It's A Gas

If you lived through and/or remembered the '60's, you should remember this term; "Generation Gap". I experienced this the other day at work when I changed the desktop wallpaper on my computer to a 1940 Willy's Gasser. A co-worker asked, "What the hell is that thing?" My explanation was countered with more confused looks. As I briefly detailed just what a Gasser was, it was finally met with, "Who on Earth would do that to a car?" This from a person who tries to modify a modern Honda. A meeting of the minds just wasn't going to happen.

As I explained to my co-worker, Gassers were one of the earliest modified cars that had it's own categorized class at drag racing events. These cars ranged from daily drivers to full-blown supercharged race cars. What started as a simple and inexpensive racing movement around 1950, became quite popular by the mid 50's. By the 1956 NHRA Nationals, cars that were running in this division were still generally used for daily transportation, instead of being built for competition. In the early days of drag racing, cars were placed into categories. One of the more popular classifications was the Gas Coupe and Sedans; rules called for no engine setback, and the lights, wipers, starter, generator and factory street equipment all had to work. Fans and belts were optional, but radiators were required. The car even had to be currently licensed for the street. Full exhaust systems, including mufflers, were required but could be uncork them for competition, but they still had to remain on the car. Full transmissions were required, as were quick-change rear-ends, locked differentials or ratchet-type rear-ends. Functioning four-wheel brakes were required as well.

The new decade, however, ushered in a sea of change. By 1960, drag strips would see the birth of the Supercharged Gas classes as well as other rule changes, although the basics were unchanged from the 1950’s. The cars were still required to have full street equipment, including registration and plates. By 1962 however, the NHRA had finally accepted the gas coupe/sedan competitors to be serious racers. The rules that required full street equipment including mufflers, wipers, horns, generators, emergency brakes, license plates and registration were all gone.  Roll-up side windows were no longer required and could be replaced by Plexiglas windows screwed to the window frame. By the end of the year, the Stone, Woods & Cook Gasser broke the 10-second barrier with a 9.99 at Fremont. The supercharged Gassers were the quickest and fastest full-bodied cars in drag racing.

It's ironic that Gassers became one of the most popular attractions at drag racing events by 1964, but would be on their death bed by 1971. History books have shown us that 1964 was the start of the Gasser wars. The field was loaded with vintage Detroit iron from the 30's and 40's. The class came to represent the "common man's" drag race. Cars from that era were cheap and plentiful as were V-8 engine modifications. One didn't have to race in the top-dog supercharged class with the likes of John Mazmanian, "Ohio" George Montgomery, and the team of Stone, Woods, and Cook. There were still the multiple classes based on vehicle weight and engine size and even an amateur could win decent prize money by winning a particular class event.

1967 is considered by many to be the start of the decline of the traditional Gasser. While the class was never meant to be solely nostalgic, the deal breaker for most fans was when numerous racers started using radically reworked examples of what were basically then brand-new car bodies. While several well known drivers were simply taking advantage of the existing rules in order to win races, the magic was gone. The number of NHRA classes started shrinking by 1969, and once the '70's hit, the Gas class would turn into tube-chassis cars with fiberglass flopper bodies very similar to Funny Cars. The "common man" factor had all but faded away as well.

Until next time, peace out.
Dave

Share The Love

Valentine's Day has come and gone; and so has "Doghouse Day" - which is February 15th. When I was in high school an uncle of mine used to call it that. What he meant was, if you had a wife, girlfriend, fiance, or female partner, you ALWAYS got them some token of love on the 14th. If not, chances are guess where you were the next day? Now that I've been part of the male species for the past 50+ years, it still amazes me how guys torture themselves when it comes to the day of love; or any other special day that involves love or some other form of appreciation. The answer is simple guys - share the passion you have for vintage high-performance iron. There's a line from a classic late '60's movie where one of the main characters tells his friend, "Guys spend more money on a car in a month, then they do on their wife and kids all year." While that may be true in some cases, here's how the scales can be better balanced:


 - Share the Joy Ride; If you have a classic vehicle that runs and is reliable, be it a muscle car, street rod, rat rod, or even if it's a vintage station wagon, take your other half out for an engaging ride. Travel down some scenic back roads or go someplace you've never been before. Better still, let her drive it (and more than "at least for a while"). Turn off the cell phones or any other buzz kill. Talk to each other. Have a good laugh. Cruise down positive memory lane. If there's one in your area, take in a drive-in movie. After the first initial shock of, "Who are you and what have you done with my husband (or whatever the appropriate title is)?", you just might be surprised at how much your partner warms up to your hobby and passion.


 - Share the Knowledge; Wanna know one of the best things I've ever done with my kids and grand-kids? Took them to car shows and transportation museums. It also worked with my Dad who is now almost 81 years old and blind. About 15 years ago, before he lost his sight, my wife and I took him to the local transportation museum. It was one of the best times he ever had and still talks about it to this day. And here's a twist - it was a brief bonding moment between him and I, because for years we didn't dance at all. Do either of my kids own any vintage Detroit iron? Not at the moment, but they have each owned a classic car. Will they in the future? Don't know. Does it matter? No, it doesn't. The fact is I was able to pass down one of my strongest passions and they can appreciate it. And that appreciation goes both ways. I can, in return, show appreciation for their passions. It strengthens a relationship which is a 2-way street with both parties giving 100%.

