Mike
Well-Known Member
Here's a topic for everyone to tell some of their tales from back in the day, even if that was just yesterday. You know the stories - the one where you can't believe you got out in one piece, or the one where you pulled off the practical joke of the century and you're finally ready to own up to it. Let's keep two ground rules. First, we're not here to slam anyone and second, we need to maintain our 'G' rating.
All the years I've worked in the high-performance industry and drag raced, I have been incredibly lucky to meet some real icons of the sport. I can look at lists of NHRA World Champions from years gone by and call many of them my friends, whilst many more are customers. This is a story about an individual who is both.
A few years before I quit traveling with the race car, Brian (the owner/driver) and I had come to the realization we were starting to get out-classed because of our engine program. We were running 90° V-6 Chevrolet engines, which were a nightmare in and of themselves. We ran an odd-fire combination because we needed the strength of the common-pin crankshafts. Most people think the V-6 is just a 350 missing a couple cylinders, but it comes down to a lot more than that. The fact remained we were both working full-time jobs and trying to run a nationally-competitive car at the same time. We had a very, very good cylinder head porter doing heads for us and then we were trying to do everything else on our own. We could usually qualify in the top-half of a field, but after a couple of rounds we were getting used up.
We were at the U.S. Nationals, walking through the staging lanes when a sputtering minibike pulled up alongside us. The individual on the scooter (needlessly) introduced himself. Being a man of very few words, he said, "I'm Bill Jenkins. I can help you." He handed Brian a business card and rode off. The conversation was nearly over before it had begun, what I was soon to learn is a Grumpy Jenkins trademark. We were aware Jenkins was making a ton of power with his V-6 program, as one of his lead shop men had won the Comp World Championship a year or two earlier with a V-6 D/ED. After discussing things for a few months, when we left the Gatornationals the following Spring, our motor was in another trailer, headed for Malvern, PA.
Over the years, Bill would keep his weather station (you should have seen that bit!), his minibike and occasionally a box of cigars in our trailer, so he would have everything at the track when he would arrive. Our trailer was his home away from home, if you will.
One year we were at Columbus, OH for the Springnationals. And it was typical Columbus weather. Paul Smith once said the air was always so bad in Columbus the birds were walking! It was ugly, ugly hot and humid. For a couple of years, Brian had a partner that actually owned the car itself. Everything else was ours, the engine, clutch, trans, center section and computer. Anyway, the owner was from Dayton, OH and had shown up at the races with his wife and small son. We had just made a hit in the heat of the day. Donnie, the car owner, was in the truck with us, as we went to the other end to get the car. Jenkins had been at the starting line and he got on his minibike to come back to the trailer. Donnie's wife and son were not far from the trailer and they got there before the rest of us made it. The air conditioner was running, so she had gone inside and sat down on the wheelwell on the same wall as the side door. We had to weigh the car and go through fuel check, so we were held up in the line at the scales.
So, along comes Jenkins on his minibike. He clicked it and climbed up into the trailer, walking to the cooler sitting on the floor opposite the door. He reached in, grabbed a beer, popped the top and pounded about half of it down.
About that time, Donnie's wife (whom Jenkins had not seen to this point) asked, "And so, just exactly who are you?!?" She and Jenkins had never met, so she's sputtering mad, thinking some stranger is in our trailer pilfering our cold beer.
When we finally arrived at the trailer with the race car, we see Jenkins sitting on the step, outside the door. Thinking he had to be insane to be sitting out in the heat, I asked him why he wasn't inside. In a near-whining tone of voice, which was 180° opposite of his usual gruff growls when other people were around, he said, "There's someone in there and she doesn't know who I am!"
A man that almost always rode his minibike at the track to avoid the autograph-seekers, a man that had to put on such a gruff persona with strangers he earned a new nickname, a man that was undeniably the most financially-successful racer of his era, a man responsible for some of the technological achievements that allowed Pro Stock to become what it is today was completely out of his league when someone didn't recognize him. :gum:
I consider those years some of the best of my life, being able to work alongside and under the guidance of a man I still consider to be one of my heroes. But on that one day, I realized he wasn't really much different than any of the rest of us, out of place when he was confronted by someone he did not know. We got a torrential rain at the track one year and Bill and I took shelter in our trailer. It was a wall of water rainfall and people just ducked in wherever they could, so Bill and I sat alone, talking, for quite a while. He likely has no clue how much I learned from him that afternoon. It was always enjoyable to have him around when there were no strangers, because Grumpy Jenkins became just regular, old Bill Jenkins and he is a peach! I could tell a boatload of Grumpy stories, but I need to keep those two rules of the game in mind.
