So, after a late start, we were on our way. We tried to sleep as much as we could
We didn’t know when we would sleep again. The gray-primered forty sedan rumbled along the old highway, (no
freeway then). I can’t find enough words to tell how much fun we had on that trip, laughing and joking. Today
we are aware of gangs and loyalties to the gang. A camaraderie exists, it can’t be denied. This was
so in my club, but it was a legitimate honest club, not a gang. and to be a part of it..... It was wonderful.
Saturday morning, Pomona drag strip; hazy warm sunshine, crowds of people and fantastic machines. There were
so many to look at, I wandered off and almost got lost. I was standing next to cars that I saw in Hot Rod magazine! (
I studied those magazines ) Names that were famous at the time, Art Chrisman, and over there, the “Bean Bandits.”
I felt honored and humbled to be there.
George Cramphorn brought his grey forty
up to wait at the end of the line. He knew that his competition was tough to beat and he probably didn’t have
a chance but will try anyway. My orange soda was getting warm fast and I thought I could spice it up with a little vodka;
Bad dog, not a good idea. Feeling a little sick and dizzy, I just wanted to get out of the sun and lie down. Cramphorn’s
forty was in the long line waiting to get up to the start, and it was taking forever, so I crashed on the back seat, I went
out like a light! Danny Lucero happened to look in the car just as George started his car, ready to run the quarter mile.
They pulled me out of the car all groggy and disoriented, laughing at the idea of me accidentally being extra baggage for
George’s run. For awhile I had the nickname “sleepin’ Jesus”, they thought it was funny, but
I hated it. Most all of the hot rods were wearing “the honorable cloak of gray primer” but some were
beautifully painted and professional looking with one or two sponsors advertising here or there. Edelbrock, Wiend.
Navarro; claims to power.
Those were the early days when ordinary guys could afford to build their
cars and race, when ingenuity counted. Now you must have many sponsors and need lots of money to compete. That’s
progress, so be it.
We thought it was big-time running alcohol, and we had a few cars that
did. But there at Pomona we heard rumors of a mysterious fuel called “ the purple stuff.” It’s
secret was never revealed, but all the cars that used it were winners, and all of a sudden everybody had to have it. It
was very expensive and hard to find, and soon there was a black market and fake stuff, straight alcohol with a purple
dye.
After the races we went to Knott’s Berry Farm, a fun place pre- dating Disneyland,
crowds of young people strolling and flirting. Back at our motel, we had the pool all to ourselves and immediately threw a
beer party. It was all in good fun, but we were loud and soon the manager came out and put an end to it or else we would have
to leave. A fun place to eat was “Big Bills Barbecued Beef Burgers.” After a few beers we had
a contest...... who could say it the fastest, (not easy.)
Sunday at the strip ran pretty much
the same, except I was all day trying to avoid looking sleepy. One of the “ Headhunters” cars
didn’t return and I borrowed a car and drove down the return road to see what happened; He ran out of gas at the finish
line! He jumped in the car and we were returning on the side ( return) road next to the strip. A dragster was
leaving the line and we thought we had an exciting view of him until he started fishtailing right in front of us! I
slammed on the brakes so hard the items that were in the back window shelf came flying forward and hit the back of our seats!
The Palamides dragster swept across the road ten feet from our windshield. the driver tucked down under the roll bar, and
the off into the field filling the air with dust and dirt. That’s another picture in my mind I’ll never
forget! Another accident happened when a short wheelbase dragster rolled on the far end of the strip. There were
no injuries. Danny Lucero had this kind of gift for getting the most out of a car, and even though he didn’t bring
his Roadster, he was asked to drive a club members modified fuel coupe. This was a great honor, and as we were waiting
at the starting line I heard the guys talking about him and how he could tweak out just a little bit more than even the owners.
And sure enough, he brought in the best time the car had seen.
He climbed out of it laughing
and surrounded with club members, the adrenaline seemed to be pouring out of him.......... Putting it lightly....
It was a thrill. We packed up and left Pomona without the gold........ and yet undefeated. We drove home
from Pomona late that Sunday night, a long trip in those days, with the front seat passenger keeping a watchful eye on the
driver so he wouldn’t fall asleep, I had just enough time to shower and go to work on Monday morning.
The bridge on Sioux Road
Back in town we had our own entertainment. On Friday
or Saturday nights I always liked to hang out at the “hot” drive-in. Karl’s Drive In in Hayward was
the place to be.
You could park your car and mingle with cool guys that were building or had sweet rides and
sometimes there were challenges for a race. A hush would go through the crowd and one by one the cars would quietly
leave, their destination spoken only in a whispered voice....... Sioux road. We called it Sewer road just to
disguise it a little. It was a dark and lonely two lane blacktop in the then undeveloped part of town, flanked on both
sides with fields of tomato plants. The farmers house, a quarter mile away had the only lights around. To this day I
am amazed at the amount of organization that went into these impromptu and brief drag races. Volunteers appointed
themselves to block off both ends of the road, some at the finish line and some at the starting line.
I
honor them now. They re-directed any civilian traffic away from us, and were our early warning system for police, and they
could not even watch the races.
Danny’s 50 Olds Rocket 88 pulled onto the shoulder and
we stepped out into the crowd of guys and girls. Darkened shapes of cars lined both sides of the road, and there at
the line two cars waited side by side, engines idling. When I first saw the movie “Rebel without a cause”
it brought to mind the scene of that warm summer night in Hayward. Except there is no cliff. Instead, there is
the bridge. The bridge served as the finish line. It was an old concrete bridge over a canal, the sides (end caps)
would surely destroy any car that wandered too far to the side, and there was just enough room for two cars
side by side. There was the occasional flash of a cigarette lighter briefly lighting the faces of people in the crowd
as the excitement swelled.
A flash of headlights from the far end signaled all clear, followed
by a signal from the starting line. The cars at the line revved their engines, clearing them out, ready to go.
Both cars switched on their lights illuminating the starter holding a white towel high in the air. The “flag”
dropped and engines roaring, tires burning, the two machines squatted down and blasted towards the bridge. The white
profile of the bridge could be seen very clearly now with two silhouettes hurtling towards it. Then as they passed over,
the white bridge disappeared into the darkness again, but they made it!
Two more cars rolled
up to the line, a 40 Merc and a 34 three window coupe dressed in “The honorable cloak of gray primer” and the
unmistakable sound of a potent Ford
“flathead” engine. They left the line fishtailing, tires smoking,
screaming side by side down the two lane blacktop. I don’t remember how many cars raced that night before (we
think) the farmer called the police. Our “lookout guys” gave us a heads up warning.
Cops!
Cops! And sure enough, off in the distance, two cars, flashing lights. ( I think it was very nice the cops alerted us by turning
on their flashing lights.) Everyone rushed to their cars and headed the opposite way down the two lane blacktop. As
everybody tried to leave, it created a traffic jam. I looked out the window of the Olds and saw twocars taillights bouncing
across all the tomato plants in the field heading away from the road. <<<< Long live the fifty’s
baby! >>>>> The cops were overwhelmed and caught only a couple of cars, the rest of us got away! Most
of us headed back to Karl’s to rejoice in our escape and talk about the race, grateful and willing to let Sioux road
cool down for a while........... until next time.
True Hot Rod Adventures............... Ron Francis...... (c)..2010
