Anyone got stories from some "back in the day" Racers? Lets hear em!

Thanks, Bert -

Thanks for asking -

I had been laying pretty low up to this point since I wasn't sure how you all would feel about a "Chevy guy" lurking on your site. But since you asked, here's a couple pics of the Chevelle. Best ET is 10.52 sec at 127 mph. We've owned this car since new (ordered with the Police package and built in Oshawa) and have been racing it for 27 years. We used to run the Super Chevy Events and since about 1995 have been running the NMCA/NSCA series. From the time we started keeping track, results have been as follows:

2001 NMCA "Street Eliminator" #6
2002 NMCA/NSCA "Street Eliminator" #3
2003 NSCA "American Muscle" #2
2004 NSCA "American Muscle" #4

Good memory on the truck, Bert! It was a 1980, with a straight six we poked out to 305 cu in. It had three Rochesters on it with a Pontiac progressive linkage, Saginaw 3 speed converted to a 3.11 low gear 4 speed with a floor shifter. I don't have any pictures scanned but will put some up when I can.

Loyd - thanks for working on the picture. Much better!

 

Dad, Zora and the "W" Brothers

Dad was a die maker at Chevrolet Flint Manufacturing for 26 years. Somehow he got hooked up with Zora Arkus Duntov, of Corvette fame, and would make special parts for him. He would receive a napkin with some sketches on it and the directive "...I vont da skeeny die maker to make dis...".

One time Zora was experimenting with valvetrain durability as a function of rocker arm ratio and asked Dad to make a bunch of rocker arms ranging from 1.25:1 all the way up to 1.65:1, which was a pretty aggressive ratio back then. As instructed, Dad would run a set of 100 or so and ship them to Dock 13 in Warren; naturally then he'd run another set of 100 and stick them in his locker.

Anyway, there were a couple of brothers here in Michigan that ran a Super Stock Camaro by the names of Dave and Ben W (name withheld to protect the innocent). They always ran real well and were NHRA record holders. They were at the track one time and so Dad approached them with a set of these special rocker arms, all "nitrited" and factory looking, and suggested they run them. They asked "...what are these?". Dad said - "just try them".

They stuck them on the car and picked up a couple tenths. Went out and won the class, won Top Eliminator for the day and set some more records. Dad finally told Dave/Ben what they were, but they continued to run these special rocker arms and nobody ever suspected anything different about them.

Incidentally, Dave and Ben ordered a factory ZL1 Camaro in 1969. They ran it a few times but didn't really like it as well as their existing small block car so they parked it. The last time I saw them I asked if they still had the ZL1 car and they said yes. I suspect if you knew where to look here in Michigan you would find a brand new ZL1 Camaro in a barn with about 200 miles (or less) on it.

 

The battery's in the trunk...

Our racecars were our second cars and, as such, Mom used to drive them occasionally (although she is a tiny thing - it would just about take both feet to push the clutch in!). Anyway, when our GTO was built somebody shot a body trim screw through the main wiring harness. The net effect of this is that the battery would go dead pretty regularly. To this day I am afraid to turn the high beams on for fear the whole car will short out!

Another notable characteristic of our GTO is that it was built with the battery in the trunk (for weight transfer); it has never had the battery up front. I can remember a number of occasions when we would come out from the corner store and have to call a tow truck for a jump. These poor guys would approach the car and talk to Mom; I'd be bouncing around in the back seat saying "The battery's in the trunk!! The battery's in the trunk!!".

I must not have had much credibility, because they'd head to the front of the car, pop the hood and look around for a while. Eventually, they'd make their way back to the driver's window and ask my Mom somewhat sheepishly (like they were on "Candid Camera") ..."...uh, lady....where's the battery?". She'd confirm, very gently, "...well, the battery IS in the trunk...".

 

Dad, Dave Evans and "the Henry Ford"

This one's a favorite:

Back in 1960 Dad was running a '60 Ford Convertible with a Paxton blower on it. It ran pretty good and caught the attention of the Ford factory race team program manager, whose name was Dave Evans.

