To
all Trifive Members,
2009
started off to be another great year
for Trifive.com. A lot of members have been attending Trifive cruises all over
the world. We recently returned from the Classic Chevy Roundup in Pigeon Forge TN, We
had a great time.
I want to especially thank Josh (Shau57) for
working so hard helping setup
the Trifive Booth -- Josh and his Family not only provided the
tent we used at the
booth, but they got there before everyone and had the tent setup
and were
welcoming Visitors before some us even left home for Pigeon Forge.
Next I
would
like to say a special Thank You to Gary (gmcferon), (The
Editor of our Tire
Tracks Newsletter) for making and printing The beautiful
Trifive brochures
explaining all the benefits of being a Trifive member. The
Brochures can also be
download from Trifive for use at all events. I also want
to thank all the wonderful
Trifive members that spent time manning the Trifive booth and
welcoming visitors
and telling them about TriFive.com. There were also members
who went around
the event and handed out Trifive cards to visitors -- you can
also print the Trifive
cards out online at TriFive.com.
Thanks to Randy (randy57) and other members of TriFive.com for showing off the TriFive.com Banner at
Goodguys in Calif. We
have also made an online Classic Car Certificate where you can
include your car's
information. In addition, it will now process a photo of your
car to be included
in the certificate. You can print the certificate online also.
Lastly, some of our
Trifive members have lost loved ones since the last newsletter and I
want to let
them know that we all have them in our prayers and thoughts during
their time
of grief.
Sincerely,
Otis
(Trifive)
Star Ranking System
Have you noticed the new stars and logos showing up under
members names in the Forum? It's a medal of honor for the
guys and gals who spend so much of their precious time helping
us all out with their valuable knowledge and little tricks and
tools.
Here is what the
ranking system means.
New Member
0
Member 1
Senior Member 100
Senior Member 1 Blue Star 250
Senior Member 1 Silver Star 500
Senior Member 1 Gold Star 1000
Senior Member 2 Gold Stars 2000
Senior Member 3 Gold Stars 3000
Senior Member 4 Gold Stars 4000
Trifive Leaders Club, Plus Trifive Logo Icon 5000 and
above
New TriFive Documents
for Your Next Event
As Otis mentioned, we have recently made available via TriFive.com main
page three TriFive documents -- TriFive cards, classic car certificates and
the TriFive brochure See how easy it is to print these cards out in three
different formats.
Go to your local Office Supply and pick up some Avery Non perforated edge cards.
there are several numbers that work and they make great professional
looking cards.
The Classic Car Certificate is a document which allows you
to enter a photo and all the details of your car and and displays the TriFive Logo.
Stick it in the window on your next event show some TriFive pride.
The brochure can be easily printed in color and handed out at your next
event. It is a one page color document that briefly describes who, what
and why we are. Click on the links above to view each document.
The
Boxer
This beautiful 55 Belair was one of the many cars
attending the recent Pigeon
Forge Classic Chevy Roundup. This one of a kind two door hardtop is a culmination of the best of
everything. Please take a few moments to read the article and
see more pictures of this fabulous car.
The Boxer
We have a new Calendar to post all your Club Events, Cruises, Get-Togethers,
Meetings, etc. so that everyone will know what’s happening in your area
this year. Please add your events to the New Trifive Calendar.
Go to Trifive.com and select Calendar From the Navigation bar, click ad New Events.
Add all your Cruises, Club Outing dates, etc.
Make sure to check the Calendar often.
What
It's all About
Story
by Fiftysix Chevy
It’s
August 2005. I’m
searching my butt off for a car project. I looked
at Chevelles, early Impalas, thought real hard about
a 1969 big block Corvette (hey, no rust) and even
some off brands. Living in western
Pennsylvania
, most vehicles in my price range consisted of rust
and holes where metal used to be. I was looking for
something a little more substantial than a solid
roof for my hard earned dollars.
September
rolls around and I’m handed the extreme honor of
presenting the eulogy during a memorial service for
my best friend, Gary, who had recently passed away.
When Gary and I were in our twenties (I'm 56 now),
Gary
moved from
Pennsylvania
to
Los Angeles
, leaving me behind (hey, I was married). Over the
years, I would only see
Gary
every couple of years when he came back to visit his
family. Over time we lost touch with the little
things in each others lives. Anyway back to the
eulogy, my wife and I were visiting
Gary
's mother, catching up on family news in preparation
for the memorial service. Out of the blue
Gary
’s mother said, "I don't know what his
wife’s going to do with his all his motorcycles
and his old 1954 Chevy." My
wife, not a car person by any means, but knowing how
badly I wanted to build a car, gave me one of those
raised eyebrow looks suggesting, “Hey here's your
car." Hmmmm.....
