Competition enters the quarterfinals for the second annual CompetitionPlus.com War Stories Showdown, a competition which places sixteen of drag racing's personalities head-to-head in storytelling competition. Over the next four days, you will be presented with the first round strories of each respective contestants. They are paired on an NHRA eliminations ladder seeded by reader vote last week.

Today's competition featuresa dynamic battle between No. 8 seeded Shirley Muldowney versus top qualified John Force, No. 4 Gary Scelzi meets Chris Kaufmann.

For the next four weeks, CompetitionPlus.com will conduct its second annual War Stories Showdown. The veterans of yarn spinning are paired for what promises to be a series destined to produce the finest behind-the-scenes stories.

Here are the rules –

The field was seeded by reader vote. The participants are paired on the standard NHRA professional eliminations ladder. Each story represents an elimination run for the participant. The readers will judge each war story on the merits of (A) believability and (B) entertainment value. Please do not vote based on popularity. You are the judge and jury, so vote accordingly.

Voting lasts for three days per elimination match. Once a driver advances to the next round, they must submit a new war story.

This is an event based on fun and entertainment value, and the rules are simple. The stories cannot describe any felonious acts (unprosecuted, that is) and you can't use a story about your opponent, against them. That happened last year and wasn't pretty at all. There is a one event win rule.

This is drag racing with no red-lights, disqualifications and plenty of oil downs minus the clean-ups. Please enjoy as each of our competitors tell their own stories.

#8 – Shirley “Cha-Cha” Muldowney
WAR STORIES CLAIM TO FAME – The Cat Fightin’ Champion of the World
1ST RD - defeated Joe Lepone Jr., 57.85% - 42.15%

THAT $^%^%&** ASHTRAY SLINGING WOMAN

One round with three more to go, and when you draw John Force in competition you had better come with the guns blazing and with everything you have in the arsenal. I watched that guy come up through the ranks and when you come up like he did, there’s usually a handful of stories that are written along the way.

As I told you last round, many of my stories focus on standing toe to toe with someone slapping it out and I never went looking for a fight, they came searching me out. Let the lesson be known. If you mess with the bull, you get the horn or in my case – the ashtray.

This particular story dates back to our championship season in 1982.

We had just won the Northstar Nationals in Brainerd, Minn., and that brought to an end a frustrating weekend of sleeping in these cabanas the NHRA had booked us into that weekend.

Everything about the place we stayed had bad news written over it. The name of the place was Breezy Point and it was 15 miles from the track down a country two-lane road.

I remember that you had to grease up the bed post legs to keep the bugs and ants from crawling up into the bed with you and when you did make it to the shower, you had these pull strings that operated the flow of the water. Keep in mind these were cold water showers only.

Former Top Fuel racer Doug Kerhulas was in the cabana next to us. Our truck and trailer was red and his truck was red but had a white trailer. Keep this in mind for later in the story.

We won the race and there was a restaurant down in the lobby of the place we were staying. The place was right on the end of a circle drive road. It was right on a lake and the restaurant was on the second floor. One whole wall was plate glass overlooking the lake.

I grabbed that ashtray and from 15 feet out, sailed this thing like a boomerang – you could hear it going – swish – swoosh – swish, almost like a helicopter and it caught him on the back corner of his head and laid him wide open.

We, and I mean the crew and myself, were sitting there enjoying the rest after a long and hard-fought win over Gary Beck.

We were eating our salads when this obviously drunken guy walks up and he’s standing right at the end of the table and he knew who I was, but that didn’t stop him from acting like a real butt head.

He looked at us and asked, “Who won Funny Car?”

We had our race jackets on so it wasn’t too hard to figure out we were racers. We fumbled around and finally gave the answer.

Then he opened his mouth when he should have kept quiet.

“I heard some broad won Top Fuel,” he exclaimed.

At that point, his presence was no longer welcomed.

Then he asked, “Who won Pro Stock?”

He’d already made me mad, so I looked him in the eye and said, “Why don’t you just buy a ticket and go to the race. Then you’ll know.”

This guy and he was a big boy, we later learned he played football for Minnesota, gave us a puzzled look.

He got the hint and went to a table with his wife. They sat right behind us.

We were sitting back-to-back when he turned and said, “Lady, you’re just being a horse’s ass.”

My son John turned around and asked him what he said. John then demanded the guy apologize to me.

