Gran Turismo

And on the seventh day, God and John Z. DeLorean created the GTO. Is it blasphemous to compare a mere automobile with a religious experience? I suggest that you reserve your judgment until after you have driven one.

We've all heard the stories of the clandestine activities that brought about the Pontiac GTO for 1964. Without treading over old ground, let's just say that John Z. DeLorean, Elliot M. "Pete" Estes, Russ Gee and Bill Collins were instrumental in creating the GTO. Then came Jim Wangers, who was responsible for creating an image so ethereal that the actual car was in danger of falling short of its own hype.

Case in point: The fabled 1964 GTO vs. Ferrari GTO Car and Driver road test where two prepared Pontiacs were driven to Daytona for a winter workout, which resulted in the most fantastic numbers ever produced by a muscle car in print. The reason is two-fold. First, Car and Driver in its infancy was testing with stop watches. There was plenty of room for human error, and looking back, you can see that human error certainly did exist in these testing procedures. Second, both GTOs were ringers that had 421 engines installed prior to the trip south. It took Jim Wangers 35 years to admit the truth about these cars. Jack "Doc" Watson of Hurst Performance fame however, made this statement in a 1994 interview in MuscleCars magazine regarding the GTO that was actually featured in the pages of Car and Driver. "That car had a 421 in it, not a 389, and if anyone tells you different, they are full of hot air!" Needless to say, the test figures of 13.1 seconds @115 mph in the quarter and 0-100 in 11.8 seconds published in the March 1964 edition generated unbridled praise from Joe Average and threw the purists into convulsions. It also put Car and Driver on the map as "every man's" car magazine.

Then there was the name itself, GTO: Gran Turismo Omologato. For those who haven't brushed up on their Italian of late, it means homologated for grand touring-read racing. Ferrari built a GTO in 1962 and did just what the name implied. Pontiac adopted the name but never intended to build a race car or have it homologated as such. Here was another bone of contention among the purist ranks. Some were so infuriated by Pontiac's breach of good taste that they refused to test the car. But here is the twist: They then wrote a story about refusing to test the car. The January 1964 edition of Motor Sports Illustrated published the MSI Non-Road Test of a Pontiac GTO. The writer lambasted Pontiac for having the audacity to stuff a small car with a big engine and refuse to upgrade the brakes and suspension to adequately harness the newfound power. Even the frame came under scrutiny. "The frame is so flexible that one member of the staff had to be convinced that it actually had a frame and wasn't dependent on the chrome to hold it together," said the author. Most other road tests were very favorable however, and the GTO seemed to be off to a great if somewhat questionable start.

How was the 1965 model with a modest face-lift supposed to live up to the hype and the sea of controversy surrounding the 1964 model? Pontiac's only avenue was to make the GTO better, and they did, both visually and functionally.

Adopting vertically stacked headlights and a single central hood scoop with dual outlets that mimicked the split grille theme instantly modernized the look of Pontiac's intermediate A-body. If you recall, the 1963 line of Pontiac big cars had debuted with stacked headlamps. When the all-new '64 A-body (Tempest, LeMans, GTO) was introduced, it shared a kinship more with Pontiac's '62 models than with the '64s, making it look two years old on the showroom floor. For 1965 however, the fresh face was contemporary with the big cars, and the new rear, which perpetuated the disappearing taillight theme set forth the year before, remained very stylish for the times.

The upgrades to the '65 model were more than skin deep however, as the interior was redesigned with a new pattern on the seats and a wood grain appliqué on the gauge panel. A Rally gauge package was offered with an integrated tach replacing the small afterthought tach of the previous year, and the cluster included actual gauges for water temperature and oil pressure.

Beneath the pretty visage, the frame received an enhancement. The rear crossmember was now welded instead of riveted into place. A fully boxed (meaning the side rails were closed with an added piece of steel welded in, as opposed to the stock hardtop frame, which consisted of a open C-section for the side rails) convertible frame could be ordered for roofed models under the HD frame option.

