hotrod

Papa and the Hot Rod

By Jim Wilson

I believe the year was 1960, or maybe '61. I was spending a summer week with my grandfather, Milton Yandell, in my family's hometown, Marion, Kentucky. This was quite a novelty for me; not that I was away from home, for I had spent time in previous summers with my paternal grandparents, in a farmhouse outside Marion. Staying with Papa, though, was different, for he lived in the middle of town, in Miz Cannon's Boarding House. Miz Cannon and her boarders were quite venerable, all being at least in their seventies. As the only youngster in the group, you may imagine that I was quite a pet to them. Downtown Marion itself seemed infinitely more ancient and sophisticated than Calvert City, where my family had lived since I was six.

I had been fascinated by automobiles from an early age; by the time of my visit with Papa, this had escalated to full-blown mania. This mania was centered around "Hot Rods". Hot rods were not a new phenomenon, having begun as a movement shortly after the end of WWII in California. It was only in the mid-'5Os, however, that there was a national publication devoted to the subject, exposing susceptible youth in the hinterlands, such as myself, to this glamorous concept. I had also read a popular "youth novel" on the subject, by William Campbell Gault, aptly titled "Hot Rod", which depicted the process. The story was simple: a teen-ager obtains a junked Model "A" Ford roadster, strips it down to its essentials, "hops-up" the engine, and gives it a snazzy paint job. From being an unpopular social misfit, he becomes popular and wins the affection of the most beautiful girl in town.

This was heady stuff to me at the time; so, when I arrived for my visit with Papa, I came with a stack of magazines and a drawing pad. The Hot Rod magazines I shared with Papa and the other residents of Miz Cannon's; the drawing pad I filled with "design exercises" of my proposed hot rod project. Papa was rather interested in automotive subjects, as he had been a pioneering auto dealer in the area. However, his interest in the topic must have been strained by my mania. It is a tribute to my grandfather's affection for me, that after a few days, he volunteered to take me around to auto graveyards in search of my ideal donor car.

I had decided that what I wanted to start with was a 1932 Ford roadster- the legendary "Deuce", or Mode1 "B". Although very similar to the "A" model, the "B" differed in two major ways. Most important, the Deuce was the first Ford to have a V-8 engine. Although primitive in design, compared to the more modern designs current in the '5Os and '60s, the Model B "flathead V-8"engine was esteemed very highly by such experts as outlaws Bonnie and Clyde, who wrote a fan letter to Henry Ford complimenting him on the speed and handling ability of his products. All real hot rods had V-8 engines, even those based on Model "A"s. Since the "B" already had such an engine in it, it was much simpler to build a hot rod around it. This was an important consideration, if the builder were essentially a child. The other difference from the "A" was the radiator shell, of sculpted and painted sheet metal, much more attractive than the more antique-looking nickel-plated component of the older car. I drew this item, as part of my "design exercises", so many times, that to this day, I can still do a perfect rendition of it.

Papa announced that there were two possible sources for my car, one in Salem, the other in Smithland. Since he knew the area better than any other living human, through his work, this probably didn't require a lot of research. Salem was our first stop, since it was closer. We had no luck there. Papa said not to worry, as the auto salvage yard at Smithland was much larger. So we set off.

"Get a horse" is an expression not heard too often, nowadays, but not so back then, especially if one were motoring with Papa. His idea of cruising speed was basically that of the Maxwells he sold in the early days of motoring, in Crittenden County. As with a horse, he tended to give his Buick a certain amount of leeway in its path. The Buick had a preference for straddling the centerline of the two-lane highway As air-conditioning was rather rare at the time, summertime driving was done with one's windows rolled down. This allowed for more direct communication between the drivers of automobiles than commonly occurs today. In addition to the aforementioned horse reference, I especially remember another I heard often that day: "Drive it or park it!" Needless to say, my posture as passenger during those exchanges was a pronounced slump in the seat, with averted face, although there was no earthly possibility of my being recognized in those parts.

