As chief judge of the Greenwich Concours d’Elegance, I always carefully check the applicant lists. This year, I was surprised to see an entry called a 1953 Cheetah. That was too early for a Bill Thomas California Cheetah, but I was pretty sure I knew what car it was. When the Cheetah was a no-show, I was very disappointed.

I resolved to track it down. Armed with a name and a phone number, I called the owner, David Pacqua, in Norwalk, Conn. He, too, was disappointed,  as he and his wife had hoped to have the car ready for Greenwich. He’d inadvertently fitted the wrong flywheel and the starter motor wouldn’t engage.

“Do you own John Plaisted’s old race car?” I asked. When he said, “Yes,” the memories flooded back.

An unforgettable Cheetah sighting

In the mid 1950s, as a car-mad junior high school student in Swampscott, Mass. — a small seaside suburb about 13 miles north of Boston — I was very aware of everything interesting on wheels located in a 5-mile radius of my home. I knew this car. Located just across from King’s Beach, on the Lynn-Swampscott line, stood a large garage and filling station that was run by a man named John Plaisted.

Mr. Plaisted was a locally respected mechanic who (from my memory) sold new Saabs and Borgwards, serviced imported cars (we called them “foreign cars”) and he had a tough-looking, homebuilt race car that he’d campaigned at many New England tracks. You couldn’t miss Mr. Plaisted’s car when it was running on the street, and you could hear it coming for blocks.

I recall Mr. Plaisted as a short, stocky fellow with unruly hair, a “can do” attitude and an air of impatience. His scruffy little two-seater, which he’d named the Cheetah, was a reflection of his feisty personality. He’d begun building the Cheetah in 1952. A “Jacob’s coat” of a car, it rode on a re-purposed and massive 1952 Ford chassis that Plaisted had recycled after a wreck (not his). The ladder frame was Zee-ed front and rear with independent coil spring front suspension and Air Lifts inside the front springs. The steering box had started life on a Thunderbird. 

The Cheetah looked like a junkyard dog — and that’s not an unkind statement. It was powered by a basically stock 331-cid Cadillac V-8, at first with just a four-barrel carburetor. The big Caddy mill had solid lifters, adjustable rockers and, later on, an early sand-cast Edelbrock intake manifold with four two-barrel carburetors. At times, he also ran a three-carburetor intake. The exhaust pipes ran from the stock GM cast-iron manifolds through about 3 feet of ni-chrome flex pipe, then connected to straight-through mufflers attached along the sides. The gearbox was a three-speed manual from a LaSalle. A Franklin quick-change rear end, located with large radius rods, centered a burly solid rear axle setup, and there was a sturdy, cockpit-wide rollbar. Although it was small, it weighed about 2,200 lb., probably because of its massive chassis. 

A recycled MG TD grille, with a screen replacing the vertical slats, and a fabricated sheet metal hood fronted a skimpy body that was painted faded red. It resembled an early MG with twin cowls, cut-down door openings and Brooklands screens. Behind the grille were several finned copper tubes for extra cooling. It was painted a rusty shade of red. 

In later iterations, the exhaust had evolved into three-into-one headers and big VHT white collectors. Early on, the steel wheels wore Ford “dog dish” hubcaps. Later, these caps were omitted. The brakes were 12-inch drums, Mercury in front and Cadillac in the rear. An e-brake lever for each rear brake must have made stopping very interesting.

Mr. Plaisted campaigned this Jacob’s coat of a car from 1954 until 1960, racing at Lime Rock, Thompson, Bridgehampton and Watkins Glen. He also ran the hill climbs at Mt. Equinox (1955 first place, fastest time of the day) and Mt. Washington. I think the class was called “Formula Libre.” And he beat almost everything at one time or another: Allards, Jaguar XK-120s, Mercedes-Benz 300SLs, Ferraris and other pricey sports car of the day. Think Max Balchowski and “Ol’ Yaller.” What the Cheetah lacked in sophistication it more than made up in sheer speed and cornering prowess. Reportedly, the Cheetah could run through the quarter-mile traps at 100 mph. Its top speed was about 135 mph.

The Cheetah was the subject of a two-page feature in Hot Rod Magazine in September 1958. Author Alex Walordy called it “A strange Breed of Car.” “Don’t be deceived by that MG look,” Walordy wrote. “Beneath it is poised some mighty potent machinery.” 

Over the course of its racing life, the Cheetah finished ahead of some tough competition, like George Weaver at Watkins Glen driving the “Poison Lil Maserati” in 1955 and George Arents in a Ferrari 250, Walt Hansgen in a Jaguar 150S and Fred Windridge in a Corvette at Bridgehampton in 1958. 

Besides John Plaisted, the Cheetah was driven by his son, Stutz, a former Air Force pilot, and later by Bob Holbert, the father of Porsche pilot Al Holbert of Warrington, Pa. Stutz Plaisted campaigned the Cheetah until 1963, after which he bought a Lotus 22. After the Cheetah was retired, it was stored at Plaisted’s car dealership for 17 years. When John Plaisted passed away, the Cheetah, along with several Coopers, was sold in 1982 at auction to vintage race car collector and historian Joel Finn.

David Pacqua accompanied Finn when he picked up the Cheetah. Pacqua later told Hemmings Muscle Machines author George Mattar that Finn had said, “…take the Cheetah home to your garage and pay me later.” When Pacqua married his wife DeDe, Finn generously gave them the Cheetah as a wedding present.

Pacqua has kept the Cheetah largely as it is. He’s left the original body and paint alone. He refinished the suspension components, but he’s dulled them to replicate the car’s years of patina. A fuel cell and an approved rollbar were required before he could vintage race the car, and he replaced the original exhaust with a set of headers. Other than that, the Cheetah looks substantially the way it looked when the Plaisteds, father and son, were the nemesis in many racers’ rearview mirrors. 

Pacqua told George Mattar that “Vic Edelbrock, Jr., tried to buy the original sand-cast intake manifold a few years ago, but I told him it wasn’t for sale.”

Pacqua has raced the Cheetah at Mt. Washington, and he competed at Daytona Speedway before being black-flagged after six laps for lack of fenders. 

I told Pacqua that I had a fast ride with John Plaisted in this car when I was 14 years old — it was the quickest and loudest car I’d ever been in, and a far cry from the MG TC owned by my neighbor, Brice Durkee. “I can concur,” Pacqua says, “the Cheetah is loud and scary. I used to say to folks at the track that this thing tries to kill me at every turn. But honestly, it wasn’t so bad, and it did help hone the edge for other series of race cars for me.” 

The Pacquas have retrofitted the Cheetah to look the way it did in the early 1960s, digging out “original bits” to replace the more modern parts that had accumulated over the years. He never met John Plaisted, but he did meet Stutz and his family at Mt. Washington in 2004. 

It took ingenuity, imagination, mechanical skill and driving ability to take on fast production sports cars in the 1950s and win a few SCCA races — but John Plaisted did it, basically in a home-built hot rod — and the surviving Cheetah is living, driving proof. 

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For regular readers of this column, you may be surprised to hear that I sold my 1940 Ford coupe. But not to worry, I bought another ’40. Here’s the rest of the story….

Last year, I thought it would be fun to buy a 1955-’56 F-100 pickup. When I was in high school (you can see where this is going), a classmate named Henry Pevear bought a brand-new Ford F-100 pickup at Nel-Nick Motors in Lynn, Mass. Then he proceeded to install a dropped axle, chrome exhaust stacks and a few other modifications. In that era, it was unheard of to buy a new vehicle and customize it. I thought that truck was cool, and an F-100 has been on my want list forever.

Finding an F-100

In June 2024, when I saw a nicely patina’d ’56 Spring Mist Green F-100 truck on Bring-a-Trailer with a John Mummert-modified 318-cid stroker Y-Block V-8, I decided to bid. There was a lot of interest, and the price soon soared. I was the penultimate bidder, but I dropped out at $50,000 and the truck sold with the next bid, which was $52,000. After the sale, my friend Colin Comer (the seller) said he’d have considered a trade for my ’40, if we’d talked beforehand. Unfortunately, I hadn’t realized he was the seller. Then another friend, Jeff Gill, made me a very fair offer on my ’40 coupe and I sold it. Now I’d seriously be able to rev up my search for an F-100.

To make a long story short, every F-100 I found was either modified in a way I didn’t like —- think Chevy small-blocks and tilt steering wheels -— or it represented way too much of a project. Then I saw that Mecum was offering the Richard V. Munz collection at Kissimmee in January. Richard was selling 40 very nice cars and trucks and several motorcycles. Included in the sale was one of three ’40 Ford coupes that Richard owned, a black De Luxe with a ’57 Olds 371-cid V-8 equipped with vintage Edmunds finned valve covers and a factory J-2 Rocket setup with three Rochester two-barrel carburetors topped with Edmunds air cleaners.

I had seen this car before. Several years earlier, I traveled to the RVM Collection in Madison, Wis., to look at Richard’s cars. He’d convinced Dana Mecum to underwrite a privately distributed book on the collection. The idea was that David Newhardt and Jeremy Cliff would photograph the vehicles, and I’d write the text. Richard would have a nice book to give to his friends, and when he was ready to sell, Mecum would get the auction consignments with all the catalog work done in advance.

To accurately write Richard’s book, I inspected every vehicle and took notes. Of course, I remembered this Olds-powered ’40. The driveline was particularly interesting: a 1940 LaSalle three-speed gearbox had been paired with an open driveline and a burly 9-inch Ford rear end. Anchoring the rear was a Chassis Engineering suspension kit with parallel leaf springs, tubular shocks and a sway bar. Up front, there was a 4-inch dropped-beam axle, GM ventilated disc brakes and another anti-roll bar. In a quick glance, it all looked nicely done. But I had dozens of cars to catalog, so I didn’t inspect it much more closely, certainly not with an intent to purchase it.

An idea quickly came to mind….

Back in 1957, I had started a black ’40 coupe project with a 303-cid V-8 Olds, but it was never completed. Richard’s car looked to be everything I’d have wanted decades ago: hefty J-2 Olds engine, decent stance, nice pedigree, really nothing I wouldn’t have done — and now I had the money from my Cloud Mist Gray ’40 burning a hole in my pocket.

The problem was, my wife Trish and I had planned a trip to Southeast Asia in January, and we’d be in Hanoi when that coupe crossed the block. Knowing he was a regular Kissimmee attendee, I asked my friend Wayne Carini, former host of “Chasing Classic Cars,” to bid on it for me. In the middle of the night in Hanoi, my phone buzzed with a text. “Congratulations!” Wayne wrote. I happily went back to sleep.

’40 No. 3 arrives

Soon afterward, the ’40 was delivered. On the outside, it looked as good as I’d remembered, with a nice patina. The old, black paint was faded in a few places, and there was some orange peel on the hood —- it looked pleasantly authentic. But the center Edmunds air cleaner was off, indicating they’d probably had to prime the engine to start it. And one of the buttons for the tufted interior was missing, probably lost when a prospective buyer got in the seat to try it. Small stuff, right? I squirted a little ether in the open carb, she fired up and I drove it up the hill into my garage.

As soon as I could register the coupe, I transferred the four-digit Virginia 1940 year-of-manufacture plates from my previous ’40 coupe and called Hagerty to add the car to my policy. Then I went for a 50-mile drive. It was hard to start, the throttle response was poor, the brakes were squishy. During a closer inspection on my lift, the bloom rapidly receded from the rose. There were several plumbing and wiring issues, the exhaust pipes ran too close to the fuel lines, the frame was unnecessarily cut, the tires were 20 years old, the master cylinder profusely leaked, the emergency brake cable was shredded, the front license plate bracket was missing, the remote oil filter mount was suspect and there were numerous other minor issues. None of that was unsolvable, but there was work to do.

I’m blessed to have access to a terrific mechanic, Donnie Nesselrodt. An ASE Certified Master Technician, Donnie had his own shop, Purcellville Tire & Auto, for many years in Purcellville, Va. He sold his business to AAA, and now he works solo, by appointment, in a splendid facility that he owns in West Virginia. Donnie intuitively understands old Fords and Chevys. He can troubleshoot, weld, fabricate and repair cars with the best of them. I made up a long punch list, and I gathered up the parts I thought he’d need. Donnie trailered the ’40 to his shop.

