Porsche 956/962
Stars of Group C then and now, the 956 and its descendant 962 inspired a generation. Its legacy? Six Le Mans wins over 12 years is just the start
It was due as much to happenstance and sleight of hand as good judgement. Few cars had the stamina for such a lengthy campaign as Porsche’s 956 and, by proxy, its 962 descendant. Six victories at Le Mans represent just the tip of a particularly large iceberg; the last win came a full 12 years after the first, remember. Now that’s longevity. The fact that variations on the theme outlived the formula for which the model was conceived says everything. And to a generation of race fans whose formative years were the 1980s, Porsche was Group C.
Those who witnessed the formula in its prime – and this was the last time sports car racing arguably had a prime – still recall it with hushed tones and awed reverence. Born in 1982, this was a category that breathed new life into an arena of motor sport that, like a dead horse, had been flogged once too often during the previous half a decade. Grids in the Group 6 era had withered as manufacturers departed en masse, and those precious few that lingered recorded hollow victories over a cluster of no-marks and makeweights.
FISA responded with a series based, if only initially, on fuel efficiency. This acted as a stabilising force and attracted former Grand Prix stars, young hotshots looking to forge a reputation, competent journeymen and local heroes. Oh, and manufacturers. In North America the movement gained similar momentum, although typically the US johnnies did things their own way. FISA’s hopes of fashioning a link with the International Motor Sports Association failed to reach fruition after IMSA’s committee rejected the fuel-based regulations. Instead it introduced an equivalency formula – Grand Touring Prototypes – based on engine size and weight. It too flourished, with Indycar – and even NASCAR – stars racing on free weekends against established sports car aces (and drug barons: not always mutually exclusive).
It was fab. Then 3.5-litre normally-aspirated Formula 1-derived engines arrived in 1990 to stink the place out. Costs skyrocketed, manufacturers made for the door and, in ’92, Group C died a pitiful death, IMSA GTP lasting one further season. Except that wasn’t quite the end of the car that came to epitomise Group C: the 956/962 wasn’t done yet. A little imagination and a lot of homologation chicanery ensured it maintained its relevance into the mid-90s. It had been quite a ride since design work commenced on this sports car steamroller way back in August 1981.
Departing from usual Porsche practice, the 956 featured a monocoque, due largely to the provision of ground effects and crash-worthiness. Not that there was anything particularly novel about the production 956’s construction: designed under the direction of Norbert Singer, the monocoque comprised sheet aluminium out of sheer expediency. Body panels were made of Kevlar, glassfibre and ally.
The heart of the 956 was transplanted from the 1981 Le Mans-winning 936/81. A proven unit, the fuel-injected 2.65-litre flat-six was topped off with a pair of KKK turbochargers, the gearbox being designed specifically for the model. Appearing at the Pace Petroleum Six-Hours at Silverstone in May ’82, Porsche wasn’t to be rewarded with a debut win. Derek Bell and Jacky Ickx had to settle for second place behind a works Lancia and first in the Group C class (Group 6 cars were still sanctioned that year). Come Le Mans and it would be a different story. The Rothmans-backed factory squad blanketed the podium spots with the Anglo-Belgian driver pairing hoisting the winners’ trophy. Again.
And so it continued, the 956 proving the dominant player, with the detail driven B-spec version arriving a year on, before it too was superseded by the 962. Conceived as essentially an IMSA version of the existing car, the major difference was the single turbo, 935-derived engine (2.8 and later 3.2 litres) and lengthened wheelbase to bring the pedal box behind the front axle line. Making its debut in the 1984 Daytona 24 Hours, the Mario and Michael Andretti-driven factory car gained pole and led until the transmission packed up. Raced by the works in Europe from 1985 as IMSA’s pedal box regs were universally adopted, the 962 – or rather the 962C in Group C-spec – would spearhead the Weissach squad’s charge until Jaguar and Sauber came on strong in the late ’80s and it lost interest. With a history rooted in sports cars, Porsche instead changed tack to Indycar – and had its backside spanked on a regular basis.
No matter, the beauty of the 956/962 was that it was a customer racer – the ultimate customer racer – driven by everyone from Ayrton Senna to A J Foyt, Sir Jack Brabham to Stefan Bellof. And though it would ultimately be ballasted into obsolescence in the World Sports Prototype Championship, the 962 continued to take big victories and titles everywhere else from IMSA to Interserie.
