interesting contrast for the CCognoscenti. Then I noticed the two cars parked in front of the BMW…

The unbearable lightness of the instantaneous CC effect.

Last week’s Citroen C6 article by William Stopford reminded me of how much I loved that model’s rear lights. My very positive response was not unanimously shared, which has led to today’s QOTD: what are the best taillights ever? You can choose from any form of transportation, or even static display cars. Factory or aftermarket, old or new. Your choice may be based purely on aesthetics, or on how well they did their job.

Now my favourite taillights ever in the history of the world are the 1967/68 Glamorbird’s, and there are others that come to mind as well. But rather than bore you with more of my own opinion (no, I insist), I’m going to turn this question over to you – our very learned CCommentariat.

Further Reading:

Citroen BX

Mercedes SLC

Curbivore Brad spotted this in country Echuca and sent it to fellow curbivore jim, who sent it on to me. Those little numbers on the right tell us this is the mighty 6.9 litre V8 version of the Mercedes Benz 450 SEL, the superest of super saloons. It’s got ACT plates, which means it’s 350 km from home. And it’s on its way to Adelaide, which is another 570 km away. As the crow flies. And this is a round trip.

Jim know his 6.9s. He has one in DB 906 Grey Blue. This is the view from his sunroof.

He and Brad (himself owner of 300 SE Lang heckflossen – yep, more than one) think the silver car was once run by BHP, the mining conglomerate. It was apparently thrashed through the outback during its tenure.

Our gentleman had a brief chat with Brad, revealing that the car has done 500,000 km.
Jim’s not surprised, his has done 323,000 km and the head has never been off.

The 6.9 was launched in 1975, but we got it in 1978. Juan Manuel Fangio was in Australia that year to run a W196R GP car against Jack Brabham in his BT19. Before the race, some motoring journalists were taken for a spin in a 6.9. Peter Gavaghan of the Melbourne Sun;

‘The drive was a revelation as well as an exhilarating experience. As Fangio whisked me along it was impossible not to be infected by the passion for driving. There was never a moment’s anxiety. Fangio punted the heavy car in a display of skill and swift reflexes that belied his 67 years. He pushed the car around bends at substantially higher speeds than I would have done, but never once did he provoke a blink from any passengers.’

Numbers sold here via M-B; 1978 – 87, 1979 – 140, 1980 – 1. Our silver car is apparently a private import.

I used to do CC trips like this when I lived interstate, but now that I’m back in Melbourne the longest I’ve done in my W116 280 SE is about 400 km round. This car’s body is ideal for those extended drives; you can stretch out your legs thanks to its lowline profile, and the package is ergonomically untiring. Mine has that same darkened left-side rear light cluster, but it doesn’t have the autobahn-inhaling 6.9.

This gentleman is doing it in absolute style.

Further Reading

Paul on the 6.9

R&T on the 6.9

Stories are legion of the exploits involved in shooting the early Mad Max films. Many we all know, but a book called ‘Miller & Max‘ by journalist Luke Buckmaster sheds new light on the subject. The Guardian has published an extract highlighting the hair-raising approach taken by George Miller and his team for the shoestring-budget first film.

I’m not going to give you a precis of the extract, but I will say it is featured in the above scene, and involves a driver who can’t drive and a wayward rocket modelled on those found on navy destroyers. The story links here and is well worth the read.

It may be a Corvair summer over there in CC’s home states, but here in Melbourne it is freezing right now. However climate alone is not enough to inhibit the CC effect and case in point is the first Corvair I’ve ever seen on the road. Caught last week.

This shape is much fabled, due in no small part to one of the seminal articles that convinced me of the true eminence of Curbside Classic. I’ve seen an F-85 vert the from the same era on the roads here, and personally I prefer its approach to the basic shell – particularly at the front. But to repeat what has been expressed in many a CC piece, this is a superb example of styling brevity.

