The Columbus & 25th Street Speedway reunion is coming soon!



Mark your Calendars for the 17th annual Columbus Speedway and 25th Street Speedway Old-Timers Reunion presented by racing historian and author Greg Littleton. This special event will be held Saturday March 28 2015 at the Bartholomew County 4-H Fairgrounds in Columbus Indiana from 11 AM to 4 PM.


Greg indicates that this year's event will be bigger than ever, with door prizes, awards, food and drinks, and table top sprint car races for the kids. The show will as always feature modern and vintage race cars on display, and vendors with unique racing memorabilia for sale.


For more information, or to reserve a vendor table, contact Greg Littleton at 812-378-2060 or roadsters@comcast.net

Bench Racing Weekend set to return for 2015! 

Editor's note: If you are a racing history buff, this is an event to put on your "bucket list!"

The Bench Racing Weekend tradition continues in 2015 with interesting events, cars, memorabilia, movies, good food and fascinating people and of course great racing stories. The event originally created by Emil Andres and Duke Nalon, and continued by Nan & Jack Martin and Junior Dreyer, carries on in 2015.

The dates for the Bench Racing Weekend have been set for March 13 through 15 2015 at the Crowne Plaza Hotel located conveniently at the Indianapolis Airport.  Early whispers suggest that a famed race track historian will be on hand for the banquet presentation on Saturday night!  

Registration is set to begin in early January 2015. Stay tuned! 

George Place’s Hudson sprint car

By Dale Fairfax

Editor’s note: Like many of you, I have watched the high-dollar automobile collector auctions on television, and while the provenance of the million dollar muscle cars always seems well-documented, the history of the race cars offered at these auctions is often overlooked. This article from renowned racing historian Dale Fairfax traces the history of one such car.  Thanks for sharing Dale!

 

 

While recently reviewing auction results Hemmings Motor News I was surprised to see that a Hudson Hornet-powered sprint car offered at auction again for the third time in two years. I fear that this ‘1930s Hudson-powered Champ Car’ is going to be worn out just from travelling across the country and across the auction block.

My interest in this race car is based on having known the builder, George Place, and thus being familiar with some of its mechanical details.  Some of this information that has been stated previously is incomplete and somewhat inaccurate. For example the car was actually built in the mid 1960's, not the 1930's. The frame and front axle may be from the nineteen thirties by virtue of being sourced from a Model A Ford but the car dates from the nineteen sixties. The auction description claimed the body is alloy although the builder told me that it was a steel body. As opposed to its current appearance, the original body color was a coppery maroon with few, if any, decals.

 

 

The car was built by George C. Place, who ran an auto parts store and garage in the small northwestern Ohio town of Delphos. George was a passionate Hudson aficionado who started racing in 1949 at Landeck Speedway with a track roadster in the Buckeye Roadster Association. Over ensuing years, his cars became ever more sophisticated, especially as he absorbed and acquired technology from his mentor and friend, Joe Walls of Muncie, Indiana. 

Joe Walls started out with the roadsters of the Mutual Racing Association in 1939 and raced a car powered by Terraplane 6-cylinder engine in a Model A frame.  Over time, Joe developed concepts like needle bearing camshafts that ran in bores created by a unique Walls-designed boring bar,  custom camshafts with  profiles ground on a home-built grinder, a dry sump oiling system on a flathead engine, and his own "Rhyne-Walls" quick change rear end.

In the late nineteen fifties, George Place acquired Joe Wall’s tooling and incorporated many of Wall’s concepts into his own series of sprint cars and modified stock car which he campaigned throughout the Midwest during the nineteen sixties.

 

Regarding the much-auctioned Hudson Hornet-powered race car, other than the "million lightening holes" drilled in the frame of the car, the most unique feature was its home-made mechanical fuel injector.  It worked and looked much like a Hilborn fuel injection system but, except for the barrel valve, was all built by George.

The throttle bodies were made from 2" black pipe, the injector butterflies were brass slugs made of stamping scrap from the National Seal Company of Van Wert Ohio, and the fuel pump came from a military surplus store in the Chicago area. George claimed the system ran quite well even though he frequently struggled with an overly rich condition and readily out-performed the Joe Walls-built twin Riley carburetor manifold that he had used earlier.

