In an era when muscle cars roared and moon landings captured imaginations, one man decided what the world really needed was a luxury car that looked like it time-traveled from the Great Gatsby’s garage. Enter the second coming of Stutz: a brand no one expected to return, reborn with Italian tailoring, American horsepower, and more gold trim than a Vegas casino lobby. It was bold. It was bizarre. It was brilliant. This is the story of how a defunct pre-war nameplate was resurrected in the most gloriously over-the-top way imaginable—and why the result was anything but ordinary.
Origins of the 1968 Revival – O’Donnell Meets Exner
The original Stutz Motor Company had gone defunct by 1937, but decades later a wealthy New York banker named James D. O’Donnell set out to resurrect the storied marque. In August 1968, O’Donnell incorporated Stutz Motor Car of America and recruited legendary stylist Virgil Exner – former design chief at Chrysler – to pen a new ultra-luxury car bearing the Stutz name. Exner had been sketching “Revival Cars” for defunct classics (like Duesenberg and Packard) in the mid-’60s, and he eagerly applied his neo-classical vision to Stutz. The plan was ambitious yet pragmatic: use proven American mechanicals for reliability, but cloaked in a bespoke Italian-built body exuding 1930s glamour. Pontiac division head John DeLorean even approved use of the full-size 1969 Pontiac Grand Prix as the donor platform, ensuring parts and service for the exotic new Stutz would be as easy as a trip to any GM dealer.
O’Donnell raised about $1.2 million in funding to get the venture off the ground. Exner, known for his Forward Look fins and flair in the ’50s, crafted a boldly retro design: a long nose capped by a diminutive upright grille, separate freestanding headlamps on stalks, a curvaceous body with sculpted fender “sweep” lines, and a spare tire protruding through the rear deck lid. The motif intentionally harkened back to grand coachbuilt cars of the pre-war era – Exner even cheekily noted the car’s lengthy hood had a “subtle phallic” quality. Inside, the Stutz would epitomize opulence, with European leather upholstery on nearly every surface, deep-pile mink or lambswool carpeting, inlaid burled walnut trim, and real gold-plated accents (even the door hinges, dash knobs and dipstick wore 24-karat gold). A state-of-the-art Lear Jet AM/FM radio-phone was fitted – reportedly making it the most expensive car radio in the world at the time. Clearly, this would be no ordinary automobile; as one writer quipped, it was “a grossly wasteful car… beautifully made, but why?”.
Designing the Neo-Classic Blackhawk – Exner & Ghia
Exner’s show-stopping design was realized as the Stutz Blackhawk, a luxurious grand touring coupé that combined American muscle with Italian craftsmanship. The first prototype Blackhawk was hand-built by Carrozzeria Ghia in Turin in late 1969 at an eye-watering cost of over $300,000. Debuting in January 1970 at New York’s Waldorf Astoria Hotel, the Blackhawk was billed as one of the most expensive cars in the world. With a list price around $22,500 (at a time when a new Cadillac cost under $8,000), the Blackhawk’s exclusivity was guaranteed. It stretched over 19 feet long and was finished in a lustrous multi-layer lacquer paint (14–22 coats were laboriously hand-rubbed to a mirror shine). Up front, a narrow chrome radiator-shell grille and pontoon fenders gave it a classic face, while dummy side exhaust pipes along the fenders hinted at Duesenberg-like performance. In reality, under the skin it shared its bones with the Pontiac Grand Prix: a robust chassis, big-block V8 engine, and GM Turbo-Hydramatic transmission. This approach meant that beneath the baroque styling, the car had modern reliability – one could find replacement parts for this coachbuilt Italian exotic at any Pontiac dealership!