Having a couple of days to prepare for the eulogy
also gave me time to convince myself that I liked 54
Chevys enough to own one. I gave the eulogy.
Tears were shed and I finally had the chance
to ask
Gary
's wife if she would be interested in selling the 54
Chevy. She gave me a strange look and said, "I
don’t think
Gary
owned a 54 Chevy." Crap!
Oh, well . . . I wasn't thoroughly convinced
I liked 1954s anyway. Then she says, "I think
that old car is a 1956." Whoa… what? Well,
as it turned out, several years ago
Gary
-- gear head to the very end -- purchased a 56 Chevy
from a friend who needed extra cash. For some reason
Gary
hid it away -- you know what they say, "Out of
sight, out of mind."
Well, I now believe in divine intervention!
I wanted a car and I do like 56 Chevys, so I
asked
Gary
’s wife if she would sell me the car sight unseen.
She said she would and a deal was stuck. One
major condition of the sale was that
Gary
’s wife wanted no role in shipping the car to
Pennsylvania
. As it
turned out, that was the easy part.
Gary
’s
work buddy tackled the daunting task of liquidating
Gary
's manly belongings as only a car guy could do. He
got the car prepped for shipping – that meant he
rolled the windows up and put air in the tires. In
addition he agreed to help the driver of the car
hauler I hired to pick up a non-running car and
transport it a couple thousand miles to its new
home. (A
humorous footnote about
Gary
’s friend is that
Gary
's wife mentioned that this friend has the look and
demeanor of the stereotypical “big biker dude.”)
I
never actually met this guy, but I did have one very
interesting phone conversation with him. As
it turned out, because of me, there was a slight run
in with the local authorities and he had some
explaining to do. What local police wanted to know
was why was Mr. Biker Guy sitting in his car, in the
hot sun for several hours across the street from an
elementary school? It
turned out that the driver of the truck I hired was
one day behind schedule and failed to notify Biker
Guy. So,
Biker Guy is at the appointed place a day ahead of
the appointed time.
You would not believe the call I received
from this guy, calling me just about every nasty
name known to man.
He rips me a new one because he thinks I've
not done my homework and hired this
"fly-by-night-no-good-SOB-piece-of-crap-trucking-company!"
Whew!
What a call! The
next day the truck arrived on time and left without
a hitch. I
honestly can say that without Biker Guy’s help I
don’t think I could have pulled this off, so go
hug a big biker -- maybe he’ll understand!
The shipper said that for various reasons, the trip
most likely would take thirty days or so, and that
was cool. That
meant I had plenty of time to get ready for the new
arrival. You
know -- painting, wall paper, new crib – ah, never
mind.
As luck would have it, five days after picking the
up the car in LA, the car hauler shows up in
Pittsburgh
where I work. Of
course, I’m out of town on business.
At this point, I have yet to see the car I
bought. I get a phone call from the building manager
that reminds me of the Biker Guy’s call. After
calming that guy down I, too, am a tad upset.
Everyone I work with has seen the car and I
still don’t know anything about it except it is a
1956 Chevy -- bluish color in color.
Returning from my trip, I finally got to see
my blind purchase.
The car, while nearly 50 years old and beat
up, is in great condition with practically zero
rust. Alright!
My plan is to work on this project in one-half of a
two car garage. My wife refuses to give up her half
of the garage and my side contains every useless
treasure I own. I’ve got way too many bicycles,
tools (just kidding, man can never have too many
tools), unused building materials, etc. There is
just no place for this car. I am the closest I have
ever come to having a nervous breakdown. I need a
place for my stuff. “A shed!
That’s it! I’ll build a shed.” Actually
I have a shed, but it, too, is filled to capacity,
so plans were laid to double my existing shed’s
dimensions.
Before I could move forward with the actual shed
expansion, I needed to move an embankment from
behind the existing structure. No problem -- in
comes my buddy with his Bobcat skid loader. Did I
mention that moving the dirt would not be a problem?
I’m such a moron!
If you know western
Pennsylvania
, at all, you know that we do not have real dirt.
Our dirt is actually solid rock with just
enough dust on top to allow weeds to grow.
