THE AFFAIR

Hi! I would like to introduce myself by my nickname ” Little Red” given to me by Vince’s buddies during the early sixties. Describing myself as a redheaded, brash, petite, temperamental, well stacked hussy, with long legs. I’ve been known to really stretch them out at times. I’m dedicating this short story to the memory of Vince’s dad Sam who was instrumental in locating my ravished body and saving my life from the crusher, which I was certainly destined for. I will ever be eternally grateful to him.

My affair with Vince, my long time owner and champion of forty plus years began one fall day in 1952. I was on display in the show room of C.C. Brigham’s Studebaker sales and service located at Foster Brook, Pa. His nose was pressed against the plate glass admiring my sleek unadorned lines. My severe service or export package was not dressed with a lot of junk jewelry commonly called chrome like my domestic counter parts. I did not look like the proverbial ” GOOK Wagon”. I require very little make-up to show off my lines. I do not need chrome to go, just try me. It was love at first sight! I had a different stance than my domestic cousins that caught his eye, equipped with massive brakes, heavy-duty suspension, rear sway bar, traction bars, over-sized tires, floor shift and a Power Pac by STU V that included a four-barrel carb and dual exhausts. Alas I was already spoken for by an employee of the Saudi American Oil Company who purchased me and I was waiting to take a voyage to the Middle East. The salesman was Chet Hallock. Chet a senior lifetime member of the Street Dreams car club whom just recently passed away.

After being used up in the desert I was shipped home and given to my then owners son who decided to change my color and painted me with a powder puff and I needed a heart transplant. He gave up on me and was to be disposed of. Vince’s Dad found out I was available and I was hauled home in pieces in the back of Jesse Munn’s pick up and stored in his dad’s back yard to await Vince’s return from Nam. When Vince first saw me I was a real mess, lifeless and in disarray. I needed intensive care. Then Father and son went to work on restoring my ravished body back to health. Talk about father and son bonding, the two of them out in the garage until the wee hours of the morning. First I was taken to Custer City Oil Company where Tom Murphy steamed cleaned me and pressure washed the Ugly color from my body reveling my true color, red. Then Vince buffed out my red skin and I started to feel a little better. Knowing I needed a heart transplant the guys ordered a complete severe service eight-cylinder crate engine from the Studebaker factory. Sorry you purist it is the engine used in trucks, export and police cars. The reason why I sound a little cranky the engine is equipped with the” La Carrea” cam shaft kit used in the Mexican Road Race Studes. The guys restored the Power Pac that consisted of a four-barrel carb and low restriction dual exhausts. The engine was blue printed and balanced. Even my valves where lapped in with toothpaste. With my heavy-duty suspension and the rest of the severe service or export package restored I am still considered quite a piece. When they fired me up for the first time I was stronger than ever, sounding real sassy.

The guys planned on taking me to the 1961 Speed Weeks at Daytona Beach Florida so, I was taken to City Motors Body Shop for a little touch up by Glen. One must look ones best for the guys. This was the last year that NASCAR ran the flying mile called the Century Club on the sand at the famed Daytona Beach.

Knowing that his dad would enjoy giving me a chance to prove myself by trying out the Flying mile, they had a coin toss to see who would take me through the measured mile. His dad always called “Heads”. So Vince purchased a two-headed Quarter from “Sewards” before they left for Daytona.

The trip down to Florida was interesting as Vince’s dad later explained the trip to the Guys at the Studebaker garage upon our return that I was driven so fast by his dad that we where sucking the chickens off of fence posts while driving through the south. They had planned to drive straight through to Harbor Heights and stay at the Family diggings by sharing the driving but due to inclement weather they stopped in at a motel in the hills of Georgia over night.

The plan was to drive to the Beach from Harbor Heights each day the guys wanted to go to an event at Daytona. The day they entered me in the attempt at the Century Club the guys prepped me by taping up my head lights, removing my hub caps and filling me up with Pure “76” high test and driven to the beach. Then the infamous coin toss which Vince’s dad naturally won. The entrance fee was paid and I entered the line to await my attempt at becoming a member of the Century Club that is exceeding 100 miles per hour at the end of the mile.

I was in line with the muscle cars of the era. I would have been very lonely if it wasn’t for a Studebaker Golden Hawk in line with me. The announcer broadcasted over the PA system that the odds where slim to none that the little red coupe from Pennsylvania would reach a hundred or even make it across the finish line. Vince cautioned his dad that we were running on sand to take it easy when taking off. When the flag dropped I was revved up and the clutch dumped and away I went. Some of the super studs could not crack the century mark but believe it or not, I did. I really made Sam’s day, the return road was down by the beach motels. He had me revved up in second gear with my pipes rapping. I made the guys proud. Sam had his prize possession the timing slip between his teeth, the proof of the pudding stating that I was officially a member of the Century Club. All those midnight hours in the garage at Foster Brook really paid off.

After returning from Florida Vince was called up for active duty. I waited patiently in the parking lots of military bases while my guy was sent to do our country’s bidding, I can’t say where and when and Vince couldn’t. I dreaded the day he may come back to me in a body bag but he was released back to the reserves and back to me. I’ve been with him ever since. 

Then the affair really got serious, Vince went through the drag racing phase, I teamed up with “Big Red” a 1963 427 Mercury Marauder fast back campaigned by the three Rink brothers of City Motors, Ray, Dick and Bobby. I ran at or near the record of “F” modified stock production class of the now defunct American Hot Rod Association. I still have my “Cheater Slicks” and still ready to do battle with some loud month. I have trophies to prove what I accomplished. Both Vince’s Mother and Anna Rink asked the boys not to bring any more dust collectors home so the guys gave a lot of them away. Every once in a while at some cruise or show, some one will come up to us and say they remember that dammed thing running at The Niagara Drag Away in the sixties.

