40StudeDude
12-30-2005, 07:36 PM
(See the end of this story for more info on that title!)
SIXES ARE K-I-L-L-E-R!
Six cylinders. In-lines. I like sixes. Always have. Had my share of ‘em, too. Had two in High School. One in my ’50 bullet-nosed Starliner Studebaker Coop (I’ve always been ahead of the automobile popularity curve--shameless self-promotion there!)…it ran OK…for a flathead…3-speed behind it and overdrive…but it was gutless…I didn’t know that. I got the Stude after I wrecked my Dad’s ’49 Merc for the second time. Dad put up the money for the Stude, guess he figured I couldn’t kill myself with a six. Took a year to pay him back for a car I didn’t want. He was right, tho, didn’t kill myself either.
The second six was in a ’57 Chevy, a 150 two door…I finally convinced Dad it was time to step up to REAL CAR…and I’d just finished my junior year of HS, June, 1960. I had the money for a trade---worked in a bakery uptown, after school and all day Saturday…I took home $37.50 a week…man, was I wealthy? I COULD have a REAL CAR…a newer REAL car. Dad finally agreed and we found this nice little ’57 with new metallic green paint. It had belonged to the Bell Telephone Company…a company car, and repainted after it had been traded in. It was only three years old…still a new car. Had a lot of miles, but I didn’t care. Dad would never pay the asking price…took us all afternoon in the dealer’s office but he finally broke them. He shook hands on the price…cost me the Stude AND $775.00. Now I was broke. When I moved to Denver, I had four six cylinder’s…3 in different ’57 Chevies and one in a ’64 Chevy. Used to drive 12 miles (one way) to work in a ’57 150 tudor with whitewalled racing slicks on in the dead of winter…never had a problem getting around. Just in case you’re wondering, I owned over THIRTY ’57 Chevies at one time!!!
So I got my new car and I drove home in my very own bitchin’ two-door H-O-T 1957 Chevy…Back then, a four-door anything was Mom & Dad’s car. No one, NO ONE, that was even close to cool drove a four-door! If you did, several things were obvious: 1). It WAS Mom & Dad’s car. 2). Mom & Dad wouldn’t let you buy a car or co-sign for one. 3). They didn’t want you to have a car of your own. 4). They didn’t want to make YOUR car payments AND insurance payments every month becuz they knew you wouldn’t make them. 5.) THE BIGGIE: your grades weren’t that good AND…#6). Your grades would definitely go in the dumper if you got your own car!
None of those ‘excuses’ worked on me. 1). My grades were never that good, the car didn’t make much difference. 2.) Dad got tired of me whining about my (his purchase) no-class ’50 Stude. 3.) I did have a good job, I could make the insurance payment and still have enuff for gas, beer and girls. Dad never ever worried about me paying…for my stuff…didn’t have to. His word was LAW….if he said “make the insurance payment today”, you can bet it got made in the next ten seconds.
My ’57 was green…I’m not a green loving person, never have. I tolerate it. But, my ’50 Stude was green—pastel. My ’64 Impala hardtop was green…and I repainted it Pontiac Verdoro Green and lettered “Gangrene” on the side of it. My ‘70 Camaro was lime green. My ‘72 Olds was dark green. The ’36 Ford two door my father-in-law gave me was green…hmmmm, seems to be pattern here…even the ’40 Stude I drive today is Cadillac Firemist Lime Green (but, with turquoise scallops) and my radical chopped ’57 Chevy is pastel green! Wonder why? Still haven’t been able to properly explain that.
The six engine in my ’57 was painted green…John Deere green! Dad figured that was close enuff to the medium metallic green on the car so that’s what it got when we overhauled it. No one argued with Dad. Behind the six was a 3-speed on the column. I could shift that faster than the new Hurst shifters just out and had to prove it more than once. Found a Corvette six factory split header for it and hung dual glasspaks (with dump tubes)…I could rattle more than a few store-front windows uptown and got more than my share of tickets becuz of them…think I got Dave’s share…and Bob’s too. Had the head milled a bit (Dad didn’t know that!) when the engine was being machined and figured out how to add a two-barrel carb for more go.
I ‘earned’ a reputation around town/county as having the fastest ’57 Chev. But you know how reputations and rumors are…blown way outta proportion…the six cylinder part never got added into the rumor: …‘the fastest six around.’ Took on all comers, tho. Put away 283”ers, 348”ers, Ford Y-blox, Mopars, Buick nail-heads and a quite a few of “Daddy’s” Caddy’s (made a lot of money that way!). Couldn’t stay ahead of Olds J-2’s, the new 409’s or Corvettes. Lessons learned in life: Quicker is ALWAYS better than faster. All I had to do was beat ‘em to the painted-on quarter mile mark out on Highway 59 south of town…and that wasn’t hard to do. My ’57 launched hard, with nary a tire squeal, but always barked when I hit second…that impressed the bystanders…and with the 4:11 rear-end, I was already halfway down the quarter by the time them V8’s quit fryin’ Plycrons. Then had to really flog it to catch me…many times missed shifts spelled defeat…or the car would bog in second or third from their gas-pedal-to-the-floor speedshiftin’. Talk about embarrassed? I’d beaten them fair and square…but sometimes it took twice before they learned that my six was quicker (not faster, just quicker) than their V8. I’d bet they never owned up to anyone about that either: a six beating a V8. Embarrassing! Some guys were sore losers tho. They wanted to beat me, any way they could. Took two black eyes and broken teeth (three separate fights) to realize the only fair fight was on Gunsmoke. After that (hey, I was slow learner!) I never got beat either way.
