If you were standing in a Chrysler-Plymouth dealership back in the autumn of 1966, your eyes probably drifted toward the Barracuda. Maybe the GTX. Those were the loud cars. The "look at me" cars. But sitting in the corner, likely wearing a coat of metallic paint and a white vinyl interior, was the 1967 Plymouth Sport Fury ragtop. It didn't scream. It didn't need to. It was a massive, 17-foot-long statement of mid-century confidence that could comfortably seat five adults while burning rubber across three zip codes.
People often forget how big the Fury actually was. We’re talking about the C-body platform. This was Chrysler’s full-size architecture, shared with the Polara and the Monaco. But the Sport Fury? That was the top of the mountain for Plymouth. While the "standard" Fury I, II, and III handled the needs of police fleets and suburban families, the Sport Fury was for the guy who wanted bucket seats, a center console, and enough torque to pull a stump out of the ground.
When you drop the top on a 1967 Plymouth Sport Fury ragtop, the car’s profile changes completely. Without the roof, those slab-sided body panels and the subtle "Coke-bottle" kick-up over the rear wheels look even more dramatic. It’s a boat. A beautiful, fast, gas-guzzling boat.
Why the 1967 Body Style Hits Different
Most enthusiasts gravitate toward the 1968 models because of the slightly more aggressive grille, but the '67 has a purity that's hard to beat. It was a transitional year. Chrysler designers were moving away from the square, boxy lines of the early 60s toward the "Fuselage Look" that would define the turn of the decade. The 1967 Plymouth Sport Fury ragtop sits right in that sweet spot.
You get the stacked dual headlights. That’s a signature. They give the car a verticality that makes it look imposing in a rearview mirror. The grille is a wide, hungry expanse of stamped aluminum. Honestly, it looks like it could swallow a Volkswagen Beetle.
The taillights are another story. They’re these long, horizontal units integrated into the rear bumper. When they light up at night, they stretch across the back of the car like a neon sign. It’s elegant. It’s also incredibly expensive to replace if someone taps your bumper at a stoplight, as many restorers have learned the hard way. Finding original, unpitted chrome for a '67 Fury is basically like hunting for a unicorn in a haystack.
The Engines: More Than Just a Commuter
Let’s talk about what’s under that hood. It’s a lot of real estate. You could practically host a picnic in the engine bay of a 1967 Plymouth Sport Fury ragtop.
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While the 318-cubic-inch V8 was the "sensible" choice, most Sport Fury buyers wanted more. You’ll frequently find these cars with the 383 B-engine. In 1967, the 2-barrel version of the 383 was rated at about 270 horsepower, but the 4-barrel "Commando" version kicked that up to 325. That’s the one you want. It’s got the "grunt."
- The 318 Wide-Block (LA): Reliable, easy to fix, but a bit sluggish for a car this heavy.
- The 383 Commando: The sweet spot for cruising. Plenty of passing power.
- The 440 Super Commando: The king. If you find a factory 440 Sport Fury ragtop, you’ve found a monster. It produced 375 horsepower and 480 lb-ft of torque.
Driving a 440-powered Fury is an experience in physics. You plant your foot, the front end rises like a speedboat hitting a wake, and the world starts moving backward very quickly. There’s no finesse. It’s just raw, American displacement. But remember, these cars use the torsion bar front suspension that Chrysler was famous for. It handles better than a contemporary Chevy Impala or Ford Galaxie—which is to say, it still handles like a mattress, just a slightly firmer one.
The Gearbox Dilemma
Most of these came with the A727 TorqueFlite automatic. It is, hands down, one of the best transmissions ever built. Bulletproof. You can’t kill it. However, a tiny fraction of 1967 Plymouth Sport Fury ragtops left the factory with a floor-shifted four-speed manual.
If you see one, buy it. Seriously. A four-speed full-size convertible is the ultimate contradiction. It’s a luxury cruiser that you have to manhandle. It’s weird. It’s rare. It’s cool.
Interior Life: Buckets, Consoles, and Cold Air
Step inside, and you’re greeted by the "Commando" interior. The 1967 Plymouth Sport Fury ragtop wasn't just a trim package; it was an interior overhaul. You got those signature vinyl bucket seats with the metallic trim.
The dashboard is a masterpiece of 1960s ergonomics—which means it looks cool but makes no sense. The speedometer is a long horizontal sweep. The switches are heavy, chrome-pitted toggles that feel like they belong in a B-52 bomber. If you were lucky enough to have the optional "Airtemp" air conditioning, you had a system that could turn the cabin into a meat locker even with the top down in July.
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One thing you’ve gotta watch for is the "Western Grain" vinyl. It’s tough, but after 60 years of sun exposure in a convertible, it cracks. Most reproduction kits are okay, but they never quite capture the exact sheen of the original Mopar materials.
