As we draw closer to the end of summer in the Northern Hemisphere, what could be more seasonal than a big red domestic convertible? In August 1967, the editors Car Life tried a Plymouth Fury III convertible and found it an attractive and appealing road car, marred only by excessive thirst and rather scary brakes.
This road test begins with an editorial flourish:
RED, IT WAS—a deep, rich red that suffused the Fury III’s interior, contents and surroundings—a red that seemed to incarnadine the very sky above. Seats, door panels, sun visors—all red—even the steering wheel itself was fashioned of a translucent red plastic. And. even more confounding than its all-pervading redness, it was convertible! Surely this exquisite combination of delights would be enough to bewitch testers’ senses, to lure them into arcane realms of automotive excess and abandon.
The rhetorical impact of this passage would probably be enhanced if I had been able to offer you some color photos of a red-over-red car like the one Car Life tested. (I found one sale listing for a red 1967 Fury III convertible with red vinyl interior, but none of its six photos was even close to in focus.) The soberer, apparently far more common black interior doesn’t sing quite the same song of “automotive excess and abandon”:
CL continued:
It wasn’t quite like that, of course—anticipation always outruns reality—but the actual delights of a return to topless motoring were real enough. There is something about the sheer, downright pleasure of driving an open car—a feeling of free-wheeling escape from the super-silent, controlled-atmosphere, padded-cocoon world of tightly closed and insulated vehicles—a bold acceptance of the clouds above and the road below, and an exhilaration in the rushing wind and the sounds of speed.
Even discounting the decidedly unromantic “sitting in a cast iron frying pan” effect of black vinyl upholstery on a hot sunny day, I’ve always found the delights of open cars very resistible. It’s not that I don’t grasp the appeal, but I think it always looks better in the music video than it feels in the real world. Top-down driving might come close to the sales pitch for a leisurely 30-minute drive in the early evening of a day that’s warm but not too hot, with the blazing sun no longer directly overhead, a pleasant westerly breeze, and speeds not exceeding about 50 mph. Outside that narrow range of parameters, pleasure fades rapidly into discomfort and inconvenience, especially for unfortunate back seat passengers.
Still, as big convertibles go — and at 213.1 inches overall on a 119-inch wheelbase, this car was definitely “big” — the Fury III convertible had a lot to recommend it, including appealing styling with a refreshing lack of the weird stylistic indulgences that had made some earlier big Plymouths such an acquired taste. Car Life remarked:
Though the convertible’s presence on the streets caused no rioting or nubile assaults upon its drivers, the styling of the Fury III was eminently satisfying in the modern mode—a welcome trend toward design simplicity and away from the peculiar fantasy of excrescence merely for the sake of make and model identification. The gratuitous protuberances of yesteryear have been lopped off and slimmed down into strong, straightforward lines that should wear well in the eye of both the first owner and the second buyer.
The 1967 Fury was not a groundbreaking design — it looked like a cautious pastiches of the full-size Pontiac and Ford offerings of two years earlier — but it was pleasant and unpretentious. In convertible form, the Fury was just a little bit rakish: not too much, but just about enough to convey the appropriate mood and image.
The photo caption reads, “CLEAR SKIES, sunshine, a bit of breeze, the open road—all are part of the convertible syndrome that invites, demands top-down driving.”
There were two full-size Plymouth convertibles in 1967: the $3,118 Fury III, approximately equivalent to the Chevrolet Impala, and the $3,279 Sport Fury, equivalent to the Impala Super Sport. Closed Fury III models were available with the Slant Six, but the convertible was only available with V-8 engines.
The standard Plymouth V-8 in 1967 was the 318, but the car in the color photos has the 383-2V engine (a $69.70 option), while the Car Life test car had the 383-4V ($119.55). Both had TorqueFlite, a $216.20 option specified on nearly all full-size Plymouths; a 4-speed manual was optional, but extremely rare on these cars. Car Life thought the automatic was more in character for a car like this, and they were pleased with the four-barrel engine’s “ability either to idle smoothly and coolly about town or hurl the car forward in a great, storming rush of acceleration.” The cheaper 383-2V option wouldn’t have been quite so vigorous, due in part to its more restrictive single exhaust system (the 383-4V had dual exhausts), but it was probably more economical, and it didn’t require premium fuel.