Dad always worked second shift, and one morning he got a call from Dave. "Come on down here right away. I've got something for you."

Dad got the directions for where they were supposed to meet; he was to run over to Dearborn Steel Tube, which is where Ford ended up building the Thunderbolts and other special built factory racecars. He went around back, met a huge bear of a man named "Andy", who set a big box in the trunk of the car. "Don't open this until you get home" Andy instructed.

Naturally, Dad ripped out of there and pulled into the first Shell Station he saw. He opened the box and inside was a complete three carb setup: intake manifold, three Holley carbs, linkage, fuel lines, gaskets, air cleaners, everything to put it on the car. After he got home he called Dave and asked "what am I supposed to do with this?". Dave said "make it run. We can't get it to run".

Didn't sound too tough. Over the next couple days he got the intake set on, plumbed up, did all the basic adjustments and got the car where it would idle and such. Finally the time came to give it the smoke test. He pulled around on a side street, smashed the accelerator to the floor and the poor thing bogged, sputtered, coughed and died. He fired it up, tried again and the same thing happened.

Hmm. Took it back home, redid all the basic adjustments: set the float levels, set the idle, looked at the jets, everything; it all looked good. Took it back around for another smoke test and had the same result as before.

Finally, out of frustration, he called one of his buddies over. This guy, Brad Burton, had a 57 Ford with TWO Paxtons on it, one on each side, so he was pretty highly regarded. Dad showed him everything he had done; they were in agreement that it looked good and decided to take it out for a ride. They pulled around to their favorite side street, smashed the gas and the poor thing burped, backfired and cut right out. Frustrated, they took it back home and parked it.

Dad went to work that night, worked his usual 10 or 12 hour shift and went back home to go to bed. Just about the time he got to sleep the phone rang and it was his buddy. "I know what it is!!" Brad said. "Meet me in the garage"!!"

They met out there and proceeded to tear everything apart. "Ha! I knew I saw something that didn't look right" Brad said. "They've got powervalves in those end carbs. When you stomp it it's just too much gas and it floods it out. You've got to do something about those powervalves."

So that night, in the Chevrolet die room apprentice shop, Dad made the first Holley powervalve plugs for use on a Ford triple carb setup.

The next morning they put the car back together and took it out for a little ride. Dad stomped the accelerator and that black Ford convert SMOKED those Atlas Bucrons down the street as long as you kept your foot in it. They had made some other modifications, too, like adding a progressive linkage so that you drove around on the center carb and the ends functioned as "dumps".

As soon as Dad got home he called Dave Evans back. "How's your Fords runnin'?" he asked. Dave confided that they hadn't made any headway. "Mine's runnin' GOOD!" Dad said.

Dave told him to get down there right now. Dad got the directions of where to meet him. Now I should pause for a minute to set the stage: the Henry Ford Museum/Greenfield Village complex is one of the premier history facilities in the United States; right up there with the Smithsonian. Dave told Dad to pull around behind the Museum, honk the horn and one of those big wrought iron gates would swing open. Dave would meet him down there.

Dad did as he was told and pulled round inside, below these beautiful 1920's limestone "Art Deco" styled industrial buildings (that are still there to this day). Dave met him down beside the drive and, after exchanging the obligatory niceties, said "...well, let's she what she'll do!". Dad said "..right here?!?". Yep. Right there. Dad fired the car up, backed up a little ways and nailed it, smoke just ROLLING off the back of the car and black stripes being burned into the pavement. He pulled back around. Dave said "...wait here. I have some gentlemen that need to see this".

Dave ran upstairs and returned with the engineers that had been working on the project. "Do it again" he said. By now Dad was relishing his role as instigator; he did another smokey burnout down the drive and turned to come back. He parked the car and finally was allowed to explain what he had done. Meanwhile, while he was describing the carburation fix here's all these guys in dark suits and skinny neckties crawling under the car to look at how Dad had adapted a Lincoln shifter to his transmission, and another group was looking at how he had put longer control arms on the rear suspension.

