This car, Lot 341, sold for $18,705,000, including buyer’s premium, at RM Sotheby’s Monterey, CA, sale, on August 15, 2026.
In 1962, a group of Chevrolet’s top engineers decided that they had a problem. Chevrolet was General Motors’ entry-level brand, charged with attracting the young consumers of the post-war boom and feeding them into GM products. Though they didn’t sell a lot of Corvettes, it was Chevy’s halo car — the car that created the exciting Chevrolet image — and the new Sting Ray was coming to market for 1963. This was an entirely new generation of Corvette, but it was conceived and built as a sporting road car, not as a racer.
A fraught plan
Starting in the late 1950s and expanding into prominence in the 1960s, sports-car racing had entered the American experience in important ways: It was exciting, exotic, colorful, noisy and a bit dangerous. That is, a perfect encapsulation of the emerging zeitgeist of the post-war American psyche. Corporate GM was still committed to the 1957 Automobile Manufacturers Association ban on auto racing, but significant parts of Chevrolet’s leadership felt that it was essential that the new Corvette should be an important part of that show.
Thus, in utter secrecy, including and specifically from GM’s upper management, the engineers started to create a new “lightweight” Corvette suitable for racing.
It was a bit of wishful thinking on the part of Chevy General Manager Semon “Bunkie” Knudsen and engineer Zora Arkus-Duntov that allowed them to think that racers would be allowed by the brass, but that was a problem for later. First, they had to create a car. The lightweight Shelby Cobra had eaten the Corvette Z06 coupe’s lunch. A stock Corvette was about 3,100 pounds, and the goal was 2,000 pounds. Clearly, there was a lot of work to do, but they finally got it to 2,300 pounds. The new lightweight car’s engine, drivetrain and suspension were at least arguably Corvette, and the body pretty much looked like one, but beyond that it was a purpose-built racer. The body was a single-piece, ultra-lightweight unit that could be unbolted and removed from the chassis for access.
The plan was to start with six chassis including a “mule” for testing and five actual racers, with the hope of getting at least three cars ready for the 1963 season. In the beginning things went well, and chassis 001 was taken to Sebring just before Christmas 1962, where it immediately turned laps close to the track record. Success was in sight. Unfortunately, the engineers’ luck was about to run out. News of the Sebring test leaked to GM’s upper brass, and in January the edict fell: No GM division would be permitted to stray from the AMA racing ban; the entire project was to be scrapped immediately. The good news was that they had already built enough parts for five cars, and they weren’t (at least officially) prohibited from finishing them and loaning them to friendly outsiders.
Thus, early in the 1963 season, chassis 003 and 004 were loaned to Chevy dealer Dick Doane and Gulf Oil executive Grady Davis. The future aluminum engines were not ready for competition, so they got iron-block, fuel-injected, 360-hp 327s to use. Part of this was intentional: The cars were untested, so Arkus-Duntov wanted an excuse if they didn’t do well. And in fact, they didn’t. There were lots of teething problems and Chevy was prohibited from helping, but that didn’t prevent their engineers from spending weekends at the races. By the end of the season, they knew what was going to be needed to make the Grand Sports work.
Success, but brief
In September, both cars were called back to Chevrolet with the plan of a major show at the Bahamas Speed Week in December. A third chassis, 005, was added. The cars got a complete makeover, including the aluminum 377-ci engine, now with 58-mm Weber carburetors and 550 hp. The early 6-inch Halibrand wheels became 9.5 inches wide for the new tires that were available, and flared bodywork gave them room. What we now consider to be the iconic Corvette Grand Sport was born.
In the three races of the Bahamas week, the Grand Sports simply ran away from the Cobras, cementing the legend. Chassis 003 claimed Second in Class there. Finally, 1964 was the Grand Sport’s year, with the three coupes all dominating (003 finished Second in Class at Sebring). By 1965 their time was mostly past, though 003 had another strong finish at Sebring, claiming Third in Class. Chevrolet had held back chassis 001 and 002, but sold them in 1965 to Roger Penske with open bodywork, where they did all right. Racing moved on.
By the end of the decade, all five Grand Sports had moved to the hands of enthusiast collectors, beginning their lives as icons, and later as historic racers. Today’s subject, chassis 003, went through a few hands before 1989, when my good friend Tom Armstrong bought it. He loved and revered the car, but he was first and foremost a historic racer.
An American legend
I need to spend a few words talking about “matching numbers.” Automakers such as Ferrari, Jaguar and Aston Martin over-engineered their cars to survive long races, with the result that original parts tended to remain intact. Sprint-racing specialists, particularly the Americans, treated engines and drivetrain components like rounds in a chamber — disposable and replaced often.
My friend Tom had what he thought was an original 377-ci engine on a stand, but never used it. I know that he destroyed at least three aluminum V8s during his 14-year tenure racing the Grand Sport, and lord knows how many transmissions. A standing joke was that Tom’s support truck had a vending machine inside: Insert $2,500 and a fresh transmission would drop out. The point is that for cars like this, originality is the body, chassis and provenance. Matching numbers is a fantasy.
Also, unlike the great European racers of the era that could arguably be used on the road, a Grand Sport is strictly for track use. Well, not quite; Tom’s working shop was about half a mile from the Seattle suburb of Issaquah, WA, where an “American Graffiti”-style drive-in, the Triple XXX, hosted the hot-rod crowd. One night, Tom lit off chassis 003 and drove it there, rumbling and shaking the ground. There was great hilarity as rodders looked at this old dude who had brought an outrageous, over-the-top Corvette wannabe, then slowly everyone realized that it was real and stood in awe. The local cops offered to escort Tom back home, which he was happy to accept.
I don’t know how to justify this car’s $18.7m price tag, except to note that someone was willing to pay it. The three coupes are the best, as the roadsters came in 1965 and didn’t achieve much success. Chassis 003 has great history and unquestioned provenance, and it is close to being the ultimate American racing icon. It’s not quite America’s 250 GTO — that would be the Shelby Cobra Daytona Coupe, but it is in the same league. They almost never come available, so if someone wanted one, this was their chance. Fairly bought.
