Zora Arkus-Duntov's quest to turn the Corvette into a world-beater

Few today remember that famed Corvette guru Zora Arkus-Duntov didn’t see his first one until 1953. He’d recently arrived from Europe, where he’d been involved with Sydney Allard in developing the fearsome J2X, one of the first American V8-powered sportsters that dominated our early ’50s club racing scene.

That first Corvette encounter at New York’s Waldorf Astoria hotel involved a working prototype known within GM Styling as EX-122. It had been fathered by GM’s visionary head of Styling, Harley J. Earl, as both a marketing concept and a test of a then-new material called fiberglass.

The potential for low-cost tooling and production was as important to Earl as some positive sales response he hoped to get at that first Motorama. Earl had built the concept on a minimum budget that required most of its internals to use existing off-the-shelf components from some of Chevrolet’s prosaic sedans, but its futuristic styling created a stir in the automotive press.

With its soggy suspension, rather anemic Blue Flame six-cylinder engine and two-speed automatic, the first Corvette was hardly what real sports car fans in America were looking for, but it was enough to light the fires that still burn fiercely today. Zora saw the potential–not just for the car but for himself as an experienced, knowledgeable performance consultant to GM Engineering. He was certain he could direct the development of the Corvette into the market contender Earl intended.

Through friend and brilliant English engineer Maurice Olley, Zora managed to talk his way into a meeting with Earl and Ed Cole, then head of Chevrolet Engineering. That meeting eventually led to a position within Chevrolet that would change the Vette forever.

Today, Zora is best remembered by Corvette fans for all he did to constantly improve the marque. To some in GM’s then ultra-conservative management, however, he was best remembered as an intense nonconformist with a thick Russian accent who was constantly requesting controversial engineering improvements, most of which were usually considered far too complicated or expensive to those responsible for keeping costs “within reason.”

But by 1955, with the backing of Cole, the original Corvette had been seriously upgraded with the insertion of Cole’s now famous fuel-injected, small-block V8 and matching four-speed transmission. It was still far from Zora’s idea of “perfect” but still fast enough to show its taillights to any foreign or domestic production challenger.

Zora was highly respected by Earl, so the great man wasn’t averse to accepting Zora’s advice on how the Corvette might gain international respect with its now significantly improved performance and engineering. Zora explained that leading manufacturers in Europe would build one-off concepts to test market reaction by racing them in major events like Le Mans, Monza and Spa-Francorchamps.

This idea appealed to Earl, so he agreed to let Zora develop something special that Chevrolet could enter and race for overall honors in America’s premier road racing event, the 12 Hours of Sebring, in 1957.

Since no one within GM had the experience to understand the complex rules of international competition necessary to design a completely new race car, Earl reverted to what he’d done to create the first Corvette: Simply order the best from Europe, have it disassembled to analyze every detail, and then reconfigure or adapt it to what he thought would be best for American taste. He based the Corvette’s basic dimensions, especially those used for the cockpit, on Jaguar’s beautiful XK120 roadster.

Earl wanted something better and faster for Chevrolet’s first foray into international competition. After carefully listening to Zora’s advice, he ordered a D-type Jag to analyze, as it was then the fastest and most successful racing car in Europe. One problem found upon its arrival, though: Its semi-monocoque chassis also partially served as the body, meaning Earl’s vision wouldn’t be accomplished with just a simple modification of the exterior.

Fortunately, a top young design engineer on Earl’s GM Styling staff from Latvia, Tony Lapine, who also happened to be a factory-trained Mercedes mechanic, quietly suggested a Mercedes 300 SL as a suitable starting point. Brilliant.

One of the few examples in America was soon acquired, and the body was removed, revealing an advanced, lightweight, space frame chassis with suitable space for Cole’s latest fuel-injected V8. Because Mercedes, still recovering from World War II, hadn’t yet regained enough capital to finance the design and production of a totally new engine for the 300 SL, its engineering team had been forced to adapt the engine from the brand’s 330 SE sedan. For the SL, the Mercedes team cleverly laid it over on its side to reduce its height, added fuel injection for increased power, and then included a dry-sump oiling system to improve ground clearance.

For inspiration, Tony Lapine (dark jacket) suggested that Zora Arkus-Duntov (light-colored jacket) look at the Gullwing Mercedes. Photograh Courtesy GM

A bare Benz chassis sat next to the wooden Corvette SS mockup, although Zora opted for a de Dion rear over swing axles. Photograph Courtesy GM

The widened space in the 300 SL’s chassis required for the laid-over inline-six was perfect for Cole’s compact V8! Zora liked almost everything else in the SL’s chassis but rejected its swing axles because of their proven tendency to create oversteer, replacing them with an innovative deDion-type setup.