Over a few weeks, Donnie worked his way through my list. A new master cylinder and a new e-brake cable were procured. A close inspection revealed the brake shoes were new. The rear drums were then bead blasted, finished in gunmetal gray and carefully adjusted. Coker Tire supplied a new set of its excellent “Bias-Look” radials — 5.60:15 in front and 8.20:15 for the rear, with the requisite tubes. I use these same blackwall radials on my Hemi-powered ’39 Ford. They have a tall aspect ratio and plain sidewalls, so they look period-perfect. And they ride and handle beautifully.

I had ordered a set of tubular steel headers from Belond, but when they arrived, they didn’t fit. Turns out they were for earlier 303-/324-cid Oldsmobile engines and the bigger 371s have square center ports. Belond doesn’t make them. Donnie repainted the stock cast-iron manifolds, made new downpipes and, perhaps one day, we’ll fabricate new tubular headers. I ordered a set of new “Shorty” steelpacks from Porter Muffler. They have a deep, mellow sound. The engine mounts were shot, so Donnie installed new “doughnuts.”

Rebuilding kits and floats for the three Rochester carbs from NAPA were a must. Donnie rebuilt the carburetors, adjusted the linkage and carefully set the idle. The two end carburetors were very gummed up. The J-2 has a progressive linkage, and you can run happily on the center carburetor for optimal mileage. I read that, back in the day, owners didn’t fully tromp on the throttle too much, and the barely used carbs had a tendency to gum up. The solution is to bury the throttle more frequently. No problem there. New fuel lines were fabricated. The fuel tank was filled with rotten old ethanol-laced gasoline, so that was drained and flushed. Curiously, the Ford pumpkin didn’t have a drain plug, so Donnie made a new housing for a drain plug, solving that issue.

Some tasks can wait. A hidden-but-complete Vintage Air HVAC system and a built-in stereo are installed. We’ll get to those eventually. The front wishbones were split and hung on brackets welded to the frame, ostensibly to clear the gearbox, but that seems overkill given the existing spacing. They might need redoing -— they hang somewhat lower than I’d like.

Burton Antique Auto Parts, in Dayton Ohio, sells a reproduction of the 1940 Ford rear gravel shield. I ordered one, had it painted black and Donnie installed it. This rare Ford dealer accessory was just $1.95 back in 1940 — they’re $175 today, but they neatly fill most of the gap between the body and bumper, and they look cool. My friend, Jim Cherry, supplied a gennie Ford front license plate bracket.

We found that while some modifications on this car were done very well, others were amateurish. I traced the title back 21 years. Richard Munz acquired the car in January 2004. The last owner before Munz was Richard Craig Bisbee, of Sparta, Mich. — he’d acquired the coupe in July 2003. Unfortunately, Richard Bisbee passed away, so that trail’s cold. Richard Munz doesn’t recall some of the details. When you’ve owned more than 300 cars in your lifetime, as he has, that’s not surprising. Joe Reath, from Long Beach, Calif., has been credited with the engine rebuild, but I have no record of that. Sadly, Joe passed away in January 2013 —- another cold trail.

Back behind the art deco wheel

Here’s the good news: Back together, all tuned up, and filled with fresh 93-octane Sunoco fuel, the ’40 is a delight to drive. With that wide rear, dual leaf springs and Coker radials, it handles a lot better than my old coupe with its antique front and rear buggy springs and skinny 16-inch bias-ply tires. And the new ’40 stops very surely, thanks to its oversized disc/drum brake setup. The acceleration is exhilarating, with great throttle response, a deep “wooooosh” from the three carburetors and a torquey rush to illegal speeds that makes me smile. And it should be —- the 371-cid Olds is nearly 100 cubic inches larger than the flathead in my old car.

The 1940 LaSalle that supplied the gearbox had a 3.92:1`rear-end ratio, and it weighed 3,710 lbs. The J-2 Olds V-8 (an $83 option in 1957) developed 312 bhp at 4,600 rpm when new, and I think this modified engine has a hot cam, so it’s probably even more powerful. It’s pulling a 3.50:1 Ford rear now, in a car that weighs about 3,100 lbs, with the heavier and more powerful Olds V-8 installed. That LaSalle column-shift gearbox is interesting. 1940 was the first year for a column shift at Ford, so adapting the LaSalle column shifter is very appropriate. It shifts smoothly and it feels like the coupe will wind to 80 mph in second. There’s a kind of electric overdrive attached to the throttle linkage that will hold the throttle in position, but I don’t need it.  

I put about 100 miles on the ’40 coupe just last weekend. It runs between 190-195 degrees, checked with my heat gun, on an 82-degree day. There’s already an electric fan that’s controlled by an under-dash switch. But that’s too hot. So by the time you’re reading this, we’ve installed a new 180-degree thermostat, and Donnie was going to fit an overflow tank from Speedway. That should fix the overheating.

Lessons learned? It’s never a bad idea to have a complete inspection when you buy a car. But honesty, I’m really liking this ’40. The repairs didn’t break the bank, and I’d have bought this car even if I’d known it needed some work. 

Bottom line, as Bruce Meyer says, “it’s never too late to have a happy childhood.” 

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Albert “Bud” Drake, a prolific author, Michigan State College English professor emeritus and respected Pacific Northwest hot rodder, passed away on June 11, 2023. He was 88 years old. 

I knew who he was, of course. And I am so sorry that I never met Al Drake in person. I enjoyed his writing for years, and when I bought one of his books (which was whenever a new one came out), he’d write an inscription, and often he’d enclose a little handwritten note. These missives were always complimentary and appreciative. He implied that we were kindred spirits as writers about hot rods, and we were lucky to have lived in the ’50s, the era when hot rodding came into its own (Al was 5 years older than me). I didn’t know Al well enough to call him “Bud,” and he signed his notes “Al,” so that’s who he was to me. I truly regret that I never picked up the phone after reading one of his books just to tell him how much I enjoyed his writing.

The first of Al’s books that I bought was “Street was Fun in ’51.” It was written in 1982. Drake was pictured on the cover of this small paperback, which was really a book of reminiscences. His faded cover car was a Model A roadster equipped with a dual-carb flathead. The roadster sits rather high, on General Jumbo wheels, and it looks like a car that a kid on a limited budget would have built. Al owned that A-V-8 before he was even old enough to have a driver’s license. 

Although Al lived in the Portland, Ore., area, he was fascinated with the California hot rod scene. Eventually he made his first pilgrimage to the dry lakes, located to the north and east of Los Angeles. 

Al also had the opportunity to buy a collection of historic black-and-white dry lakes photographs, and with faded photographs in hand during 1977 and ’78, Al visited older hot rodders in California to see if anyone could identify the cars and/or the people in the images. At the same time, he purchased vintage copies of SCTA (Southern California Timing Association) programs so he could compile a chronology of the early days of hot rodding.

Finally, in his 1993 book “Hot Rodder! From Lakes to Street,” Drake wrote an oral history painstakingly compiled from his visits to California during the 1970s when he transcribed his long talks with dry lakes pioneers such as Eldon Snapp, Bill Kenz, Karl and Veda Orr, Burke LeSage, Dan Iandola, Strother MacMinn, Wally Parks, Lyn Yakel, George Bentley and many others. If you’ve studied the early history of hot rodding, you’ll know those names. Al’s subjects loaned him photographs and they’re all reproduced in this book.

Al also spoke with famous professional custom car builders such as Joe Bailon and Bob Kaiser, and he talked with people he called “observers,” such as Roger Huntington, a prolific automotive engineer and writer in the 1950s, and Peter Sukalac, a well-known automobile magazine photographer from the Pacific Northwest. (The chapter on Peter Sukalac became a stand-alone book in 2021).

Al’s book “Hot Rodder!” included a wonderful interview with Henry Gregor Felsen, the author of “Hot Rod,” “Street Rod,” “Rag Top,” “Crash Club,” “Fever Heat” and “Road Rocket.” Felsen’s novels were fascinating to kids like me in the ’50s. They were fictional object lessons on safe driving written with a hot rod theme. Felsen initially wrote “Hot Rod” for the Des Moines Safety Council. After a favorable review in The New York Times, it was published as a Bantam paperback, and it subsequently sold more than two million copies.

“Hot Rod” was written about Bud Crayne, a fictional high school hot rodder and rebel who drives a chopped ’34 Ford coupe with a full-race flathead. He works in a service station, and he’s a talented driver. But he races on the street, setting a bad example for local teenagers. When a fellow teen is badly injured in a crash, the local policeman convinces Crayne to drive the injured kid to the hospital in his police cruiser, because Bud is the better driver. If you’ve never read “Hot Rod,” or any of Felsen’s books, I won’t spoil the ending, but suffice it to say, to this day, whenever I drive my ’32 Ford roadster, I think of Bud Crayne, keenly checking his gauges and listening for the slightest miss in his powerful flathead V-8. Henry Gregor Felsen was all but forgotten, despite the effect his books had on so many youngsters in the 1950s. Leave it to Al Drake to track him down and retell his story.

Another wonderful Al Drake book, “Flat Out,” was published in 1994. In it, Drake expanded his dry lakes coverage, revisited many lakes heroes and found others. This book has even more photographs, with most of the cars and drivers identified. Drake’s publishing company, Flat Out Press, printed and distributed more than 25 titles over the years, including books of poetry. These books are all different sizes; there’s really not a continuous visual theme. Best of all, they’re all paperbacks and you can still find them on eBay. Over the years, Al wrote more than 400 articles — mainly about hot rods — and some of them for Old Cars. He wasn’t a wealthy man, but his work is a treasure we can still enjoy.

“Flat Out,” arguably Al Drake’s seminal work, came after Don Montgomery’s wonderful photo compilation books such as “Hot Rods in the Forties (1987) and “Hot Rods As They Were” (1989). Montgomery is correctly credited with influencing the “nostalgia” movement that saw many people closely studying these old photos, then building contemporary hot rods very much the way they were constructed in the 1950s. Montgomery’s eighth and last book, “Old Hot Rods Scrapbook,” published in 2006, presented hundreds of historic black-and-white photographs of hot rods, all taken back in the day.

Books by both Al Drake and Don Montgomery have a big influence on practitioners of “classic” hot rodding. Add in a beautifully written book, “The American Hot Rod” (1995), by Dean Bachelor, and you have a trilogy of significant hot rod writers.

In 1999, Al autographed my copy of “Flat Out” as follows: 

“To Ken Gross, a guy who loves to go flat out, in a machine or at the typewriter, with best wishes.” 

He signed it, “Albert Drake, fellow writer.”

“Flat Out” is filled with the old photographs that Al borrowed from many hot rod pioneers. He painstakingly traced the roots of hot rodding from Los Angeles to the dry lakes and Bonneville and chronologically arranged the photos so readers could see how cars developed over the years. Dean Bachelor’s book, published a few years earlier, did much the same, but Dean’s work is very polished and professional. Al’s effort is more like a scrapbook of photos and SCTA program pages. They’re both terrific.

Hot rod book highlights

We don’t have room to cover all of Al Drake’s books, but here are a few highlights: 

“The Brotherhood of Speed” (2012), written with Al Pennington, is a 426-page history of the “Slo Poks” hot rod club from Vancouver, Wash. It was published by Murphy Hill Farm/Stone Press in Vancouver, and it’s the complete history of a very active car club that began in late 1951 or early 1952. The club is still around, making it one of the oldest hot rod clubs in the country.

“Reflections in a Spinner Hubcap” (2020) is a collection of stories, essays and columns that Drake initially published in Goodguys Gazette, Hop Up, Old Cars Weekly, Classic Cars and other periodicals. It’s a good bedside read, a few chapters at a time. You’ll fall asleep dreaming about the ’50s. 

“A 1950’s Rod & Custom Builder’s Wish Book” was published in 2009. It’s a compendium of ’50s print ads for speed and custom equipment featuring nearly every major maker (and many minor makers) of speed equipment and accessories. If you want to see what these items looked like in the day, and learn what they cost new, this all-illustration book is a must-have.

