EXTENDED CHILDHOOD EDITION

CLICK IMAGES TO VIEW FULL SIZE

Last week's childhood theme prompted an unprecedented response, including a few submissions of childhood memories too cool not to post. So consider this week's post an encore to childhood.

And speaking of those crazy kids and their kooky shenanigans, one of them hacked my computer last week and infected it with a nasty virus that wiped out the bearings in the process. Oh, you kids - your hijinks keep me in stitches! Hacking must be the new toilet papering. You got me this time, you rascals... Anyway, this week's blog will be short and sweet. My computer is up on the rack at a local shop, with the rods hanging out of the pan. Once it's fired and dyno tuned, we'll get back to business as usual here.

So, back to childhood...



From Cole Foster, son of Pat and keeper of the flame:

After spending the weekend with Jim Glenn (my dad drove his Funny Car in 1976), a lot of childhood memories came to mind. Someone asked me about 15 years ago to tell them what it was like being a kid growing up at racetracks. This was my response................... (Photo courtesy of Cole Foster)


WHAT I DID THIS SUMMER =

What a childhood. Growing up at racetracks, spending summers on tour with the (Barry) Setzer car, living behind The Greek (Chris Karamasines) in south Chicago. His kids were wild and the 'hood was rough. Me and my little brother got a ass kickin' the first day there. Me and the local bad kids caught the shed on the side of Greek's house on fire! Big time ass whipping!

I remember Indy in '75. Just my dad, Alan Gillis, me, and Alan's girlfriend. I was one overworked 12 year old. Sometimes I would drive the race car back to the pits, being towed by truck. Body down, night time, them telling me, "Jump in. Don't hit anything", and going 50 MPH back to the pits, honking the horn, passing other cars, just missing fans, trash cans, oil barrels... Those things were so hard to steer with their castor, butterfly wheel, and I couldn't see #### over the dash. Fuel, oil, clutch dust, tears and sweat from terror running down my face.

Wild, for a 5th grader on tour. And pals with Jungle, Tharp, Pulde, Snake - those guys were in their 20's, pocket full of $$$ .... Women adored them, locals feared them. Doing amazing things with race cars, they were true RULERS and still my heroes.

I didn't actually stop at the Grand Canyon like most 5th graders in my class did, but my "What did I do this Summer Vacation" stories made my teachers faint: Tarzan [Hot Tuna], shooting a .44 out the truck window, or throwing half sticks of TNT on the highway for us to try to miss. Or Budds Creek (Maryland), with four Funny Cars abreast under the lights - crazy fuckers. I witnessed and heard stories that most would think were made up.

I wouldn't have traded my memories of my childhood - my gold plated back stage pass to drag racing - for anything! I couldn't even imagine being in my twentys, driving a fuel car, traveling around the country with a group like they did. Rockstars that didn't have to stuff their jeans, 'cause there's no questioning what those boys were packing... True American Gladiators.
- Cole


And from Motormouth Ray, in New York:

Ray, learning to drive a stickshift. He can outbang Ronnie Sox today, while wearing that same smile.

                                          *

I don't usually promote events on this blog. But when I do, I pitch the Hot Rod Hill Climb in Georgetown, Colorado. September 14th. BE THERE!!! I began planning my trip a year ago, but won't be going now. So you'll have to have my share of the fun.

             When Jeff Norwell gets onboard with the artwork, you know something special is afoot.

Some of the original competitors at Georgetown. Best part: Some of these guys (and these cars) will be at this year's event! (Photos courtesy of Hot Rod Hill Climb)

The second - and last - running of the Hot Rod Hill Climb was in 1954 at Georgetown, Colorado. It's back this September, at the original location. Strictly traditional cars, surrounded by Rocky Mountain beauty, doing what they were built to do: Hang it all out, in honor of the original adrenaline junkie daredevils who ran this course in 1953. All of my pertinent info died with my computer, but Google Hot Rod Hill Climb for the lowdown on this most anticipated event.

