The 1965 Mercer Cobra exists only because the Copper Development Association needed a billboard for industrial metal. They wanted to prove copper had a future in automotive design. Without that corporate mandate, the car never leaves the drawing board.
Virgil M. Exner and his son, Virgil Jr., turned that mandate into a rolling reality.
From GM Streaks to Chrysler’s Forward Look
Exner’s career started at General Motors. He created the “Silver Streak.” It became Pontiac’s signature look. Then Raymond Loewy hired him in 1938. Exner helped shape the dramatic 1947 Studebaker line. Disagreements with Loewy forced him out.
He joined Chrysler Corporation next. There he produced the “Forward Look” styling. It wrested design leadership away from GM. It hadn’t happened in a generation.
By 1963, Exner left Chrysler. He went freelance. The Mercer Cobra was one of his first independent projects.
The 1965 Mercer Cobra stands as a rare intersection of industrial marketing and high-stakes automotive styling.
The car’s skin tells the story. It was clad in copper. This wasn’t just aesthetic flair. It served the association’s goal. Show practical modern uses of copper in automobile design.
Virgil Exner Sr. brought decades of experience. His son brought fresh perspective. Together they transformed a concept. They made it real.
The Classic Car Revival That Never Was
Raymond Loewy’s rival at Studebaker wasn’t just drawing cars. He was drawing history. Exner viewed the automotive past not as a dead era, but as a live wire. To him, the sleek, aggressive lines of the late 1920s and early 1930s weren’t relics. They were blueprints.
This philosophy birthed designs that were polarizing by design. Some works were stunning. Others were… questionable.
The wins were clear. Think exposed wire wheels tucked behind clean, open fenders. Grilles that stood tall and proud, radiating authority. Fenders that swept back with a rakish, predatory angle. These weren’t just stylistic choices. They were declarations of heritage.
The losses? Well. They were harder to love. Spare tires mounted in the trunk lid with that distinct, rounded “toilet seat” shape. Headlamps and taillamps that floated on stalks like insects on legs. The early 1960s Imperials are the poster children for this excess. Beautiful, sure. But awkwardly ornate.
Then came the ultimate test of his philosophy.
Esquire magazine didn’t ask for new cars. They asked for ghosts. Specifically, they wanted to know what four legendary marques might look like if they were born in 1963. Packard. Stutz. Duesenberg. And Mercer.
It was Exner’s dream assignment. He could finally stretch his muscles without the constraints of current manufacturing or brand identity. He could go pure style.
But there was one catch. The Mercer project.
It wasn’t left to Exner alone. Carroll Shelby got the call. The “Cobra” half of the equation.
This wasn’t just a design exercise. It was a collision of worlds. Exner’s traditionalist elegance meeting Shelby’s raw, American muscle. The result was a concept that never saw the light of day, but it hinted at a timeline where American luxury and performance might have merged decades earlier.
The renderings showed a Mercer that was less about speed and more about presence. A car that looked like it could eat pavement and digest it. But the true story lies in what these designs say about Exner’s enduring belief: that the past wasn’t behind us. It was waiting to be reborn.
Did they ever really want to build them? Or were they just proving a point?
We may never know for sure. The sketches remain. The ghosts still haunt the pages of Esquire. And the question of what could have been lingers, quiet but persistent.
The connection between the new Mercer and the metal itself wasn’t just aesthetic—it was contractual.
According to writer Michael Lamm, the timing was suspiciously precise. Just as the Exner team finished the conceptual rendering of the modern Mercer, they were approached by George M. Hartley, president of the Copper Development Association.
Hartley had a simple pitch.
“The old Mercer had all that brass and copper, and so did the rendering of the modern Mercer,” Hartley told Lamm. “So we said, ‘All right, let’s plan to build that one.'”
It wasn’t just about looks. It was about moving product.
To make it happen, the Exners needed a skeleton. They turned to Caroll Shelby.
From Shelby, they ordered a bare Cobra chassis. Just the tubes. No body. No trim. And a Ford V-8 engine. These components were shipped across the Atlantic to Torino, Italy.
The destination? Sibona-Basano.
This wasn’t a random choice. Sibona had recently broken away from Ghia. He likely knew Ralph Exner from their shared history with Chrysler-Ghia show cars. But there was another name on the recommendation list.
Brooks Stevens.
The American industrial designer specifically recommended Sibona-Basano for the job.
Why Torino? Why Sibona?
Because Shelby’s chassis needed a body that could handle the copper sheeting Hartley wanted to push. Sibona had the experience. He had the connections. And he had Stevens’ stamp of approval.
The pieces were in place.
The chassis. The engine. The metal. The designers.
Now they just needed to bolt it all together.
The Copper Prototype and Its Legacy
“Chickens roamed the yard,” Stevens recalled, describing the chaotic environment at Sibona-Basano. “Junk piled up everywhere. Yet their bodywork was excellent, and they undercut Ghia on price.” This was the backdrop for Stevens’ concurrent prototype proposals for Studebaker, developed while the team was deep in the metal.
The Mercer-Cobra wasn’t just a concept; it was a material showcase. The Copper Development Association (then the Copper Association) oversaw the project, supplying every cupriferous metal used in the trim. The goal was to demonstrate the aesthetic range of copper alloys.
Exploring Copper Alloys in Automotive Design
Eleven distinct copper-based materials found their way into the car’s exterior. The selection included standard brass—a mix of copper and zinc—and bronze, primarily copper and tin. These weren’t decorative afterthoughts. They were central to the design language, proving that copper could offer more than just a single metallic hue.
The structural bones remained traditional. The chassis and body panels were conventional steel. The copper wasn’t structural; it was visual, a way to push the boundaries of automotive styling in an era obsessed with new materials.
Why the Mercer-Cobra Matters Today
The car didn’t stay hidden in a workshop. The Copper Development Association displayed the Mercer-Cobra prototype for a full decade. It was a walking advertisement for the material’s potential.
However, the industry shifted. Government crash-protection standards accelerated the move toward man-made materials. Plastic, composites, and high-strength steels rendered many of the prototype’s ideas obsolete. The era of showcasing raw copper trim was over.
Yet, the car remains distinctive. It sits firmly within the Franklin Mint Exner design tradition, a style defined by bold lines and futuristic flair. You can still see the influence of that era in modern interpretations of retro-futuristic design.
“The Mercer-Cobra is still very much in the Exner design tradition.”
If you are tracking down other examples of this specific intersection between copper automotive design and Studebaker prototypes, the search is narrow. Most records focus on the final production models, not these experimental show cars.
For those interested in the broader context of this design era, consider exploring:
- Classic Cars from the 1950s and 60s
- The rise of Muscle Cars
- Sports Cars with exotic material experiments
- New Car Search for modern material innovations
- Used Car Search for vintage prototypes