The next thing we know this guy pulls out a steak knife and tells John he’s going to cut him.

Both John and Galvin stood up and before they could react, I flung a half-filled jar of wine at this guy and nailed him right between the eyes.

I was always quick at the draw and might have made a pretty good gunslinger in the day, if we were throwing stuff.

This guy is soaked in white wine and Galvin grabs him by the wrist trying to get him to drop the knife. He drops the knife and he’s looking at us like someone is about to go through the plate glass window.

He comes over, grabs our table and completely flips it over.

Salad dressing is dripping everywhere.

I’m grabbing salads and flinging them at this guy as quick as I can grab them. I can remember the look on this guy’s wife as she stands there stunned with Bleu Cheese dressing dripping from her nose.

His wife grabs him and says, “Sit down, you’re being a jerk.”

About that time, our waitress gets there and she’s stunned at the scene.

We decided we’ve had enough, paid our bill and get ready to leave.

I didn’t realize it but we had become quite the scene. The band had stopped playing and was watching the action.

This guy is sitting there at the table and I got really mad. Who was this gorilla to ruin our meal?

That’s where our friend Charlie, a helper on our team, comes into the picture in an indirect way. Charlie was a really great guy and he’d helped us that year and we knew him from the old days back in Schenectady, N.Y. He was dedicated to the team and I can remember once we needed help and he came to help us driving his truck, with a broken transmission, 15 miles in reverse down a dark country road.

Charlie was also a smoker and had used this huge ashtray. This was not your average Winston ashtray like I sailed at the deadbeat promoter in my first round story.

This was a huge one; one of those amber colored, octagon shaped ashtrays that he had gotten from the front desk.

There was no way I was going to let this jerk get the last word.

I grabbed that ashtray and from 15 feet out, sailed this thing like a boomerang – you could hear it going – swish – swoosh – swish, almost like a helicopter and it caught him on the back corner of his head and laid him wide open.

The ashtray, as big and durable as it was shattered in eighth-inch crystals. The glass went everywhere in other people’s plates. I mean it went everywhere.

And, now this guy was bleeding like a stuck pig.

John grabbed me and said, “Let’s get out of here now!”

The manager came over and said, “Someone is going to call the cops, you better get out of here.”

We raced to our cabanas, maybe 300 feet away, and started grabbing our bags and packing. We were throwing everything in the bags – hairdryers, clothes and everything – threw the luggage in the trailer. It was a mess.

The sun had just gone down when we stormed out of there like a bat out of hell, trailer in tow.

Now this is where Kerhulas comes into the story.

He had left his trailer at the cabana but was gone searching for food. We never had a chance to say bye.

We’re about 15 miles into our journey to make it to the Wisconsin state line when cars with blue lights went flashing by us. One, swoosh. Two, swoosh. Three, swoosh and a fourth one, swoosh. They went right past us with Shirley Muldowney’s name in gold leaf on the side of the trailer.

They were after someone. The funny thing is they had passed that someone.

They had just gotten a call telling them that Shirley Muldowney’s crew had assaulted someone and he was bleeding.

We never lifted and we had the pedal to the metal getting out of there.

When we got to the state line we called Kerhulas.

He answered the phone and when he heard my voice he asked, “What the &%$# did you guys do?”

Come to find out, Kerhulas had gotten back to the cabana with his pizza and was swarmed by six cops who pulled him out of his truck and put him up against the fender spread eagle. They had guns drawn on him and everything. The first thing they asked him is if he was in Shirley Muldowney’s crew.

They interrogated him pretty strong looking for us, but we were long gone.

Knowing us, and how we could be, he played dumb.

We finally made it home and there was a call from the hotel manager. They let us know the guy was pressing charges.

As it turns out I had met Robert Shapiro, the guy who defended O.J. Simpson in his murder trial and he ended up representing me in the assault case against this former Minnesota football player.

Amazingly, the bill was exactly $7500; the same amount of money I had won in Brainerd.

I’d call that weekend a break even experience and I’d like to put the emphasis on break.

#1 – John “Brute” Force
WAR STORIES CLAIM TO FAME – Saw Elvis at 1,000 Feet in Memphis
1ST RD - defeated Don Gillespie, 50.33% - 49.67%

OF SHIRLEY, MISPLACING A KID, WINNING YOUR FIRST RACE AND DRUNKEN CANADIAN MEN IN THONGS …

I called Bobby Bennett this morning and I tried my best to pull myself out of the competition. Whenever I do anything, I do it

with every bit of emotion and energy I have. Sometimes the love I have for people takes away that energy. It’s hard for me to compete against my heroes.

