Enzo: Mad man? Naww, just a misunderstood wayward youth. Now that video was awesome. Makes me almost wish I were 30 years younger and still in the game. Very clean install.
Great thread! Nothing from me in the BottleBob/Groucho/GassersGarage/Enzo league, but it's all good fun right? Back on the other side of the world I worked weekends at a 24hr gas station while in school. Always questioned the sanity of the kids that went street racing. All that time & money on the car just to risk impound? As I came off shift at 3 am one night there was a guy from out of town checking out my old 4 door (we called that the Kiwi door option) '37 chevy. He had a '69 Chevelle, we both have small blocks, real low budget stuff. I'd never street raced before - but I figured what the hell, if I get beat at least it's a respectable car to lose to. We went from a light on a long stretch, deserted at this hour. So there we were, lined up, living out some B movie fantasy "Go on green" he says. There's the green, I mashed the throttle, aimed a little to the left to try and keep it straight - With 4.11s and narrow 14" wheels I would spin the tires like crazy trying to get underway. A little to the right, left again, now it's straight, no more wheelspin, and - I'm right next to his rear bumper - all that wheelspin & he didn't get away? You all know the thrill I felt as I pulled up to his door - now I got it, this is why they did it! I'm gonna win! By the time I punched the power glide (told you it was low budget) into top I was well past him, not long after that I could see his lights in the rear view! what a rush! Beat him twice more that night before heading home. Cheers all, CraigR
One Friday night, I was on my way home from a party in my daily driver ('75 Chevy Monza with a stock 350). I even had some pots and pans in the back seat as I had cooked at the party. Anyway, I decided to check out one of the hot spots for street racing, behind Busch Gardens. There's a crowd but not much happening. I stop and there's a guy with a 60's Ford 4X4 truck running a 427. I ask if he will give me 3 cars from behind. He agrees and we line em up. The Monza will smoke the tires through 1st and 2nd, even though it only runs low 16's, so I ease it out. As I pass the truck, he lights em up and drops his drive shaft. Now I'm only doing 30 mph or so when I notice an LAPD unit coming up with his overhead lights activated. I keep it at 35 mph and figure the cop is gonna nail the truck. WRONG! He comes after me!!! Meanwhile, the guy with the 4X4 is throwing his drive shaft into the bed of his truck and locking his front hubs figuring to make a getaway. The cop pulls me over, takes my car keys and goes after the truck. We both get tickets for "speed contest". On the day of my court appearance, a friend of mine (Paul C.) decides to go with me as a witness for the defense (me). In those days, you could request a mini trial which is you, the judge and the ticket. The officer is not called. As we are walking into the court room, the bailiff looks at Paul C, and asks, "What are you doing here again?". Paul saids he's my witness. The bailiff saids, "What are you? A professional witness?". My case gets called and I stand before the Judge. I explain that I was coming home from a party when this crazy guy I was passing suddenly begins to burn rubber. I was only doing 35 mph. I wasn't racing! I even had pots and pans in the rear seat!!! I have a witness!!!! The bailff stops the preceedings to talk to the Judge. The bailff is mumbling, then points to Paul, and all I hear is "professional witness". Now I'm thinking I'm toast, I'm going to jail. The Judge allows Paul to testify, that I wasn't racing. The Judge looks at the cite and saids, "Well, it doesn't say you were burning rubber so case dismissed!". I coulda danced a jig out of the door I was so happy...........