Despite its vintage looks, the Blackhawk packed serious muscle for the era. Early models came with Pontiac’s 7.5L (455 cu in) V8 cranking out over 425 horsepower, sending power to the rear wheels via a 3-speed automatic. Performance was respectable for a 5,000+ lb luxury tank: 0–60 mph in ~8 seconds and a top speed around 130 mph. In practice, fuel economy was atrocious – but if you could afford a $25,000 toy, gas mileage was hardly a concern (as one tongue-in-cheek reviewer noted, “if you’re happy to waste so much on the car in the first place, you won’t mind wasting petrol too”). What truly set the Blackhawk apart was its artisan construction. The costly process involved buying a brand-new Pontiac Grand Prix in the U.S., chopping off its entire body, and shipping the rolling chassis to Italy. At Officine Padane in Modena, master coachbuilders would hand-form an entirely new body from steel – no fiberglass was used. Panels were laboriously hammered over wooden bucks in old-world fashion. The new body shared nothing with the Pontiac, from the unique split windshield to the trunk-integrated spare tire holder. The craftsmen then applied show-quality paint, fitted hand-stitched Connolly leather, polished walnut, and installed custom luxury touches to the buyer’s whims. Each car took hundreds of man-hours – Stutz reportedly lost around $10,000 on each of the first 25 cars sold in 1971, thanks to this extravagant build process.
Star-Studded Debut – Elvis, Sinatra, and the Hollywood Elite
If the price tag didn’t make the Blackhawk exclusive enough, its early clientele certainly did. The very first production Blackhawk was snatched up by none other than Elvis Presley on the spot at its launch – in fact, Elvis so coveted the car that he talked the Los Angeles Stutz dealer into selling him the pre-production prototype, even though that car had technically been promised to Frank Sinatra! The King of Rock ’n’ Roll paid about $26,500 (worth over $200k in today’s money) and even offered to pose for publicity photos as part of the deal. Sinatra – who refused to do such promotions – lost out to Elvis’ star power. This set the tone for Stutz’s marketing: celebrity cachet. Throughout the 1970s, owning a Stutz became a flashy status symbol for entertainers, royalty, and tycoons who thought a Rolls-Royce or Ferrari was too ordinary. Elvis would eventually own four Blackhawks (his favorite being a black 1973 Series III that he drove regularly until his death). Other early adopters read like a Who’s Who of the era: crooners Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Jr., comedian Lucille Ball, talk-show host Johnny Carson, glam pianist Liberace, actor Tommy Smothers, daredevil Evel Knievel, boxing legend Muhammad Ali, and even foreign dignitaries. The Stutz’s outrageous looks made it a natural on screen as well – it appeared as the ultimate rich-guy’s ride in movies and TV shows (it even guest-starred in an episode of Columbo and the original Gone in 60 Seconds as shorthand for “filthy rich” wheels).
All the glitz helped fuel orders despite middling reviews. Contemporary car critics often panned the Blackhawk’s garish styling and hefty price; one quipped that it was “the car to flaunt your lack of taste” among the ’70s rich. But the target customers didn’t mind – in fact, they embraced the over-the-top aesthetic. Nothing said “I’ve made it” quite like pulling up to a Beverly Hills hotspot in a Stutz, chrome gleaming, and 24-karat gold hood ornament glinting in the paparazzi flashbulbs. This cultural impact was perhaps best embodied by Elvis: the last known photograph taken of him alive was of Elvis driving through the Graceland gates in one of his Stutz Blackhawks in 1977. For a moment in time, the Stutz revival truly was the toast of Tinseltown.
Italian Coachbuilding: From Padane to Saturn
Behind the scenes, however, the little company was learning some hard lessons. Shipping fully built Pontiacs to Italy only to discard most of the car was not a sustainable business model. After delivering the first batch of roughly 25 cars in 1971, Stutz Motor Car of America was hemorrhaging money – they reportedly lost about $10k on each Series I Blackhawk. O’Donnell realized changes were needed to make production more efficient (or rather, less absurdly inefficient). Starting in 1972, for the Series II Blackhawk, Stutz switched coachbuilders to Carrozzeria Saturn in Cavallermaggiore, Italy, and re-engineered the body to utilize more of the stock Pontiac’s structure. The distinctive split windshield was dropped in favor of the Grand Prix’s standard curved windshield, and the elaborate bespoke rear bumper/spare-tire assembly was simplified to use Pontiac’s own bumper with some chrome add-ons. In short, the later cars shared more glass, door frames, and underpinnings with their donor cars to save cos. Purists noted that this slightly compromised Exner’s original proportions – for example, the 1972-and-later Blackhawks had a longer rear overhang and less aggressive stance, since they grafted on the Grand Prix’s stock tail section and larger rear bumper. But these changes finally allowed Stutz to build cars without losing a fortune on each one. From 1972 onward, Stutz could even turn a modest profit per car, albeit at a still stratospheric sticker price. By 1976, a new Blackhawk’s base price had ballooned past $35,000, and fully optioned examples (with bespoke touches) could reach $50,000+. In 1978, the price topped $64,500 – making Stutz among the most expensive production cars in the world at the time.
