Bradley Automotive: Diehards Wanted

Bradley GT and GT II ads appeared regularly in car magazines, targeting the D-I-Y sports car enthusiast. Brochures followed suit.

In the early 1970s, any dolt with an eye for a wallet-friendly, sporty vehicle and about $3,500 to plunk down could drive home an hour later in, say, a new Opel GT, while retaining pristine fingernails and a freshly ironed shirt. That hands-off approach held little appeal for the core audience of the Bradley GT kit car.

Created in the late 1960s and first sold in 1970 by Gary Courneya and David Bradley Fuller, the Bradley GT kit car fit over a standard Volkswagen Beetle chassis a la typical dune buggies of the period. The pair formed Bradley Automotive (BA) and immediately installed as its president and spokesman the totally fictitious Mr. Gary Bradley.

Liberace takes delivery. From The Bradley VIP, Vol. 1 No. 1, published by Bradley Automotive. Image uncredited.

Surprisingly, the nonexistent Gary Bradley (far right) appeared in BA’s own newsletters and publicity photos, including the delivery of a gold metalflake 1972 Bradley GT (sporting silver candelabra B-pillar ornaments) to Liberace. According to the newsletter, second from right is BA Sales Representative Walter Broich, who took delivery of the first production Bradley GT in September, 1970.

From a March 6, 1977, Minneapolis Tribune article. Staff image by Pete Hohn.

Less surprisingly, Gary Bradley bore a strong resemblance to Gary Courneya, BA’s marketing maven (and later acknowledged president). Courneya appears with David Fuller (right) at the introduction of the Bradley GT II. Demonstrating its broad appeal, both U.S. Sen. Barry Goldwater and baseball star Gaylord Perry were Bradley GT II owners (if perhaps not builders).

Bradley Automotive showed early promise and encouraging initial sales, but eventually became entangled in production, financial and legal problems which ultimately led to bankruptcy and collapse of the company. For more gory details, see our companion article in Hemmings Motor News, November 2014, page 36.

But between troubling newspaper headlines and court cases brought about by unhappy customers, impatient investors and unpaid suppliers, that core audience of hands-on builders ordered, received and built an estimated 6,000 Bradley GT (and 500 GT II) kits and assembled cars from 1970 to 1981. One such survivor is Jeff Troy, whose Bradley GT currently shows a mighty impressive 645,000 miles and five rebuilds. Here, Jeff shares his story:

Jeff Troy and his stalwart Bradley GT in 1990 (1985 rebuild #2), in 1995 (rebuild #3) and as it looks today (rebuild #5). Images courtesy of Jeff Troy.

It was 1976. I was 29, living in the Philadelphia area, making my living on the road playing rock & roll. I was waiting for a flight out of Atlanta when saw this bright red, speckled automobile on display behind a perimeter of stanchions and velvet ropes. The shape was something like a Coke-bottle Corvette and an Opel GT hybrid, and the metalflake finish was almost as loud as my Sunn amplifier stacks.

I had no idea what this vehicle was, so I picked up one of the brochures which explained that it was a kit car that I could assemble myself. I was a Cadillac guy, and having already owned a few desirable sports cars, I normally wouldn’t have pursued the Bradley any further. However, “build your own car” has an appealing ring to a model aircraft builder, which I have been all of my life. My curiosity was positively piqued.

When I got home, I phoned Bradley Automotive for more information. I got the usual rhetoric about being the first in my area to own one of these cars, and use it as a demonstration vehicle to act as a Bradley dealer, but because my dad was in the home improvement industry and maybe half a wiseguy, I wasn’t much taken in by the pitch. I was, however, very interested in the car, so I purchased the manual to see if I had the necessary skills to tackle the project.

I ordered the full kit and some of the options. My kit was delivered a couple of weeks later in one of the Bradley Automotive 18-wheelers. Inside the trailer, bodies were suspended from the roof in slings on both sides, and boxes upon boxes of parts and accessories were stacked all along the floor. It was an exciting day.

My father-in-law and brother-in-law at that time helped the driver and I unload the kit, and the driver helped organize the inventory as we crossed off each box and each separate component on the delivery checklist. My kit was complete with the exception of two of the four headlight mounting tins. A Bradley representative called to tell me that they would be shipped within a week, and they were. They arrived only a few days later.

