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Designing, building, and marketing new cars is expensive, even for the largest automakers. If they're strapped for cash (e.g., the British car industry in the seventies) or overcome by hubris (e.g., General Motors), it's tempting to share platforms between models, or even slap some new and a new badge on an existing model and passing it off as a new product for a different division -- a technique called badge engineering. As confusing and potentially alienating badge engineering can be for consumers, imagine how the people at their divisions feel when they're handed an existing product and told to make something new and different out of it. Such was the case with Pontiac's "pony car," the Pontiac Firebird.
It's the spring of 1966, and you are John Z. DeLorean, recently minted General Manager of GM's Pontiac Motor Division. You came to work for Pontiac in 1956 under Semon "Bunkie" Knudsen, helping him transform the staid Pontiac lineup into GM's performance leader. Shepherded by Bunkie and his successor, your old boss Pete Estes, Pontiac trounced upstart AMC/Rambler and stalwart Plymouth to seize the coveted number-three slot in U.S. sales, right behind Ford and Chevrolet. Now Pete Estes has moved on to become the general manager of Chevrolet, and you're running Pontiac -- the youngest man in GM history to hold such a position.
Make no mistake -- Pontiac's success is built on boldness and an aura of sporty performance. Senior management hates it, the European-oriented car magazines call it hokum, but it works. The GTO, the big-engined Tempest you and Bill Collins cooked up, has sold far better than the bean counters dreamed possible, and become the hot car for America's burgeoning youth culture. You even scored a minor coup by giving it a standard Hurst shifter, a status symbol among the hot-rodding elite. The kids are car crazy, and Pontiac is In.
You know, however, that Pontiac's position is dangerously ephemeral. You've been out of real racing for more than three years, on the direct orders of conservative GM president Frederic Donner. The GTO is doing well, but practically every time you come up with a new way to promote it, you get an angry call from chairman Jim Roche's office, telling you to tone it down. Now, the other divisions are jumping on the GTO bandwagon with their own big-engined A-bodies -- Oldsmobile's Cutlass 4-4-2, the Chevy Chevelle SS396, and even Buick's Skylark Gran Sport -- and Ford and Chrysler are getting into the act, too. Engine-wise, you know you don't have anything to compete with Chrysler's newly revived Hemi, which means that the GTO is in danger of being left behind when it comes to raw performance. You still have the Grand Prix, Pontiac's riposte to Ford's posh Thunderbird, but it's too expensive for the kids, and in spite of (or maybe because of) the usual longer-lower-wider restyling, it's started bleeding sales alarmingly.
What you figure Pontiac really needs is a sporty image leader -- not just a midsize car with a big engine, but an actual two-seat sports car. You had the styling team cook up a slick, fiberglass-bodied coupe, the XP-833, and showed it off at auto shows as the Banshee. You made a strong case for putting it into production, but the Engineering Policy Group up on the 14th Floor said no, figuring it would just compete with the Corvette Sting Ray. The Sting Ray has yet to break 30,000 sales a year, and upper management honestly doesn't understand who's buying them, or why. Why would they want to build another one?
Now you have a new problem: the Mustang. When word of the Mustang first got out, GM didn't take it seriously, figuring it was just another dressed-up Falcon, like the Falcon Sprint, which had already bombed. By the time the dust settled, the Mustang had sold more than half a million units, and it's about to top the one-million mark. Those are serious numbers, and worse, they're hitting the same youth market that you tapped with the GTO. The Mustang has already killed the Corvair, and it has the guys at Chevrolet in a panic, trying to come up with some kind of competitor.
Chevy's solution is a new sporty car called the Panther, using a modified version of the semi-unitized platform from the next-generation Chevy II/Nova. Known internally as the F-body, it's slated to debut in the fall of '66 as a 1967 model.