When I last saw the car in George's shop, it was equipped with a bolt-on roll cage and a set of very robust wire wheels on the rear. As is typical of any old race car, the need for money led to its sale.  George couldn’t remember the details of the sale but some years later the car was discovered in Larry Rust's racing museum (actually a chicken coop) in Fayetteville, Ohio.  The discovery was reported in the May 1994 issue of Rod & Custom magazine with a subsequent follow up article in the October 1994 issue, and at that point the Place home-built fuel injector was still on the car.

Later, Larry Rust died and the contents of his collection were auctioned off. Kirk DuQuette, a custom woodie station wagon body builder from the Cincinnati area bought the car then “flipped it” to Don DeSalle of Anderson, Indiana.

DeSalle commissioned a cosmetic, inaccurate, non-running restoration as the 'DeSalle Promotions Special' painted to resemble the 1952 Indianapolis ‘500’ winning car which he used to promote his vintage toy show and flea market business.  During DeSalle’s ownership the injector system was lost, then the throttle bodies were welded closed, though presumably the internals of the engine still included all the Walls/Place ‘High Tech’ details.

DeSalle sold the car to Rick Hadley in Marshall, Michigan then in early 2013 it was sold from the Hadley estate sale to new owner in California.  The new owner dropped off with a mechanic in Arizona who fabricated an intake system for it and got the car up and running, before it was sold again at auction in August 2013 for $23,650. Most recently it reappeared in Auburn Indiana in August 2014 at Auctions America and it was a ‘no sale’ with the high bid of $14,000

George C. Place passed away in his hometown of Delphos Ohio on October 11, 2014 at age 93.

A Southern auto racing novel

Today we return to part three of the racing novel provided to us by a racer who wishes to remain anonymous. You can find the first two chapters in the Archive section to familiarize yourself with the characters and locations.  

I spent a quiet Sunday around my house, doing chores in the morning and washing my Olds in the afternoon under the tree in the front yard. I was anxious to get to work Monday morning and talk to my boss Mr. Johnson about what I’d seen Saturday night at his race track. Based on what I considered my years of experience from attending “real” races back home in Indiana, I’d thought some ideas to improve things at Union Speedway.

Monday morning, after work got started and I was sure that things were running smoothly down on the shop floor, I knocked on Mr. Johnson’s door about 9 o’clock and he invited me into his office. As I took a seat, Mr. Johnson asked with a grin “How are you adjusting to living down South, Yank? You’re doin’ a fine job but after just a couple of months it’s a mite early to ask for a raise.” I told him that I enjoyed my new life and that assured him that I wasn’t angling for a raise. “What I wanted to talk about was that I went out to Union Speedway Saturday night.” “Yeah? What’d you think?”

I told him honestly that the facility was too primitive and that the racing action was too rough for my taste, and that one particular ruffian ought to be asked by track officials to tone it down or find a new hobby. Mr. Johnson laughed “you mean Sims, I take it.” I nodded. “Well, even though you’re new in town, I feel like I can trust you can keep quiet about information offered in confidence.” I nodded agreement.

“The truth of the matter is…..” said Mr. Johnson “we pay Sims 100 bucks a month to be our bad guy. You see the first couple of years after my brother and I inherited the Union Speedway from our father, attendance was sorry. Since we started paying Sims, more fans come and the stands are close to full.” “Wait a minute,” I said, “you’re saying you pay him to act like that? I don’t get that.” Mr. Johnson chuckled “It’s called promotion my boy. We have a different fellow to play a role at our other track, but that’s a whole different deal with the crowd at Standard Speedway.”

Now I was really confused “you mean your family owns both tracks? How come two tracks so close? Doesn’t attendance suffer?” Mr. Johnson explained, “Our father loved dirt racing and blacktop racing equally, so he built one of each. We divide the responsibilities, I handle the dirt track, and my brother John watches over the blacktop track. The tracks run on alternate weeks, but draw different crowds. If you want, I’ll have him leave you a pass at the back gate at Standard for Saturday night.” I thanked him several times, and as I left his office, he called out to me “Remember our little secret.” I felt like my feet weren’t touching the floor as I walked back to my desk. Maybe life in this little Southern town wouldn’t be so bad after all with racing every Saturday night.  