The Reality of Owning a 60s C-Body
I’m going to be real with you: owning a 1967 Plymouth Sport Fury ragtop isn't all sunshine and car shows.
First, there’s the size. This car is nearly 80 inches wide. It will not fit in a modern "compact" parking space. It barely fits in a standard 20-foot garage. You have to plan your route. You don't just "nip" into a tight parking lot at a grocery store unless you want to spend twenty minutes doing a 14-point turn.
Then there’s the parts situation. If you own a Mustang or a Camaro, you can build an entire car from a catalog. With a '67 Fury? Not so much. Sheet metal is a nightmare. If you have a rusted-out rear quarter panel, you’re either spending thousands on a custom fabrication or scouring desert junkyards in Arizona for a donor car.
"The C-body is the forgotten child of the Mopar world. Everyone wants the B-body Chargers and Road Runners, which means the Fury parts are harder to find, but the community is twice as dedicated." — Common sentiment among the 'C-Body Dry Dock' forum members.
Mechanical parts are easy because the engines and transmissions were used in everything. But trim? Moldings? That specific Sport Fury gas cap? Good luck. You’ll be spending a lot of time on eBay and at swap meets.
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What to Look for When Buying
If you’re hunting for a 1967 Plymouth Sport Fury ragtop, you need to be a detective. These cars were notorious for rusting in the trunk pans. The convertible tops would leak, water would pool under the trunk mat, and before you knew it, you could see the pavement through the floor.
- Check the rear frame rails. This is the "kill switch" for these cars. If the rails are rotted where they meet the shackles, the car is structurally compromised. It can be fixed, but it’ll cost more than the car is worth.
- The Power Top Motor. It’s located behind the rear seat. If it groans or moves slowly, it’s likely a hydraulic leak or a tired motor. Not a dealbreaker, just a $500 headache.
- Fender Tags. Look for the metal tag on the driver's side inner fender. It’ll tell you if the car was originally a 440 car or if someone swapped a big block into a 318 car. Authenticity drives the value here.
- Glass. The curved windshield on the '67 is unique. If it’s cracked, finding a replacement that isn't pitted or delaminating is surprisingly difficult.
Misconceptions About the Fury Name
A lot of people hear "Plymouth Fury" and they think of Christine, the possessed 1958 Belvedere/Fury from the Stephen King book. That’s a totally different animal. By 1967, the Fury had evolved into a sophisticated, mature vehicle. It wasn't a finned monster from the 50s; it was a sleek, executive-level cruiser.
Another misconception is that it’s just a "cheap Chrysler." While Plymouth was the entry-level brand for Chrysler Corporation, the Sport Fury was priced nearly as high as some Chryslers. It was for the person who wanted the performance of a Plymouth but the "country club" feel of a Newport.
Market Value: Is It a Good Investment?
Currently, the 1967 Plymouth Sport Fury ragtop is an undervalued asset. While 1967 GTOs and Chevelles are hitting astronomical prices, the Fury remains relatively affordable. You can often find a driver-quality 383 Sport Fury convertible for significantly less than a base-model Charger.
But that’s changing. As the younger generation of collectors gets priced out of the "pure" muscle car market, they’re looking at C-bodies. They want the V8 sound and the vintage style without the $80,000 price tag. A well-restored 440 Sport Fury ragtop is starting to creep up into the $35,000 to $50,000 range, depending on options.
Actionable Advice for Prospective Owners
If you’re serious about getting into a '67 Sport Fury, here is your roadmap:
- Join the C-Body Dry Dock. It’s an online forum. It looks like it hasn't been updated since 2004, but the guys on there know every bolt and screw on these cars. They are your best resource for finding parts.
- Prioritize a rust-free body over a running engine. You can fix a 383 in a weekend with parts from any local auto store. You cannot easily fix a rotted-out unibody on a convertible.
- Check the VIN. The first few digits will tell you everything. "P" is for Plymouth, "S" is for Special (Sport Fury), "27" is the body style for a convertible. If the VIN doesn't start with PS27, it’s not a real Sport Fury ragtop.
- Update the brakes. These cars are heavy. The original drum brakes are... adventurous. Most owners swap the fronts for disc brakes from a later 70s Cordoba or a modern Wilwood kit. It’s the single best safety upgrade you can make.
- Enjoy the cruise. Don't try to make this a drag racer. It’s too big. Keep the suspension soft, the tires meaty, and the top down.
The 1967 Plymouth Sport Fury ragtop represents the end of an era. Shortly after this, safety regulations and the oil crisis would turn cars into plastic-filled boxes. But for one shining moment in '67, you could buy a car that was as big as a house, fast as a jet, and open to the sky. It’s not just a car; it’s a time machine with a 4-barrel carburetor.