The move to Carrozzeria Saturn also geographically shifted Stutz production from Modena (in Italy’s Emilia-Romagna region) up to the Piedmont area near Turin. Turin was Italy’s automotive capital, home to coachbuilders like Bertone and Pininfarina, so Stutz was in good company. The Turin craftspeople continued to hand-build the Blackhawks in small batches, often with quirky variability: as enthusiasts later observed, trim and details would sometimes differ depending on what parts were on hand in the Italian workshop that week! Still, every Stutz maintained the key elements of Exner’s design DNA – the freestanding headlights, the sweeping fender lines, the vertical chrome grille, and that signature continental spare tire hunchback on the trunk. In fact, Stutz proudly advertised that each car was “individually hand crafted” and could be tailored to any customer desire. Need your family crest inlaid in the wood door panels? No problem. Want ermine fur carpets and an integrated liquor cabinet? If your wallet was thick enough, Stutz would oblige.
The Blackhawk Evolves (1971–1987) – Engines, Updates & Paolo Martin’s Touch
Mechanically, the Blackhawk went through as many twists and turns as its baroque bodywork. Since Stutz used whatever GM powertrains were available (and emissions laws were rapidly changing in the ’70s), the cars ended up with a grab-bag of V8 engines over the years. Early Series I–III cars (1971–73) typically ran Pontiac’s big 455 cubic-inch (7.5L) V8, but customers could special-order alternatives like a Chevy 454 or even Cadillac’s 472/500ci engines. A few early cars apparently were fitted with Ford mills (e.g. a 429 Cobra Jet or 460 V8) at customer reques – a testament to Stutz’s “have it your way” ethos. By 1977, with emissions rules strangling output, Stutz offered everything from a small-block Ford 302 up to a Cadillac 425 or Ford 460, trying to balance performance and compliance. The result was a bit of a mechanical Frankenstein; one author joked that by the late ’70s the Blackhawk was “a mélange: a late-’60s platform, ’70s GM interior bits, and engines from the Malaise era” all rolled into one. Nonetheless, the car’s heavy 18-gauge steel body and tons of added soundproofing ensured it was more boulevard cruiser than quarter-mile bruiser. As Car and Driver wryly noted, “clad as it is in 18-gauge steel, a Stutz is no lightweight and even 425 CID of GM V8 doesn’t push it very far, very fast”. Speed was not the point; swagger was.
Stutz gave the Blackhawk cosmetic refreshes almost yearly (often grandly calling each year a new “Series” or even using Roman numerals like Blackhawk VI, VII, etc.) but underneath, the first-generation design soldiered on through 1979. By that time, about 350 Blackhawks had been sold (since 1971). General Motors threw a curveball in 1978 by downsizing the Pontiac Grand Prix platform – suddenly the chassis Stutz had relied on became too small for the Blackhawk’s proportions. Unwilling to shrink their flamboyant coupé, Stutz actually stockpiled dozens of 1977 Pontiac Grand Prix chassis and kept building the original design through 1979! But the writing was on the wall; a new design was needed for the new era of downsized American cars.
Enter Paolo Martin, an acclaimed Italian designer (famed for work like the Ferrari Modulo concept and Rolls-Royce Camargue) who was commissioned in 1976 to modernize the Stutz look. Martin’s drawings retained the classic Stutz cues but with tauter lines, less front overhang, and a more upright, formal roof – anticipating a slightly smaller car. These designs were put in the drawer until 1980, when Stutz finally launched the second-generation Blackhawk (sometimes dubbed Blackhawk VIII) using GM’s full-size B-body underpinnings. The new donor was the downsized Pontiac Bonneville/Oldsmobile 88 two-door platform, with a 116-inch wheelbase (close to the old GP’s). Externally, the 1980–87 Blackhawks looked very similar, though eagle-eyed fans could spot differences. The front chrome “prow” nose was slightly shorter than before, the peaked fenders a bit less exaggerated, and the massive wraparound bumpers were replaced by more integrated units (in fact, the front bumper on later cars was essentially the stock Bonneville bumper with custom end caps). Still, the trademark freestanding headlamps remained – a proudly stubborn holdover of Exner’s original vision. The car had lost a bit of its 1970s excess and “brashness” in the downsizing, but it certainly was still unmistakably a Stutz.
