Chapter 10

I met Junior in December of 1962. I had gone to Walla Walla, Washington in order to attend college. I had dropped out of college around Thanksgiving. I went to work at Graves-Anderson Motor Co. as a mechanic.

Junior was a friend of Dick Kelsey, whom I had met while still in college. He was a totally unremarkable 25 year old. He was short of stature and stammered when talking. He worked at Shorty’s garage, where he was famously the best mechanic in town. When I first met him, I was offered the chance to purchase his ‘47 Plymouth coupe.

The Plymouth had a 365 cubic inch Cadillac engine. He sold it to me in order to finish his other car. That car was a ‘53 Studebaker Commander Coupe. It also had a Cadillac engine; but a 390 cubic incher out of a ‘59.

He ported the heads and put in a Racer Brown camshaft. It was a simple engine; not very impressive to look at, but put out an ungodly amount of horsepower. Behind the engine was a Packard overdrive transmission with a floor shift top out of a ‘39 Packard.

Junior was a street racer. That is, he raced on public roads for money. He never lost. Would be racers came from all over the northwest to challenge him. I remember, in particular, two cars. One was an innocent looking ‘57 Ford Customline 2 dr. sedan. It was painted gun metal gray/ blue and had Halibrand mag wheels. It came to town on a trailer, and that made it stand out from the normal cars that came to race Junior.

He wouldn’t open the hood, but we could tell by the sound of the engine when he started it that it was supercharged. He unloaded the car at Hinkle’s ESSO station and put out the word that he was in town to race the little white Studebaker. I heard about it that night after work, and we all met at the A&W to plan the race. The bet was negotiated to $100.00 and it was decided that the race would be straight up; that is, there would be no handicap start.

About midnight we all pulled out and drove out to the old Dayton road. Junior was his usual confident self, but we were sure that this time was going to be his first loss.

The area chosen to race was ideal for street racing. It was a half mile long straightaway between two low hills. A car was posted on each hill and told to flash it’s headlights if anyone appeared.

The rest of us gathered around the starting line. Linda Ghoering was to start the cars by waving a big white flag. The two cars pulled up to the starting line drawn in white paint on the roadway. On his way to the line, Junior did a burnout. No one had ever seen anyone do a burnout before, but Junior always did one before the start. He had a pair of hard recap slicks that would hold only if they were heated up by spinning on the asphalt. Although this is now almost universally done at drag strips, Junior was the first any of us had seen do it. He would have his back brakes adjusted very loosely, and would hold his brakes on while simultaneously letting his clutch out and revving the engine. His tires would erupt in smoke, and his tires got hot enough to stick.

The race was over almost before it began. As the Ford’s tires went up in smoke, Junior gained a two car length advantage, which he held to the end of the quarter (marked by a car’s headlights crossing the road).

After the race, we all went to Pizza Pete’s to celebrate. Pizza Pete’s was an all night hangout that served beer and Pizza. The local top 40 station did live remotes from there every Saturday night.

The roadhouse was half way between Walla Walla and Milton Freewater, Oregon and right on the state line. The cops would regularly gather in the parking lot to watch for people driving drunk or simply squirreling around. We used to love to mess with their minds. If the cops were from the Washington side, we use to peal out toward Oregon; slinging gravel all over the cop cars. If the Oregon cops were on the scene, we went toward the Washington side.

A couple of weeks later, a new car came to town. This one was different. It looked like what would be later called a factory experimental car. It was a ‘62 Pontiac Tempest. It looked stock except for the huge slicks out back. It was a serious piece. It had a 421 Pontiac engine, built for the sole purpose of drag racing. This time it seemed obvious that Junior was outclassed.

Frank Stonecipher and I were driving down the main drag when we saw the jacked up Tempest go rumbling by in the other lane. We turned around and followed him to the edge of town. He pulled over and I moved up alongside him.

“Do you want to run that coupe?” he asked, looking over my primered Plymouth.

“Sure, let’s see what you got” was my retort.

“Where and when?”

“Meet me at the A&W at 11:30 tonight”

At about 11:00 that night, we all gathered at the A&W. There was Dick Kelsey in his ‘55 Chevy, Junior in his Studebaker, Frank Stonecipher in his ‘57 Ford, and various hangers on, including Jodie Fausti, Donna Johnson and Linda Ghoering .

It was decided that I would race the Tempest first, and if he beat me, then Junior would have at him. The Tempest came rumbling in about 11:30. We all gathered around it when he popped his hood. The engine was straight out of a super stock Catalina, and had two four barrels and headers. It was a pretty impressive looking package.

He looked over my car pretty carefully. Actually, my old Plymouth looked pretty mean. It had a 6 carb log manifold and homebuilt headers. It was backed by a ‘37 Buick transmission (which would prove to be it’s Achilles heel).

“Is the Stude broke?” he wanted to know. He had really come to town from Pasco to race Junior.

“Nope, but you have to run the coupe first”. Junior replied. “Beat him, and we’ll race for money“.

We all headed out to our customary spot to race. The excitement was pretty high. About 25 cars had followed us out of town. By the time we were ready to race, cars lined the entire quarter mile and then some. Everyone was in a festive mood. There was some beer drinking and general rabble rousing, but no one got out of hand.

We lined up for the start. Linda was again chosen to wave the flag. The start looked good for me. I was out a half car length by the time I hit second gear, but the big Poncho was gaining fast. Just as he was going by me, I heard and felt a loud crunch from under my car. I backed out of it immediately. I though I had blown a clutch.

I pulled off the road and became a spectator. The Pontiac returned to the starting line where Junior lined up against it. I saw Linda’s pretty backside as she waved the starting flag. Junior and the Tempest were neck and neck as they came towards me. Just at the stripe, Junior ecked out a slim victory. It was about 10 feet.

While Junior was collecting his $100, I crawled under the Plymouth with my flashlight. What I saw startled me. The entire bottom half of the transmission was missing! Apparently the cluster gear had failed, and a piece of it had gotten between two gears; splitting the tranny wide open.

The amazing thing was, the car would run in third gear! I parked it in my one car garage to await repair.

I left Walla Walla the next spring. Just after moving to Colorado, I got a letter from Jodie Fausti. Junior had gotten a girlfriend, and they were planning on getting married. One night after a street race, the highway patrol took after Junior. He got the Studebaker up to about 140 MPH and left a curve. He and his fiancé were both killed in the crash.