Where Did You Learn Your Old-School?

It seems I struck a cord last weekend with the post about when we were younger, when gas stations were actually service stations, and the car buying public thinking nothing of modifying factory muscle cars, (including ones we didn't know would become really rare), right after they were purchased. In my humble opinion, all these cool memories can fit under one automotive umbrella - learning about and/or cutting your teeth in regards to hot rodding.

Granted, it used to be way easier and in most cases less expensive because the technology was easier. You didn't need special tools, a set of upper and lower intake manifold gaskets, and 3-4 hours just to install a hotter set of spark plugs. I can remember when I helped my youngest daughter purchase her second car - a 1970 4-door Chevy Nova that was in decent shape with only 42,000+ miles on the clock. It had the 230 cubic inch in-line six cylinder, TH350 automatic, and that was about it. It was a base model in the truest sense of the word - rubber floor mats, bench seat, and power nothing. It was even a radio delete car that still had the original factory dash plate with

"NOVA" stamped into it and was in excellent condition. I once had a guy offer my daughter $500 just for that plate so he could use it for his Yenko Nova restoration. His offer was $100 less than what we paid for the entire car. But getting back to the main point, her Nova was very easy for her to learn and work on. You could lift the hood and literally stand inside the engine bay. Everything was right there - plugs, wires, cap, rotor, fuel and oil pump, air cleaner, carburetor, valve cover, water pump, belts, hoses - you name it. And while she didn't pursue a career in anything automotive, she does know the basics about her car so she can take care of it and not get screwed over when servicing it.

My oldest daughter, on the other hand, is an ASE technician and general manager of the garage we both work at. However, she had to start somewhere. When we were both younger, she used to help me when I would work on my old cars. By the time she was twelve, she not only knew the basics about cars and how they worked, but knew the difference between metric and ASE wrenches, as well as determining belt routing and engine firing order. She was fortunate enough to have a great vocational school in town with an outstanding automotive technology program, because by the turn of the millennium, all the public schools had long done away with any and all vocational classes.

It seems that a vast pool of knowledge has vanished from several other areas of the automotive world. Remember when I wrote last week that when I win the Powerball I plan on opening an old fashioned service station? Well, add to that a speed shop. This is another aspect of the hot rodding world that is almost all but extinct. For those of you not old enough to remember, a speed shop was a unique combination of an auto parts store and a haven for go-fast equipment. The staff was more than a bunch of people who could rifle through vast amounts of catalogs. In many cases, the speed parts they sold were on their hot rods as well. They could pass along knowledge and insight as to what would work and what wouldn't. In the right setting, they were more than sales people - they were mentors.

I was thumbing through a large box of old car-buff magazines from the late '60's the other night and I came across one of my favorite issues - the May 1968 edition of Popular Hot Rodding. The cover picture alone speaks volumes of how it used to be in the pits of professional drag racing. It was a mingling mix of racers, crew teams, and fans. One could engage in a sub-universe of knowledge where enthusiasts could learn something just by watching. And for some reason, boundaries and attitudes were never a problem. There always seem to be an unspoken level of respect. Unfortunately, all this mingling has gone away from NHRA events, although it still exists at a nostalgic and grass-roots level.

The saying goes, "... you don't know what you have until it's done." In today's society, it seems that our sense of history is fading away like a long-term memory. Engage in some old-school education; read hot rodding magazines and books about it's history. Engage in car shows, racing events that may have some looser rules, and the most important part, the people who participate in these events who are more than willing to share their historical database that's in their brain. And while they're sharing their expertise, just shut up and listen. We can all learn from each other.

Until next time, peace out.
Dave

Things That I Miss

It's the human condition; we hate the way things are and we hate change. If we don't get what we want, we suffer. If we get exactly what we want, we still suffer - because it's only temporary. Several times this weekend, I was mentally traveling down memory lane (or amnesia lane, I can't remember which one), as I was engaged in a number of activities that involved things that were old as well as long gone. It ranged from taking photographs of a rusty '55 Chevy that was in need of serious saving to glancing at old pictures of service stations from the 60's.