In addition I’ve lived in this area all my
life and never really paid attention to the fact
that
Pennsylvania
really does have a monsoon season.
This season began the morning the Bobcat
arrived and lasted until the last nail was set. I
have learned a big lesson from that project, as well
– the space needed to dump freshly dug mud and
rock is about fifty times larger than the hole it
came out of -- who knew?!
At this point, I was thinking that I didn’t
sign on for all of this.
“Hey, all I wanted was a project car!”
With the shed expansion completed, I was thinking I
would be able to move everything from the garage to
the shed and bring the car home to begin the long
awaited project. Not
quite, though. The
shed saga continues. When cutting into the hillside
making room for the shed, the Bobcat’s demolition
team created a three foot high “L” shaped wall
behind the shed comprised mostly of jagged stone and
dried mud. I want to go on record, “I do not like
building retaining walls.” I
needed to dig six one foot diameter holes, two to
three feet deep so that I could cement “I” beams
into . . . you got it – rock! I
am now an experienced jackhammer operator and am
prepared lest I’m ever in the need of another
occupation. “Hey, all I wanted was a project
car!”
With that behind me, I finally started working on
the car sometime in January 2006. Two years and
eight months later, the car is finished – after
countless 12 to 15 hour workdays each weekend and 4
to 5 hours most evenings after working my “real”
job. With aches and pains too numerous list, I’d
swear I took five years off my life completing the
project. There
were many days where I was really sorry I started
the process in the first place.
Many months have passed since finishing the car.
I’ve spent more money than I wanted to, but
my marriage survived and driving the car is a blast!
Car cruises are cool.
I’ve met loads of good people, but I
don’t think the sun and asphalt were meant to
co-exist.
This past fall while sitting at a gas station, a car
came screaming in off the highway. The driver parked
in front of my 56, blocking me in. The
driver jumped out of his car and this wild man,
without saying a word, did a quick walk around
looking at my car. He
came back to me, grabbed my hand giving it a shake
and got back into his car. As he pulled away he
yelled, “That car is like Elvis coming to town!”
And that, ladies and gentleman, is “what it’s
all about!”
Featured Threads
Links
of Interest
Muscle
Car Owners Forum
Car
Shows
Super
Chevy
GoodGuys
Hubcap
Cafe
HotRod
shows
Drag
Races
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Schedule
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Schedule
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TriFive Events
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International
Page
A
short story on how a couple from New Zealand ended up with a 57
two door.
Trifive
International Page
|
MY
SPORT COUPE
From
Wrench58
In 1976, I bought a 1957 Belair 2 door Sport Coupe.
When I got it, it was a rat -- black and white, (originally
dusk pearl by the paint codes), lots of rust, side-swiped and
a rod knock, but I knew I could bring her back to life. I did
a complete engine overhaul. That took care of the rod knock.
I also took a course at the local night school on
bodywork and paint and learned even more from my dad.
I shoved my dad’s restored Model A out of the
garage and started to work on my ‘57. I spent days and
nights fixing her up. All of the work was done at home. Even
my girlfriend, who is now my wife, helped me fix her. I
would work on it occasionally between my job, friends and
girlfriend and it took until 1982 to finally finish it.
In 1982, my wife and I used the ‘57 for our wedding
car. The only
thing missing was the wide white wall tires.
I had them on order but that fell through, so the day
before our wedding I took a road trip out to the Macungie Car
Show in Pennsylvania to get them. (I almost missed the
wedding rehearsal!) The
car looked just perfect for that special day.
Then we bought a house and had a couple of daughters.
The girls just love the car.
I even installed some lap belts in the back seat so
we could go on road trips with them. They called it the
“Ice cream car.” We would all go to the local ice cream
stand in the car. Of course, ice cream was not allowed
inside the car. Now
that the colleges are almost paid off, it is time to restore
her. Because panels were not available at the time, when I
did the original restoration, some of the patchwork is
cracking and rusted. The body supports have rotted away and
the floor is practically gone.
I found multiple mouse nests in the frame and one
nest in between the body panels. Surprisingly enough, the
interior is still in excellent shape, so I am now in the
process of a frame-up restoration.