“Portland Pictorial” (2006) memorializes many long-lost cars and people from the Portland, Ore., area — underscoring that hot rodding in the ’50s knew no boundaries. The cars pictured are sometimes amateurish, reflecting their builder’s skill (or lack thereof), but there’s a consistency of purpose, and you have to wonder how many of these cars survive, perhaps hidden under a tarp in a single-car garage. Luckily, many of them live on in this book.

“Jacket & Plaque: Portland Rod & Custom Clubs of the Fifties” is a 200-plus-page scrapbook of car club memorabilia: jackets, plaques, trophies, courtesy cards (remember those?) and countless photographs of guys and trophy gals from the Portland area. Nobody but Al Drake could gather and present all those show tickets, programs, pins, armbands and gosh knows what else from the ’50s. You can’t speed read this book — every photograph is worth studying.

“Fifties Flashback: The cars we drove, the clothes we wore, the movies we saw, books & comics, car shows, magazines…” (1998) is another scrapbook of 1950s ephemera, but it’s much more than that. And whether you lived in that era (as I did) and fondly remember it, or just want to learn more about mid-century life, this book will take you back. Besides reprinted magazine covers, pages from hot rod comic books and reviews of the Floyd Clymer and Fawcett paperbacks, there’s considerable thoughtful analysis of the times, the customs and the fads —- it’s worth reading.

“The Age of Hot Rods” (2008) has a blurred cover photo of a 1937 Ford coupe that was a Hot Rod Magazine cover car in 1952. Glenn Johnson and his wife appear in a feature that exclaimed, “We chopped and channeled our car at home!” And they did, producing a custom rod that was good enough to be a cover feature. The book is a series of essays and photographs that evoke much of the magic of the ’50s. Al Drake covered the same basic subject many times, but he always found different ways to interpret what he’d experienced.

“Overtures to Motion” (2011) runs the gamut from essays on tether cars (motorized model race cars), and kiddie pedal cars to custom accessories and personalities — all with cars as the underlying theme. There’s an essay on Ken W. Purdy, my all-time favorite car writer and his efforts in “True: The Men’s Magazine.” Chapters range from a look back at washing machine motor-powered bicycles, reminiscences about a 1942 Mercury, automatic cigarette lighters (“an accessory we’ll never see again”) and even a look at Studebakers as circus stars. 

Al Drake entertained hot rodders and car enthusiasts for years with his simple memories and hot rod history research. His books will take you back to a simpler time — and you may just want to stay there….
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You’d think most carmakers would want to have their own museum. But with the exception of The Henry Ford in Dearborn, Mich., major American automaker’s museums have either closed, or their collections generally aren’t open to the public. In contrast, the top European car companies offer incredible museums, usually located adjacent to their manufacturing facilities. Proud of their heritage, they invite you to experience their history, examine the cars that made them famous and learn more about innovations they pioneered. Porsche, Mercedes-Benz, Volkswagen and BMW, to name a few, have memorable “Garage Mahals.”

Volvo recently followed suit with a stunning, state-of-the-art structure in Gothenburg, Sweden, about 250 miles north of Stockholm. The tall, circular building is a soaring framework of light-colored, curved “glulam” timber (glue/laminated ­— get it?), a Scandinavian wood product made up of multiple layers of dimensional lumber bonded by moisture-resistant structural adhesive. Computer-controlled fabrication ensures the curved glulam pieces are precisely cut. Metal connectors inside the wooden beams make for rigid construction. The floor slabs are made of locally sourced CLT (cross-laminated timber). Tall, floor-to-ceiling windows keep the museum’s interior light and airy. The architects said they “…pushed the boundaries of timber construction.” 

The new World of Volvo museum has three major sections with numerous interactive exhibits and about 50 cars and trucks. You can experience how distractions affect your ability to drive at one station; test your skill and balance on a bus simulator; watch some of Volvo’s epic TV commercials and ads; learn how lambda sensors save lives; understand a key Volvo innovation, the three-point safety belt; follow the progress of electrification; and watch Volvo’s founders come to life on film, working together at the same desk nearly 100 years ago.

At the entrance is a handsome 1946 PV60, the last six-cylinder Volvo equipped with a flathead engine. The PV60 was considered outdated when it was introduced ­(fashions had changed during the war), but the car was very comfortable and surprisingly popular. They were not sold in the United States. The museum’s rare, royal-blue example is owned by His Majesty King Carl XVI. It was a gift from the Swedish people and Volvo to celebrate the king’s birthday on April 30, 1996. The car and the king are the same age, and the big, blue sedan was driven on the first King’s Rally in August 1997. Leave it to the democratic Swedes to give a car to their monarch.

World of Volvo encompasses everything you want to know about the Swedish safety stalwart. As a motorcar company, Volvo began in 1926, so they are nearly a century old. The firm was initially underwritten by SKF, a renowned ball-bearing manufacturer. The name Volvo, in Latin, literally means “I roll.” Although Sweden’s frigid temperatures should have dictated an initial volume of snug, closed PV4 sedans, nearly half of the first run of Volvos were OV4 open touring models. There’s a well-preserved OV4 example on display.

Another early Volvo that caught my attention was the PV36 Carioca. Built from 1935 until 1938, the streamlined Carioca resembled the Chrysler Airflow with a dash of Hupmobile Model J Aerodynamic thrown in. The lively Carioca dance, from Brazil, was reportedly popular in Sweden at the time. Many Volvo engineers had been trained in the U.S. and the PV36’s engine was a 3.7-liter flathead inline six-cylinder. The car also had independent front suspension, a first for Volvo. Just 500 examples were sold ­— the stolid Swedes didn’t like the Airflow’s streamlining any more than Chrysler buyers did. Sweden remained neutral during World War II, so during the war Volvo continued to manufacture a 90-bhp, five-passenger model called the PV60 despite dealing with acute materiel shortages.

When the war ended, Volvo offered the nimble PV444, which resembled a slightly shrunken 1946-1948 Ford Tudor. It was sold in the States from 1954-1959 and evolved into the PV544. Thanks to its familiar styling, a lusty little twin-carb 1.6-liter 85-bhp I-4 and, eventually, a four-speed gearbox, Americans bought PV544s in droves. The more stylish 122S Amazon sedan that followed became the third-best-selling import model in the United States. 

True to its Swedish roots, Volvo has always touted safety, and value. And the company’s clever print advertising showed six other Volvo sedans on top of a 240 to emphasize its rugged roofs and overall strength. Volvo’s sturdy station wagons competed with Peugeot 404s and 504s in the United States and edged out their French rivals on volume. Curiously, many wealthy people bought Volvo wagons, transcending class barriers. Volvos were considered practical, sensible and even a little chic, like Birkenstock sandals on wheels. Ads for the 740 Turbo Volvo wagon showed it with a Porsche 944 and quipped, “To a Radar Gun, They Look Exactly Alike.” The closest thing to a custom Volvo GT was the 780 coupe that was restyled by Carrozzeria Bertone with a low, chopped top and a performance upgrade. Not many were sold.

On the even sportier side, Volvo introduced the tightly drawn P1800 coupe back in 1961. It was based upon a prototype by Carrozzeria Frua (with input from Ghia) that had been shown two years prior. The P1800’s stylish bodies were initially assembled in England by Jensen, and the classy GT coupe starred in the popular TV drama “The Saint” starring Roger Moore as Simon Templar (Moore was later cast as James Bond). By 1964, the speedy 110-mph P1800 coupes were being built in Sweden. Toward the end of that model’s range, Volvo sold the P1800ES, a two-door shooting brake (station wagon) with an extended roofline.

Here in the States, the P1800 became the basis for the most well-travelled Volvo of all time: a red coupe owned by genial Long Island schoolteacher Irv Gordon. The doughty Mr. Gordon parlayed his long daily commute into an astounding 3,200,000-mile Guinness driving record, culminating in a trip to Anchorage, Alaska! Over time, Irv’s hard-charging P1800 had an engine rebuild and some sprucing up, but the car was largely original. I met Irv several times (he died in 2006), so seeing his coupe prominently displayed in the new World of Volvo museum was a delight. Irv liked to say that he “…met wonderful people everywhere he drove,” as he piled up his incredible mileage. He became an official ambassador for Volvo, and his perennial smile and virtually unstoppable red P1800 became the stuff of legends.

Volvo also owns “The Saint’s” original white P1800 and the Frua prototype. They’re stored in a “secret” building near the Gothenburg factory that holds hundreds of vintage Volvos, with many awaiting their turn in the new museum. Hans Hedberg, Heritage Manager of the museum, looks after Volvo’s antique fleet and he kindly let us drive a few specimens. The Frua P1800 prototype will be on display at the Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance this August in a special class honoring Frua coachwork. It’s the first time a Volvo will have appeared on the lawn, but it may not be the last. 

But this column is about hot rods, and there’s one in the World of Volvo museum. Bogi Lateiner is an American TV personality and the founder of Girl Gang Garage, a team of women who restore old cars. Lateiner found a 1961 Volvo PV544 on a farm near Phoenix, Ariz., and asked Volvo to supply an engine. Volvo did better than that. The company gave Bogi a complete S60 T8 plug-in hybrid. Approximately 160 women worked on this project, rotating in teams over 18 months, building this pudgy mauve machine. Under those bulging fenders are wider tires and contemporary disc brakes. It’s an electric hot rod, right in step with the latest trend toward total auto electrification, not to mention it’s setting a fine example for women who want to be mechanics and restorers. Fewer than 10 percent of the mechanics in the U.S. today are women ­— perhaps this effort will encourage more ladies to consider being a technician?

Consider this: Sweden is home to countless car enthusiasts, and many of them love American iron, particularly customs and muscle cars. The summers are too short, but a surprising number of American muscle cars have made their way to Scandinavia. Some aficionados over here wear leather jackets and even sport slicked-back hair. The muscle car culture has a name ­— raggare, typically translated as “greaser” ­— ^­but the term comes from a Swedish verb meaning “to pick up girls,” and the Swedes rival Cuba with their deification of American cruising culture. But the World of Volvo museum, with exception of the Girl Gang display, steers clear of hot rods and customs, so you’ll have to travel outside of Stockholm and Gothenburg to get your hot rod fix.

 Visit https://www.worldofvolvo.com/en/to learn more about their wonderful musuem.

Love Imports? Here are a few more articles for your reading enjoyment.

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https://www.oldcarsweekly.com/features/when-subaru-got-sexy

https://www.oldcarsweekly.com/features/car-of-the-week-1937-fiat-topolino

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Last spring, my wife Trish and I returned from a trip to Brazil and Argentina. Of course, the charms of Copacabana, the majesty of Iguazu Falls and the European ambiance of Buenos Aires were on our list. But for me, the highlight of the trip was a long drive to Museo Fangio, a museum in Balcarce, Argentina, dedicated to Juan Manuel Fangio. I’ll tell you all about it, but first, a little about the great man himself.

Juan Manuel Fangio: The man

Juan Manuel Fangio, five-time Formula 1 World Champion, has long been one of my favorite racing drivers. He hailed from Balcarce, a small city about 250 miles south of Buenos Aires. Starting as a mechanic, his rise to fame was fueled by contributions from hometown supporters and the state-supported Automobile Club of Argentina. Fangio cut his teeth racing stripped-down late-’30s Ford and Chevy coupes—really home-built hot rods—on rugged back roads in multi-country Carretera events such as the International Grand Prix of the North, a grueling 6,000-mile endurance contest from Buenos Aires to Lima, Peru, and back over some of the worst roads imaginable.

While his modified stock car mounts weren’t as sophisticated as the purpose-built cars he would later drive in Europe, Fangio learned car control skills, endurance racing secrets and mechanical repairs under pressure in the years before World War II and immediately afterward. Born in 1911, he started competing in 1934. His prewar racing experience continued for a few years, even as war raged overseas. Competition finally paused in Argentina, and fearful he’d get rusty by being idle, Fangio raced by himself on country roads just to stay in shape.