Coming up in the sport, the names like Don “Snake” Prudhomme, Tom “Mongoose” McEwen, Don Garlits, Raymond Beadle and you guessed it Shirley Muldowney, were my heroes.

She was one of the legends I never got to race. When all the guys were trying to beat up on her, she showed the right stuff to become a champion.

I didn’t know at first I had to race Shirley in the second round.

I was sitting with my girls on Christmas day when the call came in from my PR people that I had won the first round and was to move on in competition.

I was getting myself psyched up to win the next round, just like I did against Cruz after the 1992 season.

Then they told me I had to race Shirley and that took the wind right out of my sails.

Ashley had ridden in that car so many times all over town. It didn’t bother her one bit. Her thoughts were, “I was with dad and he just let me roll down a cliff, no problem.  

I tried to explain to Ashley and the girls that my desire to live the dream was fueled by watching my heroes. They were encouraging me to go forward because no one could tell a story like me.

I tried to tell them if we take away our legends and heroes in life, we would be lost.

I’d never beaten Prudhomme, Bernstein or Beadle for a title.

Then you add in people like Garlits and Shirley, once you beat them then you lose that drive. I’m not taking away from any of the others that I’ve beaten before, but when you get someone like Shirley, she’s special.

Racing was never about the money or fame, it was about the journey, so hero or no, its time to take the journey.

That’s when I explained to Ashley about the week leading into my first national event win – 1987 in Montreal, Canada and that’s where my story begins.

I was just a bridesmaid. Nine final rounds and I just couldn’t win a race.

I got up the morning we were to leave for Montreal with the feeling, I’m gonna lose.

I knew a great individual named Robert Goodwin and he told me my problem. He said I didn’t have the eye of the tiger. He told me I didn’t know how to win because I was too busy passing out resumes on the burnout.

He let me know that I could sell sponsorships and make everyone happy, but that didn’t make me a winner.

I was mad at Goodwin because he had no idea how hard I worked on a daily basis. He didn’t know what it was like not to be able to pay your bills. He didn’t know what it was like to have someone to come and repo your race trailer.

It was a pretty hard time for me. Laurie had a job at the time bringing in money to try and keep this family stable.

Ashley was three years old at the time.

A typical week for me at the time was trying to survive. On this day, I had a big challenge. I had a rig full of crewmen and we didn’t even have enough diesel fuel to make it to the Montreal event.

We had to spend what money we had to get t-shirts which paid for the fuel to begin with. I was between a rock and a hard place.

On this day, I was going to run around town looking for money to go racing on.

In the middle of the story my girls stop me and ask, “What does this have to do with Shirley?”

I just kept on, the first thing I had to do was go down to the dealership and I carried Ashley with me.

I had her in the back seat and she was so cute. She was bug eyed and happy to spend the day with dad. Life was good.

The team was sitting there waiting to go and the rule of thumb is that you don’t tell the team you don’t have the money. You just do what you have to do.

I went to everyone I could think of to loan me money. All day long she rode around in the back seat.

Later on in that evening, long before the days of cell phones, I had rushed home because I knew Laurie was coming home. I was waiting to get a check she was going to give me to make the trip.

I got home, and I gotta be honest, I was driving a 1977 Cadillac Coupe Deville at the time. I jumped out of the car and ran in the house hoping that Laurie had left some money for me so we could make this trip. I had gathered everything I could.

Fred Stringer had loaned us some money to make the trip, in addition to what Laurie gave me. I’m on overload, stressed out and just not thinking.

I ran back outside to get in the car and the car was gone. I thought, “What the hell? How did I get here?”

I looked around and there was no car. I figured one of the guys on the team had borrowed the car and I was in a typical John Force meltdown. I headed down the street to the truck because I could use the chase vehicle to drive around town.

I got halfway down the street and a lightning bolt hit me right in the chest.

I had to have been driving my car because Ashley was in the back seat.

That’s when I went into heart attack mode.

I went running up the street because there’s no car and no baby Ashley. Let me tell you, you can’t imagine that feeling.

I’m standing in the street yelling, running in the house and jumping on the phone. I’m screaming. I’ve called the police. The crew guys are running up the street. They grab me and we ride up and down the street looking.