The frame is completely done at this time and the
body is on a body cart as I start to weld the body panels
on. In the end,
when it’s completely done, it will be well worth all the
sweat, cuts and bruises I put into it.
|
|
|
|
In This Issue
Feature Threads
TriFive International
Pigeon
Forge Classic Chevy Round-up
The
Boxer
Tech
Tips
Here
are a few great tech tips from member Tim & Kerry
Teisman. If you have tips of your own please send them to
me at editor@TriFive.com
When changing burnt
out tail light bulbs, go from the original 1034 bulb
to a 2057. These are considerably brighter and more
visible than the originals,
and if you have blue dots, it really makes them pop! I've
had a few people comment on my bright purple taillights at
stop light before. One
was a
county
sheriffs
's deputy. They are a direct replacement, and there's no
excess current draw. They'll work on the front, too.
When changing
mechanical fuel pumps on small blocks, the fuel pump
push rod always wants to slide down, making reinstallation
of the pump a little aggravating. With the pump out, roll
the engine over until the push rod goes all the way up
(careful not to smash your finger doing this!), remove the
upper bolt from the right (passenger side) motor mount
bracket at the front of the engine.
Temporarily install a 2" long 3/8"-16
bolt into this hole, push in/up on the push rod, screw the
bolt in until it contacts the push rod, getting it ONLY
finger-tight. This will hold the push rod up while you
re-install the fuel pump, just don't forget to remove it
after the pump is in!
Removing hood
springs can be an aggravating, if not dangerous, job.
I've found an easy trick to removing them without busting
knuckles and cussing so loud all your neighbors can hear
you. You'll need an assistant and a pry-bar (notice I
didn't say screwdriver). Have the assistant push all the
way up on the hood 'till it stops, keeping upward pressure
on it. Wedge a
pry-bar between the lower gear/lever of the hinge and the
hinge bracket, pry the lower gear/lever toward the
opposite side of the car enough so the lower gear/lever
can overlap the upper gear/lever, and push back on the
lower one until it won't go any further. The hood will
raise a couple of additional inches, and you should then
be able to remove the spring by hand, without having
to pry on it.
|
Storing
Your Classic |
|
Many
members live in cold climates or need to store our
TriFives over long periods uninterrupted. You will find this
November 1981 article supplied by Classic Chevy
International a great source of information. If
you think this is not a very timely article as we sit in the
middle of summer, remember how
many members we have in the Southern Hemisphere. or how
quickly the winter winds can blow in. You will find this
article supplied by CCI a great source of information.
Storing
your TriFive
The Four-Door
Story
by: Tony Kendall
(flatblack&bigblocked)
It was a combination of Nassau
green and the color of green they paint elementary
schools walls so as not to excite children. Modern day
interior designers call it sea-foam green, I think. The
grille was almost solid rust and all the emblems were
pitted. My best friend and I had pulled this thing out of
a field where an old man had parked it after his wife got
too old to drive. Lines of rust showed where the door
bottoms met the door skins. There wasn’t one piece
of sheet metal that didn’t need a patch panel.
Since we were both teenagers, the funds for replacement
sheet metal weren’t easy to find. My friend’s dad
moonlighted as a sheet metal fabricator for heating
and air conditioning systems, so he made floorboards out
of metal we got from old stoves and washing machines.
Anxious to get this car
on the road, we decided to leave the body alone and focus
on the mechanical parts. Out
came the original 6 and 3 speeds.
A guy in our 10th grade English class
said he had a motor in an old truck he would sell us.
He thought it was a V8, but wasn’t really sure. His
father had owned the truck, but had recently died in a
boating accident. He said we could take whatever
parts we wanted for $50 -- his mom was going to have
the truck hauled off soon, so we needed to remove what
we wanted that weekend.
There’s nothing like a
short deadline to breed motivation. Between the two
of us, we came up with the $50 and headed to the guy’s
house with all the tools we could carry. My dad had
agreed to bring his truck to haul the parts, but he
said we had to remove them.
What was about to be scrapped was an absolutely crying shame!
The truck about to be scrapped was a tough
‘56 Chevy. The front end was mangled, but it had
actually been a pretty cool truck. I wasn’t big on
purple for the color choice, but it was getting hauled off
in a few days. Debating
the paint color was pointless.
We
opened the hood, expecting a 283 or maybe even a 327. Grinning
at us from under that rusted hood was a 427 big block! Our
hearts raced. Could
we actually be getting a 427 for $50? Wasting no
time, I slid under the truck and pulled out the
driveshaft. My
friend, Gregg, started working on the front engine
mounts. The mangled grille was a little tough to get out,
but knowing the truck was going to a scrap pile made
the demolition easy.
