History is rarely kind to whoever arrives first. The Plymouth Barracuda spent most of its life proving the point — and then, for one glorious model year, rewrote the ending.
The Barracuda was, technically, the first pony car, debuting two weeks ahead of the Ford Mustang. It was promptly eclipsed by the Mustang and the Camaro/Firebird — until 1970, when it was finally offered with an engine its rivals could only dream about: the Hemi.
1970: Plymouth finally gets it right
For 1970 the Barracuda moved to the E-body platform it shared with the new Dodge Challenger, riding a wheelbase two inches shorter despite near-identical body dimensions. The performance versions were called 'Cudas, offered with five V8s — the 340, 383, 440, 440+6 and the almighty 426 Hemi — the big-blocks backed by a special high-performance suspension. 'Cudas wore dual hood scoops; optional (and standard on Hemi cars) was the functional shaker scoop, bolted straight to the engine so it trembled through a hole in the hood whenever the motor did.
The Hemi cost an eye-watering $871 and went into just 652 hardtops out of 17,242, and a mere 14 of 550 convertibles. The 440+6 was the canny bargain at $250, hanging with the Hemi up to about 70 mph. Both were tricky beasts: the 440+6's vacuum-actuated carbs woke without warning, and the Hemi's stiff linkage could snap all eight barrels open at once.
The street rod among homologation specials
Plymouth's most charming 1970 oddity was the AAR 'Cuda, named for Dan Gurney's All American Racers, who campaigned 'Cudas in SCCA Trans-Am. Where Ford and Chevrolet built the Boss 302 and Z/28 to mirror their race cars, Plymouth built a street rod: a unique 340 with triple two-barrel carbs making 290 bhp, a matte-black lift-off fibreglass hood, side-exit exhaust, body strobe stripes and a ducktail spoiler. Recambered rear springs lifted the tail nearly two inches — clearing those exhausts and, notably, some of the first staggered wider rear tyres on a production car.
Why it matters in 2026
The 1970 Hemi 'Cuda has since become one of the most valuable American cars in existence, the rarest convertibles trading for sums that would have stunned anyone who bought one new. But the appeal was never just the auction price. The '70 Barracuda is a monument to a brief, reckless moment when a struggling brand decided that the answer to being overlooked was simply to build something gloriously, impractically magnificent. It lost the sales race and won immortality.