At my request, my kit was shipped in Bradley’s metallic brown metalflake finish, which I call “root beer.” I chose the buckskin interior, and added options that included the padded roll bar, Coolaire-Nordic air-conditioning system and the Executive Options package: full interior panels, license plate frames and a few other incidentals. The total cost was roughly $3,600. There was an additional $800 for shipping, but the sales people and I had negotiated to split that 50/50.

A gentleman near Newtown, Pennsylvania, operated a Volkswagen salvage yard. This was the late Mac Justice, and he was familiar with the Bradley kit and what was needed to complete one. I dropped another $1,100 to get a 1970 IRS chassis, a 1973 1600 dual port (Super Beetle) engine, a transaxle, steering shaft, steering head, four new tires and a few miscellaneous bits. Mac had put all these items together into a rolling chassis, so all I had to do was assemble my kit and bolt it down over the glider.

I’m a native New York City kid, so I never had any exposure to true gearheads. In Manhattan, we didn’t do engine classes in high school, and we didn’t know or care much about fabrication, welding or even hot cars, except maybe to read about them or see them in movies. I had my times with a 1967 Mustang, 1969 Fiat Spyder, 1971 XKE 2+2 and a 1976 “mid year” 427 Corvette convertible, but I drove these cars the same way I drove my Caddies: slow and easy, with a lot of respect for the aesthetics behind the metal.

In contrast, my band’s drummer was a hardcore motorhead, complete with a ’73 Mach 1 Mustang and all the burnouts and repair miseries that go along with driving a car like a drunken teenager. He often picked on me for getting my oil changed at the Cadillac dealer, so one of the deciding factors in buying the Bradley was “I’ll show him!” I still won’t change oil, but I’m gonna build a whole damn car, and so I did—ultimately five times.

Building the car was even easier than the company literature indicated. Every necessary part from heat registers to a rearview mirror and a license plate light was included, and no welding or fabrication of any kind was needed. I completed the entire project in approximately three weeks, working by myself in my brother-in-law’s garage. I can’t remember having much more fun in uncharted territory, and there was a tremendous feeling of accomplishment the first time I turned the key and listened to the engine run.

Getting the car titled in Pennsylvania was pretty tough because I didn’t fully understand what was required. I didn’t know about reconstructed titles, so I just phoned my regular contact at the DMV and asked for a plate, which she provided. Then I made the required appointment with the state police to have the car inspected. That’s when the trouble started.

It seems that a plate should not have been issued before the car was legally titled, and the inspecting officers were not at all pleased with my plea of ignorance. I had rented a bay at a local service station for the state inspection, and instead of going through the whole car and letting me know where the problems were, they stopped the inspection at the first unsatisfactory item. I had to bring that item to conformance with the current code, then make another appointment for inspection, rent the bay once more, and be prepared to be stopped again for any and every problem.

Fortunately, there was only one problem, and that was the diameter of the kit-provided steering wheel. Pennsylvania required a 12-inch minimum, and mine was an inch smaller. One phone call to Bradley put the problem to rest. They asked me to purchase a suitable steering wheel of my choice and send them the receipt. I did that, and received the check as promised within a week. Bradley Automotive was true to its advertising. Technicians were available to assist by phone throughout the build, and the company was quick to resolve any issues, however few they were.

My group was performing in Wildwood, New Jersey, when I completed my car and had a valid title and registration, so I climbed in and made the three-hour trip. When I got to the gig, I called my drummer out to the curb, where I showed him the car and told him that I still wouldn’t be changing my own oil. He never teased me again.

I was extremely pleased with my car, but over the coming months, I began to see some of its failings. Weatherproofing and soundproofing were never addressed, and other shortcomings became evident. The metalflake finish was good, but the clear gel coat was too thin and did not hold up. After just a few months of exposure to the sun, the car’s upper surfaces had turned from a rich, root beer brown to a chalky white, sandpaper-like eyesore. The faux hood scoop pooled water, which further blemished the car’s finish. Bradley provided first-class components and hardware with its kits, but the fasteners were another story; dime-store, plated junk that rusted after a few months of exposure to the elements.