This one sits in the upper echelon of the Corvair hierarchy – that 900 tower and Monza triangle denote the top trim level. Though I am loath to shoot the interior of someone else’s car uninvited, the Standard Catalogue of American Cars lists bucket seats, cigarette lighter, back-up lights, deluxe steering wheel, glovebox light, full wheel covers, distinct badging and chromed rocker trim as standard. The lack of Spyder callouts means no turbocharging. 36,693 of these made their way out onto the roads back in model year 1963.

It proudly flaunts a Georgia plate, and whenever I see mention of that fair state my mind turns to the superb song by Hoagy Carmichael and Stuart Gorrell. I’ve got much cherished versions by Ray Charles and Willie Nelson, and I’m hoping some of y’all can point me to a version sung by a gal with a whole mess of ole timey flavor to it.

This is no trailer queen, and it’s probably not apt to describe it as a winter beater either. Its air-cooled engine will no doubt help starting during these colder days, but I figure that top will stay up for a few more months yet.

One thing’s for certain, driving this with the heater and radio on dreaming of sunny days ahead is a surefire way of beating the winter blues.

From The New York Times. Eels blamed.

Walking along with my head consumed by other things, I nearly missed this. A twin-turbo V6 500 bhp Jaguar XJ220, capable of an eponymous 220 miles per hour.

The XJ220 was an ambitious project developed by a team of Jaguar employees in their after hours, earning them the sobriquet ‘Saturday Night Club’. It was unveiled at the 1988 Birmingham Motor Show, arriving amidst a flurry of supersupercars kicked off by the Porsche 959, Ferrari 288 GTO and Honda NSX, and later joined by newcomers Bugatti EB110 and McLaren F1 (this last model probably the most complete expression of the sports car from that period, and in the opinion of this author, still yet to be surpassed).

The original concept was modified for production – the V12 replaced with a boosted V6 and the body shortened by 10 inches. Unfortunately, its arrival coincided with a global financial downturn and delivery of customer cars didn’t begin until 1991. From an initial 1400 orders, only 350 were produced.

I suspect this example is the one that resides in the Fox Collection. Given its location when photographed, it would appear to have been taken for a freeway squirt, and was in the process of coming out of the off-ramp and re-entering the freeway in the opposite direction.

It doesn’t really set my heart on fire, but I never thought I’d see one on the road.

The Fiat 130 Coupe is one of the most attractive cars ever built. It took an emerging aesthetic and set a benchmark never to be equalled. And it’s probably the single most influential thing in the history of the downsized B-body. There, I said it. So did Bill Mitchell.

An outgoing Mitchell discussing the incoming B-bodies with Motor Trend in 1977.

Ok, maybe I was overstating it a bit, but can you think of another model he cited for the B-car shape?

The Fiat 130 Coupe was originally on track to look like this.

In effect, the 130 Coupe was to replace the already gone 2300 Ghia Coupe. Though the 2300 two-door had been a mild success, this six-cylinder space was not Fiat’s forte. The Fiat Dino range had been stuck in a perceptual rut; no-one really wanted a Ferrari without the prancing horse adorning the badge, let alone one with Fiat written on it.

The 130 Coupe’s intial shape took reference from the Dino; a hippy low slung three box coupe with faceting introduced. Pininfarina had prepared some fixed head versions of their production spider, the short cabin coupe bottom left being the closest to the proposed 130 coupe’s shape.

The man responsible for the Fiat’s shape was Paolo Martin.

Martin had begun his styling career with peripatetic freelancer Giovanni Michelotti, learning to render in the master’s style before earning his own signature on the work. Bottom right is the Hino Contessa which saw production.

Martin then did some work for Bertone under Marcello Gandini. The young Gandini was in the process of culminating the immediate past with the Miura before ushering in the future with the Marzal.

One offshoot of the Marzal was the 1967 Fiat 125 Executive concept above – the ur-shape for the 130 Coupe.

In 1967  Martin arrived at Pininfarina. Some of his early work involved the highly influential BMC aerodynamic saloons. This concept had emanated from another recent Pininfarina recruit, Leonardo Fioravanti. While Fioravanti had been studying under Professor Fessia (of Lancia FWD fame), he had come to a streamlined solution for the four-door car. However Fioravanti was more of an engineer than a stylist, and required assistance with his concept.