We eventually arrived at our destination, and it certainly lived up to Papa's description. It was huge! To those whose image of auto salvage yards was that of tightly-ranked auto carcasses surrounded by chain-link fencing, the Smithland "yard" was an eye-opener. More of an auto "preserve", it consisted of acres and acres of rolling wooded terrain, populated by hundreds of ancient cars in natural poses. The impression was almost as though the cars had crawled there to die, very much as in the fabled elephant's graveyard. Since then, I have often wondered what ever happened to the place, as the treasure represented by those vintage auto corpses would be worth more today than the ivory to be found in that other graveyard.

We must have been an interesting sight: me- a skinny, bespectacled teenager, and Papa- a dignified personage in his usual suit, tie, shiny wingtip shoes and hat; as we tramped over every acre of the place. We inspected every hulk there, to no avail. There was not a single '32 Ford roadster to be found, although there were hordes of "T"s and "A"s, and a pretty fair representation of "B" coupes, sedans, and touring cars. With the short-sightedness of the truly fanatic young, I passed on them all, and conceded defeat. As we were leaving, the owner of the yard showed us a 1940 Ford Deluxe Coupe, which he had fixed-up for himself. He said I could have it for $150.00. Even then, it was an incredible bargain, for it was a very beautiful example of its breed, painted glossy black.(I daresay it would probably be worth $25,000.00 today, if not more.) But, in my fanaticism, I refused to consider it; even though Papa offered to buy it for me on the spot. A real hot rodder built his own car; and besides, it had a roof.

I never did find that Deuce roadster, which may have been for the best. Mr. Gault's novel ended with his young protagonist and his lovely girlfriend dying in a crash during a road race with the town bully. I'm sure it was meant as a cautionary tale, to discourage that sort of behavior; but it probably would only have encouraged me to practice driving fast, so as to have a happy ending for my hot rod story. Not having built my hot rod, therefore, insured a happy ending, of sorts; as I've survived to write this account of it.



		Papa and the Hot Rod By Jim Wilson I believe the year was 1960, or maybe '61. I was spending a summer week with my grandfather, Milton Yandell, in my family's hometown, Marion, Kentucky. This was quite a novelty for me; not that I was away from home, for I had spent time in previous summers with my paternal grandparents, in a farmhouse outside Marion. Staying with Papa, though, was different, for he lived in the middle of town, in Miz Cannon's Boarding House. Miz Cannon and her boarders were quite venerable, all being at least in their seventies. As the only youngster in the group, you may imagine that I was quite a pet to them. Downtown Marion itself seemed infinitely more ancient and sophisticated than Calvert City, where my family had lived since I was six.

			I had been fascinated by automobiles from an early age; by the time of my visit with Papa, this had escalated to full-blown mania. This mania was centered around "Hot Rods". Hot rods were not a new phenomenon, having begun as a movement shortly after the end of WWII in California. It was only in the mid-'5Os, however, that there was a national publication devoted to the subject, exposing susceptible youth in the hinterlands, such as myself, to this glamorous concept. I had also read a popular "youth novel" on the subject, by William Campbell Gault, aptly titled "Hot Rod", which depicted the process. The story was simple: a teen-ager obtains a junked Model "A" Ford roadster, strips it down to its essentials, "hops-up" the engine, and gives it a snazzy paint job. From being an unpopular social misfit, he becomes popular and wins the affection of the most beautiful girl in town. . This was heady stuff to me at the time; so, when I arrived for my visit with Papa, I came with a stack of magazines and a drawing pad. The Hot Rod magazines I shared with Papa and the other residents of Miz Cannon's; the drawing pad I filled with "design exercises" of my proposed hot rod project. Papa was rather interested in automotive subjects, as he had been a pioneering auto dealer in the area. However, his interest in the topic must have been strained by my mania. It is a tribute to my grandfather's affection for me, that after a few days, he volunteered to take me around to auto graveyards in search of my ideal donor car.