Car Life‘s car also had power front disc brakes ($112.25) with 15-inch wheels and dual hydraulic circuits. On paper, this seemed like a recipe for above-average stopping ability, but the testers found the braking performance of their Fury III test car “vividly traumatic”:
Test drivers’ initial pleasure over the anticipated high performance of the Fury’s disc brakes changed abruptly to disbelief, then extreme disappointment on the test strip. The very first 80-to-zero emergency stop was a memorable, vividly traumatic experience for the testers. These two jaded stalwarts were reduced to blobs of adrenalin-laced protoplasm by the car’s actions under maximum deceleration, and later stoutly claimed that at one point they had been able to see both ends of the car at once.
The tragedy of a potentially superb braking system reduced to impotence by extreme forward weight transfer is a familiar story, and the results of this effect were almost classically pronounced in the Fury III. At the outset of the simulated panic stop, the brakes were applied heavily, just short of wheel lockup. As weight transferred forward onto the front wheels, the increasingly unloaded rear wheels locked, lost traction and slid sideways in an attempt to go around the still hard-braking front wheels. Luckily, the test road was long and wide, and allowed bringing the car to a more gradual halt.
This alarming result was due not so much to weight transfer, but to the very different characteristics of caliper disc and expanding drum brakes. Drum brakes are self-energizing, meaning that the rotation of the drum presses the brake shoes more firmly against the drum, giving more braking effort for any given line pressure. Disc brakes are NOT self-energizing, so their braking force increases linearly with greater pressure. Thus, if the front and rear brakes of a disc/drum system receive the same line pressure, the rear drums will tend to lock up much sooner than the front discs, producing the problem Car Life experienced.
Ford dealt with this problem by using a proportioning valve that would limit line pressure to the rear brakes until the front discs were more firmly engaged. This wasn’t a true antilock brake system, since it didn’t do anything to get the wheels rolling again once they did start to lock, but it made the brakes easier to modulate. Unfortunately, Chrysler tried to get by without a proportioning valve in its early power disc systems. They eventually realized their error and added a similar device, but not in 1967.
The sidebar at the bottom of the page describes what was involved in making a convertible of the unit-body Fury, which is instructive:
CUT THE TOP off any 2-door hardtop and—Shazam!—a convertible. Well, sort of a convertible. Actually, it will be more a bowl of Jello [sic]. That steel top did more than shield occupants from the sun. The top provides great structural rigidity, particularly against torsion, in the modern body shell. Twenty years ago, convertible frames were simply boxed, with X-members added, and the body shell was perched on top. Today’s unitized construction techniques require a different approach, because no frame, as such, is utilized.
The Plymouth Fury III is a typical example. As is normal for any unitized automobile structure, pseudo-frame members, called longitudinals, are an integral part of the floor pan-body sill structure. For convertible applications, sheet metal ribs are welded into the central cavity of the body sill box section. These ribs normally run the full length of the body, and contribute greatly to torsional rigidity of the body shell. Additional reinforcement is often incorporated into the cowl structure, with the result that the test Fury III convertible discussed herein demonstrates a degree of body rigidity which was considered exceptional by CL testers.
This was a commendable achievement for a big ragtop designed with mid-’60s structural engineering.
The photo caption reads, “TOP UP for inclement weather, the Plymouth Fury III displays clean, uncluttered appearance. Raising that top is a matter of pressing a toggle, securing latches and zipping in the rear window, the latter a trying process.”
The editors appreciated their test car’s solidity:
Plymouth design engineers have given the Fury III an unusually strong, stiff unit-frame which prevents nearly all of the objectional [sic] flexing and twisting characteristic of the majority of convertibles. This extra rigidity will bring dividends throughout the life of the car, and should even delay development of the body creaks, rattles and groans to which aging convertibles are wont to give querulous voice.
This stiffness also benefited handling, which was above-average for a full-size car:
High-speed handling of the Fury III is good for a car of its weight and size. The long-established Plymouth suspension system of torsion bars for the independent front wheels and longitudinal leaf springs at the rear seems entirely adequate for modern highway needs. Body lean and roll are moderate under all but fierce cornering, and the car gives a general impression of good balance and control.
The suspension strikes me as one of the most appealing aspects of these cars. Chrysler was gradually moving away from the firmness that had been a Mopar signature for the past decade, but the Fury was still noticeably less mushy than a lot of contemporary big cars, giving more composure without the harshness of a true heavy-duty suspension (which on convertibles would just tend to exaggerate any structure flex). It wasn’t a sports car, but it didn’t demand that you slow to a processional pace for sweeping turns.