I just knew someone had stolen my kid.

That was as close as I had ever come to a heart attack.

The police was there, I am being asked how in the world could I forget my kid. I tried to explain that I was on meltdown. I was trying to race and win. I wasn’t thinking.

At that point, I didn’t even want to race because I had lost what was important to me – my kid.

Laurie comes home, and tears are streaming down her face.

That’s when my Uncle Gene Beaver, the smartest man I ever met, comes into the picture.

Uncle Gene looks at me and says, “You have to go back to the basics.”

He told me to start over and go back to where I started.

I told him I had parked the car in the driveway and watched Uncle Gene walk to the end.

There was a 40-foot cliff at the end of the driveway. He called me over and I could see the front ornament of that car.

We ran down to the car and there she was sitting in the backseat with her arms waving in the air and she was just a smiling. We got her out of there and pulled the car out of the ditch.

When I saw her, I realized quickly that she was indestructible.

She had ridden in that car so many times all over town. It didn’t bother her one bit. Her thoughts were, “I was with dad and he just let me roll down a cliff, no problem.”

That was about as close as Laurie and had come to a divorce. She was hating me that day.

I got the crew together and we all headed to Montreal and all I could think about was that I had lost Ashley and I found her, whatever happened in the race would pale in comparison.

I broke into tears because I had been a moron.

I realized the reason I couldn’t win a race was pressure. I drove for two days no problem and I was telling this to the girls and Ashley looked at me and asked, “Dad, what does this have to do with Shirley and how you looked up to Shirley?”

I told her, let me continue.

I went to the finals at Montreal and I ended up against two of my heroes in the finals -- Ed McCulloch and Bernie Fedderly.

You never forget Montreal because they have a different way of dressing in the heat.

The girls are sexy and they were in those thongs. The men wore them too. Yeah I had to go there.

They stuff everything they could in there. Not a pretty sight.

I go up to race that final round and I’m thinking about the pressure that always beat me all the other times. I remember Austin Coil asking me what happened to me in the final rounds. I’d forget how to pedal and everything else.

I did the burnout. I thought to myself losing Ashley was probably the most pressure I’d face in my life. I had already had so many black eyes, what would another one be.

We both smoked the tires and I ended up pedaling better.

I just drove and never looked back. And I won. I finally won one and I got to the finish line and waited for Steve Evans to come over to interview me.

There’s no Steve Evans, no TNN and no television. In fact, I look over and all that waiting for me are two of those Canadians in those thongs holding a fire extinguisher.

I went back to Coil and started singing that song, “Is that all there is?”

I think what I had was post partum depression. It’s that thing where a woman wakes up and is depressed the day after having a baby and she doesn’t know why.

I didn’t know what to do. I had it all. I had the win, the Wally and this big old check the bank wouldn’t even cash. Even the bank didn’t trust me back in the day.

I had borrowed money from Coil. I called home and told Laurie we won, I told Ashley we won and she had no clue what I was talking about.

Later on that night, we are all crammed in the room sleeping and I’m thinking.

You know what it’s like to lay in bed at night and you have that trophy in the bed with you? You’re singing, “I beat Ed McCulloch, I beat Ed McCulloch.”

Coil yells out, “Will you shut up so we can sleep.”

But then I remembered an hour or so earlier we went to dinner, we were sitting there sharing hamburgers. You know broke when you have to share a burger. We had pooled our cash together.

We’re at this restaurant and the waiter brings over a bottle of champagne.

I looked at him and said, “I didn’t order that and I can’t pay for it.”

It cost about $15 or $20.

He pointed to a table and said, “The lady at that table sent it to you.”

I looked across the restaurant and it was none other than Shirley Muldowney.

Imagine this. You’ve heard war stories of Shirley and I witnessed one in Salt Lake City when she went toe to toe with Garlits and this was a lady who was a fighter.

She was a world champion and took the time to acknowledge a total nobody like me.

I tried to explain to Ashley, “You know why I love racing so much?”

So now you see why I love these legends and never want to go up against them. They are what my dreams are all about.

At that time, that tough lady who would fight and say things to Garlits that you can’t print, showed me a soft side. A compassionate person sent over a bottle of champagne to a “nobody” like me.

Why did she do it? She remembered that moment of her first win.