We got a chain at the
front and back and pulled the motor and transmission
together. As it hung from the cherry picker, some of
its fluid slowly dripped out reminding me of a scrape
from battle. It
seems to shrug it off as “merely a flesh wound”. The
427 Rat may have not been breathing now, but we could
tell it wanted to come back to life.
We loaded the motor and
transmission, the rear end and even pulled the seats
out. With a
quick phone call to may dad, we loaded all
the goodies and headed back to my house with our $50
motor.
Whoever had done the
conversion did us a huge favor. The front motor
mounts were almost a direct fit in our four door’s
frame. Gregg’s uncle came over and helped weld in a
transmission cross-member.
We bolted up the truck’s rear end after shifting
the leaf spring perches back to use the truck’s
driveshaft, as well. The
thrill of the unknown was intoxicating – we could not
get the motor fired up fast enough.
It was like a drug we would not get enough of until
we heard that engine roar.
The rat was bolted up and Spring break was only a
week away. If we could find a distributor and a
carburetor we’d be set.
Reluctantly finishing an
English assignment, our English teacher asked each
student to give a 2 minute oral presentation of
our Spring Break plans. I gave my presentation on
what was keeping me busy the last few weeks and how I
just needed a few pieces before I’d have a set of
wheels. Watching me radiate over my plans, Teresa,
one of my classmates, motioned for me to come talk to
her as I was finishing. She told me her brother
messed around with cars and if I wanted to, I could
come by her house that weekend to see if he had what
I needed. I’d always thought Teresa was hot -- in
fact, too hot for me -- but I jumped at the chance to
go see her and maybe wind up with a few car parts, to
boot.
Gregg
and I walked over to the next neighborhood where Teresa
lived. Finding her house wasn’t hard. All the 10th
graders knew where she lived. Good looking and
genuinely sweet, she never hurt for a boyfriend.
Now I had an excuse to see her outside of
English class. She
introduced me to her brother who seemed a little
annoyed. I told him I needed a distributor for a
Chevy V8 and I really wanted to find a 4-barrel. He
had a distributor from a Chevelle that he said he
would part with for $5. “What
about that barrel-thingy?” Teresa asked her
brother. “I’ve
got one, but he can’t afford it,” her brother
replied. “How
much?” she asked. “$35,”
he said, “and that’s giving it away.”
He sounded pretty disgusted.
Teresa told me and Gregg to hang on for a
minute. She
went inside and when she and her brother came back out, he
had a Quadrajet in his hand. “She
must really like you,” he said as he handed me the
carb; “She never spends her babysitting money.”
I turned to thank Teresa but she put a peck on
my cheek and told me that I owed her a
ride to school all next year.
Teresa told us to go get that thing running. “A
friend of mine and I might swing by next week, if
we’re not too busy to see how you are coming along,”
she said. I
couldn’t believe what was happening. A girl I thought
was gorgeous just bought me a carburetor. “Is this
a great country or what”?
Carb
bolted down and distributor installed, we pre-oiled by
squirting a little 10W-30 in each spark plug hole and were
ready for our first attempt at cranking that RAT. Gregg
sat inside the car with his hand on the
ignition switch as I stood on the driver’s side
ready to coax the 427 back to life. He hit the
switch…nothing…not a dad-gum sound!
I could have puked.
We had taken the battery out of his mother’s
Oldsmobile and knew it was good. I
checked the positive side -- everything was good. Next I
checked the negative side. I pulled it and it came off in
my hand. I quickly bolted the cable down on the
battery post. Gregg hit the starter; the motor turned
over. He hit it again; it backfired on the passenger side.
I opened the throttle wide open and he hit a third
time. VAROOM! The RAT
was breathing again. We revved it up and checked for oil
pressure -- oil pressure, good. Next
a quick run down for leaks -- a little oil around the
valve covers, but at least we knew oil was circulating. I
stuck a piece of wood in the throttle linkage and we
went over our checklist.
Ah, the sound of a big
block with open manifolds. Everything checked
out and we couldn’t wait for a test drive. All
the noise brought my dad outside. We could tell he
was impressed with our work, thus far. “You can’t
drive it”, he said. I nearly broke my neck turning
to look at him. “They’ll pull you over as soon as
you get on the street.” I
was angry and about to cry.
“We’ll pull that thing down to the muffler shop
tomorrow,” he said. I started breathing again.
