Kiwi’s Big-Block 1966 Ford Mustang Custom

Chris Slee emigrated from New Zealand with more ambition than money and opened Kiwi Classics and Customs in a small Franklin, Tennessee shop. His problem was the one every new builder has: no customers and no proof. The answer was a big-block 1966 Mustang, a swap Ford itself did not attempt until it redesigned the car for 1967. Read on for why that engine choice was the entire business plan.

When Chris Slee migrated from New Zealand to the United States, he not only brought his family, he also brought his love of automotive craftsmanship and American cars. Chris had big plans, but like many new Americans, his dreams were bigger than his bank account. However, Chris was determined to follow his passion: restoring and building custom cars. With a knack for metal work and good old-fashioned ingenuity, Chris opened his own custom car and restoration business in a small Franklin, Tennessee, shop. Kiwi Classics and Customs was open for business, but there was only one problem: The shop needed customers.

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There is a particular kind of gamble that only makes sense when you have nothing else to bet. Chris Slee arrived in the United States from New Zealand with his family, a genuine talent for metalwork, and ambitions that comfortably outran his bank balance. He opened a custom and restoration shop in a small building in Franklin, Tennessee, hung a sign that read Kiwi Classics and Customs, and then confronted the problem that kills most shops in their first year. A shop needs customers. Customers need proof. And proof, in this business, means a finished car sitting in the corner that makes people ask who built it. What he chose to build says everything about how seriously he took that.

Why 1966 Was the Wrong Year for a Big Block

A 1966 Mustang is an obvious canvas until you decide to put a big block in it, and then it becomes one of the least obvious cars in the catalog. The first-generation Mustang was engineered around small-block V8s and an inline six, and the engine bay was packaged accordingly. Ford did not offer a big-block Mustang from the factory in 1966 for the straightforward reason that one would not fit without significant surgery. That is the entire reason the 1967 car was widened and reworked, opening the door for the 390 FE and, in Shelby’s hands, the 428.

What Ford Actually Offered in 1966

What Ford actually sold in 1966 was a tidy but modest lineup. The base engine was a 200-cubic-inch inline six making 120 horsepower. Above it sat the 289 in two-barrel form at 200 horsepower, a four-barrel version at 225, and at the top the K-code High Performance 289 rated at 271 horsepower with solid lifters and a higher compression ratio. The K-code was a genuinely good engine and remains the desirable factory option today, but it is a small block, and it tops out where a well-built FE is only beginning to make itself useful. Ford moved 607,568 Mustangs that model year, the highest single-year total the nameplate ever recorded, which is why donor cars are still findable.

The Shock Tower Problem

The obstacle is the shock towers. On an early Mustang the front suspension towers intrude into the engine bay from both sides, and the gap between them defines what will physically fit. A big block is wider than a 289 in every dimension that matters, particularly across the exhaust manifolds and the cylinder heads. Making one live in a 1966 shell means cutting and reworking the towers, relocating suspension pickup points, sorting out steering shaft clearance, and rebuilding the entire front structure so it is stronger afterward rather than weaker. It is fabrication work, not bolt-on work, and it is exactly the sort of job that separates a shop that can weld from a shop that can engineer.

Building the Car That Sells the Shop

Which is the point. A shop owner building his own showcase car chooses the project that demonstrates the widest range of capability, and a big-block first-generation Mustang demonstrates nearly all of it at once. Structural fabrication, suspension geometry, driveline packaging, cooling system design, panel work, and finish quality all get exercised on a single build. A customer walking through the door does not need the specifics explained. They see a car that obviously should not exist in that configuration and draw the correct conclusion about who built it.

Stopping and Turning Are the Hard Parts

The engine is only the opening move. Dropping several hundred additional pound-feet into a chassis designed for a 289 makes everything downstream inadequate. The factory drum brakes become dangerous rather than merely poor. The stock steering box, already vague when new, cannot cope. The added mass sitting over the front wheels shifts weight distribution enough that spring rates, shock valving, and sway bar sizing all have to be recalculated rather than guessed. Cooling becomes a real engineering problem, because a big block generates significantly more heat in a nose that was never designed to shed it. Any of these done badly turns an impressive car into an unpleasant one.

Franklin, Tennessee Is Not an Accident

The Franklin location matters more than it might appear. The area south of Nashville has developed into a genuine hub for high-end automotive work, with a concentration of collectors, restoration specialists, fabricators, and enough disposable income to sustain them. Setting up there means competing against established shops with long reputations, but it also means the customers exist. For a builder with skill and no local track record, being where the work is beats being where the rent is cheap.

The Calculated Risk of a Personal Build

What makes the story worth telling is the arithmetic behind it. A personal build produces no revenue while it is being built. Every hour spent on it is an hour not billed, and for a shop with no backlog that is genuinely frightening. The bet Chris Slee made was that one exceptional car would generate more work than the same hours sold cheaply to whoever walked in first. It is the same bet custom builders have been making since the 1950s, and it only pays off if the car is undeniably good. Choosing a swap that Ford itself declined to attempt until it redesigned the entire car was not showing off. It was the most efficient possible way to answer the only question a new customer actually has.

Why These Cars Keep Getting Built Anyway

That calculation is why big-block first-generation Mustangs keep appearing despite being, on paper, the hard way to build a fast Mustang. A 1967 or 1968 car accepts an FE with far less drama, and a modern crate engine will make more power than any period big block for less money and less fabrication. But the 1965 through 1966 body is the one most people picture when they hear the word Mustang, with the cleaner grille opening, the simpler side profile, and none of the visual bulk the car acquired later. Builders keep taking on the harder version because the finished result looks right in a way the easier version does not. The aftermarket has responded over the years with export braces, revised suspension geometry kits, and shock tower modification templates that make the job repeatable rather than experimental. What has not changed is that the work still has to be done properly, and a car like this one is a public record of whether it was.

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