She gave me that as a means of saying, you’re poor, you’re broke and you’re pathetic but here’s a bottle of champagne to drink because today you’re a winner.

There are legends and there are heroes, she is both to me.

CAST YOUR VOTE AT THE BOTTOM OF THE PAGE

#4 – Gary “Wild Thing” Scelzi
WAR STORIES CLAIM TO FAME – Once Did Donuts in a farmer’s yard with a Motorhome
1ST RD - defeated Steve Earwood, 59.86% - 40.14%

GARY THE SUDS SPONGE

When you’re a high profile drag racer, you tend to meet some interesting individuals, and for me, that meant you meet guys

like Bubba the Love Sponge.

I met him in Texas and at the time, he was one of the largest disc jockeys in Florida. Clear Channel fired him because he was also the second largest fined deejay in the United States. The first obviously being Howard Stern.

You can already tell how we fit in well together.

I was racing in Florida and he called and asked me to be on his show.

At the time I didn’t know him. He let me know he was on the same channel as Howard Stern. The show was called Bubba the Love Sponge.

I had never heard his show and I had listened to Howard and knew the channel he was on, that you could cuss like a sailor on there.

It’s no holds barred like HBO. That’s right up my alley.

I flew out to Gainesville and their studio is in Tampa. I’m in the rental car hauling ass to the studio and when I was almost there he talked me into the place. Remember, I had never heard his show before so I had no idea what to expect.

I didn’t know they had a black kid on the show who answers to the name Twenty-five cent.

I was only supposed to be on there for 40 minutes and then there were strippers supposed to be on after that. I never really understood the concept of strippers on a radio show.

They brought me to the green room and they prep you there before you go on the air. I walk into the green room and there’s Twenty-Five Cent with headphones that have an antenna sticking out.

I don’t see any wires and immediately assume that he’s one of the comedian guys on the show. I have no idea what this guy does.

Twenty-Five Cent looks at me and asks, “Are you Gary Scelzi? Do you race?”

I responded yes, that I was here to race at the NHRA Gatornationals in Gainesville.

“How fast does your car go?” he asked.

“330 miles per hour,” I responded.

“Are you $%^&%$$ me?” He responded.

“Do you know Tony Stewart?” he asked.

I responded, “Yes, he’s a good friend of mine.”

Then he looked at me and said something that floored me.

“What Tony does is a man’s game. What you do is for sissies.”

I kind of laughed and played it off.

I thought to myself that obviously this guy didn’t know anything and was just messing with me. When he said that, I heard some laughter in the other room.

It didn’t dawn on me what was going on.

One the show’s sponsors is Miller Lite, so he offers me one.

I’m a little bit nervous, so I take the beer. This kid keeps asking me questions and then asks me, “Well how far do you race?”

I told him a quarter-mile and we cover that distance in 4.6 to 4.7 seconds at 330 miles per hour.

“It’s unbelievable,” I added.

He asked me how much horsepower my car had and I responded 8,000 horsepower.

He turned around and said, “Bull%$#&.”

“Ain’t nothing makes 8,000 horsepower,” he said.

This guy started getting cocky and was irritating me.

Every time he says something, I hear laughter in the next room.

It’s not dawning on me what is going on.

This guy is giving me a bad time saying that drag racers are a bunch of wimps. He’s saying that Tony Stewart is the man and NASCAR is the deal.

We had a few more beers and I had gotten enough of his lip and fired back.

“I’ll tell you what,” I said, as he made some racial gestures at me.

“Why don’t you drag your black ass down to Gainesville and I’ll put you between two of these 8,000 horsepower cars and I’ll guarantee you that you’ll $^&$ your pants.”

As soon as I said that I heard all of this laughter.

Then he smiled and said, “Okay, they are ready for you now.”

We walked into the radio room and those guys were cracking up.

Unbeknownst to me, Bubba was telling him in his ear what to say and they were broadcasting live our conversation.

I was cussing like a sailor but that’s no big deal because that’s what this show is based on.

It’s a pretty raunchy show and about as close to X-rated as you can get.

We sit down and I’m still drinking and we’re on the air.

I was only supposed to be on there for 40 minutes and then there were strippers supposed to be on after that. I never really understood the concept of strippers on a radio show.

I get on the air and Bubba is asking me all kinds of drag racing questions and people are calling in. We’re having a good time.

I can cuss so I feel at home and I’m dropping f-bombs and s-bombs every chance I get. It’s like a bunch of foul mouthed men giving the state of the union behind their trailers.

