Murphy wasn't a philosopher. He wasn't much of a pessimist, either. A 1940s Air Force engineer, he rigged up a multitude of electronic strain gauges on a rail-mounted rocket sled to test the effects of extreme deceleration on the human body. When every single gauge failed to work, in what is now a much fabled test, the words he uttered in disgust became the stuff of legend. Perhaps Edward Murphy's affinity for wild mechanical concoctions, pushing the boundaries of physics and pulling massive g's is why his "Law" is a frequent yet unwelcome guest in the world of hot rodding. Regardless of why this peculiar nexus exists, you don't have to remind T.J. Harais of it. While building his '69 Camaro, he's endured some downright wacky misfortunes well beyond the norm.
Like that one time he got rear-ended by a school bus just weeks before our photo shoot. Then there was that other time when bandits broke into his truck at work and took the Camaro's title with them. "About two months before the car was finished, I put all the paperwork for the Camaro in my briefcase, since I'd planned on going to the DMV during lunch. As fate would have it, a ring of thieves hit our parking lot that morning."
Apparently, whoever's running this joint called Earth has a way of balancing things out, as a stroke of good luck is how T.J. scored the car in the first place. He picked it up six years ago-right before musclecar values went gaga-for just $4,000. Better yet, the rust-free desert survivor was practically delivered to his door. "The car's former owner was moving from Arizona to New Jersey and didn't have time to sell it locally," he explains. "He happened to be driving through my part of town on his way there, so I met up with him at his hotel and drove the car home right off his rented trailer."
Purists will need to straighten out their undergarments upon witnessing Z/28 badges on a car that isn't a real Z/28. However, T.J.'s reasoning for doing so is quite commendable. "I've always loved the classic look and lines of the '69 Camaro," he says. "However, I couldn't bear doing that to a rare original car, so I started with a generic base six-cylinder and added what I wanted without guilt." Once back in his garage, T.J. disassembled the entire car and had it media-blasted down to bare metal. With the exception of the bodywork, he built the entire car himself over a span of four years.
The result is a car that doesn't excel in one particular area, but rather works exceptionally well as an overall package. When it comes to Pro Touring, there are those who dig the genre's modern accoutrements for the sake of improved drivability, and those who sacrifice drivability for the sake of building wannabe road-race machines. On paper and from inside the cabin, this Camaro's clearly the former. It sports a modest 430hp small-block that doesn't roast the hides in Third gear, but provides more than adequate gusto on the street. Likewise, its mild 218/228-at-0.050 cam barks a pleasing cadence out the Flowmasters, but with a six-speed Tremec trans and 3.73s in the pumpkin, it loafs around parking lots without a hint of buck or surge. Thanks to a Chris Alston's Chassisworks front clip, it soaks ups bumps and divots as well as most late-models.
Considering all the bad luck he's been dealt, we have to give it up for T.J. for transcending all the challenges he's faced, and building a sweet machine that isn't confused about its mission in life. In essence, Murphy's Law was merely an impromptu outburst made by someone pissed off at his own mistakes. It sure doesn't sound like much of a law worth following now, does it? At least T.J. doesn't think so.