In this case it was Martin’s hands intermediating.

Martin himself created Pininfarina’s showcar highpoint for the period – the Modulo.

This superb entry in the origami wars was one of the finest to demonstrate the use curvature with wedge. The arc describing the profile is pure circumference, but the section is masterfully positioned so as to create the forward dynamic. The wheel treatment stands out, particularly at the rear with the top flare adding crucial solidity to the form. The top-and-bottom shell with gap would make its way onto the Ferrari road cars.

The Modulo was Martin’s second best shape, marred only by a knock-kneed headlight treatment.

His third best shape would be the Lancia Beta Monte-Carlo, a nifty nugget in a handsome 2-box treatment that was first envisioned for Fiat.

It wasn’t all sunshine. The Pininfarina NSU Ro80 – yep, looks just like the drawing. He only has himself to blame for that one.

The Mercedes-Benz 6.3 Coupe commissioned by a private customer had more going for it. The proportions were right, but the surfaces were bland and the detailing off.

In 1968, a industrialist named James (now Lord) Hansen called on Pininfarina seeking a Bentley Continental. The car was for himself, however he also had plans to show it to Rolls-Royce with hopes of reinvigorating a much cherished but sadly lapsed model. Pininfarina agreed to the project at cost price, £14,000 – double that needed to get one’s hands on the very desirable Mulliner Park Ward Two-door Coupe (now Corniche).

Martin was assigned the task, grafting Pininfarina’s 365 GT 2+2 greenhouse over a crisper interpretation of John Blatchley’s Silver Shadow. It was not unattractive, but no match for Blatchley’s MPW two-door. Hansen’s proposal was declined.

In 1969 John Blatchley quietly yet abruptly left Rolls Royce, leaving a gaping hole. Eventually Fritz Feller would be brought in to take over styling, but in October of that year Rolls-Royce also approached Pininfarina for a two-door car.

Paolo Martin got the brief.

From what I can gather, the subsequent Fiat shape came to him at the same time as the Camargue’s did. He drew his revised Fiat coupe at the top of the drawing board while standing, and then sat down and did the Camargue on the same board underneath.

I can’t locate the Fiat drawings, and these are the earliest Camargue ones I could find so I’m assuming it paired with these.

You can see how the personality of the car changed. Where the first option was attractive and sporting, the second was more adroit and assured in its demeanour.

In the metal, it was sensational. A faultless symphony of clean planes and crisp edging with a scallop running along the shoulder line to meet a fold at the leading edge of the hood – an almost subliminal use of curves to give the shape more solidity. The over square headlights were commanding and distinctive, but for me the keystone element is the taillights.

For Fiat this was a big car. For the US, a compact – about the size of a 1960 Falcon.

Length: 190.63″, 4,842 mm. Width: 69.29″, 1,760 mm. Height: 54.33″, 1,380 mm.
Wheelbase: 107.09″, 2,720 mm. Track: 57.80″, 1468 mm. Weight: 3,528 lb, 1,600 kg.

The engine and drivetrain were made at Fiat, shipped to Pininfarina for body assembly, before returning to Fiat for finishing.

In 1972 the Coupe joined the 130 sedan in production. The four-door had been a house styling job, and in the words of one journalist looked like a 125 stretched two ways.

The sedan had commenced in 1969 with a 2.8 litre V6, but with the arrival of the Coupe this was enlarged to 3.2 litres. Aurelio Lampredi designed a completely new engine at the same time he was also developing the Dino V6. The Dino’s DOHC engine had to be modified from racing to road, but it would be too complex for the big Fiat sedan. So double-handling ensued and for a period of time people thought the 130’s engine was the same as that of the Dino.

The 130 received a SOHC arrangement and produced 165 bhp DIN. It was mated to a Borg Warner Model-35, though five Coupes made it to the road with a 5 speed manual.

The interior was nicely attended to, here’s one in my favourite colour and fabric – orange velour. The ergonomics were generally good, with a nice seating position and controls not too far away for a car from this period. The coupe received a different steering wheel to the sedan and standard were electric windows.