 - Share the Gratitude; If your a guy or gal who has at least a mildly understanding partner who
allows the hot rod, or especially the "project in process" and lets you wrench on it in your spare time, be grateful... very grateful. Not everyone is accommodating and understanding of our hobby and passion. I know of a hand-full of people who would love to get involved with the hobby, but their spouses and/or partners won't let them. The verbal reasons or control issues may be different, but the core factor is usually based in some type of fear. I'm don't have a PhD in psychology, but I've seen and heard it time and time again. Someone feels like "the old car" will interfere with something, be it the relationship, money, or something else. However, the bottom line is someone is usually afraid they either won't get their way, or their afraid of losing something. And that's a shame. Because if one can't follow their passion, share that passion (and keep things in balance as well), then we all lose in one form or another.

Until next time, be sure to share the love.
Dave

1960's Muscle Cars & Drag Racing; Home Of The Strange, Land Of The Bizarre

I was spending a few hours yesterday putting the finishing touches on my book proposal that's being emailed out this week. No, this is not a selfish plug for the next coffee-table photo book on muscle cars. I emailed a copy to an impartial third party to check grammar, how it flowed, the formatting, the sample pictures that were included, the works. Their eyebrows were raised when they read the portion of the email that stated, "Remember two things; One, it was the '60's. Two, it is rated PG."

Comments went back and forth for a good portion of the afternoon as details were discussed and hammered out. When all was said and done, they liked what they read and added the following: "Wow - there was some weird shit back then. You couldn't do that today in regards to advertising." Nope, you can't. Not by a long shot. It still takes a number of people by surprise; In today's world where nothing seems to shock us anymore on television and radio, (the internet is it's own entity, so it can't be counted), that print advertising for muscle cars and the antics of drag racing from the late '60's and early 70's, here in the U.S., were more outrageous when comparing to modern times.

The first thing we have to remember is that the late '60's were a completely different time on so many fronts when compared to today. Never mind the psychedelic factor - the gaps between men and women when it came to money and purchasing power were disproportionate especially when it came to the automotive market. As a result, just about all muscle cars were advertised strictly towards men. There were some notable exceptions throughout the era; like ads for the '63 split-window Corvette and the '71 Cuda. Be that as it may, there were still some racy ads as well as promotions. And some bordered on the strange and bizarre.

Remember how conservative AMC used to be in the mid 60's? They're the ones that ran the classic ad where the "only race Rambler is interested in is the human race". However, by the very late 60's, little 'ol AMC teamed up with Playboy magazine and not only gave away a brand new Javelin to the Playmate of the Year, but also used Playboy Bunnies in certain advertising campaigns that appeared in newsletters that went out to AMX club members. Fifty cents a year never bought you so much eye candy.

Dodge also had it's muscle car club called the Scat Pack. Aside from the usual advertising pertaining to their latest muscle cars with the bumblebee stripes, they offered cool merchandise like jackets, patches, posters, literature, and more. But one of the more truly bizarre items was offered in 1970 - called the Scat Pack tickler. When you first look at the ad, it's a little confusing. The tickler, in fact was a small piece of jewelry that was pinned near the bottom hem on a dress, so that the small ball or bead at the end of the chain "tickled" the girls leg. And we won't even mention the expression on the woman's face. Yeah, we know - welcome to the 70's. The confusing part however, is the enlargement of the tickler that the girl appears to be holding. You have to read the print to realize that it's just a small piece of jewelry. The photo makes it look like a large Victorian-era sex toy.

Drag racing was really no different than muscle car advertising - speed and sex sold. While George Hurst made a star out of Linda Vaughn who was a staple at every major NHRA and AHRA event for decades, it was "Jungle" Jim Liberman who invented the occupation of what's now known as the "back up girl" in this particular motorsport. It goes without question that Liberman's back up girl, one Pam Hardy, put the "hot” in hot pants (what little there was of them at times) never mind her occasional see-through tops. In the nitro-fueled funny car circus, Pam became the gal who the took the mundane act of directing the driver in the backing up of a funny car a total of five feet into a show equal to, if not better than, the race itself. At times, it bordered on exhibitionism. All that, for better or worse, went away by the late 70's as more rules and sponsorship took over the track and the sport.

There is a saying where if you remember the 60's, you didn't live it. However, when it came to muscle cars and drag racing, high performance fans would probably disagree with that.