Rick: Some people have all the luck! Your mention of Busch Gardens reminds me of a little confrontation with the local constabulary. In this time period the meet spot is Tommy's Burgers across the street from Budweiser/Busch Gardens on Roscoe Blvd. I'm on my way out to Tommy's and decide to do a testicle pass on Woodley to see how the car is running (Brown Vette), to see if I'll have to change plugs if I get a race. So I'm just rolling down Woodley and kinda punch it to get up to third gear so I can put some load on the motor - then I hit the juice for a couple of seconds in third. It's running adequate, not shooting ducks or anything, so I get off it and coast. I happen to look in the rear view mirror and see what "may" be a black & white way behind me, but I don't see any lights flashing. I turn east on Saticoy and motivate kinda fast but not screaming so as to alert the cops if that's what they were - just trying put some distance between us. I'm looking in the mirror more than I'm looking at the road ahead. I keep looking to see when the car goes past Saticoy on Woodley. Ok, I see it, and YES it's definitely a cop plus they've turned east on Saticoy just like I did - and what's worse, they have their LIGHTS FLASHING. I'm thinking, this is unfortunate. I'm so far ahead that there is no way they could have seen my license plate, so there's nothing to do but hit it - and that's what I do. There is almost no traffic, so I'm going at a pretty good clip but slowing down for any possible dips from intersecting streets - it certainly wouldn't do to tear the bottom of my oil pan off. I make it to Sepulveda Blvd and turn north, and accelerate - pretty well screaming now, near the top of fourth, since there are no dips on Sepulveda. I get to Roscoe and turn west and hit it. Go under the 605 over pass and am coming up on Tommy's Burgers. Lots of cars in the parking lot out back, I slow down and turn at the corner and drive into the parking lot and park WAAAY in the back nestled in a group of cars. By this time the cops (who obviously haven't had me in their sights after I turned onto Roscoe, slow down at the front of Tommy's since they see a bunch of cars. A number of guys standing out front point down Roscoe and yell "He went that way", the cops jump on it going after a ghost car. YEAH! My street racin' buds! I park the car down some side street and have someone else take me home when the night's activities are over. I pick it up the next day. Now, this is before I've bought into Hi-Tech Automotive, but Jim G. is manager and they specialize in repairing Corvettes and a lot of the Valley cops own Corvettes. They tell Jim they KNOW it was me and that I better lay low for awhile if I know what's good for me. Which is exactly what I do. But you can't keep a good man down forever, eh?
Good thing I re-painted the Vette Bob.....LOL One night when they broke up the street racing in Canoga Park, I was cruising the Vette eastbound on Roscoe with LAPD directly behind me. I figured the worst they good do was give me a ticket for loud exhaust. I turn northbound on Tampa and the LAPD is still behind me. Then the chopped Willys pickup pulls up next to me and they lights him up. He gets pulled over and I get to cruise on home. When I did get stopped by LAPD, I got out of the car, they took one look at me and said, "Sorry, it was a mistake!". You know, I had painted the Vette gun metal gray but I wonder if they thought it was you.
Rick: Well you remember that every once in awhile the cops would do street race sweeps, I suppose due to the result of community pressure. The racers had gone to Woodman and Saticoy, which for those that don't know was a semi-industrial area where you could often hang & race for hours. While there, I setup another race over on Clybourn and went to race there. (I don't recall, but it must have been a condition of my opponent). So I'm on my way back to Woodman after the Clybourn race, and I notice something isn't right. And what wasn't right was that the cops were doing a sweep. They blocked off both ends of Woodman. So curiosity getting the better of my judgment I drove around some side streets to get to the other end of blocked off area. I had someone with me, I think it was Mike Devaney. Anyway, I park and we walk back up to where some citizens are standing on the sidewalk watching what was going on. So I ask what's happening? What the cops were doing was checking the driver and passengers of each car then letting them go. So I'm just standing there doing nothing, saying nothing, when all of a sudden one of the cops in the middle of the road checking cars just happens to look in my direction, sees me, and gets this expression of recognition then yells to the other cops: "That's him, get him" pointing at ME. I look around to see if he might be talking about someone else but there is nobody behind me. I'm thinking, God, I just HAD to come and LOOK. I toss the keys to Mike before the cops have a chance to cuff me and haul me away. It seems that they had cop wannabes on the roofs of some of the buildings with walkie-talkies (no cell phones in those days) telling them what was going on. Oh, and I find out later that my picture had been passed around to all the cops as the prime person to arrest - ring-leader or some such utter nonsense. Cripes, you'd think I was John Dillinger or something with all the fuss they were making.
I remember seeing a video taken on Woodman and Saticoy of a street race. Grouch was flagging a race. It was newsworthy enough to run on the local news. I was going out to Old San Fernando Road when then had street races out there. Saw a bunch of tow trucks towing cars from the direction of Old San Fernando Road. Decided it was better to go home. LAPD was starting to arrest spectators for aiding and abetting then......
