They say that there comes a time in one’s life where he or she gets to an age where said individual will attempt to relive his or her youth. While I have yet to figure out exactly who “they” is or are, I can tell you that “they” are right. While I am sure later on down the road after my prospective children have graduated college and are settling down and beginning a family of their own, leaving me and my wife to our own devices, I will go out and get that ’09 ZR1 Corvette I want but cannot afford right now. Right now, though, I get to see my Dad going through his version of reliving his youth.
My Dad grew up in the waning years of the musclecar era. Living in East Brunswick, NJ, my Dad was a mere 15 minutes from Old Bridge Township Raceway Park, where your current Super Chevy staff goes to test the latest and greatest parts and cars. Oh, the stories he has told me of when gas was a mere fraction of what it cost now, and of a time where you could choose from a 427 Nova, a Hemi ‘Cuda, or a Cobra Jet Mustang. It was a time where you could order your hot rod how you wanted it. Want a 375 horsepower 396 in a Chevelle with a TH400 on the column and a bench seat? You got it. The sky was the limit, and there was more than enough irresponsibility going around to take advantage of it. If my grandmother only knew what my Dad really did with his Chevelle. Maybe it’s for the best that she didn’t.
Either way, when my Dad came to driving age, he had a choice to make, that being which musclecar he was going to slide into each and every morning. While he was looking at a Plymouth GTX quite hard, he settled on a ’69 Chevelle. Getting the car he wanted took some lobbying, however. He told my grandmother he didn’t want the 350 because it was a new motor, and logic says you don’t get a car optioned with a new powerplant due to the bugs having to be worked out. The 327 was on its way out, so why order a car with an engine that wouldn’t be around after that model year. While he could have shot for a 427, my grandmother made a concession. He could get a Chevelle with a 325 hp 396 big-block. While dear old Dad tried his hardest for the 375 hp powerplant, he got the look that said no way Jose. In the end, my Dad placed an order for and received a Glacier Blue ’69 SS396 Chevelle with a 4-speed, bench seat, and stripe delete. It didn’t take long before a Holley carb made its way atop the Rat, followed by the addition of a set of headers, a 375 hp cam, and the rest of the speed parts normally associated with the time. Oh, the trouble Dad got into. When he said he literally did it all and there is nothing I couldn’t do that he hadn’t done already, he was right. Get harassed by the local cops for riding on Route 18 with cheater slicks? Check. Getting nabbed for testing out the some new part by putting the car through a set of gears on the same road? Check plus a license revocation. Getting a call to replace a buddy's busted universal joint at 3 AM and then hanging up the phone after the third time it happened? Check. Whooping up on numerous Mustangs, Mopars, and other hot Chevrolets? Check, check, and check.
Fast forward almost 40 years, and times sure have changed. Dad had to sell the Chevelle when he went to college. He picked up a ’75 Corvette brand new later on down the road—which he still has I might add—met my mother, got married, had me and my brother, and concentrated on raising a family. He left the corporate world to start his own accounting practice, bought a’65 Nova to race, and eventually gave up his racing when he bought me and my brother a Jr. Dragster. Now, both my brother and myself are grown up, have cars of our own, and in my case, am looking to settle down and have a family of my own. After buying a ’46 Mercury street rod a few years ago, Dad had the itch again. This itch would only be scratched by getting the one car he wishes he had never let go—a ’69 SS396 Chevelle.
The requirements were clear. It had to be an original SS396, had to be Glacier Blue, and had to be in workable condition. After much looking, Dad got his wish. He told me the deal fell through, but he was in the driveway laughing when I came home from work, and I knew something was up. He snookered me good. Sitting in the driveway was a Glacier Blue ’69 Chevelle.
While the car was different from his original A-body—this one had the Super Sport stripes, it was an automatic, and it had bucket seats with a console—Dad was smiling like he was 17 all over again. I was thrilled for him. You can’t take your money with you when you go, so you might as well spend it while you’re here to make you happy. Besides, he gave my mom the best reason of all. With the financial market in the shambles that it currently is, he told her it would be better to pull the money out of the savings account where it was making no money and invest it in a Chevelle, which will appreciate as time goes on. Think I am going to have to keep that one in mind Dad.
The best thing of all is that Dad drives the car every chance he gets. For the first time in a long time, he took a shot down the quarter-mile behind the wheel of the Chevelle. Each time he slips behind the wheel, he is back in high school all over again. I guess you could say my Dad found the fountain of youth, though his is fueled by racing gas and the good old Bow Tie. He even let my brother and I drive the car. I guess being the elder son has its advantages, as I got to drive her first. The only requirement was Dad had to ride shotgun. We took a spin around the block, and I reveled in the experience of driving a big-block musclecar for the first time. I didn’t beat on it. That’s Dad’s job. Mine is to just make it go faster.
Check back to superchevy.com in the next week or so to see just how much power and how quick a 325 hp 396 Chevelle is.
Now if I could only have a big-block Chevelle of my own…