Now it's May 1966 and your boss, executive VP Ed Cole, is telling you to make a Pontiac out of the Camaro, which what they're now calling Chevy's F-body sporty car. At first, it had seemed like they weren't even going to give you that much, since fighting Ford was supposed to be Chevy's job. But now they've heard that Mercury is coming out with an upscale version of the Mustang called Cougar, and they want you to head it off.
The Firebird's kinship with the contemporary Camaro is immediately clear -- they share the same bodies and the same 108.1-inch (2,746-mm) wheelbase. Firebirds are slightly longer and a little heavier, thanks in part to Pontiac's V8, which weighs more than a comparable Chevy engine. A coupe like this weighs around 3,500 pounds (1,587 kg); the heaviest combination, a 400 convertible with air, weighed close to 3,900 lb (1,760 kg).
You're not exactly overjoyed. If you were to design a sporty car from scratch, the F-body would not be it. It's the first GM platform designed using computers, but somebody must've stacked the punch cards in the wrong order, because it has a couple of serious flaws. The most significant is the rear suspension: it's a simple Hotchkiss set-up, with a live axle carried on parallel leaf springs, but the computer claimed that it could get along fine with the Chevy II's single-leaf springs, which the marketing people call "Monoplate." The bean counters love the Monoplate springs, because they're simple, lightweight, and cheap. The problem is that a Hotchkiss-drive car uses its rear springs to locate the axle, as well as suspending the rear end, and the single leaf spring, with its uniform spring rate, has trouble keeping the axle under control under hard acceleration or braking. Getting decent handling or performance out of the F-body is going to be tough.
As if that weren't handicap enough, you've got barely over six months to try to make a Pontiac out of the thing. In automotive terms, that's like handing a guy an assignment at 4:30 in the afternoon and telling him you want it by the end of the day; the usual lead time is at least two years. Still, you know this probably the only sporty car you're going to get, so you'd better make the best of it.
With this nose, the Firebird is 188.8 inches (4,795 mm) long, compared to 184.6 inches (4,689 mm) for the '67 Camaro.
First, you have to do something about the styling, so you tell chief Pontiac designer Jack Humbert and his team to get to work on a quick facelift. Humbert is like you -- young, hip, fashion-conscious. He and his designers don't have time for any major sheet metal alterations, so it all has to come down to tinsel changes. They add a new pointed bumper/grille combination, a distinctive, beak-like protuberance that adds about 4 inches (100 mm) to the nose. Combined with dual-quad headlights, the front at least looks different from the Camaro. In the rear, a set of slotted tail lamp covers like the ones on the '66-'67 GTO add a nice bit of family identity. There's not much to be done about the sides, but some chrome hash marks over the rear fenders provides a little visual relief. A close examination still immediately reveals the car's kinship with its Chevy sibling, but at least it looks like a Pontiac.
Slatted taillights are a styling feature shared with the contemporary GTO. With the sloping tail, trunk space is not a key Firebird attribute; much of the rear compartment is occupied by the spare tire.
Fortunately, GM management still hasn't yet figured out that it would be cheaper to have a few shared, corporate engines; with a couple of notable exceptions, each division still makes its own. In your case, that means the sturdy and dependable Pontiac V8 introduced back in 1955, for which you've developed a good range of performance parts. You also have that new-for-'66 six, a 230-cu. in. (3.8 L) job, with a real novelty for an American engine, a single overhead camshaft driven by a rubber timing belt. You also have a high-po, Sprint version of the "cammer," used in the '66 Tempest Sprint, making 215 gross hp (160 kW) with a four-barrel carb. It's a natural for the Firebird, as a flyweight complement to the heavy V8s.
The numbers on the hood of this car say "350," but the 350 cu. in. (5.7 L) engine was not offered until 1968. Unlike Chevy, which had small-block and big-block engines, the Pontiac 326 (5.4 L), 350 (5.7 L), and 400 (6.6 L) V8s were substantially the same engine, differing in bore, stroke, and state of tune. Since this car lacks H.O. badges, if it's really a '68 it probably has the $105.60 350-2V, rated 265 gross hp (198 kW) and good for 0-60 mph (0-97 kph) in about 10 seconds. The equivalent '67 engine was the $95.04 326-2V, with 255 gross hp (190 kW).
