Jack Goodrich believes that even extremely rare tin ought to be out vulcanizing the pavement, not turning green in some kind of perverted still-life exhibit. And since hot rodders tend to be individualists, Jack’s icon is the epitome of a steel-clawed monster: a stick-shift Hemi racer. No one else has anything like it on the street! His unusual ride is one of three authentic Plymouth A990 factory four-speed S/S cars known to exist. As a matter of fact, the ultimate factory-built doorslammer is more than alive—it flat thunders. Jack’s ideal has depth because people don’t know what to make of this immaculate plain brown wrapper that makes such a hellacious racket. Though it hasn’t the cache of a Ferrari or a Cobra, it’s a whole lot more exclusive. Again, Jack wanted to preserve this piece of history for his own amusement as well as for those savvy enough to spot his hairy ’60s flashback.
Jack’s Belvedere I Super Stock, VIN RO51193546, was scheduled for assembly at the Lynch Road plant on Friday, December 22, 1964. It was later transported to Ferris Motors in Savannah, Illinois. (Note: This dealership ceased operation on June 30, 1965.) It had nothing inside except van seats and a steering wheel, manual brakes, no radio, heater, or seatbelts for that matter. In a time when the Mother Mopar had its favorites on the dole, this Super Stocker was campaigned by privateer owner/driver Larry Griffith as the “Hurst Tornado IV.” Not many unaffiliated racers could afford the luxury of extra equipment, so Griffith’s car originally ran steel wheels all around instead of lightweight magnesium.
Part of our test evaluation is based on experience. Too bad I hadn’t seen a werks A990 since its heyday… much less been in one—but I would soon be hanging on that painfully thin steering wheel and standing hard on that throttle. An important element of Jack’s theme is that the car is licensed, insured, and street-legal. Mutants like this were never meant for street duty, so I was curious as to how it would feel after experiencing the idiosyncrasies of more than 1,100 modern vehicles. A disaster waited to rearrange my brain waves and drill my bones.
The fuel pump whines for a few seconds, then whump! The guttural sound of the Hemi caroms off the shop wall and does a tarantella in my eardrums. Casual conversation isn’t easy inside the Super Stock Plymouth when it’s shaking impatiently at a 1,500-rpm idle, but it’s a spine-tingling sensation at the very least, a polarizing moment that pulls me right back into the days before political correctness, when American carmakers actually had balls. Factory conflict was rampant in the boardrooms and on the big oval as well as the dragstrip. Brand loyalty was ingrained, and the lines rarely crossed. People put their faith and trust in the cars they drove and the ones they supported, and this became part of our lives.
I was excited talking to Goodrich about what this new HOT ROD feature entails, and I blundered straight into the part about the brakes. “What?” he croaked in disbelief. “This thing’s got drums and skinny front tires. I don’t think you want to be doing any brake testing with it.” Yeah, what’s the point (red-faced here)? The Belvedere was built to accelerate ferociously in a straight line, to dominate, and it existed for no other purpose. In the factory’s fury to be top dog, the fleet of A990 annihilators was of light-to-minimal construction and meant to have a service life of just 12 months. For all these reasons, we didn’t instrument the Super Stocker’s stopping ability because it was never a requirement in the first place. Let’s just say that you want to keep plenty of distance between that thin front bumper and the loons ahead of you.
Since Goodrich’s folly was never meant for the street and because it is so rare, I drove it very carefully. Once I got over the fact that if anything happened to this irreplaceable piece I would go straight to Hell, I got used to it in about a minute and half. Jack had replaced the standard 24:1 ratio steering with 20:1 gears, thus reducing the lock-to-lock from four turns of the steering wheel to a mere three. Not quite autocross numbers, but they do a great deal for the overall feel of the car. The syncopation between steering hand, shifting hand, and my two feet was quite good because of the quicker steering, the favorable pedal pressure of the Centerforce clutch, and just-right tension on the carburetor return springs. Still, I had difficulty keeping the revs at 1,500 rpm. Any less and the engine will stall… as it did several times during the day. That snakey Hurst shifter is about as long as your life, and the throws between gears prove it. It was all I could do to shift cleanly without bogging the engine or spinning the tires. Goodrich runs ATF in the aluminum four-speed to make that movement as quick and easy as possible. With a 4.56:1 gears and a 2.66:1 Low, the pull to Second comes up quickly, as does the propensity to lurch the car and look like a rube. Who cared? I was jockeying an insane exclusive, a car nobody else in the world will ever drive.
Despite the period-correct 7.10 BFG Silvertown skinnies that put down a contact patch about as wide and long as a stick of chewing gum, the Belvedere’s frictional coefficient was plenty adequate on the street… and the dragstrip. Thankfully, Goodrich and I have the same stature, so I didn’t need to adjust anything. After watching him do the Pomona quarter-mile several times for photographer Wes Allison as well as the HRTV cameras, the Hemi’s starter (literally nestled by the header tubes) got too hot to turn the engine over. Later, this was assessed as a fried alternator; we had to cable-start the engine eight or nine times that blissfully sunny afternoon. It was clear that Jack was perturbed if not embarrassed, so I told him that this was integral to the story. This is a race car, not a street car.
And a racer it is. Goodrich goes to the annual Hot Rod Reunion in Bakersfield, California, every year, and for the past few he’s raced the Hemi, looking for its original high-10-second performance. He has had little success. In effect, he’s still sorting the car out but is adamant about making no modern concessions. He insists on running the repop Radir slicks on 6-inch American wheels with 10 psi. The car doesn’t hook well, even when Jack leaves the line at 4,000 in Second gear. “I don’t want it to hook up,” says Jack. “I’m not going to change anything to make it hook up. I think I’m about done trying to race it, though.”
For a moment or two, I was a drag racer, too. I’m on the Pomona starting line nearly 40 years ago, ready to dump the clutch at four grand in Second gear for a TV burnout. I watch the tach, wait for the signal, and drop the pedal. The Hemi rips, the front end lifts, and the tires howl. I’m slammed back into the seat like a body with no bones. The car runs out 200 feet or so, and then I let off. Hah! Back on the line, I’m ready for a full power run. (There are no clocks, but it doesn’t matter.) I come off the mark at 3,000 in First and short-shift Second, the tires spin, then hook, and the Hemi gets down to scary business. The Plymouth runs straight and true, and when I pull High, I realize that I made the run by the sound of the engine (12:5:1 compression on 110 octane), not the vintage Sun tachometer. What a freakin’ rush! Kill me now before the feeling goes away.
So one sunny California afternoon, Jack Goodrich realized another part of the Belvedere continuum. He built the car slowly and absolutely by the numbers. Although he has been approached several times, he’s never allowed the car to be publicized until now. The circle is complete. But what will he do for an encore? A driven guy like Goodrich can’t keep away from evil instigators. Besides, he had this ghost under wraps for six years until we opened his inner sanctum and made a mess of his privacy. “Well, I did find a ’65 altered wheelbase car, complete with Hilborns. I’ve drawn the battle plans and am proceeding. See you soon.” We’ll be right there, Jack.