Some cars are exciting because they seem impossible to own. Others become important because they make an exciting car seem possible. The 1970 Datsun 240Z belongs in that second group. With its long hood, low roof and purposeful stance, it had the appearance of something special. The surprise was that its appeal did not end when a prospective buyer looked at the price tag.

Introduced to American buyers in late 1969, the 240Z helped launch Nissan's first-generation Z-car family, known by its S30 model designation. Americans encountered it wearing the Datsun name, while the related Japanese-market cars carried the Fairlady Z name. Those different badges can make the history sound complicated. The underlying idea was refreshingly straightforward: combine attractive styling, useful performance and everyday practicality in a sports car that did not require an exotic-car budget.

The original U.S. base price was $3,526. That was hardly pocket change in 1970, but it gave the Z a persuasive starting point. This was not a car whose entire case rested on being inexpensive. Its price mattered because of what surrounded it: a six-cylinder engine, a closed two-seat body and the equipment to make the car more than a fair-weather indulgence. The dream came with a plausible path to ownership.

One of the people behind that approach was Yutaka Katayama, remembered by enthusiasts as an important champion of the Z. The design team was led by Yoshihiko Matsuo. Their work produced a car that could be admired without requiring an explanation of its mechanical details. The hood stretched confidently ahead of the cabin, round headlights sat within sculpted front fenders, and the roof swept into a fastback rear end. Nothing about the basic silhouette needed a giant spoiler or an elaborate stripe package to make its point.

Under that hood was a 2.4-liter inline-six, meaning its six cylinders were arranged in a single row rather than two angled banks. The engine used an overhead camshaft and twin side-draft carburetors, the devices that mixed air and fuel before fuel injection became commonplace. Advertised output was 151 horsepower and 146 pound-feet of torque. These were period ratings, but they help explain why the Z offered more than the suggestion of performance.

Car and Driver's June 1970 test recorded a 0-to-60-mph time of 7.8 seconds from a car weighing 2,330 pounds. Those are results from a particular test vehicle, not a promise about every surviving example. They nevertheless put a measurable number behind the Z's sporting appearance.

American-market 1970 cars paired that six-cylinder engine with a four-speed manual transmission. A three-speed automatic became available for 1971, a distinction worth remembering when discussing an early Z. The original combination left the driver responsible for choosing the gears, working the clutch and managing the engine's response. For someone attracted to the mechanical involvement of an older car, that simplicity is part of the point rather than something requiring an apology.

The chassis contributed to the package, too. Independent suspension at all four wheels allowed each wheel to respond to the road without being tied to its opposite partner by a solid axle. Front disc brakes and rear drums handled stopping duties. These were not inventions unique to Datsun. Their importance was in how the company assembled the ingredients into a coherent, attainable sports car rather than treating them as reasons to push the price beyond reach.

Inside, reclining bucket seats and full instrumentation reinforced the impression that the Z was meant for actual journeys. There was a practical side to the concept: a sporting car could be enjoyable without making every ordinary trip a compromise. That balance is easy to appreciate even without knowing a camshaft from a carburetor. An appealing shape gets attention, but usefulness gives an owner more reasons to take the keys.

Competition soon added substance to the reputation. A specially prepared 240Z won the 1971 East African Safari Rally, with Edgar Herrmann and Hans Schüller aboard. That was a rally machine, not an untouched showroom car, and its equipment should not be confused with the specifications of this week's 1970 road model. Still, the victory demonstrated that the Z's ambitions extended well beyond looking good outside a restaurant.

It was not flawless. The contemporary Car and Driver test criticized drivetrain vibration and braking behavior in wet conditions. Remembering those complaints makes the story more interesting, not less: the 240Z made an impression without being perfect.

Picture the original shape against an October backdrop, with the road bending beyond the trees. It is easy to understand the invitation. The 1970 Datsun 240Z did not need to be the most expensive car in the parking lot to make its owner feel fortunate. Its lasting achievement was making style, performance and the pleasure of a car chosen for more than transportation feel a little closer to home.