Dave ended up turning Dad's repairs into a "service kit" and they sent the powervalve plugs, along with written instructions, to the other car owners that had received the conversion.

 

Verrryyy Cool Stories, Keith !!! Thanks for sharing :beer

one Q.

Did you Really ?!?!?!? tow with that Corvair ??? :eek2:

I've had a few or 7 ou: in my day

 

Yep -

It would cruise comfortably as fast as you wanted to go....

K

 

Couple more, then I'm done -

Here's another front engine dragster story, this time with a Buick twist:

There was a father/team here locally that ran a dragster but because the dad, Merle Brian, was a Buick engineer they had a special Buick engine in it, complete with some kind of experimental cylinder heads that didn't have water jacketing, etc. The son, Butch, did the driving.

This was back when dragsters didn't have starters and you pushed them down the track with your tow vehicle to get them running, turned around and drove back up the track and then turned around and staged to make a pass. Butch staged the car with Merle off to the side, leaning against the chase truck; my Dad just happened to be situated behind the dragster in his '63 Catalina, next in line to make a run.

Butch launched the car and everything was fine until about the 1000 foot mark; suddenly the engine blew and there was smoke and debris everywhere; in all the excitement Butch ran right off the end of the track. Merle, the dad, could see all the commotion and was shaking so bad he didn't think he could drive the chase truck down there after Butch, so he jumped right in Dad's race car and yelled "GO!!". Dad took off down the track and they got to the big end as quick as they could.

When they got down there it did not look good. The engine was laying off to one side of the track; the front end off to the other. After a few seconds they located the (intact) roll cage portion, with Butch still in it. They ran over there and, about the time they got there, Butch pushed his goggles up and wiped the mud off his face. The first thing he said was "...did I hurt the car?".

As an aside, Mrs Brian (Merle's wife and Butch's mom) always went to the track with them to watch them run. She never went back again after that day.

 

The day we got our car -

Our '65 GTO was built the first week in September of 1964 (ie, "09A" on the body tag). The problem was that 1964 was a union negotiation year and everyone was quite sure the UAW was planning to strike on Monday, September 14th. As a result Pontiac wanted to get our car into our hands so that it would not be trapped on GM property during a long and contentious strike. Arrangements were made for us to pick it up, directly from the Engineering building, as soon as possible.

To further complicate things, my Mom was expecting my younger sister about this same time. Sure enough, my sister Jenny was born on Thursday the 10th of September, 1964. Rather than going to see my Mom and new sister in the hospital on the next day (Friday), Dad and I went down to Pontiac and picked up the GTO and drove it home. Mom is still mad about that so we don't say too much about it if possible...

Because they were in such a hurry to get the car out it was a little bit of a mishmash. It had three 7.75 whitewalls and a single 7.75 redline on the ground, and an odd 7.35 redline as the spare. It had a three speed manual transmission installed and the four speed was laying loose in the trunk. We drove it home just like that.

You'll notice the date was Friday, September 11th of 1964. Interestingly enough, when we were doing the research for the historical article I mentioned, guess what the documentation showed as the actual "ship date" for our car? Answer: September 21st, the "official" introduction date for the 1965 models. I'm not sure if that was a malicious misrepresentation, to keep someone out of trouble, or if it was just a common oversight. In any case it sure makes documenting this stuff more difficult 40 years after the fact.

At any rate, for about two weeks there, people were coming over to our house to see the new GTOs, rather than waiting in line at their neighborhood dealership.

 

Last one - the "Gasket Story"

As mentioned in my previous story, we drove the car home about 2 days before the UAW went on strike. Naturally, we had the car about 3 minutes before we ripped it apart, sending the heads out to get cut .030", reworking the distributor, putting the tricks on the carburetors and linkage, etc. After getting the parts back home Dad went to put the intake manifold back on. He grabbed a set of intake gaskets off the workbench and laid them on the head; they didn't fit. Pontiac had changed the intake manifold interface to the cylinder head between 1964 and 1965.

