As a die-hard fan of American muscle, few cars get my blood pumping like the 1968 Plymouth GTX. This beast broke free from the Belvedere’s shadow that year, stepping up as its own series, and cranked out nearly 19,000 units. Sure, it wasn’t a cash-printing machine—sales never truly took off, and by ’71, it was axed—but that’s part of its gritty charm. The GTX wasn’t cheap, and it didn’t lure in the budget crowd. Yet, one couple saw the magic in this upscale bruiser and held onto it for over five decades.
Enter the Road Runner in ’68—Plymouth’s no-frills, wallet-friendly answer to the muscle car call. That car was a riot: affordable, raw, and a blast to drive—everything the everyman wanted. Meanwhile, the GTX earned its nickname, ‘The Gentleman Muscle Car,’ dripping with a little more class. But don’t let that fool you—under the hood, it was no polite aristocrat. The standard 440-4 Super Commando V8 roared with authority, and if you had the guts (and an extra $605), the 426 Hemi was the only upgrade on tap. That Hemi, though? It cost even more in other Mopars—like $715 in the Road Runner—and still that bare-bones brawler outsold the GTX by a landslide.
The numbers don’t lie: Road Runner moved 44,377 units, dwarfing the GTX’s tally, and racked up 1,019 Hemi orders—making history as the only model to break the 1,000-Hemi mark in a single year. The GTX? Just 446 Hemi-powered units. Still, across its run, the GTX claims silver in the second-gen Hemi wars with 1,477 total sales, edging out the Dodge Charger’s 1,461—pretty impressive for a car that rolled in a year late to the party.
That 440 big-block (a hulking 7.2-liter RB monster) was no slouch either. It delivered tire-shredding torque and kept most buyers from splurging on the Hemi. Instead, they’d trick out their GTX with options—and trust me, those weren’t pocket change. We’re talking $82 for a vinyl top, $139 for a Sure-Grip diff, or $97 for chrome road wheels. Power steering at $94? A center console for $83? That’s real money in ’68!
Here’s the kicker: the four-speed manual was a freebie, though the TorqueFlite three-speed auto came standard and never let you down. Still, for me, nothing beats rowing your own gears—three pedals scream skill, and nailing a rev-matched shift is pure muscle car poetry. No surprise then that 9,771 hardtop GTXs got the stick shift, while only 6,902 rolled out with the auto (these are the 440-powered numbers, mind you).
Now, this yellow ’68 GTX—a one-owner survivor—has clocked over 50 years with its original keepers. They’ve finally handed it over to the Graveyard Carz crew for a full restoration, and man, does it need it. The interior’s rough—not totaled, but tired. Rust has gnawed at the fenders, and I’d bet the undercarriage is a mess too. Engine status? Drivetrain condition? The video keeps it vague—just a walkaround and a peek at the window sticker’s option list. Mileage is a mystery, but honestly, it doesn’t matter. This Mopar’s scars tell a story, and it’s begging for a rebirth. Check the footage and gallery—it’s a time capsule begging to roar again.
