The Spirits of St. Louis

A few years ago, some dumb ass kid posted on the H.A.M.B. asking for advice about the most efficient path to automotive journalism fame and fortune. I giggled, snorted, and then replied – basically telling him that the Automotive journalism field was reserved for dirty whores, bums, and miscreants of the kind he would never want to work with. “Instead,” I said “you should go to the University of Missouri and become a real journalist.”

You can read the actual exchange here.

A couple of months ago, I finally heard back from the young man. Somewhat amazingly, he had taken my advice and enrolled at the University of Missouri where he is studying the actual art of journalism. Even so, he hadn’t let go of that dream to write for the “big magazines” some day. I tried like hell to talk him out of the ambition, but there was no swaying him. He’s just doomed.

And so long as he is determined to live a life of misery and indigence, I might as well use him while the using is good – right?

So… Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the debut of one Joey Ukrop.

Preface:
Like most complex cultures, the dynamics of the St. Louis hot rodding scene can’t be placed in laymen’s terms. Perhaps it’s the irrational weather or mainstream rodding publications’ years of neglect that have shaped this quirky region into the thriving body that it is today. Or maybe it’s just a no-coast mentality that has spread like a blower casing at the top end, scattering this traditional mindset around that gigantic, stainless Arch.

Because condensing this cast of Anheuser-Busch-fueled characters into one story would be doing you a great disservice, I felt the need to focus on each one in individual installments.

Location No. 1: Fossil Fueled Florissant
Paul Stroker is the genuine article. His belongings are either praised for their functionality or subjected to extensive modification. From the piecrust M-H Racemaster coffee table to his mortar shell-infused hanging outlets, his childhood residence in the suburbs of Florissant, Mo. looks as if it could have been penned by Pete Millar. But it’s not simply the plywood shelves sagging from the weight of iconic speed parts or the overpowered welder that earned him this status. That couldn’t be farther from the truth.
 

I first met Paul as I was milling about The Creative Customs Chop Shop XXX-mas party in early December 2011. As soon as he mentioned strategically inserting eight bottle rockets into the weed burners on his Model A, I was intrigued and began asking questions. Rather than explaining every nut and bolt of his machine, he unlatched the door and offered me a ride. After a dozen minutes of devouring the wet roads of North St. Louis on rock-hard vulcanized slicks, I was captivated by the essence of this high-riding coupe.

Over the course of eight years, Paul has transformed the A from a spindly stocker into a tire churning altered.

“[My dad] and I found it as an unrestored original car about two miles from my house in a garage when I was ten,�? Paul says. After returning from Iraq as a 20-year-old, he bought the coupe from his dad.

The A quickly moved along the age-old hot rod path, stylistically progressing 15 years in less than a decade.

“It was an evolution of sorts,�? Paul says. “From primered, SBC, steelies and blackwalls to shiny paint, whitewalls and slicks with spiders.�?

When the little coupe scattered the smallblock, Paul decided it was time to make the transformation into a mid-to-late ‘60s altered for the street. Drawing inspiration from Al Noton’s Jack Shaw Chevrolet backed C/Altered Model A, the coupe received an altitude adjustment courtesy of an undropped I-beam front axle and hairpin radius rods.

With its raised stance, metallic blue paint and straight-piped Rat motor, onlookers assume that this is the final iteration of the Deuce-shelled A. But those who know Paul are aware that remaining stationary is not in the cards. A 10-inch stacked Hilborn injection and fuel pump wait patiently on the top shelf, ready to be bolted on as he attempts to juggle street manners with sub-11 second quarter mile passes.

“It’s not the safest thing, but it’s one of those things that I’ve been doing it for four years now and I’ve never had any issues,�? Paul says. “But I haven’t driven it in the snow yet.�?

As the coupe’s streetability steadily diminishes, Paul has begun working on his new daily driver: a fiberglass ’27 T roadster featuring a Deuce shell and a full hood concealing a ubiquitous smallblock.

“The plan with it is going to be a late 40’s lakes car with ’35 wires, bias-ply blackwalls and everything pretty much built by me,�? Paul says. “I just want to make a quick, quiet driver that’s reliable that I can break down in the middle of nowhere and not have to hunt for parts.�?

Although the primary pieces of the car are fairly contemporary, building process will remain traditional.

“I’m just trying to do it with basic hand tools like anybody would back in the days of yesteryear, back in the late ‘40s and early ‘50s,�? Paul says. “If Pete & Jakes sells a bracket, I can look at it and copy it and come up with it.�?

Contrary to magazine coverage over the past half-century, red-blooded hot rodders like Paul have been a St. Louis mainstay since the beginning.

“The coasts take it all, but hot rodding has been around the Midwest forever,�? Paul says. “I’ve heard about guys racing in the apple orchards over by the river back in the early ‘30s just like you heard about in California. It was happening here, but just wasn’t as popular.�?

But for Paul, it’s not about the popularity. It’s about building a car on your oil-stained garage floor and scrutinizing over every detail until it resembles a grainy two-page feature torn from the musty pages of a decaying Peterson publication. It’s about persevering until the neighbors are roused in the early hours by a menacing straight-piped staccato. And that, my friends, is what makes him the genuine article.

– Joey Ukrop