When World War II ended, Fangio had a lot of lost time to make up. Competing mostly in Chevrolets during 1947 and ’48, he won six times and finished third five times. In 1949, now 38 years old and older than many of his contemporaries, Fangio realized his dream and went to Europe where he astounded racing fans by winning his first Grand Prix at San Remo. Driving a Maserati financed by Aytimobilem Club of Argentina (ACA), he quickly won four more Grand Prix events in succession. The following year, now piloting an Alfa Romeo, he won 11 races and finished second three times to vastly more-experienced Giuseppi “Nino” Farina.

Recognized by 1951 as a serious up and comer, Fangio took a third place while driving a Mercedes-Benz in the Buenos Aires Grand Prix, then won five races and finished second twice in Europe driving an Alfa Romeo to convincingly win his first World Championship. Proving that was no fluke, and now driving a Ferrari, he won six races in succession in 1952. He drove many makes in 1953—Maserati, Gordini, BRM, Alfa Romeo—and he won La Carrera Panamericana, the grueling Mexican road race, in a Lancia. Driving mostly for Mercedes-Benz in 1954, he began a streak of four consecutive World Championships: 1954 and 1955 for Mercedes-Benz, 1956 and 1957 for Ferrari. He piloted a Maserati in 1958 for a few races, then retired for all time.

“I had reached my goal, and realized my ambition,” he would later write. “It was time for me to disappear.”

Reflecting on his career, Fangio made driving look easy. He was well-known for never driving any faster than it took to win. A skilled mechanic, he could inherently feel the car’s engine and suspension. He survived the horrible crash at Le Mans in 1955 thanks to his profound instincts and quick reactions. Greatly revered and universally admired, when Fangio entered a restaurant in his native Argentina, everyone stood as a sign of respect until he was seated.

Stirling Moss wrote the foreword in Fangio’s 1961 autobiography, “My Twenty Years of Racing,” in collaboration with Il Maestro’s friend and manager, Marcello “Giamba” Giambertone. Moss recalled, “There was not one outstanding quality that he possessed; his ability was so complete… it didn’t matter how fast one went—he could always go that much faster… I learnt so much from him. I am sure he was the greatest who ever lived.”

Juan Manuel Fangio: His museum

Now that we’re caught up with a man who was a legend in his own time, it’s time to talk about the museum. The Museo Fangio has an excellent website at www.museofangio.com so it can be virtually visited. I used it to email the director before my in-person visit. Sr. Augusto Cuestas kindly wrote back and encouraged me to come. Trish and I rented a Renault Sandero compact sedan via National Rental Car and used Google Maps for navigation to the museum. The pleasant 250-mile drive south, mostly on a four-lane highway populated by a lot of “widow maker” double trailers, rolls past field after field, dotted with seemingly every cow in Argentina.

A small city, Balcarce, is replete with agriculture-oriented businesses. Easy to find, the 50,000-sq.-ft. Museo Fangio is a handsome building located on a side street. Contained within are more than 50 cars arranged on several floors. These cars range from Fangio’s cross-country, stripped-down Ford and Chevrolet racing coupes from his prewar days to sleek Mercedes-Benz 196s (an open-wheel F1 car and a streamlined 196R) and several contemporary racing cars. “El Maestro” drove for many European marques. At least one example of each marque is on display, along with dozens of trophies and awards. They kindly asked me to hold one of Fangio’s cork helmets to inspect. It was still dented from an accident long ago. And they generously put us up at El Casco de Fangio, a lovely estancia (cattle ranch) just outside of the city.

Of particular interest was Fangio’s early Chevrolet Special, a home-built monoposto from the postwar era powered by a modified Chevy six. Recalling Fangio’s Mercedes-Benz affiliation (he later became a Mercedes-Benz dealer), there’s an enclosed, streamlined Mercedes Formula I car from 1955 resting on a display platform. Fangio and his British teammate, Stirling Moss, raced cars such as this in 1955 and ’56. Depending upon the track requirements, Mercedes-Benz’s drivers piloted radical, fully enclosed cars and conventional open-wheel single-seaters. They won in both types.

On floor after floor, I enjoyed seeing the variety of cars that Fangio drove. There’s a Lancia D24 roadster from the terrifying La Carrera Panamericana. Dwelling on his many years of road racing across South America, Fangio won that multi-day contest in a Lancia roadster in 1953. You can inspect a rare Lancia-Ferrari D50 Formula 1 car with its deadly side pannier fuel tanks; a sleek, early Ferrari F1 racer in blue and yellow Argentine racing livery; a scarlet Maserati 250F; and much more. A recreation of the Mercedes-Benz high-speed transporter, with a 300 SLR atop its bed, is a reminder of the years when factory teams used trucks and purpose-built carriers to travel overnight from race to race in Europe.

There are also many Carretera Argentina race cars, both Fords and Chevrolets. I was generously offered a drive in Fangio’s 1939 Chevrolet. The “stock car”-type formula allowed builders to reduce weight by trimming fenders, reshaping hoods and fabricating canvas deck lids. The saved weight could be added back in the form of roll bars, larger fuel tanks and remote oil reservoirs to maintain the car’s original weight. And the trimmed fenders prevented a mud buildup.

I enjoyed a quick blast in the Chevy on the surrounding dirt roads. With a deafening straight exhaust, the stiffly suspended Chevy scrabbled over the corrugated surface, vibrating and sliding. I could only image the strength and talent required to drive one of these bone-shaking cars for days at a time in cross-country races.

The sheer number of racing cars and awards on display at the Museo Fangio attest to the unparalleled success of the remarkable man it honors. Juan Manuel Fangio died at age 84 in 1995, and he was initially buried in a cemetery in Balcarce. A few years ago, his remains were exhumed and he now rests in a dedicated area of the museum.

I wholeheartedly recommend a visit to the Museo Fangio. You’ll come away with even more respect for this quiet Argentinian who became a legend in his lifetime.

Forza Fangio!

Meeting the Man

I met Juan Fangio in person many years ago courtesy of Mercedes-Benz. He was signing posters after a press dinner at the Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance. I waited to have my poster signed, rehearsing the words I wanted to say. At last, when my turn came, I introduced myself, said my little admiration speech in rusty Spanish and thanked him. He looked up and said, “Your Spanish is good. Where did you learn?” I replied that I had worked part time in Spain and Venezuela, but really my Spanish was only proficient after a couple of drinks. He smiled and said, “you must have had a lot to drink tonight.”

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The Race of Gentlemen (TROG) has only been around since 2012, and it’s been held in various locations on both coasts, but it’s already achieved the status of an enduring icon. The formula is deceptively simple: racers are limited to pre-1935-model-year hot rods and pre-1947 motorcycles (tank shifters preferred). Engines are limited — four-bangers, flat-sixes and flathead V-8s are preferred — but somebody brought an Auburn V-12 this year. Old carburetors, steel wheels and other American-made parts only. There’s minimal safety stuff; roll bars are optional and old-fashioned open-face helmets are OK, and there are no formal classes. It’s really “run what ya brung.”

Building TROG

The loosely organized event is the brainchild of Meldon Van Riper Stultz III, himself an icon from Asbury Park, N.J., by way of Keyport. His Instagram handle is “YEOLEGHOST,” and he’s worth a follow. Mel’s piercing gunfighter eyes, heavy tatts, scraggly salt-and-pepper beard and standard outfit of a battered and multi-pinned leather motorcycle jacket and rolled-cuff jeans all make him look like a cross between a pirate and a biker — and he’s a bit of both. Mel started as a member of the Rumblers, who are famous for their “Kustom Kills and Speed Thrills” New York City meet-ups, then resurrected the Oilers Car Club when the last dying member passed him the torch. Surveying the scene, not missing a beat, Mel usually wears a wry smile as if to say, “I’m having fun, I’m having you on and there’s nothing you can do about it. So, fire up whatever you drove or rode here, and let’s race.”

When asked what inspired the idea the idea for TROG, Mel said, “ I was reading this great book, ‘King of the Boards: The Life and Times of Jimmy Murphy.’ It was so good, the hair on my arms would stand up with excitement. At the time, I was growing bored with the hot rod scene, having jumped into it heavy and soaking it all in. I tend to get bored with things that grow popular, and I seemed to be regressing further into the automotive history. I was dreaming of creating a race that was more archaic than ’40s-built hot rods, and more like what I was reading in the [aforementioned] book. But I could not find willing racers with this type of museum-quality machines willing to participate. So, I called all the traditional hot rod buddies that I could gather.”

The first The Race of Gentleman (immediately abbreviated to “TROG”) was held on the beach in Allenhurst, N.J. Not surprisingly, it was a hit right out of the box. Rusty rods, bellowing bikes, a sexy flag lady leaping high between the staged drag racers and no one keeping elapsed times — it was a scene that resembled a ’50s flashback, even a reenactment. Participants “got it” immediately, and they couldn’t wait to do it again.

For the second year, the circus reconvened and traveled to Wildwood, a classic Jersey Shore beach town that’s sprinkled with old-style illuminated signs, funky ’50s-style motels, lots of cool bars, narrow streets and ocean-weathered houses. Tradition lives on strongly here. The 36-room retro StarLux Hotel, where much of the event coalesces, looks as though time stopped when Ike was president. Wildwood is a Fiestaware pitcher-turned-beach town. Colorful flashing neon abounds. Duffinetti’s Restaurant and Lounge, just a few blocks west of the StarLux, opened in 1947, serves Italian comfort food (read: lots of red-sauce dishes) and looks the same inside as it did then. The Beach Street Oyster Bar & Grill in Wildwood Crest attracts more sophisticated race-goers. You won’t starve. There’s a wide range of bars and eateries to please everyone.

TROG’s three-day event, now held annually in Wildwood (we’ll comment more on this later), and sporadically in other places, such as Pismo Beach and Santa Barbara, Calif., attracts several thousand spectators, and a few hundred racers — some of whom build cars specifically for TROG. Parts swappers, gear vendors and hot rod enthusiasts are there, too, many of whom wouldn’t be anywhere else on that date. Astutely — and probably sentimentally — Stultz wanted an event by the ocean. Sand is a lot safer for racing than asphalt. As more cars choose off, the packed, sandy surface changes. You have to be clever to compensate for the shifting coefficient of traction.

Cars assemble in the “pits” on the beach, line up two-by-two, and they race in one direction for an eighth of a mile. The crackle of open exhausts, the aroma of fuel and the colorfully dressed drivers, riders and spectators all make it seem as though you’ve somehow drifted back into a simpler time. There’s a friendly vibe — no one’s critical of the cars and bikes. They collectively share a joy that underscores their affection for a bygone era that most of them never knew in person. As someone who was there in the ’50s, I can attest that the feelings are the same. “If you dream about the old days of racing, this is the closest you’ll get,” reported Rolling Stone in an article highlighting the event, and it’s true.

Lest one be confused, TROG isn’t about counter-culture — it’s a ’40s-’50s revival.

Mel Stutz had good reason for deciding to hold his event on the beach in New Jersey. He’s told people many times “…by having it on the beach, you see the kids, girlfriends and wives actually get excited about it and want to come and spend the day enjoying the show. It creates a neat dynamic of young kids (as well as) the older crowd we typically would see at these events.”

TROGlodytes’ perspective

TROG gets rave reviews. Rob Gibby is an old hot rodder-turned-contemporary Bonneville racer. Here’s his take:

“There are car shows, and there is Pebble.”

“There are races, and there is Indy.”

“There are fun car happenings, and there is TROG.”

In speaking of Stultz, Gibby adds, “Mel evokes the spirit of Von Dutch. And Wildwood has 1950s charm. To be clear, Mel curates a collection of old cars for a weekend-long party that includes racing.”

“The way that hot rodders built cars from junkyard parts, back in the day,” says Gibby, “is the fodder of TROG. Not only has it enabled young folks (who admire the past) to compete, there are old-timers, too. Senior citizens like ‘Speed Swanson,’ and Freddy ‘The Flash’ Mijka, are having the time of their lives. Speed’s ’29 banger roadster could have been built in the ’40s-’50s. Flash’s car, the famous ‘Lobitz Special,’ is part of the extensive Keith Majka Indy Car collection in Paterson, New Jersey. TROG puts all ages in the epicenter of the old hot rod world. Listening to them, you’d think they were driving at the NHRA Nationals!”

