Studebaker Avanti I photographed in the Henry Ford Mueum, Detroit.
Some “classics” were disagreeable when new. Some collectors think they are not getting their money’s worth unless a car feels dangerous. Whatever Avantis are selling for nowadays they’re not worth it. Except perhaps as warnings.
In December 1963 The Motor had one on test. I wrote an introduction heavy with faint praise just three weeks before they stopped making it. The constant loss of American car makers was a pity. Studebaker followed Hudson and Packard into history after trouble manufacturing the Avanti’s plastics body. It abandoned car production in the United States, retaining Canadian assembly but since the Avanti had never been made there before the company discontinued it—perhaps thankfully.
Motor’s editor Richard Bensted-Smith relaxed restrictions on road test writing the following year, allowing me to describe the Avanti’s nightmare axle tramp among other shortcomings. Astonishingly 21st century survivors of the 4,643 Avantis made at South Bend, Indiana are still cherished, yet claims it was the fastest production car of its time at 178mph (286kph) are nonsense. The Granatelli Brothers managed it once with a big-engined freak at Bonneville, but our test car barely managed 120, and I felt obliged to include an account of how even that was achieved.
The 4.7 litre V8 produced surges of power, got breathless at 6,000rpm, misfired and popping and banging was still 500rpm short. There was never any question of doing sprint acceleration tests. Lots of revs before dumping the clutch simply bounced the back axle up and down and it had to be coaxed to bite at low revs and build speed up gradually. The supercharged Avanti V8 produced great grunts right up to the top tachometer 6000 rpm. It was willing to rev past the limit in the lower gears, but after 1200 miles or so it became ragged above 5250 rpm, so our maximum speed runs were made with 500rpm short. The theoretical best on the test car’s low gearing would have been nearer 125mph (201.2kph). Before the misfiring, 6000 rpm was just about obtainable.
In the best of health with the right spark plugs maybe it might have managed a little more but not much. Its optional belt-driven Paxton supercharger blew a modest 5psi draught through a 4-choke Carter carburettor. Mercedes abandoned that sort of supercharging in the 1930s, but Studebaker found it easy to bolt one on at a late stage of production.
Even though time assuaged Raymond Leowy’s blunt styling it looked bizarre. Ian Fleming based one of James Bond’s cars on it. Yet despite displaying exquisite taste in cocktails shaken not stirred, if the Avanti was any guide, Fleming was confused about cars.
Furthermore, and like the Chevrolet Sting Ray we had about the same time whose failings Bensted-Smith also concealed, it had appalling grip in the wet. “The throttle had to be used sparingly or the back quickly became uncontrollable; the power generating copious wheelspin even in top gear. Alarming, not to say dangerous, even for quite experienced drivers.”
I had to add “experienced drivers” to refute any challenge we might not be up to handling all this power. Studebaker coyly concealed the bhp, much as Rolls-Royce did, not so much to create an air of mystery as simply hide that it was only giving about 300bhp, a poor return for a fuel consumption of 11mpg (25.7l/100km). The Avanti, I concluded, served only to confirm Bond’s bravery. It was a lesson in penetrating the wall of PR with which one was faced, plenty of contemporaries believing all the claims for Avanti, some of which have survived for years among collectors who do not seem to know better.