On the road, the bodies were too heavy for the engine. The car, independently sprung all round, drove reasonably well but wind noise at speed and lack of urge were serious shortcomings. Despite the gorgeous Fiat rasp from the exhaust, the engine was inadequate to the task.

The engine would eventually be enlarged to 3.5 litres, and inserted into a smaller 131 Coupe. The 031 Abarth put out 270 bhp and would go on to win the 1975 Giro d’Italia. But the engine was never used in the road cars.

One pleasing aspect of the 130 Coupe is that it looked like a Fiat. Maybe too much like a Fiat for some.

The origami wars were in full swing, dominating all the respectable automotive salons. Gandini and Giugiaro fought it out with beautifully-crafted razor thin sabres.

The house of Pininfarina had not distinguished itself during this period, the Modulo being its only real contender. There were some who murmured that the shape of the 130 Coupe was not the work of Pininfarina, that it had come from within Fiat.

It has been suggested Fiat stylist Pio Manzù created the final shape for the Coupe. He had recently come to the 127 hatchback before dying in a car accident. I have found the claim online that his drawings have subsequently disappeared, but in all honestly I don’t give this theory much credence.

Maybe Manzù did provide an alternative shape with a straight-through shoulderline, or maybe the idea was suggested to Martin by someone else, or maybe it was Martin’s idea alone.

However it got there, the final shape appears to be that of Paolo Martin.

Inside Pininfarina, there was much joy. The 130 Coupe had delivered a once-in-a-generation iconic 3-box for the carrozzeria. It followed in the tradition of the Lancia Florida, Battista Pininfarina’s personal favourite and a significant influence on the global scene.

It arrived within a flourish of similar coupes. The Peugeot 504 and Lancia Gamma each received handsome coupe bodies – both reflective of their respective marques, and both with the touch of Pininfarina. Neither as accomplished as the Fiat.

Comparisons with the 365 GT4 had the Fiat ahead. The Ferrari was rakish and attractive, but the plunging hood and chisel nose were out of keeping with the rest of the shape. It never seemed as cohesive as the Fiat.

The Coupe’s mastery is best demonstrated against the Pininfarina Peugoet 604, probably its closest related shape. Unfair perhaps but I’m using the four-door 130 Opera concept for comparison. The differences are minimal but worlds apart in execution.

It does go to a criticism made of the carrozzerie – that they peddle the same design over and over. To claim this is to not understand how the carrozzerie drew in business back then – a house style was the single most crucial marketing component.

But it was also one of the things that has led to the decline of the carrozzerie. The work they were themselves producing was becoming too generic.

When Rolls-Royce management saw the Fiat 130 Coupe, they were furious. While both shapes were conceived at the same time, Rolls-Royce didn’t get the Camargue into production until 1975. All they were able to do when they received the bodies was adjust spring rates to give the body more of a california rake. Apparently this change in stance helped the Camargue considerably.

Looking at Martin’s early sketch, it becomes clear the small things compounded as the shape transitioned to blueprint, and it changed the whole feel of the car. Given the opportunity this brief presented, the result was a disaster.

The Fiat 130 had defined a new idiom, a large 3-box two-door car with this spare, angled language. Frua tried to best it with their 130 proposal (top right), but no. Tom Tjaarda’s Lancia Marica from Ghia (middle left) is said to have been an influence. Its tapering ends certainly look more akin the first 130 coupe shape. The Momo Mirage (middle right) came in with nicely chiselled looks, but it was bony where the 130 Coupe was full-bodied. The Longchamp/Kyalami disasters were just that.

The 3-box short cabin was the prevailing shape amongst the prestige marques. The Corniche the most stately, the BMW the most dynamic, the Jaguar the most purely-bred and the Mercedes-Benz the most brutal (in a pedestrian-friendly kind of way). None was as good-looking as the 130 Coupe.

The prestige Japanese coupes were progressing well at this time. The 230 Cedric took the US idiom and shrank it perfectly, and the kujira Crown falls out of the scope of this critical review because it was a semi-fastback. Both Opel’s BMW-6-series-in-waiting Rekord and the Ford Granada had attractive coupes, although the Granada looked better in the fastback option.