Never let anyone tell you the sixties were as peaceful and fun-loving as the fifties, it seemed like there was always someone calling you out. Guess that was being macho back then. Seems that’s all most guys wanted to do on a Friday or Saturday nite—go to the sock-hop, drink and fight, see how many teeth you could punch out or how many noses you could bloody, then brag about how fast your car was and go drag someone. Sometimes it was the other way ‘round, drink on the way to a drag, then beat up the winner. You’d thot I’d have quit drag racing back then and kept all my teeth. Naw. When you’re seventeen and indestructible and got a quick car, you don’t remember much about the bad times…only the good times…and that was racing and BEATING those big V8’s with an unfailingly quick SIX!
Copyright 11-08-02 Aden Rush/R. A. Jetter Posted on The Jalopy Journal 11-08-2002
OK HAMBers…that’s it for the Friday Nite Read, Two!
Now get ready for a NEW and IMPROVED version of the Friday Nite Read...entitled The Friday Nite Serial…coming your way on the first Friday of 2006!!!
Suffice to say it'll be rip-roaring, high speed lunacy and a who-dunnit as well…follow along in each Friday nite episode…see if you can figure out the culprits….and now a few words from your sponsor:
“Bangin’ Gears & Bustin’ Heads”…the book, by R.A. Jetter describes a 16 year-old’s life in the late fifties up to the mid 1960’s…and what it was like to get into illegal drag races and fist-fights…it’s a series of 26 episodes, with each episode described in how and why, between each story. Vintage B & W photos are included-- a total of 208 pages. See below to order.
High speed car stories set in the 1960’s.
Wanna know how it really went down back then? Wanna know what new ‘61 409’s, ’62 406 Fords ran like off the showroom floor? Wanna read about drag races, sock hops, real cruising and Premium gasoline? Wanna know how most of us spent our weekends back then? Wanna ride along with a lunatic?
If you do…this book will, at least, educate you to how it really was in the Midwest!
A personal, autographed copy is available at www.RAJetter.com (http://www.rajetter.com/) …or send check/ M.O. for $20.95 to: P.O. Box 440042, Aurora, CO80044.
SIXES ARE K-I-L-L-E-R!
Six cylinders. In-lines. I like sixes. Always have. Had my share of ‘em, too. Had two in High School. One in my ’50 bullet-nosed Starliner Studebaker Coop (I’ve always been ahead of the automobile popularity curve--shameless self-promotion there!)…it ran OK…for a flathead…3-speed behind it and overdrive…but it was gutless…I didn’t know that. I got the Stude after I wrecked my Dad’s ’49 Merc for the second time. Dad put up the money for the Stude, guess he figured I couldn’t kill myself with a six. Took a year to pay him back for a car I didn’t want. He was right, tho, didn’t kill myself either.
The second six was in a ’57 Chevy, a 150 two door…I finally convinced Dad it was time to step up to REAL CAR…and I’d just finished my junior year of HS, June, 1960. I had the money for a trade---worked in a bakery uptown, after school and all day Saturday…I took home $37.50 a week…man, was I wealthy? I COULD have a REAL CAR…a newer REAL car. Dad finally agreed and we found this nice little ’57 with new metallic green paint. It had belonged to the Bell Telephone Company…a company car, and repainted after it had been traded in. It was only three years old…still a new car. Had a lot of miles, but I didn’t care. Dad would never pay the asking price…took us all afternoon in the dealer’s office but he finally broke them. He shook hands on the price…cost me the Stude AND $775.00. Now I was broke. When I moved to Denver, I had four six cylinder’s…3 in different ’57 Chevies and one in a ’64 Chevy. Used to drive 12 miles (one way) to work in a ’57 150 tudor with whitewalled racing slicks on in the dead of winter…never had a problem getting around. Just in case you’re wondering, I owned over THIRTY ’57 Chevies at one time!!!
So I got my new car and I drove home in my very own bitchin’ two-door H-O-T 1957 Chevy…Back then, a four-door anything was Mom & Dad’s car. No one, NO ONE, that was even close to cool drove a four-door! If you did, several things were obvious: 1). It WAS Mom & Dad’s car. 2). Mom & Dad wouldn’t let you buy a car or co-sign for one. 3). They didn’t want you to have a car of your own. 4). They didn’t want to make YOUR car payments AND insurance payments every month becuz they knew you wouldn’t make them. 5.) THE BIGGIE: your grades weren’t that good AND…#6). Your grades would definitely go in the dumper if you got your own car!