Standard Firebird dash had only a speedometer and a fuel gauge -- full gauges or a tachometer were extra-cost options. So, too, was the console, although bucket seats were standard equipment. The console shifter is for the two-speed automatic.
You figure the real business will be in the 400 (6.6L) V8, the newly enlarged version of the 389 (6.3L) engine that's been powering GTOs and Bonnevilles throughout the decade. With 200 pounds (90 kg) less weight than a GTO, it should be a natural. Unfortunately, just when you think that's settled, the corporation slams on the brakes, saying that the F-bodies have to be limited to 350 cubic inches (5.7 L). That would make your car's top engine option the 285-hp (213-kW) 326 (5.4 L) V8, which isn't enough to for serious dragstrip work. Once again, the brass is trying to cut you off at the knees.
Top engine option in 1967 and 1968 was the Ram Air 400. In '67 it was a very rare, very expensive option -- around $600. On paper, its only effect was to raise the horsepower peak from 4,800 to 5,200 rpm, with no actual increase in the 325 gross horsepower rating (242 kW). This was what we may delicately call a fib -- the identical engine in a '67 Pontiac GTO was itself somewhat underrated at 360 gross horsepower (269 kW). Only 65 Firebirds were sold with Ram Air; this may or may not be an original car.
At first, it seems like Chevy will be in the same boat, limiting the Camaro to the new 295-hp (220-kW) 350 (5.7 L), but then Pete Estes hears that Ford is about to offer their big-block 390 (6.4 L) in the Mustang. He pulls some strings, and gets permission to add the Chevy's big-block 396 (6.4 L) Turbojet V8 as the top Camaro option. You cry foul, and the Executive Committee finally, reluctantly agrees to authorize the 400 c.u. in. (6.6 L) engine for the Camaro's Pontiac sibling. But there's a catch, literally. GM has a new policy that no passenger passenger car other than the Corvette will have more than one rated horsepower per 10 pounds of shipping weight, so the same 400 cu. in. engine that makes 360 gross hp (269 kW) in the GTO is limited to a nominal 325 hp (242 kW) in the F-body, thanks to a metal tab on the throttle linkage that prevents it from opening all the way. No matter; you'll make sure it's conveniently missing from all the press cars, and you wouldn't be surprised if owners do the same with their own rides.
With the cammer, the 326, and the 400, your F-body sounds like a Pontiac and runs like a Pontiac, so the next order of business is the suspension. The easiest, quickest fix for the hapless rear springs is to add a pair of adjustable radius rods (popularly called traction bars, more properly known as trailing links) to the rear suspension with all of the high-powered engine options, reducing axle hop on hard launches. Only the most charitable critics would say the traction bars eliminate the hop, but they help. A few changes to spring rates and shock damping and the car rides like a Pontiac, too. Sure, there's not much suspension travel, and the ride gets skittish and jittery on rough pavement, but the Mustang is guilty of that, too, and it doesn't seem to have hurt its popularity.
Unlike the rival Mustang, the Camaro and Firebird were offered in only two body styles, hardtop and convertible. The Mustang also offered a fastback, but the hardtop outsold it by a significant margin.
The semi-unitized F-body lost a great deal of rigidity in convertible form, leading to the addition of four 35-pound (16-kg), oil-filled dampers in the corners of the body to reduce vibration. The result is that a convertible Camaro or Firebird is significantly heavier than a comparable hardtop.
You have one last ace in the hole: the options list. What made Pontiac a lot of money, even in the dark days before Bunkie, was that you could customize your Pontiac with every optional gewgaw known to man. That's no longer a unique idea, as witnessed by the lengthy option list for the Mustang, but Pontiac still does it like nobody else. Your base hardtop model will go on sale with a price of $2,666, but adding every conceivable non-conflicting option can push that to more than $4,500, making it a very profitable item. And you have a few eye-catching gimmicks the others don't, like a hood-mounted tachometer.
