Register now to get rid of these ads!

Folks Of Interest Great stories about one?

Discussion in 'The Hokey Ass Message Board' started by CTFuzz, Jun 15, 2014.

  1. The picture on the left is my dad and me , I was two years old. My dad was always working on his cars and bikes and I was along side of him every second of the way. He taught me alot but I remember mostly the stranger things.
    Dad changed the oil in his cars often. After draining all the oil he would replace the drain plug and fill the "dip" with kerosene, then start the motor and let it run until " just before the rods knock". Drain the kerosene and replace with oil. Sounds crazy but it must have worked because his cars never broke down that I can remember. I'm an old guy myself now and I still miss him.....................Happy fathers day. img001.jpg
  2. lewk
    Joined: Apr 8, 2011
    Posts: 763

    from Mt

    My Dad isn't a car guy but he always had an eye... I was very young, maybe 4, and we were coming out of a laundromat and he pointed and said "That's a special car." It was a black '57 Chevy street machine nosed up to the curb. This would have been around 1982. I was a right about headlight headlight height and that big chrome bumper/grille combo looked like it might eat me. I was hooked, right then.

    Later, he always indulged me, taking me too see cars I found in the classified ads when I was 13, driving down side streets and alleys so I could spot cool things next to garages. He always drove beaters so I would climb around on Camaros and Barracudas and old Cadillacs in the junkyard while he pulled whatever he needed out of a wreck to keep his van or Suburban going.

    Later, when I had my own cars, we would take runs we called "Cars and Guitars" where we'd choose a direction and I'd hit every junkyard in every small town looking for Chevy or VW treasure and he'd hit every pawn shop looking for old Fenders and tube amps.
    Last edited: Jun 15, 2014
  3. SanDiegoJoe
    Joined: Apr 18, 2004
    Posts: 3,519


    I don't have a good story.. but I consider myself lucky to be the dad to these two guys

    Posted using the Full Custom H.A.M.B. App!

    Attached Files:

  4. Conder
    Joined: Jan 16, 2005
    Posts: 982


    My Dad Steve Conder, is on the left, owner Denny King center and my Uncle Billy on the right. Cedar Creek Drag-O-Way (the "Dust Bowl), Louisville Ky @1968-9...Happy Father's Day!

    The Outlaw

    My Dad was the driver/tuner of a '55 Chevy drag car in 1968-'69. It was "hugger" orange, with brick primer spots all over it. Radiused wheelwells, 327, 4-speed. He could (and still can) drive the SHIT out of anything with a 4-speed. To me, it was the baddest freakshow hot rod on earth... They called it "The Outlaw."

    My father and this '55 were never on TV. Or in magazines. The only place anyone ever saw them together was either in our garage, or at a barely "legal" podunk dragstrip called "the dust bowl." We'd get up when it was still dark and hook The Outlaw to the back of a rickety old Dodge truck and head to the track. I used to stand up in the seat between my Dad and his buddies while they told dirty jokes and laughed their asses off.

    It was fantastic. I can smell that old Dodge and feel the seat springs pressing against the souls of my boots. I loved to look out the back window at the Outlaw as it silently hopped and bounced behind us. It's flimsy fiberglass front end with that open maw of a grill rippling with the bumps. BAD.

    The track was built in a farmer's cornfield out on Cedar Creek road. The pits were grass. As we rolled in you could see people popping the hubcaps off their cars so they could race 'em. ALL day. Kids everywhere, Moms pulling coolers and lawn chairs out... When I jumped down out of that junky ass truck with my Dad and his friends, I felt like a bad mother!@#$er.

    While we unhooked the racecar, Mom would show up in her Mustang coupe with my little brother in the front seat. She was a beautiful girl my Mom, with her pointy black "catwoman" glasses and flip flops. She liked to set up our stuff at the finish line right by the fence. Which was cool, because there was an evil ass dip at the end that sent the cars flying!

    I hung around the car as much as they'd let me. Handing 'em tools and trying to keep up. My old man always did the driving, so when it was time to go to the line he'd reach down with his shifter hand, scoop up some dirt and sift it through his fingers. I remember wondering why he was so MAD. Every time he ran that car, from the second he grabbed his helmet, he always looked PISSED.

    The sound was unreal. Open headers, no interior. One seat. He'd let me stand inside with him when he rolled to the staging area, one hand on the roll bar and one on the dash. SO-!@#$ING-LOUD. He’d reach over, pop the door and say, “Okay Timmy, time to go!” As I jumped down out of that thumping hot rod it felt like I was turning my back on a charging bull. The burn-outs were insane. It was always hot out so the windows were down. They'd chase me past the fence and from there, I could see that Chevy fill up with tiresmoke, my Dad nothing but a helmet floating inside.

    Sometimes I stood at the starting line, or, at the top end with Mom. I was too young to care that my Dad wasn't famous. Or even the fastest. I only new one thing... My Ol’ Man was cooler than BATMAN. In those moments, with my mother standing up and squinting down the track with us, we were the baddest. The coolest. Standing there at the dragstrip, eating our baloney sandwiches...

    The Outlaw came outta the hole like every other screaming small block chevy from the '60s. Deafening noise, body panels rippling with every shift, the whole car bucking and lunging forward. Here he'd come, foot flat on the floor, bangin' those gears with everything he had. We'd hang on the fence screaming "THAT'S MY DAD THAT'S MY DAD THAT'S MY DAAAD!!" as he exploded past us!

    Cooler than BATMAN? !@#$ yeah.

    SanDiegoJoe likes this.

  5. My story has absolutely nothing to do with hot rods or customs,,he used cars for transportation and work.

    My dad served our country and through divine intervention he was the sole survivor of his B-29 crew,he was a left blister gunner and all the rest of the crew perished..

    I like many of you had the best dad in the world,I miss him everyday! HRP
    Last edited: Jun 15, 2014
  6. Thanks for sharing guys....................
  7. williebill
    Joined: Mar 1, 2004
    Posts: 2,605


    My dad wasn't into cars, although he owned a Sinclair station for a few years in the 30s. He was on the survey team that mapped some of the Smoky mountains for the Park Service, and he worked at Oak Ridge during WW2. He let me drive his 53 Buick when I was 12 ("don't tell your mother"), shook his head when I cut up a 50 Merc on his patio when I was 21, and for some reason, when I was still a teenager, didn't stop me from building a panhead in his family room. My Mom freaked out, and after it was running, I parked it in the same room every night, but he never said a word, just moved back into the living room to watch TV. He lived long enough to see me accumulate a lot of project cars, park a few at his house, and never complained. He shook his head sometimes when I'd show him a new rustbucket, but never questioned me. I think he knew long before I did that I'd never build all those cars in my lifetime, but he'd just smile.
    He's been gone for 19 years, and I miss him every day.

Share This Page

Register now to get rid of these ads!


Copyright © 1995-2020 The Jalopy Journal: Steal our stuff, we'll kick your teeth in. Terms of Service. Privacy Policy.

Atomic Industry
Forum software by XenForo™ ©2010-2014 XenForo Ltd.