All the years I've worked in the high-performance industry and drag raced, I have been incredibly lucky to meet some real icons of the sport. I can look at lists of NHRA World Champions from years gone by and call many of them my friends, whilst many more are customers. This is a story about an individual who is both.
A few years before I quit traveling with the race car, Brian (the owner/driver) and I had come to the realization we were starting to get out-classed because of our engine program. We were running 90° V-6 Chevrolet engines, which were a nightmare in and of themselves. We ran an odd-fire combination because we needed the strength of the common-pin crankshafts. Most people think the V-6 is just a 350 missing a couple cylinders, but it comes down to a lot more than that. The fact remained we were both working full-time jobs and trying to run a nationally-competitive car at the same time. We had a very, very good cylinder head porter doing heads for us and then we were trying to do everything else on our own. We could usually qualify in the top-half of a field, but after a couple of rounds we were getting used up.
We were at the U.S. Nationals, walking through the staging lanes when a sputtering minibike pulled up alongside us. The individual on the scooter (needlessly) introduced himself. Being a man of very few words, he said, "I'm Bill Jenkins. I can help you." He handed Brian a business card and rode off. The conversation was nearly over before it had begun, what I was soon to learn is a Grumpy Jenkins trademark. We were aware Jenkins was making a ton of power with his V-6 program, as one of his lead shop men had won the Comp World Championship a year or two earlier with a V-6 D/ED. After discussing things for a few months, when we left the Gatornationals the following Spring, our motor was in another trailer, headed for Malvern, PA.
Over the years, Bill would keep his weather station (you should have seen that bit!), his minibike and occasionally a box of cigars in our trailer, so he would have everything at the track when he would arrive. Our trailer was his home away from home, if you will.
One year we were at Columbus, OH for the Springnationals. And it was typical Columbus weather. Paul Smith once said the air was always so bad in Columbus the birds were walking! It was ugly, ugly hot and humid. For a couple of years, Brian had a partner that actually owned the car itself. Everything else was ours, the engine, clutch, trans, center section and computer. Anyway, the owner was from Dayton, OH and had shown up at the races with his wife and small son. We had just made a hit in the heat of the day. Donnie, the car owner, was in the truck with us, as we went to the other end to get the car. Jenkins had been at the starting line and he got on his minibike to come back to the trailer. Donnie's wife and son were not far from the trailer and they got there before the rest of us made it. The air conditioner was running, so she had gone inside and sat down on the wheelwell on the same wall as the side door. We had to weigh the car and go through fuel check, so we were held up in the line at the scales.
So, along comes Jenkins on his minibike. He clicked it and climbed up into the trailer, walking to the cooler sitting on the floor opposite the door. He reached in, grabbed a beer, popped the top and pounded about half of it down.
About that time, Donnie's wife (whom Jenkins had not seen to this point) asked, "And so, just exactly who are you?!?" She and Jenkins had never met, so she's sputtering mad, thinking some stranger is in our trailer pilfering our cold beer.
When we finally arrived at the trailer with the race car, we see Jenkins sitting on the step, outside the door. Thinking he had to be insane to be sitting out in the heat, I asked him why he wasn't inside. In a near-whining tone of voice, which was 180° opposite of his usual gruff growls when other people were around, he said, "There's someone in there and she doesn't know who I am!"
A man that almost always rode his minibike at the track to avoid the autograph-seekers, a man that had to put on such a gruff persona with strangers he earned a new nickname, a man that was undeniably the most financially-successful racer of his era, a man responsible for some of the technological achievements that allowed Pro Stock to become what it is today was completely out of his league when someone didn't recognize him. :gum:
I consider those years some of the best of my life, being able to work alongside and under the guidance of a man I still consider to be one of my heroes. But on that one day, I realized he wasn't really much different than any of the rest of us, out of place when he was confronted by someone he did not know. We got a torrential rain at the track one year and Bill and I took shelter in our trailer. It was a wall of water rainfall and people just ducked in wherever they could, so Bill and I sat alone, talking, for quite a while. He likely has no clue how much I learned from him that afternoon. It was always enjoyable to have him around when there were no strangers, because Grumpy Jenkins became just regular, old Bill Jenkins and he is a peach! I could tell a boatload of Grumpy stories, but I need to keep those two rules of the game in mind.