D’Italia and Bearcat: The Convertible Stutz Saga
O’Donnell always hoped to offer a convertible, harkening back to the racy Stutz Bearcats of the 1920s, but U.S. safety regulations in the early ’70s made convertibles difficult. Initially, Stutz experimented by creating a one-off convertible version of the Blackhawk around 1975, dubbed the “D’Italia”. This was essentially a roofless Blackhawk Series III, finished in white with red upholstery, and it became famous through a game of celebrity musical chairs. According to lore, Elvis Presley ordered the D’Italia but never took delivery; instead, it ended up with daredevil Evel Knievel, who bought it in 1976 for a record price of $100,000 (making it the most expensive car in the world at that time). Knievel later sold this very Stutz to singer Wayne Newton – clearly, only showbiz’s flashiest figures could handle a car this ostentatious! The D’Italia convertible (with its pure, un-tinted side windows and no roll bar) remained a one-off prototype, but it proved there was demand for an open Stutz, and it whetted O’Donnell’s appetite to build more. It is now part of the Petersen Museum.
By 1979, with convertible restrictions relaxed, Stutz introduced the production Bearcat Convertible – reviving that hallowed model name from Stutz’s 1910s glory days. The Bearcat (sometimes called Bearcat I by enthusiasts to distinguish it) was essentially an open-top version of the Blackhawk with a few tweaks. Because U.S. safety standards required rollover protection, Stutz engineers gave the Bearcat a sleek “Targa”-style roll bar behind the front seats, wrapped in padded canvas and emblazoned with the Bearcat scrip. The forward part of the roof was a pair of removable T-top panels, and a folding soft-top mechanism tucked under a boot cover at the rear. With the roof down, the Bearcat offered flashy open-air motoring – you could cruise Rodeo Drive and everyone could see you (which was, of course, the goal). Other than the roof configuration, the Bearcat was mechanically identical to the Blackhawk and shared its over-the-top interior and exterior trim. At around $100,000 a pop in 1979 (over $400k today), it was an extraordinarily expensive toy. Only a handful were built in 1979–80 (exact numbers are murky, but it’s likely no more than a few units). One of these rare Bearcats found its way into the collection of petrolhead Evel Knievel (upgrading from his earlier D’Italia).
The Four-Door Stutz: Duplex, IV-Porte, and Victoria
From the beginning, Virgil Exner had envisioned a four-door Stutz to complement the Blackhawk coupe. In the original 1969 brochures, Exner even showed a rendering of a Stutz sedan concept called the “Ministeriale”. The very first attempt to build one came as early as 1970, when Stutz commissioned Carrozzeria Padane to construct a prototype sedan on a Cadillac DeVille chassis. This car, essentially a stretched Blackhawk with a longer roof and rear doors, was called the Stutz Duplex (meaning dual-door on each side). The Duplex kept the Blackhawk’s front styling and even the sporty 2-door’s roofline, which gave it a somewhat odd but undeniably imposing presence. It was offered for sale in 1972–73 with a staggering price around $32,500. However, buyers in that era were less keen on a neo-classic sedan, and the Duplex remained extremely limited – only one or two were ever built before the model was quietly dropped by 1974. (One of these rare four-door Stutzes found its way to the Saudi royal family early on, but it was truly a unicorn.)
Stutz learned from that false start and later tried again, once the core Blackhawk was established. In 1979, alongside the refreshed Blackhawk coupe, they introduced the Stutz IV-Porte (a playful name meaning “four-door” – a nod to the Italian Quattroporte). This time, the sedan was built on the same full-size GM B-platform the Blackhawk would adopt for 1980, namely the Pontiac Bonneville/Olds 88 chassis. The IV-Porte had more formal styling: a proper sedan roofline (no more cut-down coupe roof), and it omitted the side faux exhaust pipes for a slightly cleaner look. It still sported the ostentatious Stutz grille, freestanding lights, and continental spare hump – no one would mistake it for a Buick, that’s for sure. The interior was pure executive lounge, with rear reclining seats, drop-down wooden tray tables, and enough burled walnut to make a Rolls-Royce blush. Between 1979 and 1981, Stutz built roughly 50 IV-Portes. The 1981 model listed at $84,500 – about the cost of 3 contemporary Cadillac sedans. A few celebrity clients took the bait: country singer Kenny Rogers owned a white IV-Porte, and soul legend Barry White had a black one (later restored on a TV show). The IV-Porte gave Stutz a credible entry in the ultra-luxe sedan arena, albeit a short-lived one.
