History READING: An Old LOW DOWN I Just Came Across....BECOMING a Hot Rodder...When?

Most of you know that I do a monthly Editor's piece in the Gazette called Low Down. I was just digging around for another file on my computer here at work and came across this old Low Down. It was one of my very early ones, but I still like it so I thought I'd share.

Share your "transformation" story!



Low Down
Jan. 2005

The Transformation

Have you ever thought about that one moment in time when you went from just a regular citizen to a hot rodder? Can you nail it down? Was it an event? A place? A song? Maybe it was string of circumstances or a certain person’s influence that was responsible for your “transformation.” I’ve always pretty much known the night that my mine occurred, but it became crystal clear during a recent trip to my childhood home in Redmond, Washington.

My wife and I spent the weekend in Seattle doing all the touristy things: the Science Center, Space Needle, the Aquarium, Ye Old Curiosity Shop etc. But before we went home, I wanted to see the neighborhood where I’d lived from second through fourth grade. I hadn’t been there since my family moved to Southern California and I wanted to make sure it was a real place and not imagined. After following the directions from the hotel to my grade school, we stopped to look around. I was surprised at how little the campus, now sponsored by Micro-Soft, had changed. It was just how I remembered, only smaller. We got back in the car and drove along the walking route that I’d followed everyday after school to my old house. I wasn’t sure if I was going the right way until I turned that last corner and looked up the hill into the culdesac. Twenty-six years vanished in an instant. I was nine again. I heard my friends voices and saw them waving to me as I drove by. Seeing my school had brought back memories, but this was different. It was the sight of my old stomping ground, coupled with the smell of the newly fallen leaves, the previous day’s rain and the smoking chimneys that transported me directly back to my childhood. I mean, I was there. Even though the colors of the houses had changed and the mountain of a street that we rode our bicycles down now seemed like a molehill, I was there; back in time. Hundreds of memories seemed to swirl around, all fighting to be seen and heard. I saw my friends and I playing Army in the woods behind the houses. I saw myself stealing one of my Dad’s half smoked cigarettes, then nearly choking to death when I lit it, trying to be cool (I think that’s what kept me from being a smoker). I saw the Fourth Of July block parties, with piles of fireworks waiting to be brought to life, then flashed straight to the end of the evening with the last few of us diehard kids searching the street for one last sparkler to light up the night.

I showed my wife my old house and pointed out my bedroom window. I named off the other kids houses like it was a classroom role call. That’s where Mark Meyeski lived; he was the kid on the street with a pool. There’s Troy and Benjamin’s house; their parents hated me. Chris and Kim Carlisle’s house; we accidentally broke their window playing football, inside. There’s the house that the mean old lady lived in who always chased us out of her yard. I went on and on. She acted interested.

Then came the biggest rush of all, my very best friend Beth Sundquist’s house. She was a freckle-faced tomboy who was always the first kid picked when we played any game or sport in the neighborhood, even before the boys. She was pretty much considered one of the guys since she could easily keep up with us or better. I think that was easier than admitting that a girl could beat us. I spent nearly all my playtime with her and didn’t notice until a couple years later that there was a difference between us male/female wise. I stopped in front of her house. It was the least changed. The memories raced even faster, blurring and spinning. Then one emerged and outshined all the others. This is the place where I was “transformed.” My addiction started in that house. Up there, on the second floor, through that window, I became a hot rodder.