Starting with the gas stations; Actually, most were called service stations because they actually performed "service" besides pumping the gas. All of them cleaned the windshield, but half still at least asked if you wanted the engine oil or tire air pressure checked. And this was well into the early 70's before the gas crunch. But a select few went above and beyond that. This scenario never happened with my Dad and I (because he drove a VW Beetle), but happened a great deal more went I was riding shotgun in my older cousin's 1968 GTO at the tender young age of eight. My cousin Bobby knew these hot rodders (read: street racers) who worked at a local Shell station near where we lived in Northern New Jersey. He would basically shoot the shit with them for about 15 minutes, and that gave me more than enough time to droll over the street machines that were parked there. Looking back, Bobby was a cool guy considering he had a dweeb of a passenger.

And while nothing really off-the-wall happened there, I know some other stations in and around metropolitan New York City did some pretty crazy promotions in order to get customers - especially from the late '50's through the late 60's. Take a gander at the service station pics in today's post. The black and white (above) is circa 1965-66 in San Antonio Texas. While I wouldn't be too crazy wearing those uniforms and straw hats (that guy checking the tire pressure seems absolutely thrilled), the driver of the '64 Chevy must have at least gotten a rising pulse with those two ladies in swimsuits. But let's not get too sexist here. The second pic is from circa 1969 at a Phillips 66 station in Alaska. How cool would it be to have a service station with a totem pole out front? There are times where I dream of winning the Powerball lottery, take some of those winnings, and open a vintage type service station. One that has a two-bay garage and a small store that actually sells some automotive products, unlike today where just about all gas stations barely sell a quart of oil and windshield washer fluid. And in my dream, I only work on old cars - like from 1976 and older.

Another thing I miss, but seems to be making a strong comeback, is psychedelic paint jobs on vintage drag cars. I'm a little fickle in this area. I really don't like this type of rolling art on regular muscle cars or street rods - just drag cars. Maybe it's because growing up in the '60's, this is where it was prominently visible, save for the occasional hippie VW bus. I'm digging the patterns, flames, lace, and other cues that seemed few and far between. Maybe it's because nostalgic drag racing is so popular these days. Or maybe it's a few hardcore painters are attempting to keep the flame going by tying the past with today's society. Whatever the reason, I'm all for it.

Taking that cue, I guess that's why I dig "Day #2 restorations" in regards to muscle cars. I still love the California rake, along with after-market wheels, and a vintage tach on the steering column. I still prefer an old-school 392 cubic inch Chrysler Hemi in a street rod compared to one with the mighty 426 version. And it's gotta multiple carbs. And if I'm really lucky, a pair of M&H Racemaster pie-crust slicks out back. Yeah, I know - I'm pathetic.

Until next time, peace out.
Dave

Here Today, Gone Tomorrow

I'm unsure who coined this phrase originally. It may have been the same person who originally came up with, "snooze... you lose." I've encountered this scenario multiple times especially when purchasing classic cars. In most cases, I'm one of 258 people calling and/or asking about a certain rig and I'm usually one to three calls too late. A can also remember on several occasions when I should've listen to my gut and made the call earlier, but didn't. I always made some excuse of not doing it - usually blaming the other party I had yet to talk to. It was, "I'll probably get voice mail. They won't listen to it anyways, and call me back at some inopportune time," or "I don't have a great deal of time, and the seller will go on forever about their ride." But that's a gamble I have to take. I can't get pissed at someone else for my lack of initiative.

This lack of initiative can also equate to a here today, gone tomorrow. Remember the brief Gasser wars that mostly took place in the 60's? The NHRA class was in existence from 1958 through 1969, but it was most predominant from late 1964 through early 1967. For the first eight years, the class was loaded with antique vehicles from the 30's and 40's. The nostalgia factor alone was enough to make it popular. But when several key teams and drivers (Stone, Woods, and Cooke as well as Big John Mazmanian to name two) saw rule changes coming down the pike, especially for 1967 (like allowing late-model vehicles), there was no initiative for them to stay in that class. In less than three short years, Gasser's lost all their popularity. And faster than you could say "6-second quarter mile", they were gone.