Bob, the race on Clybourn was Hess' Vette against the Fireman's green Vega. A very discreet (and FAST) race, leaving nothing for us to do right afterwards. So we went back where we'd left a huge crowd a short time earlier (Saticoy & Woodman). I too was a casualty there (arrested), which pretty much ended my street racing career. Plain clothes cops stuck a gun to my head and yelled for me to shut off the car or they'd blow my brains out. I said, Jesus, DON'T SHOOT, I'm just a fucking street racer!!! ASSHOLES. Then, add insult, the guy they called to impound my car was someone who really hated my guts for some reason. He treated my car with "kitt gloves" and said, hey man, my beef is with you, not your car. COOL dude. We became pretty good friends after that. Nishman too was a casualty that night. Me, racing him was on the news the next day with a Zoom shot of my license plate (blurred for TV, but not for court). Bob, remember Caltrans for us as a result of that night, cleaning freeways?? I remember doing Caltrans with your alter-ego, St*&E Jo*&#@on, a current Pro Stock Bike pilot who, later extorted you for more $$$$$ to complete the hours
Mid 80's and I'm "calling" the finish at Woodley & Saticoy. My friend , (and current Top Fuel driver) is clearly winning. It's a dark street, but it was pretty easy to see with the bright light of the Police helicoptereek on him as he went by me. He ran, but was not successful.
when i had my 49 F1, oddly enough the big block with fenderwells and cheap ass mufflers was pretty quiet, and the bias ply wide white didnt look like anything agressive, so when tooling around going to hang out with a few friends im just sitting at a light when a Nissan 240SX pulls up next to me, first thing i noticed was the damn thing was right hand drive, (so maybe the guy knew a thing or two about cars), he rolls down his window and turns down the EMINEM CD playing, and yells, "Hey, why dont you get one of thouse little reflective orange triangles for tha"*BRUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPAPAPAPAPAPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAER* i had stood on the brake and mashed the gas down, the little 6" Firestones just screaming and axle hopping a bit, smoke flowing like woodstock. so he gets all tensed up, like he's going to race, i laugh and get ready by moving the Hurst Indy H into Neutral, (The TH400 coud handel it, and with the 4:67 ratio rear axle i had to manual shift to get a little more speed), tach it a little and when the light changed slamed it into 1st, tires barked on both ours and i already had a fender going into 2nd, then a door, bed, now into Drive, car, two cars and then i had to let off because i was already doing 60 and that damn truck felt scary at even 50. so i let off and he flys past, pulled up to the next light and he's looking all pissed, i asked, "Whats wrong? Your stickers didnt add enough horsepower?" Then last year, when i drove the Monte carlo down to woodward, after the cruise was over for the day there was a bit of racing, but i had a 3.8 V6 so it didnt have much stones, so i just pull up to the light, no ones around but then i see a slew of headlight come out of a side street, im now surrounded by a bunch of camaros, firebirds & mustangs. all reving up and talking with each other, first thought in my head, "Oh Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit......" both guys on each side are looking at my car like its a threat, i sadly had 4" front runners and foot wide rears, so it LOOKED like something, i know i have to jump on it because the guys behind me are just as ancy as the ones next to me, light turns i stick untill 2nd, then they pull away, the ones behind me flying around like water over a damn rock.
Groucho: I'll take your word for the reason for going to Clybourn. That part of the night's proceedings is pretty fuzzy as the arrest and later events in the evening overshadowed everything else that happened that night. Heck, you were racing so your arrest was understandable, all *I* was doing was standing on the sidewalk - not even WATCHING a race! BTW, how did you get back to Woodman & Saticoy so fast to have set up and raced Nishman? Or did that happen earlier in the evening? Wasn't that like a 100 hours of community service? I don't remember the amount, since like you say I paid S.J. to take my place in the Caltrans trash pickup work detail. Extorted me for more money? Let's give him the benefit of the doubt and say we RENEGOTIATED the payment schedule. LOL The media got your license plate number? Those dogs, they were worse than the cops. The cops were just doing their job, but I know for a fact that some of them actually felt an affinity for the racers. Most males seem to have a little bit of a street racer in them - born of the evolutionary competitiveness inherent in our species. I've seen many a situation where the cops could have really come down hard on racers but let them off with just a slap on the wrist. And of course there were cops that were - shall we say, overzealous in their law enforcement tactics. But the media seemed to only care about blowing things WAAAY out of proportion so they'd have a better more exciting story. I remember an earlier series of events where the street racers were getting some bad publicity and a TV crew called the house to ask if they could do an interview. Jim G. & his girlfriend and