I found the roll bar to be utterly useless. Like the high, seat back headrests, it prevented access to the rear jump seat for luggage or other carry along items, and worse, it didn’t fit the chassis correctly. If there would have been a rollover, the roll bar would have pulled out even more quickly than the windshield frame. Engine access was poor, and the engine lid piano hinge could not operate correctly because the rear of the car curves along the hinge line. The dual headlights did a good job for forward vision, but were nearly useless in turns because the sunken light buckets prevented any peripheral illumination.

In 1980, I disassembled the car and had the body sanded and painted in cream with metallic brown and copper scallops. I replaced the rusted fasteners and fixed everything I could to make the car more practical. In contrast to the original three-week build, the rebuild took three months because I now knew more than I did previously, and I wanted it right. Bradley’s components held up well, but the Volkswagen parts were not nearly so reliable. I did a second rebuild five years later, this time painting the body in white with pink, powder blue and metallic purple scallops, and adding an all-new light blue interior and the removable Sundowner “Convertible” rear window. That rebuild took nearly eight months.

By the time of the second rebuild in 1985, Bradley Automotive was gone, although Plexiglas windows, interior kits and other items were available. My car was still far from perfect, but I drove it everywhere and it always turned heads—something that the Mustang, Corvette and E-Jag never did to quite the same degree.

“Despite my two teardowns and rejuvenations of the Bradley components, it seemed as though one or another Volkswagen item would fail whenever I drove the car, and this continued to be the case for the next 10 years. Spindles, steering shafts, voltage regulators, starters, brakes, transaxles, points, plugs, ignition switches, front-end beams and nearly every VW part were constant irritants. Only the engine lived up to the Volkswagen reputation for reliability. I often had to park on an incline and roll the car down to get it going, but the engine rarely failed to jumpstart quickly and run reliably.

In 1992, after 17 years and 340,000 miles, I had reached a milestone. I would either junk the Bradley and restore a 1956 Thunderbird, or do a complete, ground-up restoration of the GT. Not being a mechanic, nearly everything for Littlebird would have had to be farmed out, but because I knew every nut and bolt in the Bradley, what was wrong and what needed to be done to get it all corrected, I would be able to do all the work myself. That clinched the decision, and the job ended up taking two years and three times the original cost of the car.

I spent a small fortune rebuilding the engine, repairing the chassis and replacing nearly every VW component. Bill Sherwood at Chassis, Suspension & Engine did the fabricating and welding work, as well as the final setup of all the Volkswagen systems. I built a 1641 engine with parts and advice that Bill provided, and followed the instructions in Tom Wilson’s book, How to Rebuild Your Volkswagen Air-Cooled Engine.

The body got a custom paint job by Corvette specialist Barry Hackert: black Sikkens lacquer with pearl white, yellow and red flames. I designed custom tuck-and-roll interior panels and carpets sewn by Carl Farmer, and re-engineered nearly every part in the kit for proper fit and flawless operation. Fasteners were replaced with stainless parts from Totally Stainless, and Jet-Hot Metallic Ceramic Coating was applied to the heat exchangers, exhaust system, Indy slotted wheels, bumpers and many small hardware items. I installed a contemporary sound system, and scrapped the headlight buckets for a second-hand Bradley Sundowner Pop-Up Headlight kit that I found in California.

The next two years were a blast. The car was finally a reliable and practical daily driver. The heat and air-conditioning worked decently, and I drove the car in a two-hour daily work commute from my home in Ambler, Pennsylvania, to my office in Manalapan, New Jersey. In 1994 I showed the car at Carlisle. I also entered competitions in New Jersey, Connecticut, Pennsylvania, Virginia and other venues, taking a couple of firsts in the kit division. In 1996, the car was torpedoed by a pickup at the Jersey Turnpike entrance. Damage was severe. I was unhurt, but that incident proved that a Bradley GT is not the car you want to take to an accident.

Most of my plastic racer was repairable, but the body damage was excessive. The passenger side was destroyed, and stress cracks were evident over the entire shell. I found a used GT for a reasonable price and installed all my custom components in that shell. It took nearly three years, but the Bradley—rebuild No. 4—was finally back on the road.

In 2000, I had the car painted in royal plum DuPont ChromaLusion. I thought the color changing looked kinda cool, but I really missed the comedic value of having flames on a car that really wasn’t much more than a boardwalk ride with a license plate. A year later, Tom Willhoughby did a recoat of the ChromaLusion, then applied blended ghost flames and a high-gloss topcoat.