For the next generation of Granada, Ford would take a closer look at the Fiat.

Only two other 3-box short cabins from this period really stand out for me after the Fiat.

The first was Giugiaro’s dynawedge Colt. Shaped for Mitsubishi without credit, it became his most satisfying 3-box four-door ever. And the coupe was just as sharp.

Giugiaro had taken Gandini’s 125 Executive language, and returned the compliment with superior prose. Though the shape of the production Colt is more homogenised than the 125 showcar, it is also an improvement. Despite its diminutive size and lack of recognition, a standout from the time.

The other standout was Joe Herlitz’s 1971 Plymouth Satellite Sebring.

Coming in towards the end of Mopar’s glorious fuselage period, it was one of the finest shapes to emerge from the US. It shared a hollowed extrusion aesthetic with the Fiat, but where the Fiat was square section, the Sebring used curves. So very, very well.

There are lessons in this shape for today. Herlitz’s sparing (but masterful) use of body flare should be noted by the instigators of the insane flamewars currently blighting the automotive surfacing scene.

For the most part, though, the personal coupe in the US was either Bunkie’s beak or Iacocca’s snout. Or sometimes together like with the Grand Prix.

Then came the colonnades and baskethandles…

The 1971 B-bodies had been the largest in GM history. They started very attractively, but by 1974 they were piling on the crustiness with too much bro-ham. While everyone seemed to bounce back from the oil crisis, wiser heads were starting to prevail.

By day GM was adding the gingerbread to the production cars, but by night they were working to another agenda entirely. Whatever authority Mitchell had on the downsized generation, it was not him alone pursuing this new spare language. These magnificent renderings didn’t look exactly like the 130, but then again nor did the 1963 Buick Riviera actually look like a Rolls Royce in the fog.

The influence is obvious, but the Chevrolet shape’s progression towards it’s own thing is quite dynamic.

Some of Pininfarina’s post-130 shapes were following in a similar vein, such as this proposal for the V12 Jaguar. As with the 130/604 comparison earlier, putting this against the above B-body sketches and below clay leaves this shape a distant second.

It’s a shame Chevrolet didn’t keep the thin rear pillars – they were an attractive point of difference against the 130’s thicker set, and they framed the greenhouse well. Instead we got this.

And these.

The Buick LeSabre was the best-looking of the coupes. But it was still fussy at the front.

The Impala sedan was the best-looking of them all. Less trim, cleaner fender edges, better greenhouse. The base model outshone everything above it.

The 130 Coupe never made it to the United States, surprising given how lucrative the market was, and how well-suited it was in theory. Fiat did have plans for that territory, a US-focused fastback body was in the works before the oil crisis put it on hold. And then the failure of the 130 series cancelled it.

Less than 4,500 Coupes came off the line. Pininfarina had hoped the Opera might be taken up for production to replace the four door, but despite the plaudits Fiat demurred. The Maremma shooting-break never had a chance.

Fiat had over-reached and missed completely. The body may have been something extraordinary, but the rest of the car was just ordinary. Against the competition at this level, good looks aren’t enough.

We got these in Australia and I remember them since early childhood. I’ve seen a handful on the road recently, one I remember in particular being driven by a very attractive woman because it was black. Never seen one in black before. Red ones neither. Until this one.

Part of me want to get it off the road, and the other wants to just leave it alone. Restoring it is probably beyond the owner’s capacity, or the body’s condition. Let it sit there and catch its owner’s eye, so that they might bask in the memory of its magnificence.

I owned a Fiat 130 Coupe once. But that’s a COAL for another time.

Further reading:

Fiat130.nl – a great online resource for the Fiat 130 Coupe

Motor Trend article on the B-bodies

Fiat 130 Maremma

Rolls-Royce Camargue

Lancia Florida

I came across this W140 a little while back and thought to myself; wow – a late model MB and its already been trashed. Then I took a hold of my senses and realised this car is probably more than twenty years old. It was launched in 1991, around the time I started owning cars, and back then my desired rides were only twenty years old themselves.