Three of these new “Duntov chassis” were hand-fabricated within GM Styling’s facilities for Zora’s all-new Corvette SS. In the meantime, Earl had moved the exterior portion of the project upstairs to Clare MacKichan’s Chevrolet Design studio, where top GM stylists Bob Veryzer, Bob Cadaret and Robert Cumberford created a radical new form for Earl’s Prototype contender.

A full-size clay model, complete with an aerodynamic headrest to hide the driver’s protective roll-over structure, was sculpted to Earl and Zora’s satisfaction. To ensure minimum weight, Zora recommended a thin-walled magnesium body.

Earl’s only stipulation for the SS’s new exterior was that it include his “signature” Corvette grille that he’d had designer Bob Cadaret create especially for the Corvette’s New York debut four years earlier. Design continuity was vital to Earl’s philosophy in selling cars.

While the team’s ultra-lightweight, magnesium-bodied racer was being carefully constructed, a second, fully equipped SS mule wearing a fiberglass skin was also built so Zora could begin some early evaluation tests in Michigan.

Since Zora considered himself a highly qualified racing driver, he would often surreptitiously “evaluate” his ideas within the parklike grounds of GM’s Tech Center instead of taking them to the corporation’s vast testing facility several miles away in Milford. He’d been severely reprimanded several times for such activity and finally resolved to comply.

One such test in a modified production Corvette had resulted in a crash that crushed several of Zora’s vertebrae and put him in a full body cast for weeks. Cole was none too pleased. He insisted Zora return to work, as there was no time to lose with Sebring just a month away. Despite the painful inconvenience, Zora resolved the difficulties by coming to work in a kilt.

He’d hoped to drive the SS at Sebring, but management wasn’t about to again let him risk his life on track. With the amount of time and money already invested in the Corvette SS program, there was no way they would relent. Instead, Zora contracted American racer John Fitch to head up the SS’s on-track development and manage the team at Sebring.

In addition to the new SS racer, Earl also had three special-bodied Corvettes built to complete the Sebring team. These highly modified 1957s, called the SR-2, were meant to show that Chevrolet’s “Corvette team” was just as interested in developing the performance of its regular production cars.

Initial testing with the ’glass-bodied “mule” in Michigan had gone reasonably well, so as soon as the Sebring track was opened for practice, Fitch and Zora moved their entire operation to the famed Florida circuit for actual on-track practice.

Fitch, certain that he’d have a serious contender for the overall win, had contacted world-class racers Juan Manuel Fangio and Stirling Moss to drive the SS in the 12 Hours. Both had agreed to come early to test the new prototype and race it, provided the new design could deliver the performance required to win overall. Each was careful to explain to Fitch and Zora that they had other commitments should the SS not meet their expectations.

Zora had only experienced one serious problem in getting the SS built to his specifications: brakes. He knew that Dunlop had developed disc brakes especially for the Jaguar team to run at Le Mans two years earlier and they’d been the key component to the English team’s win there. Zora had spent hours conferring with GM’s top engineers to see if they could develop something comparable, as there seemed no chance that Chevrolet or GM would commit to buying the “unproven” English design or even using the radical new braking system in an obviously factory-backed effort. Such a move might signal to the world that GM was foregoing drum brakes on its upcoming production cars.

GM’s engineers, working with Kelsey-Hayes, had developed the finest drum brakes in the world for Buick and were extremely proud of their beautifully finned alloy units. They’d met every rigorous test they could devise and were certain their specially built drum brakes could meet or match the English disc brake’s design by using even better materials than those already developed and tested for the SR-2.

Zora knew from experience what the engineers didn’t know: that racing at Sebring would create conditions they couldn’t even imagine. They respected Zora’s sage advice but had to admit they’d never been to a race. Still, they were certain their special materials would match race conditions. They promised to deliver.

Zora was used to being rejected, but he’d already achieved so much with his radical SS program that he knew he’d be pushing beyond the corporation’s accepted limits of intradivisional business decorum to demand the English brakes.

Rudimentary airflow tests on the fiberglass-bodied prototype mule, Peter Brock notes, were inconclusive without the ability for higher speed or a rolling floor beneath the car. Photograph Courtesy GM

Both Fangio and Moss were impressed with the mule’s performance … for about three laps. Each had broken the existing lap record before coming in to confer with Fitch and Zora.

