"Rants from the Summer of '64"

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Editor’s Note: This week, Peter is taking a break but will still be featuring in “On The Table,” “Fumes,” and “The Line.” In light of this, I’ve chosen one of his standout columns that reflects on the unforgettable “Summer of ’64.” In “On The Table,” we are focusing on VW part number 00010 ZDK-259-101. We will also revisit the 2025 Mercedes-Benz AMG GT 63 PRO 4MATIC+ “Motorsport Collectors Edition“ and the latest developments in EV VaporWare from Lotus. Additionally, we are re-sharing an exceptional thought piece from our Economics Correspondent, Tom Bartkiewicz. Our AE Song of the Week is Bob Dylan’s timeless “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right”. Also in “Fumes,” we present the fifth chapter of Peter’s new series, “The Racing Machines.” Lastly, in “The Line,” we will provide results from IMSA at Indianapolis, F1 in Singapore, and MotoGP from the Gran Premio Pramac dell’Emilia-Romagna. We’re on it. – WG

By Peter M. DeLorenzo

Detroit. For those who have followed AE for a long time, my early years were marked by a whirlwind of fast cars, often with my older brother Tony driving, along with witnessing groundbreaking concepts from GM Styling in person, all orchestrated by the legendary Bill Mitchell. It was indeed a unique period. Everything seemed to be advancing rapidly – greater power, increased speed, and exciting new automobiles emerging almost daily.

Being so closely connected to the action, I experienced vehicles before they reached the national market, and while I recognized then that this was an extraordinary experience, over time it became easy to forget its uniqueness. It evolved into a surreal part of my everyday life.

One weekend, we encountered the 1964 Pontiac XP-400 concept crafted by GM Styling. This stunning Nassau Blue convertible, derived from a ’64 Catalina, was equipped with a 421 cu.in. V8 and a 671 GMC Blower modified for racing by Mickey Thompson. Ken Eschebech, Mitchell’s personal mechanic and automotive expert, delivered it with a warning: the engine was tuned for drag racing, and the oil had to be checked at every gas stop, which was frequent, to say the least. I will save that story for another time, but I clearly remember the rear tires slipping as Tony shifted into 4^th gear with five of us inside as it roared ahead like a runaway train. During our three days of racing, we consumed 21 quarts of oil.

Next came the striking 1964 Electric Blue Shelby 289 cu.in. Cobra, which we borrowed from Ford PR for a weekend. (We had established a great system: in exchange for a Cobra, Ford PR would receive a Sting Ray from GM PR.) To emphasize its newness, the Cobra had less than 50 miles on the odometer, featuring silver-painted wire wheels and narrow whitewalls—standard for street Cobras back then. Our previous experience with the early ’63 260-cu.in. Cobra owned by Pontiac Engineering had only heightened our excitement. While we were quite familiar with Corvettes, the Cobra was a completely different beast. Its interior smelled like a classic English sports car, and it was significantly more compact and much lighter than Corvettes of that time, resulting in a blistering speed.

We spent that late spring weekend driving around, particularly enjoying Woodward Avenue, and leaving other vehicles, especially Corvettes, in our dust. The thrilling sound of the roaring 289 engine combined with the scent of burning rubber from our tennis shoes made rides at night unforgettable. The floorboard got so hot in the Cobra that it melted the soles of our shoes—just part of the exhilarating Cobra experience. While I’ve read countless accounts of the Cobra’s legacy, nothing compares to experiencing it firsthand during that period. It was truly an extraordinary experience.

That summer was filled with countless other unforgettable cars, stories, and moments: we drove a Black/Black ’64 Corvette Sting Ray Coupe to Watkins Glen for Tony’s SCCA driver’s school and had the chance to ride in a ’63 Ferrari 250 GTE from GM Styling. Additionally, there was a car I’ve never mentioned previously: an early 1964 Porsche 904 GTS that Bill Mitchell brought home one day.

