Terramaster on Comeback Trail : Revolutionary Speedster Has Been Packed Away for 25 Years

One of the most imaginative, ahead-of-its-time off-road vehicles, designed and built by a pair of Orange County men in the early ‘60s when the aging Jeep was the only American-made, four-wheel-drive vehicle available, never made it into production.

Instead, that revolutionary prototype, which outperformed Mustangs, Corvettes, souped-up Thunderbirds and other high-performance cars in tests, languished unused in a Fullerton garage for over a quarter-century.

Early last month, its creators--entrepreneur/inventor Adolf Schoepe and racing car builder Harley Klentz--resurrected their brainchild and began putting it back in running condition.

“Even after 25 years we’re still confident it can compete with any of these four-wheel-drives they’re producing today, and even outperform them in some areas,” Klentz said.

Schoepe first got the idea for a revolutionary new four-wheel-drive when his son Bob, then 10, became interested in off-roaders. Schoepe’s entrepreneurial instincts envisioned such a recreational vehicle as the logical successor to the venerable Jeep.

“The Jeep was a 30-year-old design by then and it did what it was supposed to do, but it was anything but comfortable,” Schoepe explained. “I thought we could design a new four-wheel-drive that would do everything the Jeep could do and more, and give a much easier ride.”

Because he wanted to build some sports car characteristics as well as comfort into the new car, Schoepe sought an expert in competition car design. The search led to Klentz, who had been designing parts of racing cars since before he had a driver’s license, including chassis for renowned kit-car builders Bill Devin and Don Garlits, and cars that challenged land-speed records on the Bonneville Salt Flats in Utah.

Together, the two men spent a year kicking around suggestions on what their new creation should have. “We played together and I mean played,” Schoepe recalled. “Whatever we decided to use, we just went ahead and found it or designed it.”

Among other features, the finished Terramaster, as they called their new four-wheel-drive, had a quick-change gearbox, Jaguar four-wheel inboard disc brakes, independent suspension, a vertical kingpin with total interchangeability, a center pivot on the wheel for easier steering, interchangeable front and rear axles, and shocks with springs mounted around them, then commonly used on motorcycles and sports cars but never before on a four-wheel-drive.

At the time it was completed, highway safety tests for barrier crashes, tilts and braking capacity were being conducted at an abandoned Air Force base near San Bernardino. Klentz took the Terramaster there and tested it against the other high-performance sports cars.

Nothing could compare with the braking ability of its four-wheel inboard disc brakes--half the distance of a Corvette with no slippage. Instead of the wild-and-woolly ride in a Jeep over rough terrain, the Terramaster’s suspension enabled it to glide over a series of parking blocks with hardly a jolt. And it had the acceleration and top-speed firepower of a sports car.

Production possibilities on a limited basis looked promising--at first, anyway.

Schoepe and Klentz figured they could build and sell the car for $5,000 to $6,000, while a survey reported that off-road enthusiasts and others in agriculture, forest service and similar pursuits would pay $10,000 for such a vehicle. “Great,” they said, “now when can we get it.”

The initial plan was to build 100 to 200 units the first year. Schoepe began lining up American parts manufacturers while Klentz went to Europe and located places where some components could be produced at less cost than in this country.

The project appeared ready to fly until consumer advocate Ralph Nader sued General Motors for alleged safety violations in its Corvair. Product liability insurance rates shot through the roof and prospects for producing the Terramaster took a sudden turn for the worse.

Not even Lloyds of London, which insures almost anything for a price, would touch the car. One American firm finally agreed--for a minimum of $100,000 per year. That did it for Schoepe, who felt he already had enough money invested in the Terramaster and didn’t want to go any deeper.

The only possibility left was to have one of the big car makers produce the vehicle. The plans were sent to American Motors, which studied them for months before deciding that the Terramaster was a little too “drastic” for its product line.

Not long afterward, Chevrolet came out with the Blazer and AMC bought the Jeep. Klentz drove the Terramaster around for awhile, then the car disappeared behind garage doors for 25 years.

“It was a good idea and there definitely was a market for such a vehicle, but the timing wasn’t quite right,” said Schoepe, who knows something about timing.

Being there with the right product at the right time has been the key to his remarkable business success, which is a classic story of the poor immigrant making good in the great American tradition.

Schoepe arrived from Germany in 1927, seasick, penniless and unable to speak a word of English, but with a skill that America needed at that time. He was a master craftsman in metals just when the steel-making process had been perfected and the infant American aircraft industry was beginning to build airplanes with metal.

He had no trouble finding work. He built aircraft for Curtis Robin in St. Louis, dirigibles for Goodyear in Akron, and the forerunner of the giant Boeing airliners in Seattle; overhauled and rebuilt aircraft at San Diego Naval Air Station; and taught metalwork to thousands of Rosie the Riveters for their valuable home front role during World War II.

As the war was ending, Schoepe and a friend settled on a product they felt would be in widespread demand when home building was resumed. They founded Kwikset Lock Co. in Anaheim and made lock-and-key history. Another postwar building boom after the Korean War made Kwikset the leading lock set manufacturer in the country.

When the company prospered, Schoepe discovered an idea for a revolutionary toilet tank repair valve. He sold his Kwikset stock and founded Fluidmaster Inc., also in Anaheim.

Again, timing was critical. The cost of calling in a plumber had risen and Schoepe saw a vast market for a simple do-it-yourself toilet tank repair valve.

He was right again.

Schoepe and merchandising wizard Fred Schmuck, who was in charge of marketing, build Fluidmaster into the leading manufacturer in its field.

The dynamics that drive the 86-year-old Schoepe never seem to run down. He continues to put in 10-hour days at Fluidmaster, and has plenty of energy to join Klentz in bringing their 25-year-old experimental vehicle out of retirement.

Meanwhile, the two men also are working out preliminary plans for the design of a futuristic internal combustion automotive engine. For that purpose, Klentz recently spent several weeks in England and Germany, studying a concept in aviation technology that was used effectively on aircraft before and during World War II but never in automotive engine design.

While they offer few details, this project will address the problems of pollution and fuel economy, both of which have haunted the automotive industry for years.

“No need to worry about timing with that product,” Schoepe says. “The engine that will help solve those problems can’t arrive soon enough.”