			I had decided that what I wanted to start with was a 1932 Ford roadster- the legendary "Deuce", or Mode1 "B". Although very similar to the "A" model, the "B" differed in two major ways. Most important, the Deuce was the first Ford to have a V-8 engine. Although primitive in design, compared to the more modern designs current in the '5Os and '60s, the Model B "flathead V-8"engine was esteemed very highly by such experts as outlaws Bonnie and Clyde, who wrote a fan letter to Henry Ford complimenting him on the speed and handling ability of his products. All real hot rods had V-8 engines, even those based on Model "A"s. Since the "B" already had such an engine in it, it was much simpler to build a hot rod around it. This was an important consideration, if the builder were essentially a child. The other difference from the "A" was the radiator shell, of sculpted and painted sheet metal, much more attractive than the more antique-looking nickel-plated component of the older car. I drew this item, as part of my "design exercises", so many times, that to this day, I can still do a perfect rendition of it. . Papa announced that there were two possible sources for my car, one in Salem, the other in Smithland. Since he knew the area better than any other living human, through his work, this probably didn't require a lot of research. Salem was our first stop, since it was closer. We had no luck there. Papa said not to worry, as the auto salvage yard at Smithland was much larger. So we set off. . "Get a horse" is an expression not heard too often, nowadays, but not so back then, especially if one were motoring with Papa. His idea of cruising speed was basically that of the Maxwells he sold in the early days of motoring, in Crittenden County. As with a horse, he tended to give his Buick a certain amount of leeway in its path. The Buick had a preference for straddling the centerline of the two-lane highway As air-conditioning was rather rare at the time, summertime driving was done with one's windows rolled down. This allowed for more direct communication between the drivers of automobiles than commonly occurs today. In addition to the aforementioned horse reference, I especially remember another I heard often that day: "Drive it or park it!" Needless to say, my posture as passenger during those exchanges was a pronounced slump in the seat, with averted face, although there was no earthly possibility of my being recognized in those parts.

			We eventually arrived at our destination, and it certainly lived up to Papa's description. It was huge! To those whose image of auto salvage yards was that of tightly-ranked auto carcasses surrounded by chain-link fencing, the Smithland "yard" was an eye-opener. More of an auto "preserve", it consisted of acres and acres of rolling wooded terrain, populated by hundreds of ancient cars in natural poses. The impression was almost as though the cars had crawled there to die, very much as in the fabled elephant's graveyard. Since then, I have often wondered what ever happened to the place, as the treasure represented by those vintage auto corpses would be worth more today than the ivory to be found in that other graveyard. . We must have been an interesting sight: me- a skinny, bespectacled teenager, and Papa- a dignified personage in his usual suit, tie, shiny wingtip shoes and hat; as we tramped over every acre of the place. We inspected every hulk there, to no avail. There was not a single '32 Ford roadster to be found, although there were hordes of "T"s and "A"s, and a pretty fair representation of "B" coupes, sedans, and touring cars. With the short-sightedness of the truly fanatic young, I passed on them all, and conceded defeat. As we were leaving, the owner of the yard showed us a 1940 Ford Deluxe Coupe, which he had fixed-up for himself. He said I could have it for $150.00. Even then, it was an incredible bargain, for it was a very beautiful example of its breed, painted glossy black.(I daresay it would probably be worth $25,000.00 today, if not more.) But, in my fanaticism, I refused to consider it; even though Papa offered to buy it for me on the spot. A real hot rodder built his own car; and besides, it had a roof. . I never did find that Deuce roadster, which may have been for the best. Mr. Gault's novel ended with his young protagonist and his lovely girlfriend dying in a crash during a road race with the town bully. I'm sure it was meant as a cautionary tale, to discourage that sort of behavior; but it probably would only have encouraged me to practice driving fast, so as to have a happy ending for my hot rod story. Not having built my hot rod, therefore, insured a happy ending, of sorts; as I've survived to write this account of it. . Return To Kustom Kulture Copyright 1999 .