The Story Behind the De Tomaso Pantera

Back in 1970, Ford was riding high off its Le Mans-dominating GT40, but the blue oval wasn’t done dreaming. Enter Alejandro de Tomaso, an Argentine ex-racer with a knack for building cars that looked like they belonged in a Fellini film but could brawl with Detroit’s finest. The result of their unlikely partnership? The De Tomaso Pantera, a mid-engine marvel that hit the New York Auto Show in March 1970 like a velvet-gloved punch, promising Ferrari flair at a price that wouldn’t make your accountant weep. At $9,975, it was half the cost of a Ferrari Daytona, yet it could smoke a Corvette to 60 mph in 5.5 seconds and hit 159 mph flat-out. Ford’s Lincoln-Mercury dealers, more used to peddling plush Continentals, suddenly had this Italian-American wildcat in their showrooms. Here’s the story of how it came to be.

Ford and De Tomaso: The Partnership Begins

The Pantera didn’t just appear out of thin air. De Tomaso’s dance with Ford began in 1963 with the Vallelunga, his first road car. A mid-engine grand tourer with a humble Ford Cortina four-cylinder, it was a proof of concept—sleek, Italian, but powered by Dearborn’s everyman engineering. It caught eyes, including those of Carroll Shelby, who teamed up with de Tomaso and Ford on the P70 program, a plan to craft an Italian-bodied chassis for Shelby’s “King Cobra” racers. That project fizzled when Shelby jumped ship to perfect the GT40, but de Tomaso’s hustle kept Ford intrigued.

Iacocca Sees an Opportunity

By 1969, Lee Iacocca, Ford’s North American chief and a man who could smell a marketing win from a mile away, saw potential. He wanted a GT car to humiliate GM’s Corvette, and de Tomaso’s suave Italian image was the perfect garnish. Ford’s product division got the green light to negotiate, and the vision was clear: a mass-produced supercar, sold through Lincoln-Mercury, blending Italian style with American muscle.

The Birth of the De Tomaso Pantera

The Pantera—codenamed “Tipo 874” in Italy and “M.S.E.” (Mid-Ship-Engine) at Ford—was the result. Penned by American designer Tom Tjaarda at Ghia, it had sharp, flared fenders and pop-up headlights that screamed exotic without the Ferrari price tag. Gianpaolo Dallara, poached from Lamborghini, engineered a steel unibody monocoque, a step up from the Vallelunga’s backbone chassis and a nod to mass-production practicality.

Under the hood sat Ford’s 351 Cleveland V8, pumping out 330 hp at 5,400 rpm and 344 lb-ft of torque at 3,500 rpm in its 1971 spec, with an 11:1 compression ratio that demanded premium fuel or it’d ping like a cheap pinata. A ZF five-speed transaxle sent power to the rear, delivering a 42/58 weight split that made the 3,100-pound Pantera corner like it was glued to the pavement. Independent suspension, rack-and-pinion steering, and four-wheel disc brakes—power-assisted, no less—gave it handling chops to match its straight-line grunt.

Ford Makes It Official

Ford’s commitment wasn’t just talk. In 1970, they bought an 80 percent stake in Ghia and Vignale, de Tomaso’s partners, with Iacocca himself chairing the new entity. Alejandro stayed on as head of his own firm but stepped back from managing Ghia and Vignale. A press release trumpeted the partnership as an “exchange of technical services” for building “specialty sports cars.” De Tomaso of America Inc. in Livonia, Michigan, handled imports, while Lincoln-Mercury oversaw sales and service.

Ford kept North American rights, leaving de Tomaso free to sell elsewhere. When the Pantera debuted in Modena, then New York, journalists were floored. Road & Track called it the “king of Italo-American exotics,” noting its design made the Corvette look like yesterday’s news.

Handbuilt Flaws and Assembly Challenges

But the Pantera was no polished gem. Built in Modena at a leisurely three cars a day by Vignale, early models were raw. Push-button door handles failed and body panels misaligned. The interior was a mix of ambition and quirk: black vinyl buckets with slat backs, a gated shifter begging to be caressed, and toggle switches galore, but tall drivers griped about cramped headroom, and the offset pedals made heel-and-toe a contortionist’s game. Cooling issues plagued the mid-engine layout, with the front-mounted radiator struggling to keep the V8 happy.

The Elvis Effect

And then there was the Elvis factor. In 1974, the King himself bought a Pantera. Legend has it the car refused to start one night, so Elvis did what Elvis did. He pulled out a revolver and shot it. Twice. The bullet holes were later patched and the car sold at auction, but the myth stuck: The De Tomaso Pantera wasn’t perfect, but it was impossible to ignore.

The End of the Ford Era

The early ’70s weren’t kind to passion projects. The oil crisis hit, emissions regulations tightened, and the market for thirsty V8 exotics shrank fast. By 1975, Ford pulled the plug on the partnership after roughly 5,500 Panteras had made it stateside. Lincoln-Mercury dealers went back to selling plush cruisers. And de Tomaso kept building the Pantera on his own for decades in low volumes, slowly refining it and selling it mostly in Europe.

For more history and behind-the-scenes insights on this legendary supercar, check out Jay Leno as he breaks it down on Jay Leno’s Garage.