“Go ahead and put it in gear and see if
it’ll move,” he instructed.
We idled back out of the driveway and Gregg
revved it up and let out the clutch. Our first drive
was bout 2 feet. When Gregg let out the clutch, we both
flipped over backward and were staring at the car’s
ceiling. The seat wasn’t bolted down. A few bolts
and some quick wrench turning and we were ready. My
dad was still laughing about the loose seat as we
eased own the street. We shifted to second and then
to third. We
were moving on four wheels and I thought this must
have been what it felt like when Henry Ford busted
out of his barn’s doorway to get his first car out for a
test drive.
Gregg spent the night at
my house the night before we were to take the
four-door for mufflers. Neither
of us could sleep. How
cool was it going to be with a set of wheels? We
pulled the 4-door down to a muffler shop and since my
dad was paying, we watched as they welded in a crossover
pipe that fed a huge turbo-type muffler. They
installed a “clean-out” plate just before the
muffler. “Just in case the muffler gets clogged
up,” he told the shop.
They brought the car
down off the lift and we jumped in and started it up.
The open manifold sound was gone. At idle, Gregg’s
mother’s Oldsmobile made more sound; but when you
revved it, you could still detect that big block
rumble. My dad
helped us re-time the engine and tweak the Quadrajet.
Without a drivers license, I backed the 4-door
out of the shop and headed for home.
By this time it was
almost Saturday evening and all Trans Am and Mustang
Cobra owners of the late 70s were starting to head
for
Brainerd Road
.
Brainerd Road
was where everybody went when we were teenagers –
I’m sure that every town has one. Just delete the
word Brainerd and paste in the road name of your
choice.
Just like every town has
a
Brainerd Road
, every high school has a Jay Studley.
He’s the quarterback who dates the hot
cheerleader, lifeguards in the summer and his parents
own half the town.
We pulled up to our
first red light and the left rear locked-up.
We hadn’t paid too much attention to brakes. The
guys in a 240Z laughed as we backed up to the white
line. “You wanna race?” they asked sarcastically.
“Sure,” I said.
The light changed, the
240Z tires started to squeal and I dumped the clutch
as my dad was shaking his head no. I grabbed second
and was going for third when I checked my mirror. I
had to be 100 feet in front of that 240Z. I had
already backed off and was shifting to High gear when
the Z passed us giving us the finger. We
all laughed and headed for the house.
Working on the 4-door so
hard to get it running and then realizing that neither one
of us would get a license was in 2 months really stunk!
A friend had an older brother who sometimes gave us
rides. One
night, he agreed to drop us off at the movie theatre.
We headed off to check out the latest thing on
the big screen. We all were waiting outside the
theatre when a familiar 240Z drove by. We
got a better look at the driver. It was none other
than Jay Studley, of course. Anticipating
the worst -- knowing how teenage angst sometimes plays out
-- it came as no surprise that Teresa was in the
passenger seat. I
think we’ve each had that same knot in our stomach.
The
group of kids that were the “In Crowd” was waiting for
Jay and Teresa. One of Jay’s friends/rivals asked
Jay about a race that afternoon. “Did I see you get
smoked by a beater today?” Jay
stuck his chest out and said, “ I don’t know what that
green piece of crap was doing, I guess he thought we
were racing, I didn’t even get on it.” “Oh,”
the friend said, “I thought I saw your tires
spinning.” “I
guess we’ll never know,” Jay said, “That car
didn’t have tags from this county.
Must have been some yahoo going back to the
hills.”
We went inside and watched the movie, but I can’t
remember what we saw.
Coming out of the theatre we ran into Teresa. “How’s
the car assembly going?” she asked. “Got it
running today,” I replied and grinned. At
about this time, Jay caught up with his date. “What
color did you say your car is?”
asked Teresa. “Some
of it’s green,” I said. “Well keep me updated,”
she said as Jay put his arm around her and steered
her away from my crowd. “Who’s that?” I heard
him ask as as they walked off. “Tony
Kendall. He’s
giving me a ride to school next year.”
“No he’s not,” I heard say Jay say as
their voices faded.
Nowadays I know that what we did that Spring should have
landed us in jail, but two teenagers with a functional set
of wheels is a combination that lends itself to
trouble. We’d
sneak the four-door out whenever we got the chance.