I've written on this event before, but it was on the East Coast version - The Race Of Gentlemen. In this post, I'm going to focus on the recent west coast version that was a total wash out at Pismo Beach back in mid October. While we'll never be able to control the weather, we can control if this event happens in the future. As of this post, there are no dates for the 2017 event. The reason being that the organizers took a huge financial bath, even though there was an approximate head-count of 12,000 people or so. This is what happens when things get rained out for about a third of the Saturday and all day Sunday with no racing. Here's where some initiative comes in, or we'll have another "here today, gone tomorrow". This event will need some serious sponsorship or individuals with deep pockets to keep it going, even though the east coast event is unaffected. It always bothers me that many a cool thing either stays or goes all because of money (or lack of it), but sometimes that's exactly the way it is. As a good friend of  mine once stated - "...whether amateur or professional, local or national - there is no racing (or any other car related event) without money."

I can remember traveling down to southern Georgia a few years ago. While having my vehicle serviced at a small-town garage somewhere in central Virginia, I noticed a small junkyard adjacent to the garage. Apparently, it had been there for years and the owner never really sold anything out of it, nor would let people walk through it and take pictures. While I was there however, I learned from the owners wife that her husband had passed and I was welcome to walk through the mass amounts of vintage Detroit iron. She thought it was cool that I photographed old rusty cars, but she told me to be careful. She added, "You better do it now; it'll all be gone by the end of the year!" And it was the beginning of November. Scrap prices were pretty high back then, so on one hand, I can't blame her. She went on to say that she was sick of all the bullshit from people wanting to buy, trade, blah, blah, blah.

On my way back north about 4 1/2 months later, I stopped in again for an oil change service. Sure enough, all the cars were gone just like she promised. Another example of here today... gone tomorrow. This goes hand in hand with last weeks post about shredding your bucket list. None of us are guaranteed another day. If you have the opportunity do something, especially if it's positive, just do it.

Until next time, peace out.
Dave

New Years Resolutions? Screw 'Em!

I will admit - I'm a fickle guy. On any given day, I can pick up a magazine, find an article or a featured ride, be it a street rod, pro-touring muscle car, or a rat rod, and I will get ideas of what go-fast ride I want to purchase next. Give me a month, and I will go from a mid 70's big block crew cab dually truck, to a late 80's Fox-body Mustang, to an early 30's rat rod with Cadillac power. And those are just the rides I can remember at this given moment. So to rectify this dilemma, I have made one and only one New Years resolution - not to make any at all and tear up my bucket list.

The first part of that last sentence is easy. The way I finally came to figure it is whatever my next go-fast ride is, will present itself at the right place at the right time at the right price. Even though I may waiver from time to time, for the past few years the main focus of my next rig has been a 30's era semi rat rod - if there is even such a thing in written accepted terms. A classic example of what I mean is like an early 30's Model A that's a balance between no chop at all and a finished chop that would scalp any and all passengers. If it's channeled, no big deal. It just can't be so deep that my legs are perfectly straight forward when I drive. My knees are too shot for that. Some aspects are easier; it can be a standard or automatic - don't care. Ditto with the engine; it can be a small or big block, as long as it pounds out at least 450 horsepower. The interior has to be functional; full gauges, comfy seats, and a stereo. See? I told you - I'm fickle.

The second aspect of the last sentence in the first paragraph, is going to be a little more difficult. Tearing up the bucket list seems odd at this point in my life. I still hear the term quite often, especially from people over 40. I know it's a nice little quip or quote - it sort of sums up all those great little experiences we all will have before we die. But recently I heard a different take on it; "... a bucket list is nothing more than an excuse drawer, a mental laundry pile that will never be folded." Bless you Elana Scherr. As I reexamined the "bucket" term, I've come to the conclusion that it's my way of saying, "I don't want that enough to actually do it." The funny thing is, as I look back over my hot rodding hobby career, I've thrown a great deal of that emotional roadblock crap out the window already. Drive well over 1,000 miles to purchase a hot rod? Yup - done that. Gone deep into the 8's down a quarter mile? Ditto.