Car Life‘s tester was unusually well-equipped, with a number of uncommon options, including a six-way power seat ($93.75) and Tilt-A-Scope steering ($86.80, only available with power steering). Just 2.2 percent of 1967 full-size Plymouths had power seats, while a mere 0.9 percent had the adjustable wheel. The editors tried to rationalize these items as safety features, which I think was a bit of a stretch: The Tilt-A-Scope wheel potentially made for a more comfortable driving position, but most people were likely to set it once and then forget it, and the convenience of the power seat doesn’t seem worth the cost, especially since there was usually no allowance for it in trade-in value.
All Fury III and Sport Fury convertibles came with a power top, which the editors found “a thing of blessed ease and grace,” although they suggested moving the switch to some position farther out of reach of “delighted by irresponsible young fingers.” The rear window could be unzipped for ventilation, but the CL testers found it annoyingly difficult to re-close, complaining that “working it closed behind top bows and straps across the wide, wide back is a test of dexterity and vocabulary.”
The photo caption reads, “COMPLETE, READABLE instrumentation, logically arranged controls near at hand were marks of human engineering shown in the Plymouth Fury III.”
The editors liked the instrument panel and dashboard layout, remarking:
Though we would have voted for the inclusion of an oil-pressure gauge, this must be rated an especially useful and attractive control center, and might well be studied by go-for-baroque designers who still feel they must include everything short of a pinball game just to make the layout impressive.
They found that it also did a good job of limiting preventing reflections on the instruments — a very important feature in a convertible, and a great advance over the dazzlingly shiny Chrysler Corporation dashboards of 1959.
Car Life found the Fury III a good road car, hampered only by its modest range on a full tank of premium fuel:
Top up, out of town and on the open road, the Fury III convertible comes into its own as a long-distance traveling machine. Though the inside noise level is slightly higher than in a hardtop, the padded, tight-fitting cloth top refuses to flap, and effectively seals out wind, rain and nearly all road racket. Controls already are, or can be. correctly positioned for long-haul relaxation, and nearly all auxiliary switches and buttons are close at hand. The 25-gal. fuel tank allows over 200 miles between refills at the Fury’s going rate of about 10 mpg—not an overwhelmingly long cruising range, but time for a rest stop anyway.
Car Life recorded only 10.8 mpg during their test, although the data panel estimated normal mileage at between 10 and 14 mpg. This was with the 3.23 axle, standard with TorqueFlite, which gave 24.2 mph per 1,000 rpm in top gear, a compromise between acceleration and cruising economy.
The photo caption reads, “A COULD-BE cavernous cargo compartment was rendered much less spacious by wasteful positioning of spare tire, wheel and tire-change tools.”
Here are some highlights from the Car Life performance figures:
- 0 to 30 mph: 3.1 sec.
- 0 to 60 mph: 8.7 sec.
- 0 to 100 mph: 23.0 sec.
- Standing quarter mile: 16.6 sec. at 86.2 mph
- Top speed: 115 mph
The editors called the Fury III convertible “undeniably excellent in a great many ways,” concluding:
In brief, while it would be enjoyable to sum up CAR LIFE’s test car as little more than a big, red playboy’s toy, … Plymouth’s Fury III successfully sustains the promise of gallantry and adventure common even to luxurious convertibles, and the rare ability to seem new again every time the garage door is opened. It is a car that is fun to see and to be seen in and even, when the occasion demands, a car to be used for serious motoring.
The dismaying brake issues might have put a damper on any really serious motoring, but that was the main lapse in the Fury’s fine all-around performance, which was about ideal for a large convertible: It wasn’t trying to be a muscle car, but it had enough go and enough composure to hustle a little when called for, without a punishing ride when taking it easy.
Like a lot of niche products, I think big convertibles like this were more desirable than necessarily desired — many more people liked the idea of them than were willing to actually put their money down. Fury ragtop production for 1967 totaled only 4,523 Fury III convertibles, plus another 3,133 Sport Fury convertibles. That really wasn’t enough to be sustainable, so the Fury convertibles disappeared after 1970. Even for people who never really wanted one, like me, it’s hard not to be sad they’re gone.