Rob Ida, who owns a noted shop in Morgantown, N.J., has been a “TROGlodyte” since the event’s inception.

“I’ve attended every event over the past 10 years,” Ida says. “What truly started out as a gathering of guys that thought it would be cool to run their old hot rods on the beach sand in Asbury Park, New Jersey, grew into a culture. TROG has become not just a #hashtag, but a term to describe a certain type of hot rod or bike. Mel has not just re-created something, it’s more as though he has re-written history. His ability to envision this, and gain enthusiasm in fans and participants, is something special. Some people are spending a year building a vehicle specifically for the next TROG.”

One of the many cool stories that comes from TROG is when Bruce Springsteen appeared in Wildwood. He didn’t show up looking to sign autographs and have his pics taken with fans, he showed up to take photographs. “The Boss” is a hobbyist photographer and went to TROG to have some fun. He even took Mel’s portrait, developed it in his darkroom and sent it to Mel as a gift. Springsteen later assembled images and put together an exhibit at the “Sea. Hear. Now.” music festival that used TROG as its subject.

The Race of Gentlemen doesn’t have formal classes like, say, the RPM Nationals, but for hot rodders who just want to run their cars and have fun, it’s perfect. Tech is cursory, and many of the cars, while great looking and even period-perfect, might not pass a full-on NHRA inspection. Serious, fiercely competitive racers would prefer structured classes, but most TROG entrants love it. So does everyone else, except perhaps, the cops.

Speed Bumps in 2022

Unfortunately, in September 2022, an illegal pop-up “Fast and Furious”-style group called “h2oi” invaded Wildwood. The group had no permits for its impromptu event, things quickly got out of hand, and mayhem ensued. The crowds were unruly; the local police were unprepared and undermanned, and when the dust settled, sadly, two spectators were killed. The New Jersey State Police had to send reinforcements to calm the situation. So, when the “TROGlodytes” arrived a few weeks later, they were subject to frequent random motor vehicle stops and ticketed for minor infractions, such as vintage license plates that didn’t match their cars’ registrations.

But the real problem was the weather.

I decided to drive up from my home in Virginia to Wildwood in my ’39 Ford. It’s about 225 miles. My ’39 looks pretty stock except for a seriously lowered stance, and it packs an early Chrysler 354 Hemi with twin four-barrels backed by a five-speed Tremec and a Currie 9-inch Ford rear end with parallel leaf springs. I’ve driven it up to Ty-Rods in Boston and it’s very reliable. Of course, the windshield wipers aren’t the best, but that’s why there’s Rain-X.

Hurricane Ian was threatening the Jersey Shore, but the event was still on so my wife Trish and I piled into the Ford and headed up 95 toward the Delaware Memorial Bridge. The rain wasn’t too bad yet, and there was always the hope that the hurricane would turn and rumble out to sea. When we reached Wildwood and checked into the StarLux, we found old cars and hot rodders everywhere. The police presence was evident — you couldn’t blame them after what had happened earlier — and they seemed to be manning every intersection. But all our lights worked and our car doesn’t make too much noise at low speed, so we didn’t attract attention. We enjoyed a nice dinner at the Beach Street Oyster Bar, then tire kicking and checking out the scene.

As we headed for the beach Friday morning, hundreds of people were already there. Guys were working on their cars, and the swap meet was in full swing. We spotted the Barillaro brothers, Mike and Jimmy, from Knoxville, and their just-finished belly tank, and we saw a few other guys we knew. All the cars looked as though time had stopped sometime in 1955. No billet, no overheads, lots of patina and surface rust, skinny tires and the ever-present rap of straight pipes in the air. The bikes — Indians and Harleys — were bobbed and stripped like a scene out of “The Wild One.” The vibe was upbeat, but so was the wind. People were checking the weather status on their phones, but everyone was surprised with what suddenly happened. Around 11 a.m., Mel Stultz gathered everyone together, picked up a bull horn and sadly announced that the city had canceled the event. We were told the beach could be underwater by late afternoon and surely by tomorrow morning.

We were disappointed, but some folks — those who’d probably spent months building their cars — were really bummed. That said, people gathered ’round, took a quick show of hands to say they’d not seek refunds so Mel wouldn’t totally lose his shirt, and many people headed for a host bar downtown where they were selling TROG merchandise.

Looking to the Bright Side

That night, the rain howled and I was sure the water would be in the hotel parking lot. But our ’39 was fine and we elected to hang out with our pal, Terry Cook, founder of Lead East. Terry had driven down in a two-tone ’56 Hudson Hornet sedan that he’d mounted on a Chevy Caprice chassis with a 350 small-block and a TH400 transmission. When the going gets tough, the tough look for a great bar. We headed for Duffinetti’s, and since the storm had receded a bit, we started checking out other places. Gibby suggested Secondo’s in nearby Cape May, an Italian-Greek combination that was four stars and then some. I sat next to Mel’s mom, Barbara Calvert, and learned how her always-unconventional son had started the whole deal. One of my favorite quotes from Mel is, “I looked at a beach and I saw a racetrack.”

While the East Coast TROG sadly ended, Mel was already looking forward to his West Coast event.

TROG West at the Flabob Airstrip in Jurupa Valley, Calif., in early December was a smash hit, with a Night of the TROGlodytes chopper show and a curated traditional custom car show called “Trog d’Elegance.” On Saturday, the runway crackled with the roar of bikes and hot rods. They allowed early overheads, and social media lit up. From what I could see in Facebook and Instagram posts by dozens of friends, TROG’s California drag racing more than made up for the rain cancellation in Wildwood.

The addition of early overhead-valves isn’t by accident, but by Mel’s design.

“I’ve grown bored again with gents stripping down stock Model As to create beach racers,” Mel says. “I’ve really been trying to introduce more early-’50s-style hot rods these last few years. More chopped and channeled cars, with engines set back, etcetera. I also encouraged a rail class. This was so guys could save on buying bodies and hop up their engines more.”

We had to ask what his favorite part of the current event is.

“Honestly, Sunday evening, when it’s all over and I can finally celebrate,” Mel said. “Being a lover of people and good times, I can’t relax until I know everyone is safe and sound. So when the races are over, I enjoy the hot tub and a cold beer with friends, and a big, old ‘Wahoo! We did it!’”

As this is written, Mel advises that the 2023 East Coast date and exact location aren’t posted, but it’s my hope we’ll all be back in Wildwood. After all, we now know where all the good restaurants are, and we’ve been promised a roadster ride on the beach.

We’ll be there next year — we hope you will be, too.

At press time, TROG announced on its website that it will be presenting 1/8-mile drag racing for hot rods and motorcycles at the Flabob Airstrip in Jurupa Valley, Calif., on April 15-16.

Learn More www.theraceofgentlemen.com 

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The Hirohata Mercury, arguably most famous custom car of all time, owned by one California family for 59 years, is about to be offered for sale. Custom car enthusiasts can’t wait to see the result. Will it be the “Million Dollar Merc?”

Before we speculate on that question, let’s examine the car, the culture and legend.

The Basics of a Custom Legend

If ever a single car has come to define its genre, this 1951 Mercury hardtop, built by George and Sam Barris for Los Angeles custom car enthusiast Bob Hirohata, is it. Hand-crafted in mid-century by the Barris Brothers, who were some of the best talent in the business, and featured in countless magazines (not to mention it was a scene-stealing Hollywood B-movie star), this stunning car was highly acclaimed in its heyday. Then its first owner was murdered in a drive-by shooting, and the obsolete custom fell into disrepair and disappeared for a time. Decades later, it emerged as the centerpiece of an exhibit at the Oakland Museum and, after a serious re-restoration, it starred at the Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance.

The Culture Behind the Hirohata Merc

When World War II ended in 1945, pent-up demand for new cars drove America’s automobile industry to convert, in record time, from producing war materiel back to building civilian vehicles. Deprived of their formative years, returning GIs with saved-up combat pay demanded new wheels right away. So did the gas-rationed and war-deprived civilian population. To quickly meet demand for the 1946 model year, Detroit’s automakers offered what came to be known as “warmed over” 1942 models: prosaic cars with stodgy styling barely changed from their prewar counterparts. Kaiser-Frazer, Nash, Studebaker and Hudson were among the first to offer completely new sheet metal in 1947. General Motors, Chrysler Corp. and Ford Motor Co. followed suit in 1948 and ’49.

For enthusiasts who hadn’t the means to purchase a new car, restyling an older model or scratch-building a sports custom was a popular alternative. Customizing, known earlier as re-styling, had begun before the war by a few West Coast shops and builders. There was Jimmy Summers and Link Paola in Hollywood; Neil Emory and Clay Jensen, owners of Valley Custom, in the San Fernando Valley; and Harry Westergard in Sacramento. They were joined by Gil and Al Ayala in East Los Angeles, and the prolific Barris Brothers, Sam and George, in Lynwood. Even before custom cars were featured in Robert E. Petersen’s Hot Rod Magazine and its companion, Motor Trend, Dan Post’s “Blue Book of Custom Re-Styling,” and a pamphlet from Pennsylvania speed merchant Ed Almquist, taught budding builders customizing techniques.

The fundamental premise of customizing was simple, although not everyone got it right. Most production cars of the late 1940s were staid, bulbous and dull. The period’s best auto writer, Ken W. Purdy, called them “…turgid, jelly-bodied clunkers.”

Customizing techniques such as lowering and de-chroming, applying metallic paint in deep tones, reshaping fenders, altering grilles, top chopping and even sectioning (excising a strip of metal from the center of the body for a lower silhouette), soon became popular nationwide. After a fender was reshaped, or a hood or decklid ornament was removed, the hole-filling and finish work were done by tinning and smoothing over holes and joints with melted lead filler, hence the term “lead sleds.”

Customizing techniques, done well, could positively transform the look of an older model, making it appear streamlined, more attractive and more modern. Often, engines of customs were modified, improving performance. Adapting trim, fender skirts, grilles, hubcaps and bumpers from more expensive brands made low-priced Fords and Mercurys appear sleeker. Soon, people began customizing brand-new cars.

When Sam Barris chopped and lowered his nearly new 1949 Mercury coupe, he transformed a chunky design into a dramatically modern show car, beginning a trend almost overnight. For 1951, performing what today we’d call a “facelift,” Ford Motor Co. stylists extended the rear fenders and redesigned the grille on the 1949-’50 Mercury for an more distinctive silhouette. Customizers immediately began work on the “updated canvas” that was the 1951 Merc. Around the time Sam Barris’ chopped-and-lowered 1949 Mercury coupe appeared on the cover of the December 1951 issue of Motor Trend, several more “hammered” coupes emerged, and the radically chopped-and-lowered 1949-’51 Mercury became a poster child for the burgeoning custom car movement. Countless artisans modified Mercury coupes, but only a few cars achieved lasting fame.

The Definitive Custom Mercury

This “hardtopped” 1951 Mercury, known as the “Hirohata Merc,” has long been considered the definitive early lead sled. Putting it another way, there were and still are a lot of Mercury customs. But the Hirohata Merc is the best one, and then there are all the others.

The Hirohata Mercury won its class in Bob Petersen’s 1952 “International Motorama,” and it was featured in Rod & Custom magazine in 1953, when its owner boldly drove it cross-country from Los Angeles to a major hot rod and custom car show in Indianapolis. At Indy, the Hirohata Merc won “Best Custom,” of course.

It’s difficult to describe the stunning effect this radically restyled Merc had on the customizing community, let alone the people who saw it cruising the streets of Los Angeles, appearing at car shows, and starring in the Hollywood B-movie “Running Wild” with Mamie Van Doren in which it arguably upstaged the film’s “blonde bombshell” starlet.

