Originally published 10-10-11

The sad part is no one knew his real name – only his reputation, his legend.

He was flamboyant, yet crude … a measure of uncivilized, but more than willing to help one down on his luck. He was said to have been a darn good welder when he wasn’t on the tail end of sipping a potent concoction from a tube flowing from the Moon tank within his artificial leg.

This is how many who crossed the path of David Huntington Jr., described their experiences with him.

Does the name ring a bell?

It didn’t with those who interacted with the man who could lay down a perfect bead while wearing a Captain’s Hat with a feather sticking out or his Planet of the Apes mask. Porky was a master of the headwear.

“I don’t know his name, nor do I care to know it,” said Bill Doner, arguably the most colorful of 1970s drag racing promoters. “He will always be Porky the Pirate to me.”

“I’m really embarrassed that I never knew his name,” added Louie Force, older brother of 15-time NHRA champion John Force. “He was one of those characters that when he was there, you thought about. Sadly when he wasn’t you didn’t think about him.”

If not for a May 1980 article in the Lodi (Ca.) News Sentinel, this article might have been written without knowing the real name of an individual who defined the real nature of what drag racing’s rock star culture was about.

“If we had more guys like Porky the Pirate today, drag racing would be a lot more fun,” Doner added. “He always inspired conversation. Whenever I’d have a race, my people would call me on the radio and tell me Porky was at the gate and didn’t know whether to let him in or not. He had the potential to be as popular as Garlits and I always told them to wave him through. If I didn’t let him in, there would be a worse scene out there than could have ever been inside.”

Porky, in his pre-clown prince days, was at one time a master mechanic and heavy equipment operator who lost his leg when a 350-ton wall fell on him, crushing the leg. One story suggests Porky used a pocket knife to remove the leg and crawled to safety. This is the legend and not a proven fact.

Porky reportedly tried working as a door to door salesman among other jobs the accident. Problems with his leg kept him from holding down a steady job.

Once a normal family man, he admitted to the newspaper there was a time when he was married, with five children and a mortgage, living off of $25,000; a fairly good sum in those days. He would often use the family credit card to sneak off to the drag races with the kids before getting divorced in 1971.

He eventually moved into another home on five-acres, where he told the newspaper reporter, four of his children lived with him along with a bevy of runaway children. This haven would eventually give way to eviction when he and the kids were put out of the street with $5 and a tank of gas in his truck.

He was too proud to ask for help and used his truck with a welder attached to earn makeshift work.

Somewhere in this survival of the fittest period in his life, the legend of Porky the Pirate was born. It is said that a friend dared him to dress up for a parade and when he gained overwhelming acceptance from those in attendance each outing became a challenge to present a more outlandish presentation.

There were three loves in Porky’s life, at least those which were clearly evident, he loved his sauce, entertaining and by his own admission, children.

NHRA Full Throttle Funny Car superstar Ron Capps was one of those children who gravitated toward Porky.

“It could be in the dead of summer and he always wore some kind of a get-up,” Capps said. “He would do his work but he had all kinds of things hanging off of him. You’d think he would have taken it off, but he never would for some reason.

“He was always around. I always remember my dad, if he broke something, would send me to look for Porky to fix it. He would walk around on this aluminum leg and it would squeak like a shock. He would grunt, hiss and talk to himself. But to us kids, he was always kind to us. He must have loved kids because there was a bunch of us who would go there and watch him work. He was the best.”

When you walk around with a peg-keg with a tubular straw and as much as two gallons of tequila sloshing around inside, you’re bound to have a story or two. In those days, everyone had a Porky story.

Doner could have written a book.

There was the time Doner made the mistake of helping Porky to get into the NHRA’s crown jewel, the U.S. Nationals with the understanding to Wally Parks that he’d ensure the colorful icon would conform.

Doner, as if he ever really found favor with Wally Parks, could only grimace as Porky created a scene by waving a pirate flag in Don Garlits’ face. The only problem with this was Garlits was on the starting line staging his nitro-burner.

For Doner, the real story transpired at Fremont, long after the nitro cars he’d booked in had made their last cackle. As Doner was counting the day’s loot, a well-dressed race attendee wearing a blue blazer and accompanied by his young son, walked into the office seeking a word with the promoter.

“I’ve got a big problem,” he said.

“Tell me,” Doner said.

“It’s not something I can tell,” he explained. “It’s something you got to see for yourself.”

Doner, accompanied by two off-duty police officers, made his way, along with the race fan and son, into the unlit Fremont pits, with only flashlights, where he happened upon a scene which initially left him speechless. To leave Doner speechless in those days was quite the feat.

In a fit of drunken creativity, Porky had torched half of the gentleman’s car off.

“That’s just the half of it,” the gentleman told Doner. “Look at this.”

The front half of the car was welded to Porky’s truck.

Where was Porky? According to Doner, Porky was passed out in the dirt with helmet in place.

One of the befuddled police officers cautioned Doner.

“Don’t touch a thing,” the officer said. “I’ll be back in 10 minutes.”

Doner asked the officer if he was going to arrest Porky.

Tom Schiltz

“H*** no,” says the guard, “I going to get my brother. He’s a professional photographer. I need a picture of this. Nobody will believe me otherwise.”

A Porky story only needed a photo, not to prove its validity, but to ensure the story was told correctly.

“He was gullible and drunk most of the time,” said Louie Force. “He truthfully lived in his own little world. He really didn’t even care about drag racing [from the competition sense] but it was his whole life. Porky didn’t care what anyone thought about him and I mean in any sense. He was always there to help you if you needed it. It was contingent if you could keep him standing up. He was an ace welder and could easily weld tin foil together.”

Force said Porky was eclectic in everything he did.

“He had this truck and everything he owned was in it,” recalled Force. “You couldn’t see the dash because it was cluttered with everything from beer bottles to stuffed animals. He was truly mad as a hatter. He was a strange bird. The older he got, the stranger he got.”

Just as challenging as it was to discover Porky’s given name, the details of his life beyond the 1980 newspaper article remains a secret. He is said to have passed away but there’s no obituary that we can find to substantiate it.

The one part we can substantiate is his legend and it will likely live forever.