Mike enlisted these local kids to help with the grassroots promotion of the event. They seem to have hit every car gathering between Denver and Joplin, Missouri. There are apparently no child labor laws in the midwest.

UPDATE: 8-29-2013

It turns out, my computer is alive! Alas, I can't say the same for the fifteen years worth of writing and photos stored in it - it's all gone. But I did have copies of some of that content on an external storage device. Word: We have determined that the deadly virus came in through my McAfee security program. Bittersweet irony...

And that's it for this week's blog. Not what I had in mind, but better than nothing (maybe). 

     SENT FROM MY LOCAL PUBLIC LIBRARY

                                            x
  Use your imagination to envision this week's squirrel.

DON'T GROW UP

Luckily, I seem to have an endless supply of adventurous nephews. This is Lleyton Gosson. He's four years old. Other than the snappy headgear and blingy bike, this could be a photo of myself at that age. The same could be said for the following images... (Photo courtesy of Skyler Gosson)

                                           

                                            Thanks kids! I'm ready to face the future now.

"Oh, grow up!" That's what they said. Not once in my childhood did anyone advise me, "Don't grow up! Savor this most wondrous time of your life, and stay in touch with that curious, fearless kid for as long as possible." As it turns out, nobody had to tell me that. I've somehow managed to live almost 57 years while maintaining the maturity of an eight year old. People even paid me to play the guitar, then play with old cars, and now, just to play with words about old cars. Believe it or not, I make more money now than I ever did for mowing lawns, or even washing cars. And that was hard work (for a seven-year-old). Neato! I have no problem with such enablement.

Life just seems too fresh and sweet to ever grow old and bitter. I don't even know why anyone would want to do that. Sure, the maturity thing can be problematic: It seems like every time Saint Shellski introduces me to one of her fancy-schmantsy friends, I'm wearing a stained T-shirt with some hot rod cartoon character on it, or I'm watching cartoons on TV, or, usually, both. And it probably doesn't help matters that I've decorated her driveway with crusty broken parts, tools, and puddles of toxic automotive fluids ("No sweat, Hon. I'll just wipe it up with my shirt.") But hey, life is my playground...

... And I'm not so unique. Here's a random case study and a solid argument for perpetual childishness:

This lucky kid grew up surrounded by the race cars I drooled over in magazines. Those childhood influences ultimately doomed him to a life that worried his parents and teachers to distraction, while he kept his eye on the prize and the grin on his face...

What possible value could arcane motorsports knowledge provide in the dog-eat-dog world of cut-throat job seekers and career vampires? It came in handy for Rob Kinnan, and guided him to the Editor's chair at Hot Rod Magazine, where millions of readers depended on his experience to inform their crucial and expensive decisions - until it wasn't fun anymore, and Rob moved on. (Photographers unknown)

FULL DISCLOSURE:

1970. Don't try this at home, kids: Professional driver on closed course? More like a teenaged Mr. Magoo with a reverse polarity compass. On my fourteenth birthday, I flew the coop to street race full time. School and home life were cramping my action. I rented a tiny ramshackle reproduction of a windmill in a backyard on the wrong side of the tracks for $15 a month and parked my '58 Anglia in the driveway. Beer bottles were cashed in for gas money and I challenged the biggest dogs of the valley. They chewed me up and spit me out. I came home almost every night with my tail between my legs.

            The Anglia and I shared a tragic unrealized potential. Alas, we both had minds of our own. (Photo by Scotty Gosson)

After three months of losing every race I ran, there was no money for gas or rent. I stored the car at a friend's place and hitch hiked to the Takilma commune, where I survived on mushrooms until being whisked away to Ken Kesey's dairy farm on the next bus to Springfield, Oregon.

Cassidy was the driver. Kesey was the conductor. Further was the destination. I snuck on without a ticket.

At the Springfield Creamery, the Grateful Dead and New Riders of the Purple Sage serenaded us for three days (two of them "official") in a muddy field. Bliss! I loved my new family and gypsied with them off and on for a few years before the magnetism of crusty steel drew me back for good.