It was a Friday night not unlike any other that Beth and I had slept over at one of our houses, except for what was on TV that night. From the title, neither of us had a clue what it would be about, but it sounded kind of dangerous; American Graffiti. Was it about gangs? Living in the suburbs we’d never really seen a gang, so we had to check it out. We begged to be able to watch from the coveted spot that was her parent’s waterbed. The movie started and we were glued to the TV as her mom brought us Jiffy-Pop and sodas. After about ten minutes we had forgotten all about our initial impression of the show’s content and were mesmerized by the cars, the music and the term “bitchin’.” This was right in the middle of the Happy Days years on TV. We’d seen Happy Days tons of times with only mild interest. I mean, come on, Fonzie’s level of cool was far below John Milner’s. The TV version of the past had nowhere near the impact on us that American Graffiti did. We wanted to be there. We wanted to drive those cars. We were fanatical about it. We even recited lines from the movie while waiting through the commercials. We both wanted to be Milner and be in the Pharaohs. When it was over we went directly to her room and took out paper and pens and started drawing our dream cars. We had piles of them by the time her mom came in to quiet us down, tell us to stop saying “bitchin’” and to go to sleep. I’d always noticed old cars, but I dreamed about hot rods and customs from that night on. It seemed like I saw them everywhere. I know now, of course, that the imagery had always been around, but it seemed like a whole new world had opened up.

Hot rod and custom images appeared all over the place. If they were in a magazine or newspaper I cut them out. If they were on TV, I watched. I drew cars at school, at home and on restaurant placemats with broken crayons. I had acquired a life-long addiction to hot rods and customs and they still get me high today.

Over the years my Dad took me to various hot rod and lowrider shows. It was one of the few things we had in common, or so I thought. Our real connection had always been, and continues to be, horror movies. We both loved them and were fanatical about fright flicks from when I was in preschool on into adulthood. I found out years later that my Dad wasn’t really all that interested in old cars. He just took me to see them because I liked them. That’s pretty cool, especially considering how quiet and seemingly uninterested my Dad was when I was young.

This obsession reached new heights when I was not quite sixteen. I bought my first car. My Dad co-signed for a loan and I was soon driving a shiny black 1964 Ford Galaxie 500XL convertible around Huntington Beach, CA. I went to a “rich kid” high school, but I wasn’t one of them (my dad was in the military). They all had new BMWs or whatever their parents had bought for them when they turned sixteen. I was proud of my Galaxie. I’d paid for it with my own money, it held more of my friends than their cars did and it was just plain cool.

The next step was the less-than-legal Friday night drag races that I started participating in after I sold the Galaxie and picked up my 1969 Firebird. I hung around the local speed shop and asked the guys there if they could help me soup up my car. Winning money on Friday nights meant I had more to spend that next week in their store.

I started to run with a car-savvy crowd from another high school in the area. I even ditched my classes to take my car to the auto shop at their school. Those years were filled with cruising nearly every Friday and Saturday night. Everything we did revolved around cars (and girls of course). The obsession was continually growing. The list of hot rods and customs goes on in a blur from there, right through to today. Like most of you, I have it bad, but you won’t find me at Hot Rodders Anonymous. I cultivate and feed my addiction.

So in retrospect, it wasn’t just a moment that changed me. It was a night of TV with my best friend that started it, a father who took the time to indulge me, and being lucky enough to live in an area with a strong car culture when I reached driving age. It may not sound all that special, but it molded me into who I am today and is the reason you’re reading these words.

So, did you figure out that moment or series of events that did it for you? More importantly, can you think of someone to pass along your hot rod addiction to? Is there someone who you can help “transform”?

 

way cool Kirk !!! I really enjoyed that

 

...that was killer! i do have to compliment how Fonzie came around later in your life (to our amusement) as well.

 

My "transformation" occured at age 2:


1963 (Fremont, California): Me "driving" the coupe.

 

I have to admit that I sat in your dad's car a few years ago when it was in the warehouse here and it would definitely "transform" someone.

 

I played at the sandbox as a toddler at the dragstrip. Dad had me sitting in a running sprintcar at 3 and at 4 they took me to American Graffitti. I wasn't transformed as much as I was screwed from the start!

Very good read Kirk, thanks!

 

Yep ... sitting in my Dad's car has "transformed" many a car guy ... especially TALL car guys ...

(the late) Art Branum "sitting" in the Coupe​

 

so what you are saying is you watched American Graffiti one night and it changed your life. Good thing "Tootsie" did not come on TV that night or there is no telling where you would be now.