On the other side of the coin, yes - I do understand the challenges that come up throughout life that keep us from obtaining our dreams. Not enough money at this point in time, your work schedule has doubled up because the company you work for is short-staffed, kids, school, and sports (or other extra circular activities), or even just balancing the household budget and paying the bills can put a real kibosh on that twin-turbo 1940 Willy's or '71 Cuda. But I also heard a great suggestion to counter this - one day at a time. Instead of buying that honkin' extra-large coffee with a turbo shot at the local drive through, put that $3-4 dollars a day into a jar for that turbo engine. Tackle the project, even if it's just saving money for it, one day and one aspect at a time. I work with a guy who, I swear, is the king of bartering. I don't know he does it, but I do know he certainly has enough junk and skills to pull it off. Don't believe you fit that mold? You would be surprised. Take an inventory of your stuff that hardly gets used at all and sell it. Another friend of mine does snow plowing and landscaping for a living. Guess what? One of his clients owns a engine machine shop. He is currently trading plowing and landscaping for machine work to be done on his engine block, cylinder heads, and final assembly. It's amazing what you can come up with between friends and associates.

The bottom line is this; we never know how much time we have on this planet. When I'm on my death bed, I don't want my life to be full of, "I wish I had done this or that," or "... someday." I want to draw a blank when asked "was there anything you wanted to do, but never got a chance?" I'll draw a blank, because my shredded up bucket list will be empty.

Until next time, peace out.
Dave

Goodbye 2016, Hello 2017

I know - everybody is SO over 2016. It's all I've heard all week. While the past 12 months has not exactly been the hotbed of positiveness, I'm sure if we look back over 2016, we would find it wasn't ALL bad. I guess it just depends on your perspective. And there lies the challenge for 2017; keeping a balanced perspective.

It seems now more than ever, and maybe the media as well as social media has amplified the shit out of it, but there's a sad division between people who do not agree with each other. It's almost to the point of, "If you don't agree with us, you're against us. And because of that - I hate you and you suck." This concept can divide us on a very large scale as a society, or down to smaller increments such as in our car and racing hobby. I can remember about 30+ years ago when muscle cars really came into vogue for the first time. Brand bashing was rampant - and we didn't have computer keyboards to hide behind either. Then, it went micro even further. When the 100% factory restoration phase was king by the late 80's, people would argue over what finish was correct on a fastener that was used to secure a trunk-mounted spoiler. Thankfully, over the past ten years or so, we have come to realize that as fewer and fewer of these cars exist, and EPA laws continually creep in to sanction our hobby, it has turned into a "United we stand..." type attitude.

Over the past seven years, I have written hundreds of blog posts (not just here but on other websites as well) and have photographed several thousand cars. After a while, especially during the summer months when I'm flat-out busy, it can, at times, all seem to blur together. And while I might be at a car show shooting over 500 vehicles on a given weekend, and for me it's just "...business as usual", I have to remember the person who owns the vehicle I'm photographing. A certain expression comes over their face - one of pride or satisfaction - that another individual is actually taking the time to photograph, at several angles, their vehicle. It's way more reactionary or involved than the casual passerby who snaps a quick shot with their cell phone.

I have had vehicle owners step out of the way so I can photograph their car better. I have people open the hoods, trunks, and even lower convertible tops so I can get a better shot. The funny things is, they are usually the first to say thank you for what just transpired. I have to remind them that it was me who owes the thanks - especially since if they weren't there in the first place, I wouldn't even have this opportunity.

It is a sobering reminder that we, as professionals as well as amateurs, have to keep that in mind; that the words we write and photographs we take are for the benefit of you - our audience. It is rather easy for us (or anyone in any other profession) to take ourselves to seriously. No one needs to read this blog, or purchase my prints, and I'm not saving the world or curing cancer - I get it. What I try to offer is a different perspective on life, the vintage performance hobby, and offer a break from the mundane or monotonous routine of daily life. Whatever I post on here - the words, thoughts, or pictures - I hope it puts a smile on your face. I also hope you find substance to all as well.

Until next time, here's to a great 2017.
Peace out,
Dave