One Friday afternoon Vince received a phone call from his mother from Florida that his Dad had taken ill and his mother was very concerned and wanted her son at his dad’s side. As fate would have it the family car was at the dealership car for service and would not be ready until noon the next day. Ever try to fly out in such a short notice? It’s almost impossible. To make a long story short Little Red was called upon to make the trip to Harbour Heights, Florida. I was serviced at the corner Kendall service station, oil changed with Kendall GT-1, my gas tank filled with high test and at six o’clock Friday evening after a phone call to Florida stating that we where on the way with the family dog. The trip was rather uneventful with my extended range gas tank we made it to Lexington, KY. The guys needed to make a pit stop and I needed fuel. Things got interesting, while taking a detour thru Harlan County Ky, a warning was broadcast over the radio warning travelers that highway men where pulling tourists over to rob them. A little later in the wee hours of the morning Vince noticed a car was following us. He sped up, the car sped up, noticing it was not a police car all hell broke loose Vince gave them a run for their money. Pulling into an all night service area for protection if needed, the car following us pulled in also. After the car stopped, a couple of gentlemen in crumbled suits got out and showed Vince their badges they where “Revenuers”. They stated a car that old going that fast thru the mountains late at night had to be a moon shiner hauling ” shine”. Vince explained to them he thought they were highwaymen. After the car was searched and no shine was found, after a good laugh we were sent on our way.

Short time after getting back on the super slab Vince was monitoring the CB, chatter starting to come over the air, “Did you see the Studebaker coupe south bound”, ” I haven’t seen one of those in years”, ” Boy he must be on a mission for he’s covering a lot of ground in a hurry”. Then a voice stated” Hey little buddy in the Stude what’s the hurry”. Vince replied “A medical emergency, dad very ill at Punta Gorda, Florida.

The trucker than replied “There is a Pilot semi just in front of you, he’s going to Tampa get in his rocking chair and stay there. Stay in communication with him, when he stops, you stop.” Truckers can really make up time after a couple of fuel coffee stops; just north of Tampa he bid us adieu as we headed for US 41 called Suicide Alley”

At 2 o’clock Saturday afternoon, 1327 miles later; Vince and little Chiang walked across the lawn at Harbour Heights. His mother even she was glad to see them dressed Vince out stating she has one in the hospital she didn’t want the other one in the grave. If she only knew, even though the speed limit on interstate 75 was 75. Vince’s dad pulled thru. Naturally we took our time coming back to good old Bradford and, no tickets, not even a warning.

Saturday nights during one summer at Christopher’s, a Salamanca; NY watering hole and beef house was a little interesting. This was the meeting place for guys and gals to do outlaw drag racing on an abandoned stretch of highway on the reservation usually for quite a few bucks. Vince always had a couple of one hundred dollar bills stashed in his wallet waiting for the opportune moment. Looks can be deceiving. Participants showed up with their muscle cars of the era of which Vince had a big block Mercury Cyclone that I could eat alive. The Merc lost some and won some, I ran some out law races too, but never lost money for Vince. Looks can be deceiving. I was accused of being a ringer, when a person gets his or her’s doors blown off by a Mopar, Chevy, Ford, Merc one can accept it, but by a “Stupenbaker” that for the most part was hard to take by some individuals.

One run that really stands out, I drove Vince over to Moonies restaurant over at Bone Run to meet the other red head in his life for supper, his wife as she was in Erie for a seminar that day. This god’s gift to creation showed up in a Blue Chevelle 396 SS. The first statement upon entering the watering hole ” Who belongs to that piece of crap in the parking lot ” meaning me. To top it off when Vince went up to the bar to pick up a round of drinks, the jerk tried to pick up Vince’s wife, a stunning red head also. He was put down by her and then approached to put up or shut up or take back his remark about me. He put up because he felt his 396 SS would blow the doors off the Studebaker. Ben held the money while the bar emptied out to watch the two cars line up out front. One of Nino’s buddies acted as the starter. The Chevelle sounded like a Nascar stocker with engine being revved up during the burnout while I did my thing with very little fan fare. The starter nodded at Nino to see if he was ready, he nodded yes, pointed at Vince and he acknowledged. The starter then waved us off. I hooked up to the pavement immediately while the Chevelle squealed and spun his tires in a cloud of smoke I was” color me gone” Piece of junk huh! I don’t condone out law racing, but one has to defend one’s honor. I’ve also taken hot laps around the Glen, toured Daytona International Raceway and the shrine of racing Indy.

Now that I am in my fifties, I still can turn a few heads. People walk up and ask what kind of automobile I am, can’t believe I’m still sharp for my age. I confess I had a face-lift by one of Vince’s buddies,”Jiffy” of Barrett’s Auto body. Incidentally PPG shot a video commercial of my bod taken down to my bare skin, incidentally it was a little embarrassing and refinished, the commercial was shown on national TV in the early nineties and during sales promotions.

People hear us coming and they wonder what powers me, believe me I’m all Studie, except for a pair of valve cover breathers, someone swiped mine and I now wear a pair from one of Vince’s Blue Oval 427’s.

You may consider calling me literally Vince’s trophy mistress. Vince has a room full of goodies, trophies I won for him over the years, at shows and at the drags. I have nothing to prove to any one except my self. It’s been one heck of a ride over all these years. If I could only talk, I could really black mail him.

Would you know it, as fate would have it? I have out lasted girl friends, wives, muscle cars, still winning trophies as some of my former competition went to that junkyard in the sky. I am not a product of a custom car shop where someone has laid down big bucks for me; I am what I am, a non-restored middle-aged redhead, and no plastic that still has it. Have a good day!