I & my wife, were renting a house together in Sylmar at the time. I'm not sure how they picked us, but Jim and I both had Vettes that we raced, he just wasn't as fanatical about racing as I was. The TV crew wanted to film an actual street race, so Jim and I talked it over and decided to try and do as much damage control as we could by staging a relatively slow and safe race. The TV crew came out to the house and filmed/interviewed Jim in the garage with his Vette - which was much prettier than mine - and besides I didn't want me OR my car shown on TV. That part of the interview went fine, then we were to go to the meet lot and go through the process of setting up a race and going to the race spot to actually do it. So ahead of time we had called Salt & Pepper (a black and white guy that were inseparable partners that I always considered to be a sort of composite person) and set it up ahead of time without the TV crew knowing about it. Let me digress for a bit, street racers were pretty much color blind when it came to race/ethnicity, but there just weren't very many black street racers in the Valley in those days, whereas if you went to Compton the opposite was true. I never noticed any significant race tension when Big Willie and his entourage came out the Valley, or when the Valley guys went to Compton. It seemed there was more of bond of being racers than there was divisiveness due to race/ethnicity. I have no idea how it is now-a-days. So we get to the meet lot, with the TV crew in tow, and see Salt & Pepper. Jim starts race negotiations while being filmed. That done, we go to San Fernando Rd. to do the race. Everything is kinda going along fine, not too many crazies or wild driving. The race is no nitrous, so the cars won't look like they're real fast or very dangerous, the race gets off and is caught on film without much of a hitch. The TV crew appears disappointed - which I considered a VERY good sign. But then they go around taking spot interviews - at this point things are pretty much out of our control, and they did get a couple a crazies to interview, but I don't really believe they did much damage. I saw the clips on the news, and it looked pretty low profile to me, just as I had hoped. At least we gave it our best shot.
Bob- Before I went to the Clybourn race, and before the whole crowd gathered, and got parked at Saticoy, I raced Nishman. Soon afterwards, you or someone else whispered the Clybourn race to me. It was the Police that filmed us from the rooftop as part of their "sting" and not the Media. Apparently they wanted more evidence on more racers, is why they didn't react immediately to my race. How happy they must've been when I returned from Clybourn. I don' remember how many hours Caltrans "we" got. But, it sucked. Yeah, let's say you and S.J. "renegotiated". Getting arrested was extreme, but if you think about it, in that time-frame street racing was starting to get polluted by the "mini-truck" and "Cal Bug" crowd. No being welcomed at our meeting locations, those guys would show up to a "race" location early, and while waiting for us to show up, stage early, unsafe speed contests amongst themselves. This warranted "watch commanders" to demand more serious response by their officers as a result from the public's complaints. I think Z-Aaron got busted with us for "flaggig" a race along with a couple others. I remember 5-6 of us getting locked up. Fortunately, I made enough $$ earlier that night to make my bail. A good part about getting arrested was I got put in a cell with one other person that had his head down, sobbing. Well, it was a cute little girl. I mean CUTE. With her sitting on the bed, with her head down, it was assumed a guy by the cop. Well, me and this little babe are bullshitting when the cop walked back by. Realizing the mistake, that fucker couldn't unlock the cell and toss me out of there fast enough. The rest of my "stay" SUCKED! Salt & Pepper.....I saw Ed, the black one of that pair a few years ago in Pasadena. Not into cars/racing anymore, and seemed a bit saddened by it. He still looks the same after all these years, but hadn't seen his partner for many years.
reading these ,I feel really old.When i was involved in similar stuff I ran a flathead...no 12 second stuff but fun all the same. today? ,well ol grandad still shocks the skin off the rice.
The green Vega was owned by my neighbor, Gary. It was originally a bbc show car, which is why it said 427 in the ralley stripe. When Gary owned it, it was a 327 with ported 2.02 heads running an off-road Z cam. Small nitrous unit. Car ran 10.90 at LACR on nitrous, 12.20 without.
I really enjoy the stories. I'm one of those guys who also enjoyed street racing and hanging out to 3am more than regular racing though I do like making passes at the track. Do you guys know the whereabouts of some of your old cars? It's hard to be a proper citizen all the time, right before I sold my OT 2000 Z/28 (10.9 na, 10.00 150 shot), I launched it off the transbrake near my house. Cop followed me right into the gas station. Didn't show up court, that's the only time in my life that's ever happened. John, born in '67
Sold the Vette to an Allstate insurance agent, then I heard it went overseas. My Chevelle became a track only car with a real small sbc, 283 running 12's. The '55 was stolen and only a shell recovered. Sold the shell to a co-workers kid for parts.