There's one remaining hitch: what to call the car. At first you figure you'll call it Banshee, after the XP-833 show car, and why not? It sounds menacing, and menacing is exactly what you want in a sporty car. Then some spoilsport at the ad agency looks it up and sees that according to legend, the banshee's wail signifies the imminent death of a family member. The skittish gentlemen on the 14th floor don't like the sound of that, so the name is unceremoniously axed. After a bit of ferocious brainstorming, you end up with the name Firebird, borrowed from a series of turbine-powered GM show cars from the early fifties.
Despite strong engines, a major detriment to first-gen Firebird performance was the fact that if you wanted automatic with the lesser engines, you were stuck with the two-speed Powerglide; the vastly superior three-speed Turbo Hydramatic was restricted to the big 400 cu. in. (6.6 L) engine. By comparison, any Mustang or Barracuda, even a six, could have a three-speed automatic, giving them better all-around performance.
The Firebird goes on sale in February of 1967, about six months after its Chevy sibling. Despite the late arrival and a $58 higher base price tag, it manages to move 82,565 units, against 220,906 Camaros. Ed Cole is pleased, and so are you.
The new Firebirds aren't the two-seat sports car you wanted, but they have formidable performance, at least with the right engine. The base six with automatic is pretty slow, of course, but the four-speed Sprint can crack 0-60 mph (0-97 kph) in less than 10 seconds, while the 400 can do it in a bit over 6 seconds -- and, more importantly, run the quarter mile in the low 14s at nearly 100 mph (160 kph), right off the showroom floor (and minus that little tab on the throttle linkage).
The following year you add a few new engine choices, tack on the side-marker lights demanded by the feds, and drop the vent windows, a dictate from Styling. The Monoplate springs and traction bars are abandoned on the more powerful F-bodies in favor of multi-leaf springs and staggered shocks, one ahead of the axle, one behind, to better resist axle tramp. Sales climb to 107,112, not bad at all. A further 87,001 Firebirds go out the door for '69, despite an ill-advised facelift that rubs a lot of people the wrong way. That '69 total includes 697 examples of the new Firebird Trans Am, a high-performance model that will cost Pontiac $5 per car in license fees to the Sports Car Club of America (SCCA), but that you figure will be worth it for the promotional value alone.
Side vent windows clearly mark this as a '67 body; they were deleted on '68-'69 models. GM introduced vent windows, pretentiously dubbed "Ventiplanes," in the mid-thirties and started phasing them out in 1966, in the interests of style. Flow-through ventilation didn't quite compensate.
By that time, you've moved on to revamping the '69 Grand Prix, which turns out to be another big hit. Pontiac sales for '68 hit a record 910,482 cars, and on February 1, 1969, your boss, Roger Kye, tells you that you're going to be taking Pete Estes's place as general manager of Chevrolet, GM's biggest and most powerful division. You're a little nervous -- Pete has told you that Chevrolet is an unwieldy monster -- but it's a hell of a step forward. You're still only 44 years old, and it looks like the sky's the limit.
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As it happened, DeLorean's tenure at Chevrolet would be relatively short-lived. After he was in place, he quickly realized the many problems that had eroded the division's efficiency and profitability. DeLorean tried to fix them, but he clashed with the entrenched power structure, making him a lot of new enemies. He was promoted to group VP in 1972, which turned out to be a way of shutting him up, denying him any real power. Not long afterward, on May 31, 1973, he resigned.
DeLorean went on to write a tell-all book with J. Patrick Wright, entitled On a Clear Day You Can See General Motors: John Z. DeLorean's Look Inside the Automotive Giant , detailing the serious problems he saw in the General Motors organization. DeLorean subsequently disowned the book, perhaps fearing he'd gone too far in raking his former employer over the coals, but it remains a telling and prescient account of GM's inefficiencies and intransigence, which continue to erode GM's market share and reputation.