My dad’s decision to make it quiet worked in our
favor. Our formula for finding a race was always the
same. We would drive around trying to be as
nonchalant as possible. Parking the car at an auto
parts store would usually put the four-door in the
“needs engine work” category. We never instigated
a race, but we never turned one down. I think this
formula worked because the really fast cars wouldn’t
find it worth their time to fool around with a Sea Foam
Green – four-door.
By the time we had our
licenses, our reputation around school had entered
its infancy. We’d only been beaten a few times and most
of those losses was from our lack of traction at the
start.
Being legal, we decided to drive the four-door to school
the last month of our sophomore year. Gregg and I
took turns taking the car home after dropping off the
other. We’d been parking the car in the back of
the school because that was where 10th
graders had to park. Walking to
the car one Friday afternoon, I heard someone say
“that’s the pile I saw outrun you a few months
ago.” Jay
and his buddy, Stan, were looking at the 4-door. Stan
looked at me and asked, “Is this piece of crap
yours?” “Yep,
that’s my car,” I replied. “You ever race this
thing?” he asked. “Are you kiddin’?
I never get above 45 miles an hour.” Gregg had
just walked up and along with him were Teresa and her
friend Deanna. “I promised them a ride,” he said.
The four of us piled in and I drove them to
Deanna’s house. On
the way back, a yellow Z-28 was riding my bumper. I
eased the throttle to pull away and the Z-28 sped
up to stay on my bumper. Stan and Jay had been
waiting for us. Stan
pulled up next to my window and Jay said, “Get that junk
off of the road.”
The light in front of the school had turned red, so
there we sat – two cars idling at a red light in
front of the high school, the track team coming off
the field from practice and four teenage egos
about to burst. The
light changed and I launched the four-door at about 4,000
rpm and never let off until I hit fourth. By the time we
got to the next light, the Z-28 was about three car
lengths behind us and steam was pouring out from
under the hood. We slowed back down and headed for
a hang-out called the Jet Star.
Friday
night’s acceleration contest had been told over and
over by Monday’s lunch period. One version had me
lighting a cigarette and then
running
the Z-28 down while another had the four-door’s trunk
falling off and hitting the Z-28. All I know for sure
was that Jay Studley knew who I was now and his
friends were pumping up a drag race as the year’s
crowning moment. Everyone
was talking about it. Some
10th grader with a worn-out four-door 55
Chevy was going to try and beat Jay Studley in his 240Z. “The
Race” as it was being called was set for the last day of
school. Upper classmen got out after exams and had
started drinking beer by early afternoon. I
watched the last half hour of science tick off, one minute
at a time. Gregg
and Teresa were waiting for me when I got to the car --
after all, her $35 of baby-sitting money was almost half
of what we had in the car. We drove to her house.
About ten cars followed us. Teresa’s mother was
suspicious about the caravan. “Just an end of the year
get-together, Mom,” Teresa assured her.
There’s a straight piece of road just off
Brainerd Road
that normally has very little traffic. In a scene
right out of Rebel Without a Cause the road was lined
with our classmates.
We lined up the cars.
Some chick with big knockers was dropping her hands
for the start. BEEEEEP BEEEEEP BEEEEEP…
“Tony
turn off that alarm or you’ll be late for
school.” I
rolled over and asked my friend Gregg, “Are we
going to look at that four-door tomorrow?
I
never finished that dream but I did have a four-door 55
and I married a girl named Teresa. I’ve replayed
the race a thousand times but that car was never as
fast as the first day I drove it home from the muffler
shop.
From
The Editor
It
has been a long time between the last newsletter and this
one -- I hope you have missed them. I want to thank the
members who sent in articles and pictures. We
are growing so fast it seems a lot of new members come
online every day. Your support here as well as in the forum makes
this something we can all be proud of.
You
will notice some things missing from the earlier newsletters
and a few new things added. We want to keep this
newsletter interesting and that depends on your involvement.
So...keep those cards and letters coming.
I
am looking forward to the next issue already. There
will be an article about the history of a 1957 Two Ten that
is the only one signed by Dale Earnhart, and a few other new
things, too.
Those
of you who read the last newsletter will recall a story and pictures
linked to a song by Jimmy Jines, "Red Hot '57". At
the time of the article I didn't have any idea where Jimmy
was. He has since gotten in touch with me and several
of his friends have also written thanking me for making it
possible to get in touch with him. Although this isn't one of
the so called social networking sites, it is always good
news when you get together with old friends, with a common interest
in and love for beautifying America with these classic
cars.
Your
Editor
gmcferon
editor@trifive.com
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