In 1982, with the Pontiac Bonneville donor going out of production, Stutz transitioned the sedan to the Oldsmobile 88 platform and relaunched it as the Stutz Victoria. The Victoria was essentially an extended-wheelbase IV-Porte – about 10 inches longer for more rear legroom. Stutz marketed it as an owner-driven limousine, even offering chauffeur services to buyers as part of the package. The Victoria retained the IV-Porte’s styling cues (spare tire, freestanding lamps), but notably deleted the fake side pipes for a cleaner profile. Approximately 20 Victoria sedans were built from 1981–85. In an odd twist, almost all of them were painted white and sold en masse to the House of Saud – the Saudi royal family – for use as protocol cars in Riyadh. Unfortunately, these Victorian dreams didn’t last long; reportedly the Saudi fleet of Stutz sedans was retired after only 2–3 years due to “various malfunctions”. (One can imagine the desert heat and a hand-built electrical system weren’t the best mix.) Still, for a brief moment, white Stutz Victorias whisking Saudi princes around the palace must have been a sight to behold.
Diplomats and Royals: Limousines Fit for Kings (Literally)
If the regular Stutz models weren’t exclusive enough, the company had another trick up its sleeve for their richest clientele: ultra-limited royal limousines. In 1980, Stutz unveiled the Stutz Royale – a gigantic state limousine intended purely for heads of state and monarchs. The Royale was an extremely stretched version of the sedan, riding on a custom-length chassis nearly 25 feet long. Famed Italian designer Paolo Martin was behind the Royale’s design, giving it even more grandiose features. Most outrageous was the interior fitment of a throne seat in the rear compartment! In true dictator-chic fashion, this single elevated seat could rise through a sliding sunroof and rotate 360°, allowing a king or president to stand and wave to crowds during parades. (Yes, a pop-up, spinning throne – because why not?) When the dignitary was done greeting the masses, the throne would lower and the armored roof panel would close automatically. The Royale was heavily armored and weighed as much as a small tank – and cost about as much too. An armored version listed for $285,000 in 1981 (over $680k in today’s dollars). Only three Royales were ever built. The first two went to King Fahd of Saudi Arabia, and the third to President Omar Bongo of Gabon – all delivered in the early 1980s. With their extraordinary length, the Royales slightly exaggerated the already quirky Stutz styling (to put it kindly, the standard Stutz design “suffered at this extended chassis length”). But for their intended purpose – slow ceremonial cruises surrounded by guards – they served just fine. These are perhaps the ultimate collectibles of the Stutz revival era, truly fit for a king (and designed by one of Italy’s top designers, no less).
Stutz also produced a Diplomatica model, which was a somewhat less over-the-top limousine introduced around 1981. The Diplomatica was built on a Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham chassis (a GM D-body) that Stutz stretched by about 16 inches in wheelbase and widened substantially. The result was a huge sedan – around 247 inches long (over 20.5 feet) – albeit a notch down from the throne-equipped Royale landyach. The Diplomatica shared many design elements with the Royale (it looked like a slightly smaller sibling), and it was aimed at “diplomatic” use – think ambassadors, high officials, or just ultra-wealthy individuals who wanted an armored four-door without going full throne-car. Only 7 Diplomatica units were made (with an average price tag in the $200k+ range), and all but one were sold to Saudi Arabia. In essence, by the mid-1980s, Stutz had become a favored private toy-maker for Middle Eastern royals, crafting outrageously customized sedans, limos, and even armored SUVs to their order.
