1968 Shelby Mustang GT350, GT500 and GT500KR. Greg Kolasa

Jerry Heasley and the good folks up north at Legendary MotorCar Company (legendarymotorcar.com) happily shared their spectacular images of the prototype 1968 GT500s and Bob Wilson pitched in by neatly filling a photographic void that developed in Chapter 4. Perhaps nobody knows more about the California and High Country Special Mustangs than Paul M. Newitt; his tutelage on the subject was invaluable and equally appreciated. Frank Costanzo, Mike Deliberto, and Rich DiMarino of the Garden State Region Mustang Club generously offered their assistance in tracking down the owners of some of these “almost Shelby” notchbacks.

      As I sat down to condense all of this information into (hopefully) coherent text, Carol Padden proofread my multiple attempts at each chapter. And speaking of chapters, since a complete itemization of the assistance provided by Lowell Otter and J. D. Kaltenbach would fill a separate one, I will simply, but most sincerely, say “thank you” to them, to all the other generous folks, and to anyone I have thoughtlessly omitted. Their assistance made this book what it is and I am grateful.

      Having a file cabinet full of factory documents for reference is great but it is only partially complete without the personal anecdotes and experiences (think of them as explanatory footnotes) of people who were there “back in the day.” A very big “thanks” is due to GT350 Project Engineer Chuck Cantwell; Ford stylist Charlie McHose; SAAC Registrar (and original ’68 Shelby owner) Vincent Liska; and ACSCO Products President Tom McIntyre, for telling their tales of how things really went down.

      And finally, I know that I can speak for Shelby enthusiasts everywhere when I say that we are appreciative beyond words to Jack Redeker for not only so generously sharing some of his wonderful period images but even more so for not heeding the “no photography allowed” admonitions given during his 1968 A. O. Smith factory tour in the first place.

       CHAPTER 1

       UNDERSTANDING CARROLL SHELBY’S MUSTANGS

       When the Mustang debuted in April 1964, it wasn’t an overnight success. It didn’t take anywhere near that long; it was instantaneous. The car was sleek, shapely, sexy, spiffy, snappy, snazzy, and certainly sporty, but it wasn’t a sports car, and that’s what Ford needed. Carroll Shelby soon fixed that. (Photo Courtesy Bill Hartmann)

      To fully appreciate and understand the 1968 Shelby Mustangs, a brief history of the Mustang, the Ford Motor Company, and the state of automotive affairs in the United States in the late 1940s through the early 1960s is a prerequisite. When the 1965 Mustang debuted at the New York World’s Fair on April 17, 1964, to say that the car was an instant smash hit is an understatement of epic proportions.

      The Mustang’s effect on not only Detroit, but on popular American culture, in general, was nothing short of profound. Compared to Ford’s then-current (and more than just a little bit stuffy and stodgy) stable, the pert little coupe was not only a styling coup, but it also begat an entirely new class of automobile: the not-coincidentally-named “pony car” class. While Ford basked very publicly in the glow of its recent achievement, privately it lamented the one nagging criticism of the Mustang. Despite the car’s drop-dead good looks, its unprecedented bang-for-the-buck value, its arm’s-length options list, and its sizzling performance, Ford couldn’t overcome the fact that although the Mustang was no doubt a sporty car, it wasn’t a sports car. Ford just didn’t want a sports car; it needed a sports car.

      Ford had kicked off its decade-long “Total Performance” marketing program the year before Mustang’s debut. Chevrolet had had a sports car for almost 10 years. Ford’s performance program, identified by just two brief words, was itself the product of V-J Day. It was the beginning of the automotive performance movement in the United States.

       Myriad options do not a sports car make. Adding every available performance extra to a base Mustang (High Performance 289, 4-speed transmission, disc brakes, GT suspension) put the car very close to, and in fact, even formed the basis for, a sports car, but it wasn’t quite there. Shelby American moved the ball across the goal line.

PEACE, PROSPERITY AND PERFORMANCE

      It is not a stretch at all to say that the need for the Mustang to be recognized as a sports car really began at the end of World War II. With the end of hostilities, a massive influx of millions of ex-serviceman, many of them barely post-teenage, flooded back into the United States, and back into civilian life. During the late 1940s and early 1950s, the hot rod movement went pedal-to-the-metal as ex-GIs sought to fulfill their need for speed. They formed the consumer base that purchased huge numbers of automobiles, and their offspring formed the heart of the American car-buying public for the next generation. Everything automotive in the post-war United States was centered on two important attributes: speed and performance. Buyers couldn’t get enough of either, and Detroit was only too happy to oblige. Cars became faster, more powerful, and more exciting with each model year. Everyone’s, that is, except Ford’s.

       Ford had numerous reasons for needing its new Mustang to be recognized as a sports car. The company needed a sports car to fit into its new Total Performance marketing and motorsports campaign. It also needed to counter the Corvette, which, by the time Total Performance was up and running, had already marked a decade of as Chevrolet proudly proclaimed it, “America’s Sports Car.”

       In 1960, Ford debuted the stodgy, lackluster, but altogether practical, Falcon. Ironically, that sedate little sedan led the way for Ford’s entry into motorsports. Powered by hand-built, high-performance 260s, the Holman-Moody–prepared Falcon Sprints didn’t win the 1963 Monte Carlo Rally outright, but it fired a warning shot across the bow of international motorsports and served notice that the Blue Oval was a force to be reckoned with.

      In the midst of all this speed and performance, Ford was, automotively speaking, still in the dark ages. By the early 1950s, when General Motors had introduced the Corvette, Ford continued to hold onto the reputation of creating cars that would satisfy most new car buyers’ grandfathers. Ford’s product lineup was, very simply put, not very exciting, and that was no accident; it was by design. Under the leadership of Robert McNamara, Ford continued to develop and produce logical, sensible, fiscally responsible, but altogether unexciting automobiles.

      That changed in 1960 when John F. Kennedy was elected president. That event in Washington had far-reaching implications for the future of the Ford Motor Company, all driven by the power vacuum created at the highest levels of Dearborn management by the President-elect. It started when he tapped McNamara to be his Secretary of Defense.

      That left a hole at the top, which was filled by Henry Ford II. That, in turn, left various openings at levels just below him. One of them was the vacancy of president of the Ford Division. It was filled by someone considered by most insiders (and certainly those corporate ladder-climbers vying for occupancy of the president’s office) to be an unlikely candidate: Lee Iacocca. With leadership of the division and Henry II’s ear, Iacocca was one of the few Ford leaders who truly understood the effect the Baby Boom would have on car buying. He recognized that by the early 1960s, the United States had more young people than at any other time in the country’s history and that this equated