The phone lines are lit up with people calling and they don’t know anything about drag racing.

They can’t believe a guy who was sponsored was on the show and talking like that. Tony Stewart was on there before but many of the other drivers, even though they wouldn’t cuss, wouldn’t allow them on the show.

I never told anyone I was going to be on the show.

Mopar had sponsored Bubba before at PRI; he just had to clean up his act for that episode.

We’re doing the show and what empty Miller Lite cans aren’t stacked up, are flying through the air. Bear in mind, we’ve been on the air for nearly 90 minutes by this time.

Abruptly, Bubba stands up and proclaims, “Geez, Scelzi you look like you are at a fraternity with all of those cans built up like a castle.”

People are calling in and things are getting out of hand.

The strippers show up and we’re three hours into the show. I’m taking all of the calls.

You’ve got guys with their windows down on cell phones and I’m answering, “Suicide hotline.”

Of course my advice was, “Go ahead and jump.”

Then I resort to hanging up on them.

The drunker I got, the more calls we got.

I’m hammered by the end of the show. It was politically incorrect at its finest.

At the end of the show, Bubba let me know that my show was the highest rated to that point in the history of the show.

I had people telling me they had never watched drag racing but were going to start now. All because of that one show.

What turned into a 40-minute segment, turned into a 210-minute drunkfest – for those of you who are still sober by the end of the story – that’s three-and-a-half hours.

I learned a valuable lesson that day.

If you need to introduce new people to drag racing, then get Scelzi.

If you have a show that cusses a lot, get Scelzi.

Most importantly if you need a host who can sock down the beers and answer the phone, I am your man.

Just ask Bubba.

Bubba the Love Sponge.

#14 – Chris “The Smoking Gun” Kaufmann
WAR STORIES CLAIM TO FAME – Knows Where the Nitrous Bottles Were Hidden
1ST RD - defeated Bob & Etta Glidden, 57.14% - 42.86%

CHRIS KAUFMANN – HANGING WITH DRIVEN INDIVIDUALS

First, I wanted to thank everyone who voted for my last story. Having been lucky enough to have been involved in drag racing during the 60’s, 70’s and the 80’s I witnessed some classic events for sure. In this era elbow grease was more predominate than a sponsor’s cash.

I have always felt kind of like Yogi, that racing was half about the people and half about preparation and travel then the rest was the racing. That math works out if you realize those who are most successful have to give more than 100%.

Having to be paired last round with close friends, Bob & Etta Glidden was bittersweet for sure. Bob & Etta are both heroes and like family. If I am fortunate enough to continue in this competition I will have to throw down a great Glidden yarn about secrets that at one time allowed incredible dominance in drag racing.

I think some of the best stories are of racers not racing. About traveling and playing tricks on each other, but there are still some pretty good race stories as well.

If you don’t play golf you won’t appreciate a story about the day when I lived with the Gliddens and Bob came in the shop and told Billy and I to get our overnight bags and golf clubs four days before Christmas.

For the record, even before global warming it was still c-c-c-cold in Indy that time of year, not that that kept us knuckle heads from playing our share. We soon learned that at least water hazards are no problem as they all freeze. Also, seldom was there any waiting for another group. Anyway we figured we were going south a couple hours into Kentucky to play where at least there was no snow on the ground.

Instead Bob said we were going to drive south to where we could play in golf shirts. In only the Glidden way, we drove straight through to Tampa, Florida where we played 88 holes of golf the first of a three day golf vacation. The Glidden’s only way to do anything is W.O.T.

As Lincoln said, “It isn’t the years in your life; it’s the life in your years.”

Most people who know me these days are surprised I used to be a drag racer, as I have spent the last 25 years as a professional road racer. I doubt the drag race guys would like to hear some of those stories; like what goes on during a 24 hour endurance race in Daytona or LeMans. So I am going to go way back down the trail when I hailed from Tucson. I made friends with a couple guys from Detroit racing a Ford Pinto.

Over the years we hooked up at a lot of races and they certainly had a fair amount of success. These two were an odd couple for sure running in the new Pro Stock class. The driver, Wayne Gapp, was as easy going as you would ever find a racer. He most characteristically could be seen chomping on an unlit cigar. His partner, Jack Roush, was extremely intense to say the least. Over the years Wayne did most of the driving, but several times Jack took a spin behind the wheel and I mean that in every sense of the word. Jack might even have used a few of his 9 lives in some of those episodes proving the John Force axiom that a Cat always lands on its feet.