DN: Heh, I wouldn't give it a second thought. My first two cars was flathead '51 Mercs. It was just as much fun beating Chevy 6's back then as racing 10 second cars 20 years later.
If you read my story about me beating Marv's "The Thing" 3 times. That BB Camaro was sold to a guy that crashed it in a race at Oxnard and Sepulveda. He got way outta shape and hit a motorcycle that current Pro Stock Bike rider Steve Johnson bailed off of just at the last possible second (he was watching from his bike parked at the curb near the finish), and then hit a truck that caught fire. I think the guy's name was Scott, and he was thrown from the car and ended up OK. The car, not OK (whereabouts-Hot Rod Heaven). Also, a 56 Anglia I used to street race 25 yrs ago is being redone by an old aquaintence
Groucho: Was that the race where the guy was losing so he started jerking the steering wheel back & forth to make it appear that he was losing control of the car - rather than face the truth that his car wasn't as fast as the other guy? But he did the job a little too well?
It really PAINS me to say, I MISSED THAT RACE(waaa waaa boohoo). But, it's an accurate account, as the story remains to be told the same for over 25 years from several that were there, including Steve...More waa, boohoo.
evenin gents - so here is another get away that is not quite glorious but funny to boot. When I was 18 before I had finished my 69 Camaro - I used to joyride my dad's 57 BelAir - My Dad, and I w/ Mopar Carlos built it over the course of 3 years - it had a decent 327 in it with a 4 spd and 4:10's. Anyway, this thing was his pride and joy and after snapping two transmissionsin it learning to powershift, I was forbidden to ever drive it again. One night my Mom and Dad went out for a party or something, so of course I decided to bust out and head to the camriilo street races on Saturday night. I took my 15 year old brother and his best friend. Now I knew for a fact that the 57 was having starter issues (typical sterter overheating - clik, clik, clik - nothing) but hell I was bringing some muscle in case we had to bump it. So I take my brother and his buddy and they had never been, we end up at Del Norte - it's a stretch of road with a center median 2 miles of perfect concrete and it's at sea level too. This IMHO was the best place to race. We were only spectating that night but man people were going off - we saw to T buckets one with a seriously blown small block the other squeezing square off and run full quarters - one may have even had a straight axle - talk about nuts. Saw some monet races - in the span of 1 to 1.5 hours of uninterrupted racing we must have seen 10 solid races. Well of course the fuzz shows up in mass numbers and everyone scrambles. My brother hits the panic button so hard he runs right past me and the car and goes and hides in some parking lot. I am yelling at him to come back to get in the car - he finally does, we load up and... you guessed, it , clik clik. Shit - every one out - start pushing! In my excitement, I didn't notice I had parked in a cul de sac (trapped) and to get out was slightly uphill. The cops are on the loud speaker at the end of the block telling evrybody to stop and turn off their cars. All of a sudden we come around the corner and we come face to face with the cop with the PA - we don't see him but he sees us I guess. I am yelling at my brother to mush while I try hopping in the car again - when I do see him, this guy is absolutely cracking up to the point where I felt completely pathetic to be runaway from the police, pushing a car. Well I popped the clutch got it to fire and my two mules hopped back in. I looked at the officer as if to say "now what?" - he sort of nodded back and immediately I knew - the laugh had been worth it and I took off like a bandit. It was such a RAD night, unlike you guys - I guess I was luckier than I should have been - in 1995 I went before the judge 12 different times for various offences, I never got convicted of anything. That's another story though. - 2 months later, my brother had bought a 71 Nova SS and he too was hooked.