There was some improvement in the braking department with the introduction of optional aluminum front drums, which dissipated heat faster. It is rumored that DeLorean attempted to get disc brakes for the '65 but was shot down for cost concerns. He also tried to adapt the Kelsey Hayes Eight-Lug wheels from the big car but ran into the same gaggle of bean counters.

Rally I wheels were introduced in 1965 and were a welcome addition in the looks and safety department. At the time, many aftermarket mag wheels were borderline at best when it came to concentricity and reliability during spirited driving. With this in mind, Pontiac offered a steel wheel painted silver with six cooling slots to cool the brakes and reduce fade. For added glitz, a stainless center cap, chrome lug nuts and bright trim rings were installed.

Under the hood, the GTO's 389-cubic-inch V-8 engine was borrowed from the bigger Bonneville, Catalina, and Grand Prix. But in GTO trim, the only difference was that it employed larger cylinder heads that came from the more powerful 421 HO V-8 with its larger and more efficient 1.92 intake/1.66 exhaust valves installed. Compression ratio was set at 10.75:1 by Pontiac. In actuality it was more like 10.25:1. Also revised was the top-end oiling system, which now used pressurized oil from the lifters, delivered through hollow push rods to lubricate and cool the rockers and valve springs. Chrome covers, breather, and air cleaners were also part of the package.

The optional Tri-Power engine received a new camshaft measuring 288°/302° duration with .406/.408 lift. This same profile would turn up in Pontiac engines from the 400 HOs of the 1967-68 period to the Ram Air III engine in 1969-70, and finally in the 455 HOs of 1971-72. Talk about a versatile camshaft.

A 273°/289° duration cam remained in the standard four-barrel engine, as did the single Carter four-barrel carburetor to mount on a new intake manifold. Rated horsepower was increased to 335 for the four-barrel and 360-horsepower for the Tri-Power version.

Refinements were also made to the Tri-Power carburetion in '65, as new mechanical linkage was installed on the four-speed models for a smoother transition when opening the end carbs. With the faux hood scoop now placed directly over the carburetor, it was only a matter of time before someone said, "Hey, why don't we open up those holes and get some cold air to the carbs?" Late in the selling season, Pontiac offered a dealer-installed Ram Air kit, which included a metal pan that mounted on the carbs with a foam rubber gasket to seal it to the hood and a new scoop ornament to be opened by the owner. Original metal Ram Air setups are highly sought after by collectors today, costing over $1,000 in some cases. Reproduction pans are now produced in fiberglass.

Was all of this ram air stuff worth it? Well, it depends on whom you talk to. Some say that a two-tenths reduction in quarter mile times could be had with the scoops open. Others argued that the scoops were placed too low and too far back on the hood and therefore suffered the effects of the boundary layer, which is an area of turbulent air that exists up to one-and-a-half inches above the hood's surface. Either way, it wowed 'em at the drive-in and made the intake roar just that much louder.

The 1965 GTO changed the way teenagers viewed the American automobile. It rode on the momentum of the '64 model, while offering a more refined and handsome package for the consumer. By the end of the 1965 selling season, 75,352 tigers were sold, substantially more than the tally for the abbreviated 1964 run of 32,450. Did I say tiger? That's right, the GTO's ad team pounced on the tiger theme that was moving into popular culture with the prodding of US Royal tire company, which had changed the name of their standard GTO red lines to Tiger Paws. The theme was a match made in heaven for the GTO and US Royal. And the publicity machine did not stop there, as cologne, cuff links, recordings and contests ensured that citizens from every walk of life, from the kids on the grammar school playground to the seniors feeding the ducks in the park, knew what a GTO was and who produced it. Few other automobiles in history have caused this much excitement.

Sure the GTO is great to ogle at the car shows, but what is it like to slide behind the wheel and pilot one down the highway?