 

Um, no, but that would be awesome!

I think things are different when you're 7.

 

What's wrong with Tootsie?

 

1964, The gas company was laying a large gas pipe behind the houses across the street. I went and watched them as they were marking the area were they were going to dig. Right in the middle of their marks was an old shed. The owner came out as I was looking in the shed. He said that I could take a couple of boxes as he was going to let them tear it down. One box contained Car Craft (small size) mags from the mid 50's. The other box contained about 10 different carburetors. I was hooked. About 3 months later I redid my first carb, a Harley that had a stumble. Later, my 63 Comet ran three glass bowl Holleys.

 

Awesome read Kirk, I grew up in the same era. Some of my earliest memories are early to mid 70's Street Rodder magazines with Robert Peterson's '32 in the corner. My dad always told me, "One day we're going to build a car just like that!"

My dad has always been passionate about hot rods, never cared much for customs. Born in '43 he was the Southern California hot rod generation that so many of us wish we could have been!

He finally ended up with his '32 roadster a few years ago. Sadly, we found out he has cancer and he's been too sick to even THINK about hot rodding these past few months.

So my introduction to hot rodding wasn't necessarily one event, but the same event happening every single month from my earliest days!

 

Great read, Kirk. AG did it for me too. I grew up on an Army base and was always checking outthe late 60's muscle cars that some of the G.I.'s drove. Then, my dad took my brother and I to see AG at a movie theatre in town. Haven't looked back. Read every car magazine that dealt with hot rods.

Thanks again.

 

For me, it was 1958 or 59 when AMT came out with their first '32 Ford "3 in 1" Deuce kit. From that time on I was building the 'small ones,' and dreaming of the 'big ones.' Of course along with that came car mags, helping with the neighborhood older guys hot rods and finally my own. As far as passing on the tradition, my neighbor's grandson has spent all his free time in my shop since he was about 12, getting an 'education' on the 'oldies' and he's pretty much hooked on hot rods made decades before he was born. He came 'that close' to scoring a one-owner '55 Chev 2 dr Post as his first car about a week ago so I know he's on the right track. Very cool 'read' Kirk; I grew up in Seattle and moved to NorCal when I was about 14.

 

Great story Kirk, and chock up another one for American Graffiti. As well as a long list of circumstances/events, to include... Hanging out with my dad at the body shop where he worked on Saturdays, (and sometimes Fridays when I would sneak and watch the pinstriper), playing in the neighbors racecar on Sunday morning before everyone got up (since the neighbor and my parents had gone racing the night before), the first BIG broadslide in my go-kart at 13, and that same year hanging out & cruising with my dad and Tommy Hiser during a giant Merced Hot Rod meet in Tommy's Yellow 40 coupe (the channeled one from Hollywood Knights)....just to name a few....good times

edit: oh and the most important one, that just goes to show the transformation may never truly be done, realizing after being married to my wife for 15 years that all that hubbub regarding that "roadster" was more than just legend, and starting a build to tribute it, that I shouldve started 10 years ago....

 

About 3 years old...

 

Great story, KIRK!
I felt like I was there with you.
I also have those fond, fond memories of the little details....the leaves, the fireplaces, the kids in the neighborhood...playing Army...

But here's my problem:
Being born in 1950, therefore being 60 now, I was trying to recall any of my long ago "car episodes" so I could answer your question, but then I realized that I couldn't remember a time when I wasn't a hot rodder.
My dad was hauling me to jalopy races when I was a toddler...so, even though I have a memory like a steel-trap of my youth, I just can not remember not being a car guy....therefore there was never a "moment".
It just came along with my birth certificate....
My American Flyer train set that I got when I was 4 even had a little metal car with it that I had removed the fenders from.

that's me, waddling around on the driveway along with my sister and dad......probably making "varoom" noises....



and when I was 6, my grandpa made this for Christmas...the lighnening bolts were my idea...gotta look cool, ya know....