In the 1950s, the sight of any “classic” chopped Merc, with its almost sinister silhouette, gliding along a darkened street — accompanied by rock ’n’ roll music on the radio and the not-too-discrete rumble of glass-pack mufflers — was enough to set a car-crazy kid’s heart racing. James Dean’s character drove a mildly customized, jet-black ’50 Mercury coupe in the 1955 film “Rebel Without a Cause.” As a result, these cars became popularly known as “James Dean Mercs.” However, the tragically short-lived actor, who espoused bikes, MGs and Porsches, was never a custom car guy himself.

Building a Legend

The late George Barris told me that Bob Hirohata showed up one day at his shop with a barely used, black ’51 Mercury, asking to have it fully customized. He’d purchased the car from an older couple. “He wanted something different,” Barris recalled. Sensing an opportunity, George and his brother, Sam, were quick to comply.

On Hirohata’s Mercury, the headlamps were tunneled (customizers called the technique “frenching”), and the rear fenders received a molded set of ’52 Lincoln lenses. The hood was peaked, extended and rounded. A one-of-a-kind nose and horizontal grille were fabricated, which made the front end appear wider. The front fender openings were flared so the wheels could turn without rubbing. Full fender skirts with flared lower edges were crafted. Functional rear fender scoops were accented with 1952 Chevrolet grille “teeth.”

This car’s defining feature was its significant roof chop: about 4 in. at front and 7-in. at the rear. Mercury didn’t offer a pillar-less coupe in 1951, so the center post, or B-pillar, was eliminated by the Barris Brothers. New curved windows were constructed for a hardtop effect. Earlier, the Barris Brothers had similarly “hardtopped” Nick Matranga’s ’39 Mercury coupe, so they’d already experimented with this look. Barris’ radical surgery made the roofline appear cleaner, and updated the car’s appearance.

To break up its slab sides, the Mercury’s original designer, E. T. “Bob” Gregorie, penned a subtle reveal that gently dipped partway along the side of the car, reminiscent of the sheerline of a yacht. For a more dramatic accent, Sam Barris extended that reveal and affixed chrome trim spears from a ’53 Buick as a divider to separate the custom’s original shades of light and dark green lacquer. A matched pair of Appleton spotlights, tilted toward the hood, completed the modifications.

Pat Ganahl, author of “The American Custom Car,” wrote that, “the Hirohata Merc began the era of redesign and ornamentation that would soon get completely out of hand; (but) the Hirohata did it with integrity and some subtlety.”

Extensive lowering brought the coupe down to about a 4-in. ground clearance, enhancing its already ground-hugging silhouette. The front spindles and coils were modified; rear lowering blocks were fitted with longer U-bolts to hold them in place; the parallel leaf springs were de-arched; and a C-section arch was welded into the rear frame rails to ensure sufficient axle travel.

George Barris said the cost of the work was “about $3,500.” That was a lot of money in 1952! (It’s $36,500 in 2021 dollars.) To make the International Motorama date, the work was completed in just 97 days. Most radical Mercury customs in that era were finished in dark maroon metallic or dark green. With its pale-pastel, ice-green, light-over-dark treatment, the Hirohata coupe stood out from the rest. Bob Hirohata once told a Rod & Custom editor he was “shocked” when he got the bill. “I had to sell everything I owned and put my great aunt in hock to pay for the car, but it was worth it.”

A luxurious, green-and-white tuck-and-roll interior by Glen Houser’s Carson Top Shop was complemented with laminated, teardrop-shaped knobs in green and white plastic. Bob Hirohata made these himself, and the unique knobs would later be the subject of a magazine how-to feature. The trunk was upholstered by Gaylord, another noted Los Angeles trimmer. The timetable was so tight they needed two upholstery shops. Renowned pinstriper Kenneth Howard, better known as “Von Dutch,” discretely striped the dash panel and the glove compartment two years later.

For his cross-country trip, Hirohata replaced the stock flathead with a 1953 Cadillac V-8 that was installed in a week by Dick Lyon, of Lyon Engineering.

The Hirohata Mercury was featured on the covers of Hop Up and Motor Trend in 1953. It became a consistent winner with nearly 200 awards. Although other custom cars had begun to look excessive, even freakish, because car show judging awarded points for every modification, no matter how slight that modification was, that’s not the case here. Each element on this Mercury perfectly flows together.

Bob Hirohata occasionally drove his seminal custom to his job at the parking lot of the Hirohata Insurance Co., which his family owned, in “Little Tokyo.” He later offered the car for sale in a classified ad that appeared in the May 1955 issue of Hot Rod Magazine. The asking price was $4,900; the selling price was somewhat less. Sadly, Bob Hirohata was murdered on May 14, 1981; the “gangland style” crime was committed in his parents’ driveway, in Temple City, Calif. The case was never solved.

Rediscovering a Lost Custom

Over time, the car disappeared. But a few insiders knew where it was. During an extensive search for information, Rod & Custom magazine’s then-editor, Pat Ganahl, located and befriended the car’s longtime owner, Jim McNiel, who’d bought the historic Mercury custom for just $500 from a used car lot in 1959. He drove it during high school, dated Sue, his high school sweetheart (later his wife), in the car, and then stored it for decades, intending to, someday, restore it. It was presumed lost for all time. A few who knew where it was hidden tried to buy it, but McNiel said, “I just couldn’t sell it.”

Recognizing a good story when he saw one, Ganahl convinced McNiel to restore the Mercury, and he helped coordinate the painting with an all-star cast including George Barris, Frank Sonzogni and Hershel “Junior” Conway, most of whom had worked on the Hirohata car when it was initially built at the Barris Kustom Shop. Bill Lazerlere, a top LA detailer, helped with the finish work. Jim and Sue McNiel, assisted by friends, did the paint prep. Jim did nearly all the mechanical work and reassembly himself. Eddie Martinez redid the upholstery. Also of assistance were Jim’s son, Scott, his neighbor, Murl Redwine, and Chris Kaiser.

“Pat (Ganahl) kind of helped hurry the process,” McNiel told me. “I’d always had it in the garage. Then Pat showed up at the house saying he wanted to get Rod & Custom started, and they’d do a report every other month on the progress. I thought that’d be good. But I didn’t want to restore it. I wanted to preserve it.

“I always intended to do that, but it had to be after I’d raised my family,” McNiel added. “I decided, except for the paint color, which was the most recognizable feature, I’d do it the way it was when I got it. I wanted everything to be done right here in my garage — and except for the painting, it was.”

Fortunately, the car’s previous owners had kept the Mercury pretty much intact.

 “When I first got the car,” McNiel added, “the fender skirts were in the trunk. And it still had everything on it, even the Von Dutch striping, which was put on in ’55.”

With his wife’s enthusiastic help, McNiel, a talented mechanic and painter, painstakingly repaired the ravages of time that had resulted from the car’s 50-plus-year history. The pair uncovered the original Ice Green and Organic Green Metallic paint hues, buried under several repaints. Stan Betz electronically duplicated them, and PPG formulated the exact acrylic lacquer color, ensuring the team could refinish the car to look just the way it did in 1953.

When Jim removed the instrument panel to rewire the car, he found business cards for Bob Hirohata and George Barris wedged behind the radio speaker, which kept it from rattling. 

“I never touched them,” he said. “It was important to me that their hands put them there. I didn’t want to change anything that was a link with the builders. I wanted to feel their presence.”

Ganahl described Jim McNiel as the consummate perfectionist, noting: “All the car parts are authentic 1951 Mercury, and the engine parts are original 1953 Cadillac.” It’s hardly surprising that the restoration took a long time, but the results speak for themselves. It’s spectacular, and befitting for a car Ganahl called, “the most famous of the classic custom era, if not all time.”

Jim and Sue McNiel generously showed the Hirohata Mercury at many important events. But the big moment eluded them until 2015 when the Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance approved a class of Mercury Customs — a first for the event. The Hirohata Merc looked presentable, but that wouldn’t be enough. And some damage had occurred when the car was shown in Sweden. McNiel didn’t have the means to fund another restoration, so the call went out for the old gang to reassemble one more time. Junior Conway, who’d arguably become the most acclaimed painter in the business, led the charge, culminating with a thorough freshening by Frank Sonzogni, Bill Lazerlere and others.

“I called my friends to help me and nobody said no,” Junior says. “Working on this car was an honor,” he adds emotionally. “Money couldn’t buy the privilege. Look what this car did for us.”

The result, perhaps predictably, was a coveted Best in Class win at the 2015 Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance, where a class of custom Mercurys was very well-received. That was followed by a 2017 display by the Historic Vehicle Association (HVA) on the National Mall in Washington, D.C. Sadly, NcNiel and his wife Sue have passed on. Their son, Scott, has maintained the Mercury just as his parents did.

But circumstances change. Scott and his sister, Darla, have decided to sell their family’s heirloom.

 “After Pebble Beach, my dad said it was finally time to part ways and let the car go to its next caretaker.” The Hirohata Mercury will be offered on Jan. 15, 2022, at the giant Mecum Auctions Kissimmee (Florida) sale. “Darla and I want it to go to the right person, who will share it, or to a museum,” says Scott, “where people will be able to see and admire it.”

Excitement abounds, and the rod and custom car world is ablaze with rumors. Will this be the first seven-figure traditional custom car? (You really can’t count the “Batmobile,” which sold for much more, because it’s a famous movie prop). It’s impossible to predict. But this much is certain: The Hirohata Mercury has never been equaled, and it’s probably going to set a new sales record.

That’s a fitting tribute for this timeless custom car.

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The post Car of the Week: The Hirohata Merc appeared first on Old Cars Weekly.

And now for something completely different!

Hot rodding has many definitions — it’s not just about ’32 Fords with flathead V-8s. Take the early Porsche crowd, for example. If the definition of a hot rod is to take an old car, strip it down a bit, upgrade the brakes and suspension and install a hot engine, the Porsche guys do that — they just don’t call their cars hot rods.

They call them “Outlaws.”

The creation of the Outlaw

The “Outlaw” term arguably originated with Rod Emory, whose Los Angeles-area shop builds some of the best modified old Porsches imaginable. Emory’s sexy, race-inspired Porsche 356s kick-started the Porsche Outlaw trend that has swept Southern California and spread across the country. When you know Rod’s background, it makes perfect sense. His grandfather was Neil Emory, who partnered with Clay Jensen at Valley Custom in Burbank, one of the finest LA-area shops of the post-World War II era. Valley Custom specialized in sectioning, a radical surgery process that altered the shape of a stock American automobile by cutting a 3- or 4-in. swath of metal from its midsection, thus lowering the silhouette of the car while preserving the essential elements of its factory design.

“When you’re the grandson of one of the pioneers of hot rodding and custom car building,” Emory notes, “you can’t just leave well enough alone, can you?”

But the notion of hot rodding and customizing Porsches, with very few exceptions, was not commonly done. Rod Emory told me how he started:

“When Valley Custom closed,” Emory told me, “my grandfather, Neil Emory, went to work for Chick Iverson at VW-Porsche of Newport Beach, in 1961. And after he graduated from high school, Gary Emory, my dad, started at the dealership and became the parts manager. About 1974, Chick Iverson and my father started Porsche Parts Obsolete. Chick owned it; my dad ran it. Everything that was a couple of years old or overstocked would go back to Porsche’s distribution warehouses. They were actually destroying old, unneeded inventory, so Chip and my dad bought all of it and started Porsche Parts Obsolete in Costa Mesa.” (It’s still in business).

“Very soon, my dad was selling NOS (new old stock) Porsche parts around the world,” Rod continued. “In the back of his warehouse there was a room where we did some restoration work, playing around with cars for our own personal use. So when I was in high school, my dad and I would take old Porsches and lower them, polish the brake drums and trick ’em out a little bit.

“Next thing you know, I’m doing a full restoration on a ’53 coupe for myself. I put body-mounted fog lights on it, and hood straps. The Porsche purists were freaking out because we were customizing a rare ’53 coupe. We went to a couple of events. There was no class to display this car in the late ’80s, so we came up with this little ‘Outlaw’ badge for our deck lids that read, “356 Outlaws.” We put those badges on the personal cars that we were building, and gave that badge to friends who were rodding their cars out.