In 2012, after 645,000 miles and 35 years, the 1641 was finally shot. I parked the car in my garage, pulled the body for its fifth rebuild, and began assembling a 1776, which is now finished. I have a strong attachment to this car, and will most likely continue to drive it until I am no longer able to climb in and out of the cockpit. The car still turns heads—now more than ever—and still remains as the most fun I have ever had behind an off-track steering wheel.

I raced karts in the early 1960s, and have always thought that driving a Bradley GT is a lot like driving a vintage kart. The steering is tight and fast, I’m sitting upright just a few inches off of the ground, and my knees are higher than my butt. All I need is a crash helmet and a racing suit and I could put myself on a fifth-mile road course. It’s that much fun.

After so many years and miles, I have perfected a collection of one-line quips about the car, both pro and con. One of my favorites comes out when I’m asked why I drive a Bradley GT. The answer is simple: because you don’t!”

Image from 1976 ad is a near match to Jeff Troy’s original Bradley GT. Jeff with one of his vintage race karts (1960 Homelite Spitfire LA with twin Homelite KL-100 engines), an F-14 TAMEcat Trainer RC airplane that he designed, and his work-in-progress Fiberfab MG TD Replica. Jeff is a contributing writer to RC Sport Flyer and Park Pilot magazines.

What might all this have cost you back in the day? From period sales materials, we learn that a 1977 Bradley GT 1000 Series kit sold for $3,535 plus shipping. An additional $460 bought you the kit pre-assembled (referred to as the GT 1040 Series), ready to mount to your awaiting chassis. Extra-cost options included air conditioning, upholstered three-point roll bar, pop-up headlamps, mag wheels, radial tires, audio components (an AM/FM/40-channel CB radio was $349) and a Hurst shifter for $50.

The 1977 Bradley GT II offered a steel hardtop support structure; “European slide style” side vent windows; removable tinted sunroof panels; a plusher, padded interior; more exterior chrome mouldings; sound-deadening and air-circulation components for a $5,150 base price; a pre-assembled GT II Model 1600 ran $5,995.

Bradley’s standard metallic colors for 1977 were Sebring Silver, Burnished Brown, Fireball Red, Blaze Blue and Flaming Orange; and solid colors Race White and Rally Yellow: we sense a theme here. “Mix-and-match… leather-like vinyl upholstery” interiors were offered in black, white, blue, rawhide, brown and oxblood.

Shipping to the Lower 48 ran $230 to $350 for the GT and $290 to $435 for the GT II from BA’s Minneapolis-area facilities via its own fleet of long-haul delivery vehicles. A 10% deposit was required upon placing your order; balance due on delivery, no personal checks please.

Those wishing to experience an overseas-delivery-like experience (sans the fear of encountering indecipherable foreign languages, oddly shaped currencies and mysterious foods) could opt to accept delivery at the Minnesota factory. A modest $35 charge included “a brief training session on assembly of your kit.” Tour the offices, load the trailer, grab a cheeseburger and hit the road.

No chassis? No engine? No problem: Bradley arranged with G.A.P. Imports to source new Volkswagen chassis and engines, warranted for six months or 6,000 miles. The engine offered in 1977 was VW’s electronic-fuel-injected, OHV, 1600cc, air-cooled, 7.3:1 compression ratio, 96.6 cu.in. aluminum-cased brute “designed to power the Bradley sports car over 100 mph.” The chassis was a standard Beetle steel unit with telescopic shock absorbers and an anti-roll bar up front, independent diagonal/pivot rear axle, four-speed trans-axle drivetrain, steering assembly, wiper motors, key lock ignition system and 12-volt battery; all carrying the full VW parts warranty.

A 1978 Bradley Automotive price list pegs the engine at $1,250 (plus $50 shipping) and the chassis at $2,150 (and $200 shipping). Or buy both, pre-assembled, for $3,400 (plus $200 shipping).

Degreasers, shop cloths, work clothes and salve for skinned knuckles were not included in the purchase price of a Bradley kit car. But for many D-I-Y builders/owners, their investment in blood, sweat and tears was more than paid back by a uniquely satisfying pride of ownership and accomplishment.

For more information or to connect with the current Bradley community, please visit BradleyGT.proboards.com  and BradleyGT2.com.