Drag Racing Online - My First Time

It was early summer of 1961 that I turned 16, got my drivers license, purchased my first car and "cracked rubber" at an old abandoned airport near Sanford, Florida at my first drag race.

My Dad, Carl Sr, was a "Mopar Guy" and had picked out this great little 1940 Plymouth Club Coupe for me to look at and loaned me $250 to buy it. Business Coupes had a little shelf in the back but mine had two small fold-down seats in the rear that rested on a metal peg. It was absolutely original, including the paint and every last part was there from the roof to the running boards. The engine was a flat head inline 6 cylinder and Plymouth boasted of its 84 horsepower.

Big "Red" Edwards was the tech man for the Seminole Timing Association at "Geneva Dragstrip" and his determination was that I belonged in K/Stock. All the older guys laughed when I asked if it was legal for me to take off the air cleaner. I'm sure they could easily tell it was my "first time." K/Stock certainly seemed a long way down the alphabet to me and I was relieved to see that the only other car in my class was a … get this, ha-ha ... a Volkswagen! I just knew it was trophy time for me.

The accepted method for leaving the line back then was to get lined up as instructed, rev the engine repeatedly and "dump the clutch" as soon as movement of the starter's flag was detected. I had done this perfectly on my practice run but now it was the real thing. The trophy run. Huge search lights were lighting the strip from behind the starting line. My left leg was quivering nervously on the clutch pedal but I was quick on the start and was way out front to start with. I couldn't believe my eyes when the little red Volkswagen with the flex-pipe header tubes fitted into a coffee can collector edged me out at the finish line. I was devastated that MY first trophy had been snatched from my virtual grasp by a guy in a VOLKSWAGEN. A leaky rear main seal that allowed oil to get on the clutch was the culprit. (I suppose it is only proper to have a "first excuse" at one's "first race.")

Two weeks later, with a new clutch and pressure plate installed, I ventured back to the track and kicked some Volkswagen butt to get that first trophy. I couldn't take my eyes off of that trophy and I knew I was hooked on this drag racing thing. I hurried back to town and went to four different Steak n' Shake drive-in restaurants to show it off. Unfortunately, my Dad was adamantly opposed to drag racing and I decided to store my trophy at a girlfriend's house across the street before going home. I tapped on her bedroom window, which was at the front of the house and she took the trophy for safe keeping.

The next morning after the race, all was right with the world. Mom was fixing her wonderful waffles, crisp bacon and perfect coffee. I, driver of the world's fastest all steel, all stock, gray 1940 Plymouth Coupe with port-a-walls, had just won a trophy. What could be better? Could anything put a damper on this particular Norman Rockwell setting? The answer to that became a painful YES. It seems that my Dad watched me go over to Carolyn's house and stash the trophy. But, Dad didn't know it was a trophy that she took from me. Dad thought that I was hiding a bottle of booze. I figured that him knowing that I had been drag racing was worse than him believing I had been drinking so I "pleaded guilty to the lesser charge," so to speak.

In 1963 Dad and I put a DeSoto hemi with dual quads in that old coupe and I sold it in 1964. By chance thirty-two years later we came across the very same car and bought it back. The engine, transmission and a few small parts were gone but body-wise it was pretty much all there. After several years of "fun" and a "few" dollars, the car is back together. (All steel, all real, cloaked in 1940 Plymouth Regal Maroon, 440-6 Barrell, Torque-Flite, Dana, 4" Flowmasters, big "Mickeys" on the back)

About a year after we rediscovered my original "first car" and the restoration had begun, I came across a very low mileage factory stock one and had it restored for my Dad. Call it interest on that $250 loan.

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