 

Born January 1958, started driving in Sept. 1958. Built my first hot rod in 1963. The red car in the previous post was pro built. The 1963 car I built when I was 5 years old was more "traditional".

 

HAHAHA.... my wife just reminded me a story that my mother told her about when I was a baby still in a car seat...(with a steering wheel attached) and some guy TOOK off from the stop sign in front of us and I said "look at that son of a bitch go".....cant imagine where I got that from. Hand to God truth.

 

Good stuff Kirk. Do you still keep in touch with your friend Beth?

 

very cool kirk. i enjoyed that

 

I searched for her online for a few years and found her a couple years ago. I visited her when I went up to the Goodguys Puyallup event. Went to dinner and drinks with her and her girlfriend and talked about old times. I even named my daughter (middle name) after her.

 

I see the tomboy never left. Sounds like you had fun catching up!

 

Yep. Even though she was my first kiss, we both always knew she was gay. Maybe that's why I've never had a problem with anyone gay.

 

Explains a lot about the Snuggler in you

For the record, I drive through my old stomping grounds quite often, the same type of memories as you. Only my Beth rode dirtbikes with me in Jr High and is a scientist now.

 

Mine is an engineer at Boeing. Actually, that's how I found her. She has several aeronautic patents and that's where her name popped up in searches.

 

Cool story. Really.

Mine was at eight years old riding in my uncle's Austin Healey 100 outside of Stillwater, OK. He just got it running as part of a restoration. No paint, no mufflers, no passenger seat and no windshield. We probably we only doing about 70, but I thought it was 100. I literally couldn't breathe.

I loved it.

My Mom got so pissed at him for taking me out in it.

I loved it more.

 

Great read, thanks for digging it out archives. As for when I was "transformed" I'd have to go with when I came home from the hospital in a '34 Ford Tudor. The automotive bug has been in my blood since birth.

 

For me stock cars came first.....
I was either 4 or had just turned 5. It was the summer before I started kindergarten. My Mom suggested the family go to the stock car races at Sugar Island Park. I apparently didn't show much if any emotion at the races, but I sure liked them! I still have memories of the warm Friday night in 1964! They ran two classes, Late Models and Old Models. There were still coupes racing in the Old Model class. The first thing I said the next morning was "are we going to the races tonight?" This is my 48th season around the sport. I've crewed on a multi-championship team, built a stock car from the ground up when I was a teenager, and raced for a couple years in my late 20's until I ran out of money. For many years I figured I'd get back in a car some day. At nearly 52 I no longer dream of racing again but I still love to watch. It's been pointed out by those that know me well that my calling is to promote. Until then I'm content to be a fan, and the hair on my arms still stands up when someone's flat footing it on the high side.
When I was 6 Dad had a 312 put in his 59 Ford wagon. The old 292 sat out behind the shed. I remember getting my Dad's tools and taking the 4 barrel apart, then I pulled the valve covers. I thought sure I'd get in trouble but Dad just laughed when he found out.
My brother is 10 years older than me. He had some cool cars when I was a kid. My parents old 53 Ford, a couple of 57 Chevies, 53 Olds, and a new 67 Mustang. I remember Mom being very unhappy when my brother brought is intake with two 4 barrels bolted to it in the house. He put it on his desk and gave me strict orders not to touch it. Yeah right!
We lived on a dead end street and my buddies and I would ride our bikes down to the busy cross road and watch cars. We always had a comment about every car that went by. Sometimes the guys with the hot cars would light the tires up for us.
By the time I was in high school I had been around cars and racing for a long time, but hadn't really been around hot rods. I always liked reading about them in the magazines though. Even thought about building one sometime but really didn't have a preference. Then in I think my sophomore year in the December 74 issue of Hot Rod Magazine I saw the car that did it for me. It was a flamed black 40 Ford coupe. I've had some old cars but I haven't built a hot rod....yet. It's getting higher on my to do list. I have a 56 F100 will be my first build then a 40 coupe will follow.

 

Thanks guys!