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When I started racing in the early 1950s, it was no secret that I was somewhat of a "wild kid," and my parents, who both worked, were not aware of the fact that I was involved with racing cars on the city streets and back roads of upstate New York. I'd hook up with any hot rodder that would give me a ride or better yet, give me the chance to do the driving. At that time, I didn't think there was anything out there that was more fun or important than "beating the boys at their own game." When I was only 15, I went to work part time in the kitchen of a drive-in restaurant mainly because it allowed me to meet and hang out with a lot of the hot rodders that called the "Dutch Boy" their second home. The only good thing about my years there was that I met Jack Muldowney and I learned how to cook…somewhat. Jack would give me a ride home from work and always took the long way around so he could get an opportunity to test out his latest tune-up. One night shortly after I received my driver's permit, I was driving his '51 Mercury about 50 mph on Route 9 between Saratoga and Albany. This was definitely considered a major highway and not a back road. I decided to pass a brand new 1956 Oldsmobile so we could get a better look at the car and no sooner did I get alongside of that car than the other driver decided to make a race out of it. He didn't have to ask twice. The race was definitely on from that point and both of our cars continued down this wide, smooth but curvy highway at speeds approaching 100 mph. Luckily, it was late and there wasn't much traffic at that time. The new Olds had just as much "steam" as Jack's hopped up Mercury and we were both taking a real chance at such high speed. No one would give in. Thank God, Jack knew the road better than I did. I couldn't know what the other driver was running, but our speedometer was pegged at over 120 mph. I remember this as if it was today, exactly what Jack said and how he said it... "I'm just going to rest my hand on the steering wheel until we get around this curve; don't lift because we're pulling on him." That experience was my first and last "top end" street race because when it was over, I knew that that kind of stuff was just asking for it. In fact, we both knew we had been plenty stupid and lucky that night. I won't say that we never again burned rubber on the city streets, but we decided that running the cars at big speed was definitely safer on the drag strip. One of the best things that ever happened to me in the early days was the opening of Fonda Speedway dragstrip ,where I became a regular every Wednesday night, racing the same street car that I was still able to drive to work every day-give or take a few replaced rear ends and transmission gears. Without a doubt, I still feel that what I learned as a street racer in my early years definitely helped me in my career as a professional drag racer. I cannot recommend Frank Hawley's School strong enough for anyone that is serious about a career in our sport. I only wish I had that opportunity when I was young.
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