“It started as a little private fun club, but people picked up the term, so any Porsche that’s modified now is called an Outlaw.”

There was a reason. Early Porsche 356s had just 60 bhp in “normal” form, 88 bhp in “Super” guise and 115 bhp as a “Super 90.” Even with a 2200-lb. coupe (Speedsters were lighter), that’s not a lot of suds. Typical Outlaw Porsches today pack Porsche 912 four-cylinder engines bored to 1700cc and even 1800cc with Weber carbs, hot cams and twin plug heads for 150 bhp and more. Most enthusiasts upgrade to five-speed gearboxes. Suspension mods include aftermarket sports shocks, springs and sway bars. Wider wheels and modern radial tires are a must, and most enthusiasts retrofit disc brakes.

Although body modifications are less popular, wider rear fenders, subtle dechroming and Carrera GT mods such as external fuel fillers and lightweight bumpers aren’t uncommon. Bruce Canepa is one of several restorers/builders who’ve taken a 911 six block, lopped off two cylinders and built the ultimate 2-liter-plus Porsche flat-four. And a few brave enthusiasts — such as Ken Fenical, aka POSIES, who supplies custom springs to the hot rod community — have fitted water-cooled Subaru flat fours good for an easy 200-plus horsepower.

Outlaw devotees

The 911 crowd has its Porsche Outlaw devotees as well. Practitioners such as Magnus Walker (Urban Outlaw), Marlon Goldberg (LA Workshop 5001) and Rob Dickinson, who founded Singer Vehicle Design, will happily build you a totally modified and restyled, air-cooled 911 that will flat run away and hide from some contemporary model Porsches. But you’ll pay as much as $500,000 for that privilege.

Want to do it yourself? There’s a whole cadre of premier aftermarket suppliers including ANDIAL (racing, suspensions, engines, etc. — note: Porsche bought the ANDIAL company years ago); Nickies (high performance cylinders); Air Power Racing (high performance engines); Shasta Design (cams, crank-shafts, rods and engine parts); and many others who will sell you all you need to hot rod your old Porsche

OK, you could argue that this transforms a nice old car into a Frankenstein monster, but (of course) I disagree. It’s no different than the “resto-mod” craze that’s seen ill-handling vintage muscle cars transformed into faster, safer, more reliable cruisers. The Porsche Club of America and its many subgroups don’t frown on modified cars and the cars are welcome at club gatherings. You can find suppliers in Chrstophorus, the PCA monthly and in The Porsche 356 Registry, to name a few publications. Talking with many Outlaw owners, they’ve usually started with a beater 356 or 911, so you could argue that they’re preserving cars that might otherwise not have been restored. A great start is the book “How to make an old Porsche Fly” by Craig Richter, if you can find a copy. It’s been out of print for years, but it can be downloaded from the author’s website for a nominal fee.

One of the best-known Porsche Outlaw owners is Bruce Meyer, whose collection of historic race cars, Le Mans winners, Full Classics and hot rods is one of the best in country.

“I’ve had my Outlaw Porsche 356 for at least 25 years,” says Bruce. “I’m sure I didn’t invent the idea, but I was certainly one of the first. I bought my little ’57 356A Coupe in a basket, unassembled, and it was red. I’d already gone through my “red car” period and thought it would look cool as an old silver Porsche GT. The engine is a bit over 1800cc and develops about 125 bhp, which is enough. It’s got the full GT appearance group with Speedster seats and a roll bar. I’ve done a dozen rallies and driven it from Chicago to LA on Route 66…and I will be driving it again on Route 66 again soon. Since I built it, we’ve done over 20,000 trouble-free miles.

“I’ve driven Porsches since 1961,” says Bruce, “that’s over 57 years, and truth be told, it’s my most favorite marque. We also have an Outlaw ’72 911S with a 3-litre Twin Plug ANDIAL engine…it makes my ‘73RS feel slow!

“I love the Outlaw concept,” he adds. “It’s another fun way to enjoy the brand and much like hot rodding… you do it your way with cues inspired by Porsche’s rich racing history. With Porsche prices being what they are for the pure examples, it leaves a little on the table for the creative “Porsche-philes” to stand out and be in the game.”

So what do Porsche restorers think of all this?

I spoke with Cam Ingram, owner of Road Scholars in Durham, N.C., one of the premier Porsche restorers in the country.

“I think the Outlaw builders make a vital contribution to the Porsche brotherhood,” Cam said. “They’ve re-stimulated interest in the early 356s. Since the dawn of time, people have been modifying Porsches, especially Speedsters. The Outlaws are just a new interpretation. I think there’s a market for it, and it’s good for the brand and the hobby to have all these young people re-engaged. The collector car hobby is expensive and this allows a way for guys to get involved at a different price point.”

Cam’s Dad, Bob Ingram, owned one of Magnus Walker’s “Urban Outlaw” modified 911s. The Ingrams were impressed that Magnus had come to the United States with very little money or opportunity, then modified 911s for himself and became a popular success.

“My father was interested in buying something that had become a cultural artifact,” Cam says. “We enjoyed owning it, but then we sold it. It became so recognizable my father literally couldn’t drive the car around, because of all the public attention it drew.”

I had to ask Cam if he’d build an Outlaw for a client. “We’ve had that (request) happen,” he said. “But we are really passionate as a company in authentically restoring these cars. It’s a niche market; we’re good at it, and it’s what drives me, to make sure that we’re preserving the cars the way the company actually produced them. There are many guys who do those (Outlaws), Rod Emory being the top guy — but we’re well-known for authentic restorations. Rod works on some cars that would never have been saved. I applaud him. We don’t get to do the super-sexy stuff. We do everything to factory specs.”

On a personal note, I bought a used Porsche 1961 356 S90 coupe right after I finished graduate school. Of course it had an aftermarket (and loud) Bursch exhaust and I upgraded the shocks, but it wasn’t an Outlaw — we didn’t even have that term in the early ’60s. I keep looking for that car, or one like it. Of course I’d have to upgrade the drums to discs and probably fit a hotter cam and Weber carbs. I am still a hot rodder, so the Porsche Outlaw mentality fits me to a T, and it seems to attract a lot of other folk, as well. 

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By Ken Gross

Handsome and debonair, Tommy Lee had it all.

As the fabulously wealthy heir to the Don Lee Agency, with more than 50 Cadillac dealerships up and down the West Coast, extensive California real estate holdings, along with prominent L.A. radio and TV stations, Tommy had a craving for beautiful women and fast cars – and the checkbook to buy whatever he wanted.

Frank Kurtis, who’d later build winning Indy roadsters, midget racers and sleek customs, supervised Don Lee’s Los Angeles Coachworks. In 1934, Kurtis fabricated a stunning boattail speedster from a wrecked LaSalle for Willet Brown, whose father managed the myriad Lee enterprises. After seeing that car, Tommy Lee asked Kurtis to build a creation that was even more attractive, and much, much faster.

Kurtis began with a six-month-old 1936 Ford that he stripped down to the frame. Remember, the Cord 810 was that era’s styling sensation, so Tommy told Frank to build a car that evoked the 810, but would be lighter, sleeker, even racier. Kurtis’ elegant response resembled the marriage of a Cord Sportsman and an Auburn boattail speedster.

Its gorgeous aluminum body was hand-formed. Canted, chromed grille bars wrapped around each side, extending all the way to the cockpit. The streamlined effect was completed with graceful, minimalist doors made of steel, leading to a sharply pointed tail that would have done credit to an Indy racer. George DuVall fabricated the sexiest vee-ed windscreen imaginable. The result was extraordinary. There would be nothing on the road quite like it. Of course, it would be the best that money could buy.

The cockpit was narrow, even cozy, so when Tommy wasn’t street-racing with local L.A. hot rodders, (which he loved to do), his date du jour could snuggle closely. The unique dash panel was an art-deco bronze casting, with etched horizontal elements, replete with seven custom-faced Stewart-Warner gauges. The banjo steering wheel came from a Cadillac. There were wind-up windows, but no top.

To take on his hot rodder friends, and beat them at their own game, Tommy Lee insisted on a dual-purpose roadster that could be occasionally raced at the dry lakes. So all four fenders — the fronts, with disappearing headlamps, were borrowed from a new Cord, the rears consisted of two sets of Oldsmobile teardrops on each side — were readily removable. So were the trim Oldsmobile bumpers. Rear fender skirts could be fitted for better streamlining at high speeds.

At first, the selection of an engine was a matter of discussion. Frank Kurtis suggested a big, 348-cid Cadillac flathead V-8, modified with dual carburetors, perhaps a Winfield cam. But money was no object. Tommy commissioned Harry Miller protégé, Fred Offenhauser, to create a very special Offy powerplant, the largest one ever built, an uncompromised 318-cid, twin-cam, all-out racing engine developing an estimated 300-bhp and immense torque. That was probably twice the output of a typical prewar, hopped-up flathead.

The gearbox was a sturdy three-speed LaSalle unit, and the rear end was a Columbia two-speed. Now Tommy had the best of both worlds — low gearing for drag racing, and a tall ratio for high-speed attempts. Flipper bar hubcaps, on steel wheels, flashed and whirled as the car and its owner headed for adventure. At night, which was when most people saw the speedster, the caps flickered like candle flames.

As if the not-so-subtle mechanical cacophony from the big Offy’s cam drive spur gears wasn’t enough, the 318’s wild exhaust system consisted of four separate coiled pipes, which first unraveled, then ran like chrome arrows alongside the car’s sleek fuselage. There was a shorter competition exhaust for serious speed work.

Completed in 1937, Tommy Lee’s one-of-a-kind Speedster was said to have cost $25,000, a princely sum in the midst of the Depression. Anxious to see “what she could do,” Tommy opened up his blue jewel at the dry lakes, recording speeds of 123 mph in street trim, and 130 mph sans fenders. Reportedly, a top end of 148 mph was achieved in 1941, but this may be legend, lost in the swirling mists of time.

The late Strother MacMinn said that race car owner and enthusiast Bob Estes said that, one night, driving his hot rod, he confronted Tommy Lee and the elusive Speedster at an L.A. stoplight. When the light turned green, Estes recalled, “…he cleaned my clock.”

As the decade closed, Tommy was already collecting other exotics: a duo of 8C2300 Alfas, one of which was an ex-Tazio Nuvolari roadster, A Tipo B Alfa Romeo Grand Prix car, a Type 35B Bugatti, a BMW 328, an Alfa Romeo 8C2900, then a pair of teardrop Talbots. He liked to bring them up to the lakes to challenge his hot rodder friends. And he didn’t like to lose. At the first SCTA Lakes Meet after the war, he reportedly clocked 110.97 mph in one of his teardrop Talbot-Lagos and 137.09 mph in his Tipo B Alfa GP car.

Tired of the temperamental Speedster, which admittedly wasn’t a comfortable touring car because of its hard-edged racing bias, Lee placed it in storage and drove his other four-wheeled confections. He’d moved on. His later adventures would include campaigning a prewar Mercedes-Benz W163 Grand Prix racer at Indianapolis. History has lost count of the beautiful women he knew.

Sadly, Tommy Lee was involved in a serious car accident, just before the war. Reportedly, another motorist hit his car on the driver’s side. Spinal injuries left him with severe back pain and other ailments. Despite drugs, prescribed by three physicians simultaneously, his condition worsened after the war, and he was severely depressed. Despondent and unable to enjoy his once-glamorous life to the fullest, Lee leapt from the roof of the Pelissier Building in Los Angeles on Friday, Jan. 13, 1950. He was only 43 years old, but life was no longer worth living.

Tommy’s car collection was eventually sold, but there was one piece of unfinished business. Abandoned, the once-magnificent Kurtis Speedster awaited resurrection. In the late 1950s, a man named Mattison found the engine-less two-seater in an L.A. wrecking yard. Several others would own it before Charles Anderson sold the car, by then just a frame, running gear and body shell, to Steve Alcala, of El Segundo, a talented California Metal Shaping Co. craftsman, with a yen to own a Kurtis-built creation.