I guess there are enough stories between this duo to fill a few chapters in Rick Voegelin’s promised book on Pro Stock, but I will confine this to a single race in the Panhandle of Texas in 1973.

Wayne and Jack left from Detroit and I drove with Bill Nelson from Tucson, Arizona. Bill, an NHRA Super Stock champion, was an old pro at full thrash mode and driving all night. We drove straight through to Amarillo via some God forsaken short cuts in the New Mexico badlands. I think Bill used this route to dodge the scales with his semi truck or something. I actually thought several times we would end up buzzard meat alongside the road, but Bill had it wired and we arrived for first day of qualifications, albeit somewhat tired.

Back then NHRA ran the Professional classes in both Divisional races and National events. You acquired enough points to qualify for the World Finals which was this single race in Amarillo, Texas. Back then I think Pro Stock only had about seven official national events. You had six races before the Finals and then the Supernationals in Ontario, California after the Finals.

Due to the altitude the Cleveland big port headed Fords had a slight advantage over the small block Chevy of Bill Jenkins; who had been pretty dominant for the prior two years. After all, I don’t think Wayne had won a single race that whole year. The Mopars with the Hemi, were all but written out of the rule book by NHRA and mostly stayed away from Amarillo.

Everyone fought the thin air and I felt incredible pressure with so much at stake on just this one race. Gapp and Roush were rapidly making a statement in the now very popular factory hot rods known as Pro Stockers as a power to deal with. In those days, the rules were changing so fast and furious that Butch Leal once commented a new car could be obsolete a month after it first raced. Guys were playing around with big blocks, small blocks, big cars, little cars, old cars, Camaros, Vegas, Pintos, Javelins, AMXs, Demons, Colts, Mustangs and even a 4-door Maverick called the Tijuana Taxi.

It was a wild time in racing for sure and extremely popular with the fans. It had character and it certainly had some characters from Grumpy to Flash.

We had started using the Lenco planetary 4 speed transmission earlier that year. We had found that by draining the fluid out every other run you picked up a couple hundredths or three. That was one of my jobs and before the finals, I was doing just that while Wayne was changing the fluid in the rear end and Jack did the same with the engine oil.

Normally Pro Stockers drove to the staging lanes, but Jack said we were going to push the car as he wanted to make sure it didn’t get too hot. I thought he had a long staging duel planned. Back then there were few rules. Some guys staged both bulbs right away and some guys took 20-plus seconds to light the second bulb if they were second in. Wayne did a very short burnout and just staged it and waited at a dead idle.

I remember standing behind that Pinto and feeling butterflies and was amazed at how calm Wayne was. Having spent most of my career as a driver, I have always contended that being a crew member or crew chief is twice as hard as being the driver. The driver has some control over the race. The crew just prays everything they did holds together and by the way, they have to stand there in front of the crowd as the driver high tails it at 175 mph down the track. As it turned out there was no big staging battle and while I think Bill left a little bit on Wayne, that Gapp and Roush horsepower drove around him and won the NHRA World Championship in Pro Stock.

Interestingly, I think that one race more than any other, changed the Pro rules and the venue with NHRA forever. From then on, the points were tallied towards a championship all year and the finals have been in California (near sea level) ever since then.

Years later I was at SEMA talking with Jack Roush and a Ford Engineer came over. Jack advised him that we had both been “students” of drag racing many years ago and we shared this race story with him. Jack is a great story teller and has been through many wars. The part Jack revealed at that moment, that I had not known for the 30 years between, was that while I drained the Lenco fluid, Wayne drained the rear end fluid and Jack drained the engine oil. No lubricants were added in anything. Oil pan technology was not what it was today and Jack said he had mistakenly run an engine on the dyno with no oil in it and saw a 14 horsepower gain.

” What the heck,” he said, “you never know when your next chance to win a World Championship will come”. I remember how nervous I was during that run back in ‘73. I can’t imagine how I would have felt if I had known that there was no oil in the engine or the rear end. I guess Jack kept me from puking my guts out that day. What we don’t know doesn’t hurt us. That cat didn’t have his hat back then, but Jack Roush has always had a handful of tricks up his sleeve and still does.

As I always say, every race has a story… 

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