They confirmed the car was brilliantly quick and capable of winning–except for its brakes. Each had gone out and almost immediately faded the special drum brakes.

The GM engineers were astonished when the SS’s alloy drums were removed. The return springs holding the destroyed ceramic/metallic-lined brake shoes simply fell to the ground! All tension had been destroyed by the heat generated.

There was no denying the reality of the situation. Both Moss and Fangio respectfully thanked Fitch for the opportunity to test, noting the car’s incredible handling and speed, but each said there was no way the new racer would even finish the first hour.

There was another problem. Earl’s magnesium-bodied racer was weeks behind schedule. It was supposed to have been ready to test a full week before the race, but the perfect finish demanded by Earl required more time than expected.

The magnesium alloy body had been a formidable task as GM Styling’s top fabricators had never worked with the ultra-thin exotic material. Magnesium had a dangerous tendency to flash and evaporate in an eye-searing brightness when improperly welded. It had taken extra days to master the technique, but they’d done it and the new body looked flawless when finished in a striking electric shade of metallic blue.

When the semi-finished SS racer finally rolled out the door at GM Styling, its fabricators were rightly proud of the job done, but the car had yet to fire up or even turn a wheel under its own power. Since Zora and his crew were in Florida during its construction, there had been no way to test prior to shipment.

The race car was carefully loaded, and the van’s drivers were told to “hurry but be extra careful” as they were transporting more than a million dollars’ worth of Earl’s and Zora’s dreams to Florida.

Fitch was deeply disappointed that Fangio and Moss had turned him down, but he completely understood their position. He personally was entirely capable of filling in as the team’s lead driver, but he still needed another world-class pilot to qualify for the race.

He called old racing friend Piero Taruffi in Italy and explained the situation. Taruffi took the next plane available and was soon in the team’s Sebring garage examining the crusty mule. He didn’t fully understand why the real racer had not yet arrived, but it wasn’t his position to question the situation.

Fitch had him test the mule but advised against using the brakes as hard as they’d need to be used if he were seriously racing. Fitch showed him the cooked components used during the previous tests and explained there were no more special “racing brakes” available.

Under the relaxed test conditions imposed by Fitch, the mule seemed to handle perfectly and Taruffi’s lap times were still almost competitive, so all the team could do was to wait for the “real” SS racer to arrive.

John Fitch started from the pole at Sebring, but a major question loomed: How long would the Corvette SS last? Photography Credit: Peter Brock

To demonstrate Chevrolet’s full commitment to competition, the company also entered its SR-2 racer at Sebring that year. Photography Credit: Peter Brock

When the gleaming-blue SS finally arrived two days before the race, the impending situation became as electric as the car’s beautiful surface. After seeing the now grubby, well-used mule for more than a week, the contrast was incredible.

The finished SS was a piece of automotive art worthy of space in any of GM’s previous Motorama show-car spectacles. Instead of the initial curious interest generated by the mule and its less than impressive performance, the motorsports media was entranced. Photographers and enthusiasts surrounded the spectacular SS whenever it was brought trackside.

One of those admirers was a young GM designer: I was just 19 when I was hired by GM Design in 1956.

While working in Research StudioB at GM Styling, I kept hearing the rumors of a new racing Corvette being prepared to run at Sebring. The project was so secret that no one not directly associated with it was allowed to see it.

I and three other design buddies decided to drive two new Corvette Fuelies down to Florida to check out the action. To minimize the time we’d be away from work, we drove around the clock from Michigan to Sebring.

The Fuelies were fast but extremely uncomfortable. Between driving stints, it wasn’t possible to get any rest in the passenger seat. It didn’t matter. We were young and couldn’t wait to get to one of the most famous tracks in America to watch a car that had been designed, and was being run, by the company we worked for.

The SS may not have had the speed its appearance indicated, but it didn’t matter; its mere appearance was striking. All who gazed upon Earl and Zora’s sleek racer seemed to believe that it might indeed be faster than the impressive surrounding competition from the fastest teams in the world.

The first morning test for the SS, a day before the race, brought an entirely new and unexpected problem: cockpit heat. The magnesium body acted as a heat sponge. Even Sebring’s brilliant morning sun warmed the alloy body to the point where it was uncomfortable to touch.