So now the cars I love to own are getting on to 50 years old, and the challenges facing ownership of such wonders have compounded. CC is a pretty unique environment; both contributors and commenters are brought together by an absolute devotion to classic cars (et al.), but the rose-coloured glasses are easily removed in discussion. There’s really no place for a rigid adherence to fetishism here – which I think goes to the foresight and broadmindedness of our host as we sit on his porch for a chat. We may not always agree with each other, but damn the conversation here is good. As for getting old, what’s past is prologue.

Shame to see this car as it is today. I wonder if it will ever be returned to its former glory.

When I took this photo, I was struck by how the juxtaposition reminded me of the classic evolution-of-man image. It is interesting that a 60 year old shape (and counting) could sit so comfortably between these two modern examples, appearing almost as a missing link. Just like the word ‘unchronological’, there’s something illogical about this succession that still seems to make sense.

Last year I missed Melbourne MotorClassica due to a family emergency, so this year was more of an ad-hoc arrangement. I joined Jim and Brad (the Waldorf and Statler of the Mercedes-Benz community here in Melbourne) as well as Chris (jet pilot and proud owner of an Australian Morris Major), and we made our way slowly through the vast array. Apologies in advance for some slightly blurred shots; I hope the content will be enough to overlook those shortcomings.

First up is a first-in-the-flesh for me. A 1971 Monteverdi 375L High Speed.

One of only 66 made apparently, but to be honest the information I’ve been able to gather on these is sparse and contradictory (plus my shot of the information card is too blurred to read) so I’ll just wing it.

Peter Monteverdi was a Swiss racecar builder and Ferrari importer. The Commendatore pulled his franchise after Monteverdi refused to prepay for 100 cars, and this marque was the result.

The story is jumbled; he asked Frua to shape the first models then shifted production to Carrozzeria Fissore – who I believe created the shape for this 2+2 from the shorter Frua-based predecessors.

This has been one of my dream cars since forever. Dinky made a toy one in cherry red which might be where I first saw it, although I never had the privilege of owning even that prestigious small-scale version.

The car’s shape can be a bit awkward in the detailing, but overall it has to be one of the most handsome cars of this configuration. Its best angle is pure profile, but I wasn’t able to get that shot here.

Under the hood is a Chrysler 440 ‘Magnum’ with a brochure-quoted output of 375 bhp (SAE). I’ll let the CCognoscenti parse this out. This RHD-from-new example has been in Australia since 1972.

Stunning to finally meet one, but not the car of the show for me.

The 1969 Holden Hurricane.

Probably the first serious attempt at a concept car in Australian. I believe it was styled by a US team, but the work was done here in a super-secret area closed off from the rest of the GM-H staff.

It housed the 253 cu in V8 – Holden’s first Australian-designed V8 which was closely followed by the closely related 308 version. The Hurricane was apparently built to demonstrate Holden’s capability in the aerospace field, but to be honest I think it was more a proudly parochial showcase for the introduction of the homegrown 253.

Sitting alongside the Hurricane is one of the great what-ifs of the Australian motoring scene – the 1970 Holden GTR-X. If there is any car mythologised within the GM-H culture, it’s this one.

Unlike the Hurricane, the fibreglass-bodied GTR-X was conceived and built for production. Its body language may be pure GM showcar, but its every detail was prepared for the street.

It was based on the six-cylinder Torana – seen here in first gen LC guise. This Torana GTR carried the 161 or 173 cu in six-cylinder in ‘S’ form (with two-barrel Stromberg carburettors).

A hotter version called the GTR-XU1 featured the 186S six and became the front-line Holden on the track, as well as the basis for the GTR-X sports car.

The GTR-X was a homegrown styling job; Phil Zmood and Peter Nankervis carrying the honours on this shape. Those rear lights remind anyone of the Maserati’s recent(ish) boomerangs?

Overall the shape anticipates another Maserati, the 1974 Khamsin.

Production ambitions for the GTR-X were killed at the eleventh hour for a number of reasons, and this is a story that deserves more exposure on CC. If I ever find the time (hint, hint anyone else who want to cover it).