Yes, SUVs – Stutz wasn’t going to leave any money on the table. In the ’80s they created a few wild 4x4s, nicknamed Defender and Gazelle, based on Chevrolet Suburban underpinnings. These trucks were outfitted with thick armor plating and, incredibly, a roof-mounted machine gun turret as standard (for those pesky palace coup attempts, presumably). Externally they looked somewhat like regular Suburbans (with perhaps an upgraded grille), but inside they were all Stutz – sumptuous leather for the sheik, steel plate for security. Another variant, called the Bear, was a chopped-top convertible Suburban with a faux Rolls-Royce grille and running boards for armed guards to cling onto. These were intended for parade use by military or security forces in oil-rich kingdoms. Production numbers for the Stutz “luxo-trucks” are not well documented (they were likely built only on special commission), but they remain a fascinating footnote: Stutz literally armed and armored the opulent rides of several dictators and monarchs during the 1980s.
To put the whole Stutz lineup in perspective, here’s a summary of the major models from the 1968 revival onward:
Model | Years Produced | Layout/Donor Chassis | Coachbuilder (Italy) | Approx. Production | Designer(s) |
Blackhawk (coupé) | 1971–1979 (Series I–VII) 1980–1987 (Series VIII onward) | 1971–79: Pontiac Grand Prix (A/G-body) 1980–87: Pontiac Bonneville/Olds 88 (B-body) | 1971–71: Ghia (prototype) 1971–72: Padane (Modena) 1972–87: Saturn (Cavallermaggiore) | ≈ 350 built by 1980; ~500–600 total by 1987 | Virgil Exner (’68 original design) Paolo Martin (’76 refresh sketches) |
D’Italia (conv.) | 1976 (one-off prototype) | Pontiac Grand Prix (A-body) | Padane (Modena) | 1 built (sold to Evel Knievel) | Virgil Exner (based on Blackhawk) |
Bearcat (T-top conv.) | 1979–1985 (intermittent) | Pontiac GP (’79) then B-body (’80s) | Saturn (Turin) | Only a few (exact no. unknown) | Virgil Exner (orig. body) |
Duplex (sedan proto) | 1970–1973 (proto & offer) | Cadillac DeVille (RWD C-body) | Padane (Modena) | 1–2 built | Virgil Exner |
IV-Porte (sedan) | 1979–1981 | GM B-body (Pontiac/Olds/Buick) RWD | Saturn (Turin) | ~ 50 built | Exner/Martin (Exner base design adapted) |
Victoria (limo-sedan) | 1981–1985 | GM B-body (Oldsmobile 88) RWD (stretched +10″) | Saturn (Turin) | ~ 20 built (many for Saudi) | Exner/Martin (stretched IV-Porte) |
Diplomatica (limousine) | 1981–1985 | Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham (RWD D-body, stretched +16″) | Saturn / Coggiola (Italy) | 7 built (mostly Saudi) | Paolo Martin |
Royale (state limo) | 1976–1986 (special order) | Custom Cadillac-based chassis (25′ length) | Fontana | 3 built | Paolo Martin |
Defender/Gazelle (armored SUV) | 1983–1985 (special order) | Chevrolet Suburban 4×4 (armored) | Stutz (USA/Italy mix) | a few (custom built) | Paolo Martin (grille mods) |
Bearcat II (roadster conv.) | 1987–1995 (est.) | Pontiac Firebird (F-body) RWD (shortened) | Dunham Coachworks (USA) Body by Stutz | 12–13 built | (Unknown – in-house design) |
Table: Major Stutz Revival Models (1969–1995) – showing production numbers and origins.
The Final Chapter: Bearcat II and the Last Gasp (1987–1995)
By the late 1980s, tastes in luxury cars had shifted dramatically – the over-wrought neo-classics of the ’70s looked hopelessly out of date next to sleek new European sedans and high-tech grand tourers. Stutz sales in the U.S. had dried up, but a trickle of orders from the Middle East kept the company on life support into the ’80s. In a bid to reinvent itself yet again, Stutz decided to revive the storied “Bearcat” name for a modern sports car. The result was the Stutz Bearcat II, unveiled around 1987. Instead of a massive land-barge, the Bearcat II was a low-slung two-seat roadster, loosely based on the Pontiac Firebird/Chevrolet Camaro platform. It featured a shortened F-body chassis, contemporary independent front suspension, and a comparatively nimble size. But in true Stutz fashion, it still looked like nothing else on the road. The Bearcat II’s styling had hidden hints of the old Blackhawk (a upright chrome grille here, a spare tire bulge on the rear deck there), yet wrapped in a sleeker, rounded 1980s body that was completely unique. Most notably, the Bearcat II’s body was made of “Diamond Fiber Comp” – essentially carbon fiber – making Stutz one of the first automakers to use carbon composite on a production vehicle. The lightweight material meant no worries about rust (as Stutz cheekily advertised), and it kept weight fairly low despite the car’s luxury trimmings.