So this is my movable finish line story. This was towards the end of my street racing career. My 69 camaro at its peak could click off 130 on the big end with the button pushed - and I could get it to hook pretty well too. So there is some new rich kid in town with a Duttweiler tuned Turbo Tran Am - I guess they were limited production cars in the 80's or 90's. Anyway, being the new rich kid in my town, he comes barking up my tree. Well, I like a good challenge, especially if it will end in my opponents embarresment. So we set up a race at our local spot - nice 3/4 mile stretch that runs alongside the 101 - it's marked off and is pretty safe and quiet. Well let me tell you - word gets out and there are more people at this grudge match than were at the last home football game the high school team hosted. The street is teaming with people and all of a sudden I feel the stakes are considerably higher. I have come ready to fight, I got the slicks on, my VHT - the torch to warm the bottle - everything. This kid rolls up like he is going to the movies, but he immediately starts begging for cars and such. He had been running his mouth for weeks which led to this meeting and now he is acting like a chump. But, being the showman I am, I immediately start negotiating to ensure that everyone present witnessed an incredible spectacle. So I set him out about 10 cars and we put about $300 on the race. Well knowing that I was going to need room to catch him, I make him start at the line making my run a little longer and my MPH a little higher. So we set the race and lock the dough and we send a mutual friend to the finishline in his clunker chevelle. The only downside of this street is that it had a small hump at the 1000 ft mark making it impossible to actually see the finish line from the start - anyway, our 1/4 is marked at a driveway that the money guy can pull into and witness the race. Well the show in under way and we count out the cars - we do flashlight start to further confuse this kid and I launch the car and immediately cut his lead in half. I click into second and my car is singing. I pull to his bumper and now I have half track left to absolutely walk from this kid. As I take the lead, my car is just motoring - it's a cool night my car feels faster than usual. As I come up over the hump, probably around 120 or so, the kid's Chevelle we sent to the finish is parked sideways in the middle of my lane. I immediately smash the brakes but the pizza cutters lock up. I am sliding at 100 mph to what seems to be a certain death. I fill my shorts. All of a sudden, the Chevelle fires up and backs out of the way just as I go by and barely miss the bumper. I pull over up the road to collect myself. Then I realized I had probably lost the race now - I look back and I see the kid trying to collect on me - Was I set up? Oh crap - someone's gonna get beat... It turned out the kid stalled his car pulling into the driveway and had been trying for a few minutes to restart the car. He actually would have been killed had he not gotten the car fired. The money went back to its righful owner. It freaked me out so bad, I sold the car 3 months later. - although I bought back 3 months after that. Too close for comfort.
Here's my contribution: So as a youngster I grew up in on or around 'old' cars; Right around the time I was born up until I was probably six or seven my dad had a plum crazy purple 72 dart with a white vinyl top and Cragars. It was a 340 4 speed with a hit of nitrous just in case. He’d go to Porkys (the local cruise spot on the local 'avenue') most weekends in it, and most weekends my mother and I would ride along. Many great memories were formed there, from little childhood crushes to car knowledge, to the first time I said 'Fuck' (probably again, five or six years old... good start!) So anyway, back to the point of this particular story, one night my mother must have been out of town, as it was just me and my dad in the dart, coming home from Porkys. We were headed west down University avenue towards home when another car pulls up to us at a stoplight (being young at the time I can't rightly remember what the car was; I think it was another Mopar but it could've been anything). So the light turns green, the other car goes, my dad hesitates and launches, I think the other guy had us from the jump and a few lengths, but it was close enough to warrant a "real" race. We catch the next light and line up, I think maybe my dad pulls just a little bit ahead this time, but again it's quite close so we decide to go for another round and agree on waiting for the next stoplight. So we wait, race, I think this race my dad gets beat. This went on for a couple more stoplights, the cars were pretty well matched and nobody was really making any ground on the other in the short distance we’d raced in. We're sitting on the next light, presumably to race again, when I (all of five years old) look over at my father from the child seat and say "dad, I think you've had enough.” He agrees that I’m probably right, and we head home. A little side note: University Avenue, for all you out of state guys, is the popular cruise street in St. Paul (Porkys is on University), it's four lanes wide and for most if it has a center median. It’s been popular for quite a while and in the early 90’s when this story takes place the cops were already patrolling it pretty regular. So my telling my dad ‘you’ve had enough’ wasn’t as much about the racing as it was trying to avoid a ticket.
It was stolen from where I worked by the Colliseum. It was my daily driver back then. 4:56 gears, but in rush hour traffic, it wasn't a problem. It was found a few weeks later completely stripped. Even the headlight buckets were gone. I ended up selling the shell to my Boss's kid. He had a '55 and wanted spare parts.
The Jalopy Journal