1978: We enjoyed a surreal reunion in Omaha, Nebraska at a 3,000 seat auditorium - over 2,500 of which were empty. During the hour-long dinner break, I exchanged Tri Five suspension notes with Phil Lesh, who was putting a '57 Chevy together at the time. Full circle. And that was the last I saw of the...

Epilogue: For years, I carried a heavy regret for abandoning my real family and my education in a state of self-will-run-riot. Thankfully, amends were eventually made and a reconnect occurred with the family. We're closer than ever today, which isn't saying much for us, but is an absolute miracle, all things considered. A GED was also eventually procured at a local junior college. I have no regrets today, realizing that the path led me to where I needed to be, and valuable lessons were learned along the way.

                                                                                 *

WEEKEND UPDATE:

Previously on this blog, Todd Miller received the SGE bump with a mention of his Drag Race Central feature by Bob Frey. The Bump did its magic: Days later, Todd set a new NHRA Comp Eliminator National Record of 6.27 at 224 MPH in his Bill Comstock chassied Altered, blowing away the old record of 6.34 and 217 MPH. Way to GO, Todd!

Todd Miller, on the clock. He's a genuine northwest tree cutter. Having Bill Comstock's Acme Garage on his side doesn't hurt, either. (Drag Race Central photo)

Another steed from Comstock's stable that's been mentioned here is Dave Hix' new injected nitro Fiat. I stopped by Mark Daley's annual Thunder Struck car and bike gathering across the street from the SGE complex last weekend to find the Fiat parked at curbside. It's very close to being finished and Dave hopes to begin testing this fall. Expect a full feature, once that happens.

Hix and crew have been thrashing like rabid dogs and the car is looking good. Six second times at 200 MPH are the carrot on their stick. Heavy shoe Ronnie Mankins ran out to put some quarters in the meter and tidied up the chute lines while he was at it. Watch this space for more on this summer's most anticipated contender. Todd Miller will have some competition now.

Old pal Chili Pepper George Carlson blasted his Hemi T into town for the gathering. We've done some miles together... George invited me to ride along to Pleasanton this weekend, but I have to work. Doh!

My ex-neighbor Randy Grubb showed with his latest creation of whimsy. Randy's inspiration is so contagious... I love/hate him for that. Great guy though.

Our local track (Champion Raceway) is raffling off this '33 Willys street rod to raise funds. Great idea for a great cause. I couldn't afford the taxes if I won it though. I passed, so YOU'd have a chance. You're welcome. (Photos by Scotty Gosson)

Following my too-brief visit to the Thunder Struck street party, I hightailed it to Dr. Lockjaw's House of Tetanus (AKA Custom Metal) to form the sure-to-be-controversial rear crossmember for my Model A frame. This was another pinched-off visit (busy day), but we got the work table cleared and the tubing bender set up, then Doc shared a trick or two with me to strengthen my bending technique. Thanks Doc! I needed that.

This is a crossmember?! You'll see... One of Doc's favorite tricks is to get me laughing at the exact instant of the most critical moment of a procedure. But I showed him this time - the final product was a perfect fit. And I got a stimulating cardio-vascular workout in the process that some people would pay hundreds of dollars for. Meanwhile, across the valley, Bill Comstock sat on a stool and programmed his CNC bender to produce a perfect-first-fit 14-point rollcage for a customer, while he ate a sandwich and watched the drags on TV. Both methods work. (Photos by Dr. Lockjaw [top] and Scotty Gosson [bottom])


Motormouth Ray submitted some pix of Friday night's action at the Bellmore train station in Long Island, New York. Long Island has a rich street/drag race history that's still reflected in recent builds, even though they haven't had an operational track in many years. God bless the believers and rememberers!

The Caprice "SS" wagon invoked memories of my old Bi-Polar Bear. Ray dug it, too: "This wagon is a cruiser after my own heart. Lean and clean, but with the added surprise of a center console and floor shifter installed. Sweet! My wife even commented on the clean engine." Note exposed Edelbrock EFI programmer on dash. Must be a nice driver. Road trip!