He called down to Royal right away and said "hey, I need intake gaskets". They said "yeah, we got 'em. Come on down".

Well, as you might have guessed, he drove down to Royal Oak, leaned up on the parts counter and they threw a couple gaskets down. "Those aren't going to work". They're different..." and proceeded to explain what had changed.

Concerned, the parts guys from Royal started calling all over Michigan and then all over the US. Same response: "yeah, we got 'em" but then upon further investigation they realized they were still carrying the older 1964 design.

They were able to track down the manufacturer and he said "yeah, I got 'em" but did in fact have the right ones. He asked "where do you want me to send 'em" but when Dad started giving our home address the gasket guy said "oh, I can't do that! I have to send them to a manufacturing facility. Them's the rules..."

Finally, in desperation, Dad was just about to get some raw gasket material and make his own gaskets when Dick Jesse, Dad's saleman (and "godfather" throughout this whole deal)" suggested "hey, you know Jim is going into the plant to make some kind of marketing pitch. Why don't you just ride in with him and get your gaskets?". Seemed like a good idea, so phone calls were made and the deal was arranged. "Wear your best suit; you're going in under a Press pass" Dad was instructed.

When the appointed day arrived, Dad, dressed in his best duds, showed up at the marketing office. The two of them hopped into Jim's car, a huge yellow 2+2 (affectionately known as "the School Bus") and drove over to the motor plant. Now, let me set the scene: the UAW is on strike. Picture hundreds of aggrevated employees walking around carrying picket signs. Dad, a UAW diemaker, is also on strike but sitting in this big company owned vehicle (in a suit) and about to cross the picket line. Jim pulls up to the gate and is shooting the bull with the security guard when, all of a sudden, Dad sees somebody he knows (and that knows both of them). "Jim, you better get us outta' HERE!" he say, and Jim guns the big 2+2 and down they go into the plant.

Once inside Jim goes on upstairs to do his presentation and Dad heads on out to the floor. It's all dark (the lights are out) and there are a few employees holding down the fort by playing Euchre and table tennis. "Whatta ya need, slim?" one of the guys asks. "I'm here after the gaskets" Dad says.

They hop on a little scooter and begin their trip deep into the dark bowels of the plant. Finally, they come to the motor line and there is a wire basket FULL of these intake gaskets. The motor plant employee turns to Dad and, with a huge stack of gaskets in his hands, says "how many do you need?".

Mindfull of his ability to get off property with that many gaskets, Dad took just a few (enough to put the car together and a few extras). It probably goes without saying that by the next weekend we had the car back together and, by the time of the official introduction, were clicking off some high to mid 12 second ets. It probably also goes without saying that, for about a month, people were calling us to get intake manifold gaskets to put their engines back together...

 

Hey Dan, the next time you're talking to Larry, ask him if he knows Jim Wilson.

 

I can do that. :TU:

 

Corvette Z06 fuel tanks

I posted this over on another thread, but I'll repost here just for fun:

The big fuel tank was one of the first applications of "blow molding" technology, where a bag of parrafin is dropped into a female mold and then air is used to press the plastic into shape (like a plastic milk jug). These tanks were made at Chevrolet Flint Manufacturing where my dad was working on the project.

The desire was to fill the entire cargo area with fuel so, in order to a make the die, the toolmakers attached the rear portion of a Corvette coupe to a "Keller" (a machine which duplicates shapes by tracing them, photo attached below) and used the actual body to make the die.

The next problem they encountered, though, is that the bag of parrafin would not "fill out"; that is, when they hit it with the air it just blew out the bottom of the bag and went "PPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTT" (think of the sound a balloon makes when letting the air out).

They struggled with this issue until time was getting tight and the pressure increased to deliver a production run of parts. Dad was driving home one day, after his usual 10 or 12 hour shift, thinking about how to solve this problem. As he drove, he looked over at someone's front lawn and their sprinklers were running. Noticing the fan shaped pattern of the water, Dad thought "hmmmm"....