Related Reading
CC Outtake: 1967 Plymouth Fury III – Thanks Mom (by Brendan Saur)
Curbside Classic: 1967 Plymouth VIP – Very Important Plymouth Or Footnote To The Great Brougham Epoch? (by Tom Klockau)
Trackside Classic: 1967 Plymouth Sport Fury – Cognitive Dissonance (by Aaron65)
Convertibles had been very popular until around 1965 probably because they were the most glamorous cars an average person could afford. The Mustang and similar cars were an alternative. Also, air conditioning was an expensive option that made the additional premium for a folding roof a very hard sell. I have experience with a 1969 Catalina convertible that didn’t have AC. It wasn’t a cheap car when new, but that must have been the logic for omitting AC. By 1969,closed Catalina’s were mostly ordered with. AC.
Finding a convertible from the 60’s that was also equipped with air was a real rarity, at least in northern Indiana where I grew up. Convertibles were more expensive than closed cars and air was expensive too, so most people picked one or the other. I remember once my mother considering the idea of a convertible with air to be completely outside of something any rational person would consider. Only years later did I come to enjoy the sensation of driving my Miata with the top down on a warm day with the a/c vents blowing on my face. 🙂
I think the 1967 (and 1968) Plymouth was the last full-sized Plymouth that compared well with competitive Chevys and Fords. Starting with the fuselage generation, Plymouths suffered from cheap interiors and/or odd styling and were more niche than mainstream cars.
Those low production figures are typical. Mopar buyers were simply not convertible people. I just looked it up, and Ford sold over 19k 1967 Galaxie 500 convertibles (ignoring XLs), so almost 4x the number of Fury III convertibles.
I question whether the pictured car is actually dark red metallic. It appears to me to be the color Plymouth called “Bright Red”, which was a true red. Dark Red (which was called Ruby Red on Chryslers is more of a light maroon than a true red, as shown on this 1967 New Yorker, below. Of course, trying to do a search for any color with “red” in the name gets you a boatload of true red cars.
The trim plate indicates that the red convertible was originally Dark Red, but the BaT listing says it was repainted by a previous owner, who may have substituted a lighter color — not uncommon for latter-day repaints.
Speaking of Fury convertible, here a vintage 1967 Fury convertible ad.
10.8mpg. OMG. This reminds me of the mid 1970s, when the Wisconsin State Patrol would occasionally auction off their fleet of four door Furys. The price was right and they were well-maintained, so a couple of my friends bought them. They sold them soon after. Why? The combination of the 440 4V engine and Torqueflite resulted in 8-10mpg on average. One of these guys told me that you could almost watch the needle on the gas gauge drop when the throttle was down. Gas wasn’t THAT cheap back then…
Our “73 Fury” was kind a sort a like that. Under the hood was a “360”, though; didn’t need to do a lot of flooring the pedal, the car responded to just a push of the accelerator.
Climbing long hills could make the “gauge” move a bit.
I have the same drivetrain in a largely similar ’65 Chrysler and would say this is a pretty fair assessment.
10-14 mpg is pretty accurate. I drove about 1200 miles the last few weeks. A mix of city/highway & some very congested, sitting in traffic car cruises. Average came out to 12.2.
The spare tire placement is specific to the convertibles. Closed cars put it forward in the trunk, under the rear package shelf. The top well and the pump take up too much of this space in the convertibles.
I can’t comment on the braking issue as mine has drums all the way around and those have been fine.
From a front seat perspective, I find the wind to be acceptable up to nearly 60 mph and really at freeway speeds it’s mostly the noise that I don’t like. I suspect that riding in the rear is a different story, but will let Mr Cavanaugh or Mr Shafer comment on that. 🙂
It is almost difficult to remember just how bad gas mileage was back in the ’50’s and ’60’s. My Dad was a Dodge dealer in Benton Harbor, MI and we always drove to the family camp South of Marquette for our summer vacation, a trip of about 485 miles. I remember that we always had to stop for gas, not just once but twice on the way. We didn’t have a lot left when we got to camp.
Couple that 10.8 mpg with a slow, by today’s standards, of a 0-60 time of 6.7 seconds and it becomes obvious how much cars have improved since then. Thank you technology!
The black vinyl seats, a warm/hot,sunny, summer day; eeek!
My thought exactly. Like putting wheels on a cast iron frying pan.
I bought new Cadillacs every two years from 73 to 84 and had apportioning valve in the brakes and swapped ends several trying to stop quickly. Of course nobe of the car test guys will mention gm’s failures only chrysler.n
My mother liked to say her hated ’68 Sport Suburban was equipped with optional brakes. Not sure if they ordered front discs or not.
GM and Ford both had much better-looking convertible tops; these Mopar ones have weird proportions, especially the very upright angle at the front of the virtual C-Pillar.