DAYS OF THE FORTY
The forty swirled through the early morning mist,
bound for Lodi. The three on board unaware of the danger waiting in the fog. Jet black forty coupe, sixty louvers
punched in the hood, sped along on its way to Kingdon drag strip near Lodi. Fog across the highway crept up on them
before they realized it, then it was too late. It’s a bad day when you stab the brake pedal in panic and realize
you’re going to crash anyway.
A gray car with no lights is stopped dead ahead ! A flinch of the wheel and the
forty slips sideways, wheels locked up, and passes the gray car in the other lane. Lynn awoke and looked out the windshield
to see the world going by...... sideways !
Incredibly the forty passed a number of cars slowly spinning in the fast lane and
came to a stop ten feet from a car in our lane. A full 180. I think my foot realized how close to death
we came because it wouldn’t stop shaking on the clutch as I tried to turn around, get us out of there. Oh my God
that was close, we laughed nervously to shake it off and continued on to the drags, ( long live the fifty’s baby !!
) You pay a little extra to park in the “ pits, “ but it’s worth it. Walking around freely to
enjoy the delicious variety of cool rods, most all of them in the honorable cloak of gray primer. Spectators parked
along the other side of the strip, separated from the dragsters only by a steel cable strung between wooden fence posts. The
strip had timing lights, but no “Christmas tree.” An official in a striped black and white shirt raised a hand
held flag to give you an equal start. My club was the “Headhunters,” and it was great to be “crew”,
push start a club members car ready at the line. The flag snapped up and there was a roar of horsepower and spinning tires.
As you watched the race from that perspective you were immersed in the smell of burning rubber and the sweet smell of burnt
alcohol. It was heaven. After the official races were over there was what they called “grudge” races,
open to those who missed their chance, or got there too late or just wanted to race again. A thirty four coupe with
the top chopped to zero, it left no side windows at all, and the front was flat sheet metal angled down in a wedge shape of
a slice of cheese.
“Rummy Orth” was the driver, a former member of our club that was voted out because of some DUI’s. He
was the most “bad boy” hot rodder that I ever knew, almost. They fired it up and it ran wide open briefly. The
crew tried to adjust the throttle linkage. When it came to the line it was paired off with a mid-engine Crosley, but it was
still revving very high. The flag snapped and both cars blasted from the starting line. It looked like it was an even
race at that point. Until the hammered down thirty four started fish-tailing wildly, then made a sharp right turn and went
screaming across the strip towards the spectators parking road. He went through the fence full throttle. At that
spot no one was standing, thank God. To everybody’s astonishment a drainage ditch catapulted him into the
air. Trailing dirt and dust, engine screaming high in the air a slow twisting spiral ending in a explosion of dirt like
a hand grenade.... and then silence. Running across the farmers field, we were shocked to see a white crash helmet 50
ft from the smoking mass of sheet metal that just a few seconds ago had been a car. Many hands carefully removed Orth
from the wreckage and he was alive!. A broken arm, some cracked ribs, cuts and bruises, but alive. They backed a pickup
truck into the field and tossed in the engine, axles and wheels, and left the twisted frame and the crushed corpse of the
body to rot in the farmers field.
My forty had been a record holder in the Valley Timing Association for about two months, not very
long, but part of its pedigree. The forty Ford had the sweetest lines of all the Fords, it looked good from all angles.
I remember one ride, actually a couple, that left an impression in my memory. There was a road, I think it was
Skyline Blvd. where I liked to open it up away from cross-traffic along the ridge of the hills, and parallel with the city.
With the pedal floored, the forty screamed down the slope reaching 115 on the speedometer, if it didn’t, I knew
it wasn’t running right. My girl didn’t appreciate that ride, but she never stopped me. And I liked
to out-run Cadillac’s on the freeway! The other ride, well, I tried to play sports car with it, and a Forty just
isn’t a sports car.
The rain had stopped, but the roads were wet, and I pushed the Forty through turn after turn, enjoy the drifts and thinking
I had great control of the car and then I found the limit too late, and we did a slow drifting arc that ended at a telephone
pole on Trestle Glen near Lake Merritt. The right rear fender and wheel took the impact and the front end spun around
to land on the sidewalk! I was thrown against the passenger door and it opened! Thank God for running boards,
I put a foot out and it saved me from the pavement. My shoulder ached and my head was bumped but I was blessed
to be all right. The hood had sixty louvers punched in it, four rows ( A statement, not over done ) Red paint
brushed on the inside of the louvers, not only looked cool when the light was right, but could alert you to a fire under the
hood. And thankfully that never happened. On chains, hanging from the rear bumper, the Headhunters club plaque.
My cool lookin, black Forty was one
of the best around, if not THE best. When I returned from Korea, I bought it from a friend just the way the way it was.
My friend was among the guys I met at Karl’s Drive in or Sioux Rd, and he had bought it from the Cox brothers,
Danny and I forget the other brother’s name. I was there the day they had just bought the Forty at a dusty little
used car lot in Union City, and it rolled into the driveway at Danny Lucero’s house. It was painted blue when I first
saw it, but it had the most beautiful lines, no matter what color it was. Everybody that was at Danny’s house
came out of the garage and were admiring it. I even got to drive it when they needed something from the gas station.
While I was with Uncle Sam in Korea, the Cox brothers did their magic on it and then sold it to my other friend who
had the louvers punched and a great black paint job. Back from Korea and I put the word out that I needed a car and it so
happened the Forty was for sale again at the right time for me, it was $400. And I loved it and it became mine. Cruising
with the radio playing Paul Anka, (“Diana”) and Robin Luke, (”Oh Suzy darlin”). Or parked on
Skyline looking at the lights of the city and making out in the glow of the dashboard lights. And uh, yeah, drank a
few beers and kissed a few sweethearts in the forty ........Unforgettable memories of those....................”days
of the forty.”
hot rod adventures.................Ron Francis.............(c).....2009