DeLorean, of course, would go on to build and market his own sports car, the DeLorean DMC-12, which suffered from various financial problems and from the publicity of DeLorean's infamous drug bust. He countered that arrest with charges of entrapment, and he was acquitted in 1984. DeLorean continued working on a variety of business ventures -- including a patent for a raised monorail transportation system -- until his death in March 2005.
The Firebird, along with its Camaro brother, received a deft redesign for 1970. It would soldier on throughout the seventies, sales sinking precipitously in the early part of the decade, only to rebound thanks to its featured role in the movie Smokey and the Bandit. The 1970-vintage design endured through 1981 before being replaced in 1982 with swoopy, futuristic bodywork, the design that would become KITT of the TV show Knight Rider. The fourth-generation 'bird, launched in 1993, offered even greater performance than the original, along with aggressive-looking styling. By then, however, buyers were turning increasingly to trucks, and flagging sales would lead to the demise of the F-bodies after 2002. The Trans Am model, true to DeLorean's predictions, remained a popular part of the line-up until the end, sometimes accounting for more than half of all Firebird sales.
The Firebird usually sold respectably well, and it did indeed serve to shore up Pontiac's often shaky performance image, even in the doldrums of the late seventies. Even so, it never sold as well as the Camaro, and even its fans were all too aware that the Firebird was really just a slightly plusher, slightly swoopier, more expensive Camaro. After 35 years, the demand for both had faded to a trickle.
If DeLorean had gotten his way, it's unlikely that the Banshee sports car would have sold nearly as well as the Firebird; in that sense, GM management had a point. Moreover, given GM's track record in that territory (e.g., the Pontiac Fiero), the Banshee likely would've been badly compromised before it even reached the market. But it would have been unique, and it wouldn't have reminded anyone of a Camaro.
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NOTES ON SOURCES
Our sources for this article included John DeLorean and J. Patrick Wright, On a Clear Day You Can See General Motors: John Z. DeLorean's Look Inside the Automotive Giant (Chicago, IL: Avon Books, 1979).; "1967 Pontiac Firebird Spring: OHC from John Z's PMD" by Kit Foster" from Special Interest Autos #150, November-December 1995, reprinted in Terry Ehrich, ed., The Hemmings Motor News Book of Pontiacs (Hemmings Motor News Collector-Car Books) (Bennington, VT: Hemmings Motor News, 2001), pp. 118-127); J. William Lamm, "1968 Pontiac Firebird 400: Pontiac's Original Pony" ( Special Interest Autos #95, October 1986); Eric Dahlquist, "Firebird" ( Hot Rod, February 1967); "Pontiac Firebird 400" ( Car and Driver, March 1967); Fred MacKerodt "First Drive: Pontiac Firebird: Is the Firebird Just Another Camaro?" ( Cars, March 1967); John Ethridge, "Firebreathing Bird...First of the Spring from Pontiac" ( Motor Trend, March 1967); "A Brace of Birds: The Sprint and the 400 from Among Pontiac's Five Firebirds" ( Car Life, August 1967); Steve Kelly, "Trans-Am Firebird: A corner-turnin', quarter-burnin' muscle car" ( Hot Rod, March 1969); Jerry Titus, "Road Test: Pontiac Firebird Trans-Am: A Fiery Bird Goes Trans-Am...or, Is this any way to run an aviary?" ( Sports Car Graphic, April 1969); and "Trans-Am Firebird: The Firdbird gets a racy name and a spoiler, but it's still a long way from race-ready" ( Car Life, April 1969), reprinted in R.M. Clarke, ed., Firebird and Trans-Am Muscle Portfolio, 1967-1972 (Muscle portfolio series) (Cobham, Surrey: Brooklands Books Ltd., 1998); and John Ehtridge, "Sporty Specialties: Cougar & Firebird," Motor Trend, May 1967 (Vol. 19, No. 5), pp. 34-37, 41-42.
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