There’s an aura about a Corvette.
Those fortunate enough to have owned one know what I mean. I never owned one–and I’m not entirely sure why. But I’ve driven–and delighted in–five generations of Corvettes. Some were more impressive than others. But during the Vette’s formative years, none ever smacked me between the eyes any harder than the ’56/’57 Fuelie I drove decades ago at General Motors Proving Grounds at Milford, Michigan.
Judging those early Corvettes in today’s milieu is unfair. Sports cars were then an anomaly. Only the cognoscenti knew about, or owned, the few samples from England: Jaguars, Austin-Healeys, MGs, Triumphs. Straightline performance wasn’t everything; handling ability and the call of the open road were. As for domestic cars, those behemoths were bereft of the performance ability we enjoy today. If one approached, or broke, the 10-second mark to 60 mph, it was cause for jubilation.