This was due in no small part to the ingenuity of privateers. The late Richard Lloyd kicked things off with his own replacement/development tub (956GTi) and revised suspension set-up in 1984. Within this small cottage industry of independent chassis manufacturers, John Thompson’s TC Prototypes concern was highly regarded; Walter Brun and the Kremer brothers were among customers for his honeycomb aluminium tubs. The Kremers later experimented with their own Kevlar/carbon-fibre confection without success while the likes of Holbert Racing and Dave Klym’s Fabcar concern catered to the US market.
Among the more substantially changed designs was that of Vern Schuppan. A winner at Le Mans for the factory equipe in 1983, the Australian F1 occasional even went as far as to initiate a street-legal adaptation in 1991 (a snip at £830,000…). And it would be a road-going rendering that would mark the 962’s send off at international level. Sort of. Like Schuppan, German Jochen Dauer’s concern offered his own take – the Dauer 962 Le Mans – that featured largely new bodywork but was patently still a Porsche racing car. Improbably – and some might argue inexcusably – it was allowed to compete in the GT class at La Sarthe in 1994 and promptly triumphed outright with factory assistance: a race car that had been transformed into a road car and then changed back into a racer had won. Work that one out.
But it wasn’t the final contemporary success. An altogether more kosher 962 fielded by Team Taissan won an All-Japan Grand Touring Car Championship round at Fuji Speedway in August of that year. To put this into perspective, 956s were already appearing in historic meetings Stateside.
Closer to home, it’s taken a little longer but the Group C/GTP Racing organisation has flourished under Jim Graham and, more recently, old hand Charlie Agg. With quality line-ups and some more than useful drivers, the series has attracted an abundance of 962s. Among their number is the ex-Richard Lloyd ’89 Le Mans entry of 2008 series champion Henry Pearman. Having owned at least a dozen 962s, he’s better placed than many to offer an opinion. “I suppose it’s become a bit of an obsession,” laughs the Eagle E-types boss. “The 962 is such an easy car to drive; friendly and not in the least bit intimidating. When you first drive one, you can’t believe just how much fun it is. I like the racing we’re doing at the moment, especially with the two-driver endurance element. And the great thing about the 962 is that it’s just about bullet-proof. I mean it was built to be thrashed for 24 hours, but you sense you could go on for 24 years. And the view through the windscreen and over the wing tops; the noise… Well, it’s very special.”
It’s a view echoed by Pearman’s wingman, former Stanley-BRM casualty and ’08 Britcar champion Mike Wilds. The instantly friendly veteran adds: “It doesn’t get much better. When you sit in a 962 and do up the straps, you know you’re in a Porsche: the door fits perfectly, just clicks shut like a road car. In fact with that lovely synchro ’box it’s almost like driving a road car, albeit one with 800-850bhp.” This being a racing car that came with an ignition key. “It’s a machine in which you feel instantly happy driving flat out,” considers Wilds. “By that I mean it’s very forgiving. The tunnels give it a lot of aero; down the Craner Curves at Donington you’re doing about 160mph. I had the great pleasure of driving C2 cars for Ecurie Ecosse during the 1980s and would look at the Porsches in C1 and always fancied a go. I’m eternally grateful to Henry for giving me the chance all these years later.”
And as a serial owner, Pearman knows what to look for: “There were 16 customer 956s including five ‘Rothmans-spec’ 956Bs [two further tubs were made, one acting as a test mule for the TAG F1 engine]. Add to that 77 chassis numbers for the 962 and there are plenty of cars out there. The difference to buying cars such as a Jaguar D-type or a Ford GT40 is that research-wise it isn’t such a minefield. The majority of those involved in running the cars first time around are still with us and most chassis are well documented. The trick is to get a known car and not one put together a few years ago from bits. Do your homework and you shouldn’t get burned.”
In the mid-80s, some naysayers grumbled that Porsche was dumbing down sports car racing; that guessing which 962 was going to win didn’t constitute ‘proper’ racing. They neglected to mention one simple fact – without the German cars, the category would surely have foundered. Fast-forward to the present and Group C – even as a historic category – is still more compelling than any modern-day sports car formula; Grand-Am racers look like they should be in a Castle Combe clubby, while Audi and Peugeot’s ALMS racers are jaw-slackening technical exercises but have you heard one? Neither have we; the sense of speed is somehow diluted without a stirring accompanying soundtrack. And few engine notes are as distinctive as a Porsche flat-six. When emitted by a 220mph Rothmans’ wrapper, sports-prototypes have rarely been more addictive.