Thankfully, Alcala wanted to save as much of Frank Kurtis’ handiwork as possible, and he had the skills to do so. Kurtis himself offered advice and counsel. The car had been resting outdoors for years in the hot California sun, so its custom-crafted plated pieces, in particular, required a great deal of work to restore. Willet Brown had taken the engine and transmission, and it was unavailable. Alcala procured a 270-cid Offy, arguably a more tractable racing engine, which was rebuilt under the auspices of Offy expert Joe Gemsa.

Steve Alcala debuted the nearly restored Tommy Lee Speedster at the 22nd Annual Le Cercle Concours d’Elegance in 1989. Later, with the Offy 270 installed, the car appeared at the 40th Annual Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance in August 1990. Subsequently, the original 318 block was sold at the Sotheby’s Petersen Museum Auction in 1991. (It’s currently owned by Jan Voboril, the owner of a restoration/machine shop in Topanga Canyon.) Owned by Dan La Croix, of N. Dighton, Mass., the restored Speedster has competed at the Monterey Historics, and it won major awards at Amelia Island, Castle Hill, and again at Pebble Beach.

Tommy Lee was a memorable Hollywood character. And there’s only one Tommy Lee Speedster. With its custom coachwork, glamorous image, art-deco styling, Kurtis-Offy racing heritage, impeccable provenance and remarkable history, the recent sale of this beautifully restored, high-performance American sports car special represented an unrepeatable opportunity to own a one-of-a-kind treasure.

And just think, if cars could speak, what would this beauty say?

The Speedster was offered for sale on Aug. 18, 2007, at the RM Auction in Monterey. The pre-sale estimate ranging from $350,000 to $500,000 was on the money, as the car sold for $440,000.

{This story originally appeared in the Sept. 27, 2007, issue of Old Cars Weekly.}
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The post Car of the Week: 1937 Frank Kurtis ‘Tommy Lee Speedster’ appeared first on Old Cars Weekly.

I can’t resist trying to make anything on wheels a little better. It’s been that way since I bought my first issue of Hot Rod Magazine back in October 1954. One of my favorite high school memories is sitting in Miss Durgin’s math class, staring out of the basement window straight into two big echo cans under the ribbed ’37 De Soto bumper on John Knowles’ lowered, fender-skirted and primered ’40 Ford coupe. I can close my eyes and still hear the hoarse cough of the flathead’s starter, followed by the deep, intoxicating rumble of its well-broken-in steel packs.

That was 55 years ago, and it really gives you a perspective. Hot rodding started because guys wanted their cars to go faster and look cool. Hot rodders were still considered outlaws (we’d have said “juvenile delinquents”) when I was growing up in the balmy Eisenhower era, but things were changing. Henry Gregor Felsen’s classic novel “Hot Rod” showed how tragedies could happen when youthful exuberance and the need for speed wasn’t properly channeled. So Bud Coons and Eric Rickman criss-crossed the country in a red-and-white Plymouth station wagon, spreading the NHRA gospel to car-crazy kids, community leaders and police officers, telling them that it was OK to soup up old cars, and that drag racing on sanctioned strips was the best youth management approach for every progressive community.

It was a great era. Rock ’n’ roll was in its infancy. Chuck Berry sang about Maybelline, and remember the line, “Nothin’ outrunnin’ my V-8 Ford?” Well, few stock models could. Guys would buy a used ’40 Ford coupe for about $125. Dual exhausts, maybe with Fenton headers, if you had the scratch, were the first modification.

But you didn’t have to live in California. Pennsylvania’s Ed Almquist, Chattanooga’s Honest Charlie or L.A.’s Lewie Shell, Roy Richter’s Bell Auto Parts or Chicago’s Roy Warshawsky would sell you a set of finned, high-compression heads and a dual manifold for another $100 or so. Railway Express delivered them in those days. Add a hot cam for about $50, Lincoln-Zephyr valve springs and Johnson adjustable tappets, do a little porting and relieving, and you were off to the (street or strip) races.

More mechanically minded guys yanked big overhead-valve V-8s out of wrecked Oldsmobiles and Caddys. Most home-built cars were quicker than nearly anything you could get new at a dealer (’til Chevy’s high-revving small-block V-8 arrived). I bought a used ’53 Olds V-8 engine from Harbor Auto Parts in Lynn, Mass., for my ’40 Ford coupe. It cost more than I paid for the coupe and came out of a car that had been rear-ended. Honest Charlie supplied the adaptor, a throw-out bearing and a pair of front engine mounts. The big Olds was ready to drop right in and then things changed, as I’ll tell you later.

I belonged to two Boston-area hot rod clubs. First, I joined the Pipers of Swampscott, Mass.; later, I was a member of the Choppers of nearby Salem. One of our favorite haunts was Adventure Car Hop restaurant on Route 1 in Saugus. It was exactly one-quarter of a mile from the edge of the drive-in’s parking lot to the first overpass on Route 1. Guys would choose off, idle out to the turnpike and stomp on it. You’d hear the screech of rubber, the whine of engines and the shutoff, even over the loud music piped through car-side speakers. The loser slunk home; the winner came back, idled around the parking lot in triumph and ordered a Bermudaburger.

A car-crazy kid’s well-spent youth

I will never forget one summer night in Salem, standing in a gas station on Federal Street and watching an older guy in the Choppers club — he might have been 22 and I was in high school – rumble up in his chopped and lowered ’49 Mercury. The car looked ominous, really sinister, as it rolled up the street with its spinner hubcaps flashing. He had a DA haircut — polite society called that rebel cut a “duck tail,” but the initials stood for “duck’s ass” — and only the tougher guys who took shop courses in school had ’em.

His Mercury had almost no visible chrome, no hood ornament and no door or deck lid handles. It was finished in blue-oxide primer, which made it even more distinctive. And it was lower and sleeker than most contemporary cars on the street. Inside, his girlfriend snuggled close in the middle of the seat (we can thank bucket seats for eliminating that little benefit), and the Merc’s duals crackled with a guttural rumble that added to the car’s mystique. I wanted that Merc in the worst way, and probably so did every kid who saw it.

You may be wondering what I drove. My first car was a ’50 Chevy convertible that I bought in 1957 when I was 15 with $125 that I earned from delivering newspapers and mowing lawns. I de-chromed it completely, filling all the holes, including the door handles, with fiberglass. The two-piece hood was bull nosed, and I frenched the headlights with ’52 Ford rims and molded ’52 Buick tail lamps horizontally in the panel below the deck lid.

John Sharrigan, of the famous No-Mads Club in Allston, Mass., louvered the hood. There were 90 louvers and I think they were a buck apiece. Slim’s Auto Body in Lynn sprayed the car in black primer. We didn’t know about adding flattener then, so if anyone touched the surface, they left prints. “Shag” also fabricated a dual exhaust system with both pipes exiting behind the drivers’ door. Along the way, I installed a set of four-inch lowering blocks to get the rear down, and Eddie Vargabedian cut two coils out the front springs so the car sat pretty low and rode like a truck. I didn’t know anything about suspension travel, and wouldn’t have cared. I liked the way it looked. So did a kid named Tom Difocci from Lynn.

The big trade

Difocci had a ’40 Ford coupe project and lost his storage. I wanted a “Fotty Foahd,” as we’d have said with our Boston accents. No money changed hands; Difocci and I did a deal that saw me towing the unfinished ’40 home. My parents thought I’d lost my mind. What self-respecting teenager would trade a running car (even, in their opinion, if he’d totally ruined its looks) for an engine-less hulk?

Of course, I had a plan. With my meager savings, I bought a rebuilt ’39 Ford toploader, the installation kit and the aforementioned Olds V-8. I didn’t lack for knowledge; I read every hot rod mag there was, and several friends had done engine swaps. Paul Bourke had gone the Olds route with his ’40; Phil Bernier stuffed an Olds into a ’51 Chevy hardtop; and Eddie Belson installed a Plymouth V-8 in his ’42 Ford business coupe. The ’40 needed total rewiring, there were no instruments, the seat was a tattered mess and the resurrection list was long and costly. Even more importantly, I really needed a car that ran.

DiFocci came to the rescue again. Over at the Dairy Queen near Wyoma Square, he introduced me to a guy who had one of the cleanest ’48 Ford club coupes (Ford officially called this model a Coupe Sedan). It was black, and he’d installed ’48 Merc 15-inch wheels with 8.20 x 15s in back, 5.40 x 16s in front and 6-inch front shackles for a little rake (and a lot of unwanted side-sway). Even better, he came over to look at my ’40 and offered to swap his car, and threw in an additional $200. I jumped at it.

My dad was a designer of women’s sportswear, and a real talent with a sewing machine. He stitched up a set of custom black Naugahyde seat covers with white piping that looked and fit really well. I changed out all the plastic dash panels for accessory items that were chromed. Dual exhausts, with steel pack mufflers were a must. I couldn’t afford headers, so I just removed the crossover pipe and capped the stock cast-iron manifolds. I wanted a dual-carb manifold and heads, but with college expenses looming, I decided I’d better save my money.

This car was a resto-rod before that expression became popular. The little black coupe had “the look,” even if, in the immortal words of Mechanix Illustrated’s jocular road tester Tom McCahill, “It didn’t have enough suds to pull a wet piece of gum out of a baby’s mouth.” Besides, I kept rationalizing that, one of these days, I’d just drop in a big overhead. I never did. This probably explains why, because I was speed equipment-deprived as a kid, I have collected so many flathead manifolds today.

My parents were afraid to let me take the car all the way up to St. Lawrence, the small college I attended not far from the Canadian border in upstate New York. They were certain I’d be distracted (they were right). I longed for my car, but I understood their concern. In the interim, my father commuted to Boston in my high school hot rod. When back home around Boston on vacation, friends would ask, “Hey man, didja sell yuh cah? I saw an old guy driving it.” I’d reply sheepishly, “That was my Dad.” Like me, he had prematurely gray hair. Finally, in my senior year, I was allowed to take my coupe to college.

In those pre-Northway days, it was a solid nine-hour ride from Swampscott to Canton. Once I was back at school, I predicted a big change in my social life. That didn’t happen. When I was in high school, girls thought my little coupe was cool. In college, I was competing against suave rich guys who drove Porsche 356s, Corvettes, Austin-Healeys and Corvair Monzas. And it was so cold that, without a plug-in block heater, the poor Ford often couldn’t start. So much for a warm back seat for snuggling.

In the frigid North Country, that anemic six-volt battery would grunt “err, err, errrrrrr” and nothing would happen. One snowy night, the car was actually running and I cautiously drove it, without snow tires, to pick up a girl at the dorm. The guy in front of me backed up right into the grille, crushing several bars. I’d removed the bumper guards for looks, and remember, my car’s front end was lowered.

Luckily, a wrecking yard on the Potsdam-Canton Road had a black ’48 Ford sedan. I took its grille out and swapped it for my damaged one. It was easy to find old Fords in junk yards 50 years ago. Try doing that today.

That spring, with money tight and graduate school expenses looming, I knew I had to sell it. A fellow named Jeff Johns paid me $175 for the car, and he drove it to his home to Oklahoma. That sounds like a pathetic sum today, but it was a lot of money in 1963. I remember sadly watching him drive off in my coupe for the last time. And I still have a framed photograph of the Ford hanging in my office.

So I’ve decided to try to find Mr. Johns. The college alumni office told me he last registered with them as living in Wycoff, N.J., and I also found his name listed in a golf tournament in the Garden State. Sadly, his phone number is unlisted. It’s a slim chance Jeff still has that car, but perhaps he could tell me who he sold it to and I can take up the search from there.

I already have squirreled away a new set of Cyclone heads, a three-carb Cyclone intake, a Winfield SU-1A cam and a freshly rebuilt Harman and Collins dual point/dual coil distributor, all ready. A re-bore, bigger valves, adjustable tappets, a 4-inch Merc crank and a 12-volt conversion would make a winner out of that 59AB engine. I’d be finishing a job I always wanted to do. A dropped axle would replace those long shackles. I’ve got just the right one hanging on the garage wall. I’m sure I could find a Columbia two-speed rear somewhere. And that’s all – no cutting, no customizing.

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