Tuesday night after work, on my way to Piggly-Wiggly for groceries, I swung into the Pure Oil station for a buck’s worth of ethyl. Sims came out of the tiny office and growled, “I bet you want me to check the oil too, huh college boy?” As I matter of fact, I did, and said so. After he popped the hood, I head a low whistle, “you got a pair of Winfield carbs on this thing, and that ain’t the factory exhaust. Pretty hot for a six banger.” Thanks” I said, “you did some nifty driving Saturday at Union, little rough on some of the boys, though.” Sims slammed the hood in reply. “I give ‘em all a chance to get out of the way when they see her coming. If they ain’t gone when I get there, they get the horn.”

“That’s quite a machine,” I said as I gestured towards the red and white #5 1940 Ford coupe parked alongside the grease rack “she’s a beauty.” “She’s fast too,” Sims said” got a flathead with all the Clay Smith goodies, lotsa horsepower and I know how to get it to hook. That’s why she’s never been beat this season. They put a bounty on me last year that got high enough for a fellow to tow in from Memphis to beat me one time last year. Just one time!” I asked Sims if he would be at Standard on Saturday night, Sims shook his head and the scowl returned to his face. ”Heck no, that’s too high class for the likes of me. Your oil’s fine, you owe me a buck.” As I drove away, he mumbled “Nice car – come again.”

The rest of the workweek flew by as my anticipation built for Saturday night. When Eddie brought my mail Saturday morning, he was sheepish. “My wife’s been mad at me all week for drinking too much and yelling at you last week, she says I was rude,” he said. I waved it off, and asked if he was headed to Standard that evening. “No way, that highfalutin pavement racing got nothing for me, and I’m lucky my wife goes to races every other week. You’re on your own there Yank.”

“What do you mean?” I replied "that’s the second time I’ve heard that - what do they race out there anyway - Packards and Caddys?” “No" Eddie said, “they race late model stock cars and high dollar modifieds, but they run careful not to rub each other and scratch up their shiny paint jobs.”  

Before he left, I asked Eddie about his brother’s car. “Oh yeah, that’s a good car alright. He bought it late last year from a fella in Northern Ohio - it was “B” track champion at a track called  Landeck Speedway up there. Good running stock six cylinder Chevy with a hot cam, but it ain’t a match for that beast that Sims got though.”      

I was so anxious to check out Standard Speedway that I didn’t even look through the latest issue of National Speed Sport News that afternoon before I cleaned up, put on my fresh Champion t-shirt and left early to make the 15-mile drive to Standard Speedway.  

Check back next week for the next exciting chapter! 

  

First photos of  the completed Arizona Hard Chrome midget

The restoration of the Arizona hard Chrome Chevrolet V-4 midget is competed! Here are the first photos courtesy of Ron Trainor. 

See this beauty in person during the 2014 Hall Of Fame Induction Ceremonies at the Arizona Open Wheel Racing Museum. The ceremony will be held on Thursday, November 13 2014 from 6:00 to 9:30 PM at the Museum located at 3534 East Broadway Road in Phoenix Arizona. Call 602-276-7575 for more details.    

The Arizona Hard Chrome V4 midget is nearly complete! 

 The Arizona Hard Chrome V4 midget is now in the final stages of completion. Ron Trainor took these photos on October 7 2014, and everything  is complete except to install the gauges, mount the tires and wheels when the wheels came back from polisher, bleed the brakes, set the injectors, and re-installation of the body panels.    

The completed Bud Trainor / Arizona Hard Chrome V4 #92 midget owned by Dan Ricehouse will be unveiled at the Arizona Open Wheel Racing Museum during the 2014 Hall Of Fame Induction Ceremonies. The ceremony will be held on Thursday, November 13 2014 from 6:00 to 9:30 PM at the Museum located at 3534 East Broadway Road in Phoenix Arizona. Call 602-276-7575 for more details.    

Continuing our change of pace, here is chapter two of  a work of fiction. The author has asked to remain anonymous.

A Wild Ride- chapter two 

A work of fiction by “Anonymous”

As I drove west on Highway 23 into the setting sun that Saturday night in my two-tone grey Oldsmobile, I looked forward to finally see some racing. About five miles out of town, just as Eddie as said, there were a few cars that turned south onto a narrow road - Union Road. 

I followed a dusty 1934 Ford sedan for half a mile until turned it left into a small dirt lot already halfway filled with cars. In the distance I could see the top rows of open grandstands and I heard the roar of racing engines being tuned in the distance so I knew I had arrived at Union Speedway. 