Until next time, peace out.
Dave

We All Gotta Start Somewhere

I received a few emails last week from readers regarding the post on how they learned their old school. Numerous stories were shared about learning the ropes from a relative, or perhaps from a high school program, or after they joined the military service, or as one loyal reader named Tom put it, "... the hardest way possible; starting my automotive career when I was 18 in an auto parts store." I think that story won the grand prize. Tom enrolled (and did rather well) in a vocational high school automotive program and wrenched on his personal 1973 Ford Torino. Like all of us at the tender age of 18, Tom knew it all. Unfortunately, within about six months, he realized he knew squat, even though he was fairly well versed with '73 Torino's. Tom was fortunate enough, however, that more than a few visitors to that particular parts store were kind enough to educate him, as was the store manager. Tom was taken under several wings, and over the course of his 20's became a master parts specialist. He now owns four auto parts stores in the southern New Hampshire.

We all have to start somewhere. I can remember when my cousin Bobby got bit by the drag racing bug pretty hard in the early 70's. His personal ride was a 1968 GTO with a stoutly modified 400ci V-8. On one particular Friday evening - the night before hitting the drag strip - he got hung up modifying the Hurst 4-speed. The necessary parts would not be available for a few days. Remember, this was before every auto parts store or speed shop was open seven days a week and overnight delivery was unheard of.

Enter my Aunt Bea and her 1968 Chrysler 300. A beautiful maroon 2-door land barge optioned with the famed 375 horsepower 440 Magnum engine and bullet proof 727 Torque-Flite automatic. My aunt was the black sheep of the family back then and that's probably one reason why we thought she was so cool. However, she dreaded going to get the car serviced and on this particular weekend, the vehicle needed new tires. Bobby hatched up a cool plan - he offered to take my aunt's vehicle to have it serviced for her (for which she was thrilled) and then drop by Englishtown raceway in New Jersey, which was only a few miles away, for a hot lap or two. You see, my cousin Bobby was not an idiot. He knew the potential of that 440 Magnum. It was only docile around town, but could be a real animal in the right situation. The 300 would be a "good-enough" substitute for his GTO.

Bobby took the 300 to his good friends garage (which was right near the drag strip) where the oil was changed, chassis greased (they did things like that back then) and two new tires were installed up front that he picked up at the local Sears store. His friends installed some wider 15" tires they had kicking around on the rear. The second part of the plan was to install the two other new tires on the rear after Bobby was done at the track. Why leave incriminating evidence that would be found later on? While the 300 was at the garage, Bobby's friends also disconnected the A/C belt, installed a hot coil, better spark plugs and wires, and an open air cleaner.. all in a matter of less than 30 minutes. They also adjusted the timing so the 440 ran like a Swiss watch. It wasn't deemed to touch the rest of the drivetrain, because my aunt's 300 came from the factory with a sure-grip rear end and 3.23 gears.

All was good until Bobby lined up in the staging lanes. While he was decent at being a lead-foot, he wasn't very good at drag racing. This was his first time racing and would soon learn that drag racing was not like the stoplight wars on the street. He was also used to how his 4-speed GTO handled in regards to leaving from a dead stop - not a honkin' Chrysler 300 with more overhang than the Atlantic City boardwalk. On his first attempt, the Christmas Tree light turned green and instinctively just mashed the throttle - why not; no clutch to worry about. All he did, was light up the rear tires in smoke with a huge burnout, and promptly went nowhere. His opponent in the other lane just took off. The 300 did finally hooked, and turned in a respectable mph, but a horrible E.T. (Picture at right is just for effect).

While his friends were falling off the grandstands from laughing so hard, another seasoned racer took his efforts to heart. He told him to get on the throttle just enough to get the car rolling quickly without all that tire spin, then apply more throttle very soon afterward for maximum torque. Bobby hung on his every word. His 2nd time in the staging lane, he remembered all the things this drag racer told him. Running it through step by step. The light turned green and it was a repeat of the time before. My cousin returned to the pits and the other drag racer chuckled, but gave him more words of encouragement - don't give up; it takes practice. In the long run, Bobby did get better at drag racing and was quite successful locally with his GTO. If you're wondering who that kind drag racer was, it was none other than cigar chomping "Dandy" Dick Landy.

I remember when I first started tinkering with cars over 40 years ago - I didn't even know where the engine oil went. By the time I was in my 30's, I could rebuild engines, knew how automotive systems worked, and was dabbling in auto body work. I can also remember the first company I worked for in regards to freelance writing. I went in applying for an intern (read: unpaid) position just to get my feet wet. Turns out, the owner of the company (and publisher for several on-line and print publications) liked my attitude and there's was a need for an automotive writer. Best part was, she would pay me. I sent her some writing samples to some "assignments" she gave me, and I haven't looked back since.

It's true we all have to start somewhere. But the other side of the coin is, who is going to step up and teach and/or mentor the young people who want to get into the automotive field and/or hot rodding? Like the wet behind the ears kid at the local auto parts store - when he or she hands you the wrong part, are you going to belittle them or scream at them, or are you going to throw them a "brain-wrench" and teach them something? We were all there at some point in our lives. We cannot forget where we came from.

Until next time, peace out.
Dave