Under the hood, the Bearcat II packed a tuned 5.0L V8 (as used in the Firebird Trans Am) mated to either an automatic or manual gearbox, giving it performance that actually lived up a bit more to the sporty “Bearcat” name. It had a fully removable hardtop roof panel, turning it into a convertible for fair weather fun. Stutz targeted the nouveau riche of the booming 1980s with this model – think Wall Street moguls or oil princes who might want a flashy toy for Miami or Monaco. However, by this time Stutz’s dealer network was virtually nil (the last official dealer was whimsically named “Sunshine State Convertible Heaven” in Florida). Only 12 or 13 Bearcat II roadsters were ever produced, with two of them famously going to the Sultan of Brunei, who was known for collecting one-of-every-supercar on the planet. A few Bearcat IIs lingered in inventory into the early 1990s; the final cars weren’t sold until around 1993–95. They truly mark the end of the Stutz saga.
Company founder James O’Donnell retired in 1988, and with Exner long gone (he passed away in 1973), Stutz lost its guiding visionaries. The company quietly stumbled into the mid-1990s before shutting its doors for good. In total, O’Donnell estimated that about 600 Stutz cars of all types had been built during the entire revival run – an almost infinitesimal number in automotive terms, yet each of those cars has a story as colorful as the gold-plated trim it carries. Stutz Motor Car of America faded away, once again becoming an automotive footnote after a wild two-and-a-half-decade ride.
Legacy of the Stutz Revival
Looking back, the resurrected Stutz was a true product of its time – a “Define the 1970s in one car” candidate if ever there was one. It embodied the excess, flamboyance, and East-meets-West fusion that characterized a slice of that era’s luxury market. Here was a car styled by a Detroit design legend, built by old-world Italian coachbuilders, sold by Hollywood promoters, and bought by rock stars, actors, kings and shahs. It had the heart of a Pontiac and the soul of a Duesenberg. Was it tasteful? Absolutely not – even 1970s reviewers poked fun at its gaudy persona. But was it memorable? Unquestionably yes. The Stutz Blackhawk and its derivatives turned heads everywhere from Beverly Hills to the streets of Jeddah. They brought classic elegance (or gaudiness, depending on your view) into a modern context and proved that hand-built exclusivity could carve out a niche even when it defied all logic.
Technically, one could argue the Stutz revival was a failure – the company never achieved large sales or stable profitability, and in the end it catered mostly to a few ultra-rich enthusiasts. Yet the sheer audacity of the enterprise left a lasting imprint. Collectors today treasure the roughly surviving examples (only 16 of the first 25 Blackhawks are known to still exist), and rare Stutzes have appeared at prestigious auctions and museums. Even the Smithsonian has shown interest in the Stutz story as a cultural artifact of American automotive history. In recent years, dedicated fans like those on Peter Madle’s Stutz enthusiast site keep the flame alive, sharing photos and information about these unique machines.
In the final analysis, the Stutz revival of 1968–1995 tells a tale of bold vision, craftmanship, and unabashed opulence. It’s the story of a banker and a designer who dared to dream up a neo-classic supercar; of Italian artisans hammering steel into rolling sculptures; of Elvis prowling Memphis at midnight in a car with his name on a gold plaque; of Saudi kings waving from sunroof thrones. It may have all been, as one bemused journalist put it, “a very expensive practical joke” – but it was so overwhelmingly awful it was actually fun. In a world of rational automobiles, the Stutz was irrational to its core, and that is precisely what makes its story so engaging. The Stutz Motor Car Company came back for a second life and burned briefly but brightly, leaving behind a legacy as one of the most fascinating automotive ventures of the 20th century. Not bad for a marque that went from the Indianapolis 500 in 1911 to 24-karat gold door trims in 1981! The Stutz revival proved that sometimes history does repeat, just with more chrome – and the result was nothing short of legendary.