Fitch took it out for a couple of laps to see if it was suitable for competition and immediately came back in to quietly reveal to Zora that the cockpit was simply too hot to drive! Even worse, the engine was overheating. The mule had run cool in testing, and removing Earl’s chromed Corvette grille immediately revealed it to be the source of the problem.

By Earl’s previous instruction, any exterior changes to the SS’s appearance would require a call back to him at the Tech Center to get approval. He had been adamant that nothing on the car’s exterior could be removed or even changed.

This raised some important questions: How could engine cooling be improved, not to mention the serious problem with cockpit heat? In the end, not much could be done to make the SS race-worthy. The grille had to be left in, the brakes were useless, and the driver was being cooked inside the cockpit. Its sole value was in its startling appearance and obvious potential–provided a solid development program, with disc brakes, would ever occur.

Fitch and Zora resolved to put on as good a show as possible. With the SS having the largest engine in the race, it was positioned on the grid with a large numeral 1 on the nose. Fitch started the race and used Cole’s fuel-injected V8 to stay with the leaders for the first lap. It made for some impressive photos, but there was no hope.

Fitch drove a few laps, then came in to hand over to Taruffi so a few more photos could be taken. The SS was withdrawn from the race after 23 laps. The official reason given was the failing of a small bushing in the car’s rear suspension. In the end, even the SS’s spectacular presence at Sebring worked against all that Earl and Zora had worked and hoped for.

During the spring of ’57, American performance cars of all types were at a new height of popularity. Employees from the Big Three automakers–GM, Ford and Chrysler–were taking their latest out on Woodward Avenue to compare and show off what they could do.

Executives were getting concerned about the scene and the potential for liability issues. The horrific crash at Le Mans in 1955 was still fresh in everyone’s mind. Executives were also taking a hard look at what they were spending on sanctioned racing in NASCAR and the NHRA.

At the same time, Harlow Curtice, president of GM, was looking at what was being spent on the Corvette SS program, the result of which was a race car that had lasted just 23 laps. He decided the expense wasn’t worth it to GM’s bottom line.

The members of the Automotive Manufacturers Association, primarily America’s Big Three, were talking. Then came the Virginia 500 on May 19 at Martinsville Speedway, where a Mercury Meteor crashed into the grandstands and injured five people, including a young boy.

It hadn’t been too hard to convince top management in each of these companies that they could all save vast sums–and possible future legal entanglements regarding “speed-related incidents”–if they collectively agreed to limit or even stop supporting all performance activities. The now infamous “AMA ban” was instituted, eliminating all factory-supported racing.

On June 6, all factory-supported NASCAR teams were officially cancelled as American auto manufactures withdrew their support. The SS’s much photographed appearance at Sebring had created sensational headlines in the sports pages of The Detroit News, which were soon noticed by Curtice and others in GM’s top management. The whole SS program was ordered to cease immediately. Even verbal directives were given to have the car destroyed!

Over the four years Zora had already worked at GM, he’d become wise enough to realize that corporate inefficiency could allow any thing or event to become forgotten. Time was his proven ally. He knew when the SS had truly “disappeared” from sight anywhere within GM’s confines that top management would assume that their directives had been followed. Zora saved the SS immediately after Sebring by hiding it.

Some 10 years later, he donated it to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway Museum, where it resides today–another piece of GM racing history that never began its development stage before corporate politics destroyed its chance at greatness. It wouldn’t be the first such dream to die at the directives of top management, but it remained a warning example to all the true believers within the Corvette program for many years to follow.

This included Bill Mitchell, who took control of GM Styling when Earl retired in ’58. Mitchell used to say he had “gasoline in his veins” and wasn’t about to let the Corvette program die.

Upon returning from the Turin Auto Show in Italy later in ’57, he walked into Studio B, where I worked with three other young designers, and showed us photos of several Italian sports cars that he wanted us to use as the inspiration for a new generation of Corvette.

Knowing what happened with the SS, he had a false wall built in a studio tool room. Behind it, a secret design studio was built.

There, away from the prying eyes of curious GM executives, the iconic second-generation Corvette was designed. A full-size clay model was sculpted in this secret room while an impatient Mitchell waited until support for the AMA ban eased and he was finally allowed to pursue his new production sports car, the 1963 split-window Corvette Sting Ray.

Peter Brock’s award-winning “Corvette Sting Ray: Genesis of an American Icon,” available via Amazon or bre2.net, covers Bill Mitchell’s secret Corvette skunk works and more.