Once I was firmly buckled into what Pontiac called a bucket seat, a twist of the key at the far left of the dash brought the tri-carb beast to life. The chrome shifter that juts from the floor garners instant respect because it's a race-car piece straight from George Hurst, and it's standard on every four-speed-equipped GTO of the day. Its white knob, replete with engraved shift pattern, fell easily to hand as the clutch pedal was depressed to engage first gear. Then I brought the revs up to three-grand and dropped the clutch! The shifter jumped because the engine's torque was fighting its rubber damped mounts, and white smoke wafted into the cockpit and tugged at the back of my throat as the OE spec tires, while screaming in protest, were incinerated in the wheelwells. Not to worry, that is their job. Today we choose tires for tread wear ratings, short stopping distances and wet pavement handling. For the GTO in '65, the prerequisite was for lots of smoke on demand and red line Tiger Paws fit the bill nicely.

After an eternity, the skins finally composed themselves and grabbed the asphalt with a lurch. The arrowhead that is molded into the bucket seat back tattooed me between the shoulder blades. My neck snapped, the scenery became a blur, and the revs rose at an alarming rate. From under the hood came a wail matched by no other as the intake roar of three inhaling Rochesters filled my ears.

Nearing the tach's red line, a glancing stab at the clutch pedal with the left foot, timed in perfect harmony with a yank of the chrome stick, and first gear became second without the accelerator pedal ever leaving the plush loop pile carpet. The two-three shift got the same treatment, the three-four came just as easy, and with the speedo approaching the bail money side of the dial, it's time to back out of it.

Call it what you want: "Speed Shifting/Flat Shifting/Power Shifting." Any way you slice it, once mastered, you have completed a rite of passage into manhood and attained a gear-head high that can't be eclipsed by any pill or beverage. Any stick GTO provides a perfect practice field.

At highway cruise speed, the shifter ball vibrated in my right hand, massaging my palm as the whine of the M20 four-speed gearbox seeped into the cockpit along with just enough heat from the transmission tunnel to keep my right calf warm. The slight scent of raw fuel, mixed with that of burned oil from the four-bolt valve covers, entered the cabin from the cracked vent window.

Glancing through the windshield, my eyes fell upon the bulging hood scoop, an ever-present reminder that I was driving the hottest Pontiac on the planet. The seating position is nearly perfect for my five-foot, seven-inch frame, and the steering wheel position is comfortable for cruising.

The adrenaline began to pump once more as I dipped into the throttle to blow off slower traffic. Had this been an automatic-equipped GTO, the experience would have been entirely different as my foot headed towards the floor. At a certain point in the throttle travel known only to a sequestered white coat clad engineer and a vacuum canister located on the carburetor linkage, both end carbs would flop open simultaneously and all hell would break loose. With this vacuum-actuated linkage, the segue from part throttle to full throttle was non-existent and would scare the hell out of the uninitiated. Mechanical linkage, which was installed on the four-speed cars, was a different story entirely. The driver is in complete control, and you can even feel a step in the travel as the accelerator is depressed, which clearly marks the boundary between two-barrel cruising and six-barrel mayhem.

Speaking of segues and non-existent, then came the brakes. The 9.5-inch drums were judged barely adequate for the six-cylinder Tempest, which weighed 200-plus pounds less than the GTO. On the road, anything less than the optional metallic linings or aluminum drums with organic shoes produced rapid fade in most any sustained braking situation.

To gauge its road-holding performance, a tight set of curves afforded the chance to feel out the Poncho's handling prowess. Entering a corner, we were met with stubborn understeer and enough body roll to shoot sparks off the rocker panels, so I fed it some throttle to kick the tail out. "Too much!" I corrected to avoid terminal oversteer. Handling a 3,600-pound Pontiac at speed on a twisting road is a real challenge: It has spring rates softer than a new Lincoln, no rear anti-roll bar, and a 24:1 steering ratio with 4.5 turns lock to lock. My left hip was jammed into the driver's door armrest, thanks to the utter disappearance of lateral support in the "bucket" (a gross overstatement) seat. If I can do it I am the hero of the day; if not I'm just another overzealous throttle jockey who got in too deep and wrecked a GTO. How did it turn out? Well, I'm still here to tell the story, so it couldn't have been too catastrophic.