I remember that day vividly. The weather was stormy, giving everything a vibrant green hue due to the thick canopy of tall elm trees that lined our neighborhood. Riding my bike felt like going through a shaded tunnel, a joy that would soon be lost as Dutch Elm Disease devastated those trees in the following years. On that overcast afternoon, I was riding toward Bill Mitchell’s “new” house (after a brief period of quiet, I learned he had moved just a block west after his divorce). As I pedaled along, a sleek, low, all-black sports car rolled past me. Recognizing it as Mitchell’s, I followed him into his driveway. Before he exited, I spotted “904 GTS” on the back and the distinct Porsche logo upfront. Mitchell hopped out and exclaimed, “How do you like this? We just got it!” I could barely manage a stunned “Wow!” in response, having never seen anything like it up close. The car exuded elegance in its all-black design, accentuated by classic silver Porsche wheels.

When Mitchell said “We just got it,” he meant GM Styling had recently acquired it. In previous writings, I’ve characterized Mitchell as operating like a king of a small realm within GM. He often sourced the sportscars of the day for “research”—using “his” budget—and parked them in the GM Styling viewing courtyard so designers could draw inspiration. However, more often than not, they became his personal weekend toys. Although Ferraris were his preference, he would acquire other notable cars, including an ASA 1000 GT (look it up), but the 904 was the first Porsche he showcased at the styling courtyard and the first he brought home.

Once Mitchell went inside, I rushed home to tell Tony about the “Porsche 904 GTS.” We both returned immediately to Mitchell’s driveway to explore every detail of the car. The more I examined it, the more entranced I became with this essentially street-legal racing car. When Mitchell emerged later, he offered Tony a ride, and without hesitation, Tony climbed in. They returned fifteen minutes later, and Tony’s eyes were wide with amazement. I asked him what it felt like, and he said, “Fantastic! Except…” trailing off as if he were holding back more details.

“Except what?” I pressed him. He shared that, while it was an unbelievable ride, “I noticed the redline was 7,600 rpm, but he was shifting at 8,600 rpm. Every shift.” I didn’t yet grasp the full implications of what he meant but soon would.

Two months later, Mitchell offered Tony the chance to drive the 904 for the weekend. True to Mitchell’s style, the 904 was transformed. The original all-black color was replaced by Mitchell’s favorite German racing silver metallic, and the interior received upgrades with dark blue leather and the first retractable three-point seatbelts we had ever seen. The vehicle glimmered now. That weekend was filled with high-speed runs to Flint, where we used to live, and a complete immersion in the allure of the Porsche 904. Everything went smoothly until Sunday afternoon when, nearing home from another run, ominous rattling sounds began emanating from the engine. We quickly sensed it was a serious problem and that Tony needed to turn it off immediately.

Things escalated. We hadn’t considered calling a tow truck, so when our friends arrived, they brought only a sturdy rope. Despite the odds against us, we tied the rope to both vehicles, and they managed to tow us the ten-mile journey home. I can still recall that hair-raising experience, where one wrong move could have resulted in major damage to the pristine Porsche. Miraculously, we navigated only a couple of traffic lights and made it back to my parents’ garage safely. Even now, I find myself shaking my head at how close we came to disaster.

The following morning, Tony called Ken Eschebech to report a serious issue with the Porsche’s engine, and Ken arrived within an hour. We lifted the rear bodywork to inspect the engine, and as Ken listened to it run, the noise traced back to the right cylinder bank. He prompted Tony to start the engine again and, after a moment, instructed him to stop.

“It threw a rod,” Ken stated matter-of-factly. Tony then disclosed that he had seen Mitchell exceed the redline during their drive, which didn’t surprise Ken. “Yeah, I’m aware of that,” he responded. A couple of hours later, a truck and trailer from GM Styling arrived, and the Porsche was loaded for its return.

Was that the end? Not quite. Apparently, Mitchell had to cover the engine rebuild costs out of his pocket—a substantial amount, I’m sure—and he was furious with Tony, holding him responsible. Their relationship remained strained until January 1969 when they crossed paths at the starting grid for the Daytona 24 Hour. After that, everything was back to normal.

That summer of ‘64 had it all: more speed, more horsepower, and even a heart-stopping adventure that remains etched in my memory.

And that’s the High-Octane Truth for this week.