As I approached the tiny ticket booth, I heard the pretty blonde inside exclaim “Hi Yankee boy! I see you found us!” I realized that it was Louise, the cashier at Hubin’s Rexall Drugstore whom I had unsuccessfully asked out earlier in the week.  Now I understood that she had been truthful when she told me she was busy on Saturday night.

After I greeted her and paid the $2.00 admission, she said “if you’ve have asked I’d have given you a free pass. My Daddy runs the spectator side of things here, while my Uncle Dub runs the track operation for the owner your boss Mr. Johnson” I mumbled my thanks and as I walked away, she called out “Enjoy the races, and ask me out for some other night sometime.”

Once inside the gate, I walked past the restrooms and concession stand then clambered up a rickety grandstand to the right of the flag stand, which hung out over the track just above the low block retaining wall. I found a seat and surveyed the facility, which was pretty primitive even for 1955. 

The ¼-mile track built in an open field had little banking in the turns and the only retaining wall was on the front stretch to protect the spectators. There were a row of lights strung along each of the straightaways from poles, with one big light mounted on poles in the infield at the center of each of the turns.  

I counted two dozen jalopy race cars and ten more sleeker-looking hot rods and roadsters in the infield as their respectively crews clad in t-shirts and white pants toiled over them.

After a few minutes the public address speakers crackled to life and the announcer said “Welcome folks this is your announcer Fats Harrison. I’ll be here all night to call the exciting race action.”  After a pause, he said “Okay boys let’s get this program started- line them cars up to go work the track before we start racing.”  

As the cars slowly tooled around the track, Eddie the postman walked up the grandstand. “Hey, glad to see you! If you want you can come and set with me and my family we're just a couple rows behind you.” Under his breath, Eddie added, “I got a flask with some hard stuff.”  I gladly accepted Eddie’s offer not so I could drink but so I could get the “inside scoop” on the night’s races.

The night was a whirlwind of racing; as I had observed there were two classes which Eddie described as ”stock” and “modified.” The stock class cars looked to my eye to be escapees from a junkyard, while some of the better modified cars were similar to the Mutual Roadsters I’d seen a few times back home in Indiana. Eddie’s wife Martha told me that ‘Fats’ was a radio announcer down at the state capitol and not fat at all, “in fact” she giggled “he’s very handsome,” which earned her a dirty look from her husband.   

As darkness fell, my eyes adjusted to the dim track lighting, but I had to wonder how much the drivers saw on the track. The ‘stock car’ heat races and feature were mostly of the “slam bang” variety with a lot of spins and crashes which brought the crowd of 500 fans to their feet. 

By comparison the ‘modified’ cars were faster and they raced clean for the most part. I say for the most part, because the driver of one car, the number #5 a white cut-down flathead-powered 1940 Ford coupe treated his fellow racers pretty roughly and ‘Fats’ pointed out each bump to murmuring crowd.    

Even though he clearly had a superior car, at the start of the 15-lap feature he bulled his way towards the front. A few laps later the number #5 ran second to the pale blue #34 1930 Ford roadster driven by Eddie’s brother. As the pair entered turn three, the #5 car locked onto the bumper of the leading roadster and spun him into the dusty infield. 

After he got the lead, the #5 car led the rest of the way and lapped about half of the remaining cars. After the checkered flag fell and the #5 car pulled to a stop in front of the grandstands, the crowd heartily booed as the driver climbed out.

As he removed his Cromwell helmet, I recognized the scowl and long greasy black hair of “Sims” the attendant at the Pure Oil station in town. As the flagman scampered down from the flag stand onto the track to hand the winner the checkered flag, the booing continued, and after he was handed the flag, “Sims” snapped it in half, threw it on the ground and stamped on it. 

I thought there would be a riot as “Sims” climbed back in his car, fired it up and drove it back to his pit. Once there he began to attach it to the tow bar behind his pickup truck as the catcalls rained down. Eddie drunkenly yelled in my ear “That Sims! What a bum!  They ought to have kicked that cracker out of the race for how he done my brother.”

I was curious to learn more about the local racing scene, but as excited (and drunk) as everyone was, I knew I wouldn’t get straight answers to my questions tonight, I could ask around town next week, so I climbed into my Olds and headed for home. 

The author is anxious to judge the racing history community's reaction to his fictional work. If there is enough interest, he's promised to continue his story.............