Let me just say this about the Gas Chamber '55 and other cars of its ilk: Congrats, if your car was a true record holder! If not, I would encourage people to throw eggs at this car. This fad is an ignorant insult to everyone who's busted their ass to get a real record (most of whom would never ever brag about it via lettering). There's a lot to like on this shoebox (maybe too much), but the lettering spells pretentious to me. Ray's take: "The Gas Chamber has been on the scene for a few years now, and I always look at it again. The stance, patina, and overall execution are killer. Every gasser needs a strong mill, with the mandatory white fenderwell headers. I've decided that if I ever get around to building my '55 Nomad, I'm gonna go with the straight front axle and BBC I have stashed under my workbench. I also have Muncie and T-10 4-speeds laying around, for shifty shift man duties..."

"While my wife and I were walking into town for a slice and a Coke, we stumbled on this gem of tetanus-inducing ferrous oxide. I thought Scotty might like it as an apartment or crash pad. Besides, you have open air sleeping available, as well as indoor cover. Curbside camping at its finest! What more could a car guy want, or need (besides a tetanus shot, that is)? I'm off to another cruise night on Monday, so there's always more to come." Thanks Ray! The VW double cab could be my new dream home, depending on the rent. Does it have cable, internet and A/C? (Photos by Ray Guarino)


                                                                                    *

THE WEEK IN INK

It's baffling to me, but my CarTech books are still selling well. If you want a first edition of this old rag, you'd better panic. It even inspired a cigar aficionado magazine to have me do a mini-version for their online magazine. I dig their concept of a large image per page with a sentence or two of text - like a children's book, only smellier.

It goes on and on, but you get the idea. This concept, in turn, has inspired me to begin on the next Gosson Bros. Racing Library project. We already have three more GBRL books waiting to print, so there's plenty of time to explore the graphic limits of this one. The subject matter and layout won't be anything like this, but the hook is set. I'm stoked. Could this one be my masterpiece? I've never been so inspired... (Images courtesy of Smoke Shop)


This week on Scotty's Bookshelf, variety is the spice. Just as with shifting musical tastes, today's reading preferences deem eclectic to be the new mainstream. Personally, I celebrate this healthy sign of (dare I say it?) evolution, that drives marketing executives to drink. More.

Please pardon the blur. I hadn't had my coffee yet when I shot this. A lot of ink was jettisoned when I moved downtown this spring. The surviving books stretch the links between Coonce and Felsen, Wolfe and Bryant. (Mostly) vintage magazines balance the bulk of the pared-down collection.

Don't have time for that much reading? You're in luck: Everything you'd ever want in non-fiction escapism is included in Scotty Gosson's Hot Rod EZ Reader Series Kit. Difficulty rating: 5


This weeks picks: *****, ***** (Five asterisks, each)

   Two thumbs up! Robert C. Post's High Performance is a true masterwork, covering drag racing minutiae obscure and legendary, from the first horse race to New Millennium 10,000 horsepower Top Fuelers requiring Racepak computers to track the wild horses. The focus is on the dragsters of 1950 to 2000, but every drag race niche is beautifully covered in exquisite detail. I've had my copy for less than three years, but it's already been taped back together multiple times - the hardest working tool ever in my box. My go-to reference manual.

What High Performance is to drag racing, David N. Lucsko's The Business of Speed is to the aftermarket industry that has supported hot rodding from day one. Detailed analysis of how and why business, engineering,  manufacturing, and marketing decisions were made are all exposed to Lucsko's harsh spotlight with a balanced and direct clarity. And the personalities behind the names are presented as well, giving readers rare insight into the baggage behind the decisions. 

Lucsko is a relative infant compared to the grizzled Post, but matches the veteran punch for punch, including that most important milepost (to me, anyway): Credibility. Both tomes instantly passed my personal Red Flag test and have repeatedly proven to be my most trustworthy sources of printed automotive information. Both books also provide comprehensive notes, indexes, and even essays on their sources. (Photos by Shaky Scotty Gosson)

                                                                                 *

                             Here's to youth. May it forever antagonize the curmudgeon in us all.