On the way into work that night he stopped by the hardware store and bought two little sprinkler heads. He went in that night, attached one of the heads to the air drop and POOF formed a perfect tank. He shot 10 or 12 more, set them over in the office to be inspected, removed the sprinkler head and put it in his locker. Then he went home and went to bed.

About the time he got to sleeping real good the phone rings. It's his boss: "SEYMORE, GET YOUR #$%^& IN HERE AND SHOW US HOW YOU MADE THESE FUEL TANKS OR BLAH BLAH BLAH etc. He got up, drove back into work, put the little sprinkler head back in the mold and shot several more tanks. They made the rest of the production run and you can see the results here, a production option that was available over the course of a couple years.

In the attached photo, the Keller machine is shown in the General Motors Area Research Center, where the first 300 Corvettes were produced in Flint, Michigan.

 

One more -

This one might be urban legend, but I have heard/seen it from a couple sources -

Back in the day, probably even more so than today, you could get right up to your favorite racer in the pit area. There was a young man who was a big fan of "Big Daddy" Don Garlits, so when Garlits was running at a local track this young man managed to get right up close and watch the between round action.

Garlits had just removed a used clutch disk from the car and pitched it over on the ground. Without thinking (obviously) this young man picked it up and instantly felt the searing heat from this hunk of metal that had just delivered 1000 HP to the rear wheels. He dropped it like a hot potato...

Garlits barely looked up. "Hot?" he asked.

"Nope" the young man said. "It just doesn't take me long to look at a used clutch".

K

 

Back in the late 60s we went to a special event at the Roxboro Drag Strip in NC which at that time was a 1/4 --now an 1/8 mile. It was a prehistoric track with wooden seats and protective fences about two feet high all with termite stricken wood. The bathrooms were wooden out houses almost falling over with just a large lard can overflowing so to speak. ( You get the picture).


We went that day because we heard a jet car was running and although we heard of Art Arafons and Craig Breedlove we had never seen one run. So they roll in " The Liquidator" which looks like a Atlas rocket laid over on its side with 4 wheels stuck on straight axles and a small jet canopy on top. It was being towed by a rope tied to the bumper of a pick up.

They bring up an APU starting cart and we begin to hear our first jet sounds --just a mild hum we thought. We all see The Liquidator is staged but we hardly hear anything. These jets are nothing we thought . BUT, BUT the noise gets progressively louder as the old GE begins to wind up. Now we have stopped chattering among ourselves and started putting our fingers in our ears.

SUDDENLY the pilot lights the afterburner and flame was everywhere. The wooden fence behind the starting line catches fire and is blown away into the woods which in turn catch fire! The starting line guys, used to holding their ground against the likes of Ronnie Sox, ran for thier lives as the blow torch rapidly departed launching the Xmas tree into the air and smoking and destoying it in its wake.

We were just bewildered by the sight as he finally stopped it at the other end with chutes because the fire raged on. Even the remains of the back fence which were left standing and the woods were still burning until the fire trucks arrived.


Now we understood why they called it The Liquidator.

 

LMAO :laugh:

 

One more -

Hope it's ok to re-open this old thread but I just read a new story and I had to share:

This one is again about that wild fuel burning beast of a car and it's equally wild driver Willie Borsch. As mentioned previously, Willie had to drive 3/8's of a mile in order to go a quarter.

His partner Al "Mousie" Marcellus tells of the time when "Wild Wille" flipped and rolled the altered at Martin Michigan in 1970 (one of the few times the car got away from him). Marcellus and the crew arrived at the scene to find Willie rabid with panic; he was wailing and bellowing "I'm blind, I'M BLIND"!!

The crew answered with roars of laughter. After all the howling subsided, Mousie patiently explained to Willie that he could not see because his head was wrapped in the parachute....

Incidentally, I also just learned the reason he drove with his left hand placed on the door sill was to stabilize himself and keep from rolling around in that spacious cockpit.

K