None of those ‘excuses’ worked on me. 1). My grades were never that good, the car didn’t make much difference. 2.) Dad got tired of me whining about my (his purchase) no-class ’50 Stude. 3.) I did have a good job, I could make the insurance payment and still have enuff for gas, beer and girls. Dad never ever worried about me paying…for my stuff…didn’t have to. His word was LAW….if he said “make the insurance payment today”, you can bet it got made in the next ten seconds.
My ’57 was green…I’m not a green loving person, never have. I tolerate it. But, my ’50 Stude was green—pastel. My ’64 Impala hardtop was green…and I repainted it Pontiac Verdoro Green and lettered “Gangrene” on the side of it. My ‘70 Camaro was lime green. My ‘72 Olds was dark green. The ’36 Ford two door my father-in-law gave me was green…hmmmm, seems to be pattern here…even the ’40 Stude I drive today is Cadillac Firemist Lime Green (but, with turquoise scallops) and my radical chopped ’57 Chevy is pastel green! Wonder why? Still haven’t been able to properly explain that.
The six engine in my ’57 was painted green…John Deere green! Dad figured that was close enuff to the medium metallic green on the car so that’s what it got when we overhauled it. No one argued with Dad. Behind the six was a 3-speed on the column. I could shift that faster than the new Hurst shifters just out and had to prove it more than once. Found a Corvette six factory split header for it and hung dual glasspaks (with dump tubes)…I could rattle more than a few store-front windows uptown and got more than my share of tickets becuz of them…think I got Dave’s share…and Bob’s too. Had the head milled a bit (Dad didn’t know that!) when the engine was being machined and figured out how to add a two-barrel carb for more go.
I ‘earned’ a reputation around town/county as having the fastest ’57 Chev. But you know how reputations and rumors are…blown way outta proportion…the six cylinder part never got added into the rumor: …‘the fastest six around.’ Took on all comers, tho. Put away 283”ers, 348”ers, Ford Y-blox, Mopars, Buick nail-heads and a quite a few of “Daddy’s” Caddy’s (made a lot of money that way!). Couldn’t stay ahead of Olds J-2’s, the new 409’s or Corvettes. Lessons learned in life: Quicker is ALWAYS better than faster. All I had to do was beat ‘em to the painted-on quarter mile mark out on Highway 59 south of town…and that wasn’t hard to do. My ’57 launched hard, with nary a tire squeal, but always barked when I hit second…that impressed the bystanders…and with the 4:11 rear-end, I was already halfway down the quarter by the time them V8’s quit fryin’ Plycrons. Then had to really flog it to catch me…many times missed shifts spelled defeat…or the car would bog in second or third from their gas-pedal-to-the-floor speedshiftin’. Talk about embarrassed? I’d beaten them fair and square…but sometimes it took twice before they learned that my six was quicker (not faster, just quicker) than their V8. I’d bet they never owned up to anyone about that either: a six beating a V8. Embarrassing! Some guys were sore losers tho. They wanted to beat me, any way they could. Took two black eyes and broken teeth (three separate fights) to realize the only fair fight was on Gunsmoke. After that (hey, I was slow learner!) I never got beat either way.
Never let anyone tell you the sixties were as peaceful and fun-loving as the fifties, it seemed like there was always someone calling you out. Guess that was being macho back then. Seems that’s all most guys wanted to do on a Friday or Saturday nite—go to the sock-hop, drink and fight, see how many teeth you could punch out or how many noses you could bloody, then brag about how fast your car was and go drag someone. Sometimes it was the other way ‘round, drink on the way to a drag, then beat up the winner. You’d thot I’d have quit drag racing back then and kept all my teeth. Naw. When you’re seventeen and indestructible and got a quick car, you don’t remember much about the bad times…only the good times…and that was racing and BEATING those big V8’s with an unfailingly quick SIX!
Copyright 11-08-02 Aden Rush/R. A. Jetter Posted on The Jalopy Journal 11-08-2002
OK HAMBers…that’s it for the Friday Nite Read, Two!
Now get ready for a NEW and IMPROVED version of the Friday Nite Read...entitled The Friday Nite Serial…coming your way on the first Friday of 2006!!!
Suffice to say it'll be rip-roaring, high speed lunacy and a who-dunnit as well…follow along in each Friday nite episode…see if you can figure out the culprits….and now a few words from your sponsor:
“Bangin’ Gears & Bustin’ Heads”…the book, by R.A. Jetter describes a 16 year-old’s life in the late fifties up to the mid 1960’s…and what it was like to get into illegal drag races and fist-fights…it’s a series of 26 episodes, with each episode described in how and why, between each story. Vintage B & W photos are included-- a total of 208 pages. See below to order.
High speed car stories set in the 1960’s.
Wanna know how it really went down back then? Wanna know what new ‘61 409’s, ’62 406 Fords ran like off the showroom floor? Wanna read about drag races, sock hops, real cruising and Premium gasoline? Wanna know how most of us spent our weekends back then? Wanna ride along with a lunatic?
If you do…this book will, at least, educate you to how it really was in the Midwest!
A personal, autographed copy is available at www.RAJetter.com (http://www.rajetter.com/) …or send check/ M.O. for $20.95 to: P.O. Box 440042, Aurora, CO80044.