There were three themes for this year’s MotorClassica.

Holden, during its final year of manufacturing here in Australia, was allotted a large space within the hall.

As was Ferrari. I’ve covered some of these before but I’m going to rush you past three favourites…

288 GTO

365 GTC/4

250 GT/Lusso. In truth, the most beautiful car ever in the history of everything.

But we have seen this one here before, so I am going to set it aside to let others have their day in the sun.

Like this Ferrari 195 EL. I’ve never heard of the EL designation but that’s what its display card calls it, so again I defer to the CCognoscenti for more information – perhaps a variation of the ‘Export’ label used for some of these cars at the time.

Unfortunately, the reflection completely distracts from the beauty of this shape in the only front angle photograph I took.

Ahhh… that’s better. This 1951 example was styled by Michelotti and built by Swiss firm Ghia-Aigle. ‘195’ refers to the capacity of a single cylinder in cubic centimetres – for a V12 these engines were surprisingly small. So are the cars. This shape reminds me of another diminutive gem, the Moretti 750, both being short-cabin coupes with masterfully simple coachwork.

Close, but not car of the show yet.

The third marque featured was Lancia. This particular example of the Flaminia 4-door saloon belonged to one of Australia’s former Prime Ministers, Malcolm Fraser – who passed not so long ago.

I met him once and had a quick conversation about his Lancias, and this encounter led to my sending him links to CC stories for summer and winter reading. I’m not sure how many he actually read but I think its safe to count him amongst the CCognoscenti.

Malcom Fraser was well-born, and of country stock. He no doubt developed his driving skills on the looser surfaces of our pastoral regions, and had the wherewithal to indulge in some rarified machinery. During his university days, that included a Flaminia Zagato (in orange I’m told).

As fellow Flaminia Zagato owner Marcello Mastroianni once described it, this lightweight model made between 1962 and 63 was about the closest thing you could have to a Ferrari without actually having a Ferrari.

This particular 2.5 litre example has extraordinary provenance itself. It was imported to Australia in 1969 and not registered for the next 40 years, instead being kept in drystore on blocks. In 2008 it was treated to new tyres, paint and chrome – but apart from that it is completely original with only 36,153 kms on the clock.

A wonderful entrant, but still not car of the show for me.

This is car of the show – a 1947 Lancia Aprilia Spyder Grand Sport Ghia.

The Aprilia sat around the middle of the Lancia range and was built between 1937 and 1949.

The engines were either 1352 or 1486 cc V4 engines. Yep, a production V4 way back when. Add to the mix this aerodynamic monocoque sedan shape and you can see how this marque had earned a reputation for engineering excellence.

The Ghia Spyder was shaped by Mario Boano. Given the unibody origins of its donor, it received a tubular chassis around which was wrapped this unobtrusive but entirely captivating skin.

This is the best image I took of this car, and yet it hardly does it justice.

My lack of objectivity was compounded when I met its owner, Brian Hawke

MotorClassica is filled with literally the finest classic automobiles in the country. If you want to meet the owners, you really need to buy a VIP ticket at three times the price, and attempt to find them amongst the canapés in the roped-off sections. If they have deigned to attend at all, that is.

Brian was standing next to the car out on the floor, and he indulged me in a half an hour of the most fantastic and free-flowing conversation. He restored it for a doctor back in 1985 and it became his when the opportunity arose in 1992. He does not hold back in driving it when he can.

His joy of ownership was infectious; not the youngest of men he came across as a child sharing his best toys with all the others in the park. There was no pause in his enthusiasm as he took me through details such as the bodybuild plate, chassis framework, the hood hidden behind the seatback and even that lovely grate used for the glove compartment.

It is the first of three built in the series. As Brian understands it, this was the shape that inspired Donald Healey’s most enduring creation. I’m no fan of the Austin-Healey and, though I can see the similarities, this car is so beguilingly subtle where the A-H is a thuggish bruiser.

This isn’t the world’s most influential shape, nor the most demonstrative.

But it has lingered in my mind long after the show has packed up and all its beauties dispersed.