Ask someone on the street about Kansas, and you’ll probably hear something about wheat fields, The Wizard of Oz, or, for the rockers out there, wayward sons carrying on. Ask any longtime drag racing fan about Kansas, and you’ll probably be hearing about John Wiebe.
The 34th state has produced a lot of fine drag racers, from Top Gas legend Ray Motes to guys like Bob Sullivan (of Pandemonium fame), Billy Graham, Gary Cooper, Norm Gingrass, Dale Wilch, Dick Custy, and Tim Baxter and current-day hitters like Randy Meyer, Gary Stinnett, and Todd and Allan Patterson, but the guy they called “Kansas John” really put the Sunflower State on the drag racing map.
Unless you count James Earp, brother of Wyatt Earp, or politician Jesse Unruh, Wiebe may be the biggest thing to come out of Newton, Kan. -- 25 miles north of Wichita, in the heart of Kansas-- since the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railway in 1872. He’s certainly the fastest.
The three-time AHRA Top Fuel world champ, NHRA national event winner, pioneering racer, and slingshot holdout raced professionally for 12 seasons in Top Fuel before his sudden and unexpected retirement in early 1977, but he left behind a legacy rich enough to survive four decades on the sidelines.
Born in 1942, Wiebe was raised on a dairy farm and developed his affinity for speed and power at an early age. At 12, he built a go-kart using the motor from a grain auger, then graduated to chainsaw engines. By the time he left high school, he was hot rodding his street cars.
After college, he leased a service station on I-35 in Newton and spent $1,400 to buy one of the region’s first oscilloscopes, an early diagnostic and tuning tool. His ads read, “See your engine on TV.” Locals thought the device was magical, and before long, racers were calling on his services, and he was gaining valuable knowledge along the way.
Around the same time, Wiebe got his first serious race cars, a ’34 Ford followed by a ’23-T roadster, both of which had supercharged engines. In 1964, AHRA officials deemed his car “too fast” for the class he was running and bumped him up a class. “I was pretty easygoing, but I almost felt violated by this decision,” he remembered. “I went home and decided that I was going to go Top Fuel racing to make sure that wouldn't happen to me again. I’d been around but hadn’t ever thought before about racing Top Fuel and didn’t really know how to run one, but the next day, I called Woody Gilmore and ordered a car.”
He raced locally, in Ark City and Wichita, before journeying to Tulsa, Okla., and legendary Southwest Raceway, then home of the NHRA World Finals and stomping grounds for guys like Bennie “the Wizard” Osborn, Jimmy “the Smiling Okie” Nix, Bob Creitz, and other Midwest terrors. He stunned everyone by running 200 mph to gain entrance into the prestigious Mickey Thompson 200-mph Club.
“Tulsa was the hotbed, and if you did well there, that was really saying something,” he said. “At one race, I beat the Beach Boys in the final and won $2,000. I was in tall cotton, and that was when I decided to race professionally.”
His big AHRA moment came early, at a contentious event at Green Valley Race City in Smithfield, Texas, where Art Malone was the star attraction for a 64-car field. The racers – for reasons Wiebe can’t recall – staged a sit-in strike on the starting line one night, and the next day when AHRA President Jim Tice started looking for the guilty parties, only Wiebe stepped up and admitted his involvement. His punishment was to race Malone in the first round, and he beat Malone.
“That made me an instant hero with the racers,” he remembered, “and after the run, Tice came up to congratulate me and said he liked my honesty and integrity and asked me to run all of his races with the promise of guaranteed money. I had to race somewhere, and getting paid to do it seemed good, and we raced AHRA so we could afford to run NHRA events.”
Although he set the AHRA national record at 7.40 in late 1966 (also at Green Valley), according to The Top Fuel Handbook, he didn’t win his first national event until May 1969, when he won the AHRA Southern Nationals in Memphis, Tenn., which gave a hint that bigger things were coming, and they were.
John Wiebe, far lane, came within a whisker of winning both the NHRA and AHRA world championships in 1970. After winning the AHRA crown, he lost the NHRA title on this final-round holeshot against Ronnie Martin, 6.65 to 6.62.
When AHRA introduced its Grand American Series of Professional Drag Racing in 1970, the timing was perfect for Wiebe. With Don Garlits sidelined by his terrible accident at Lions, Wiebe went on a tear, winning the first of three AHRA Top Fuel championships, and he came within a round of winning NHRA’s world championship that year as well, losing the final round at Dallas Int’l Motor Speedway. He set low e.t. and top speed in the final round at 6.62, 226.70 but lost on a holeshot to Ronnie Martin’s 6.65.
His fellow Top Fuel drivers voted him the winner of the Mike Sorokin award as the year’s most outstanding Top Fuel driver. “Because it came from my peers, that was one of the highlights of my career,” he admitted.
He became friends with the legendary and ever-quotable Ed Donovan (who once told him, “You’ll never go faster hanging around people who go slower.”), and they batted around ideas with one another on a regular basis. Wiebe started the 1971 season strong, including a runner-up to Garlits at the NHRA Springnationals, and even though Donovan was racing with Creitz at that time, he tapped Wiebe to be the first to race his revolutionary new aluminum 417 engine, which was patterned after the racer-friendly 392 instead of the newer 426.
“He and Creitz had a car together at the time, so it was a little bit awkward for me to get the engine, and, to be honest, I don’t really have an answer as to why he chose me; it was kind of like the crazy aunt in the closet – nobody talked about why,” Wiebe said with a laugh. “I think maybe that Ed realized that I was pretty driven and focused and that I was big on attention to detail and open to trying stuff.”
Wiebe, left, and Don Prudhomme, Ed Donovan, Don Garlits, and the Donovan 417 were on the cover of Hot Rod magazine.
While his peers had jumped en masse to the rear-engine design, Wiebe doggedly stuck with the slingshot and even experimented with this wing, which he had built by Doug Kruse for this car that he ran with Ed Donovan. The experiment did not go well or last long as the wing came loose in the lights and struck Wiebe in the head at the Las Vegas divisional event. “It could have been a lot worse; I don’t even know why I put that thing on,” he admitted. (Reyes photo)
Wiebe finally switched to a rear-engine car in 1973 and was rewarded with his first NHRA national event win, defeating AHRA archrival Don Garlits in the final.
The Donovan 417 was 55 pounds lighter than the original 392, and the interchangeable steel sleeves for each cylinder made it a strong and reliable piece, and it also cooled more uniformly than the 392. The engine’s pushrod angles were less severe than those of its counterparts, and the engine required much less ignition lead (30 to 40 degrees compared to 60 to 70 for the 426) and, overall, was more efficient. Wiebe remembers that he didn’t get the block until just before the 1971 Supernationals – Donovan appropriately flipped the starter switch for the first warm-up -- and, after overcoming a series of new-engine glitches, put down the first laps at Irwindale Raceway before heading to Ontario Motor Speedway.
Although he would qualify No. 1 at 6.53 with the engine at its debut at Ontario, Wiebe had to settle for runner-up honors behind Hank Johnson after smoking the tires in the final following a prolonged staging battle that built too much heat – and power -- into the engine.
“People had a lot of misconceptions about the engine,” said Wiebe. “They thought Donovan was building it just to be a lightweight engine, but really he did it for strength because we were splitting the cylinder walls in those old 392s. I don’t remember even a lot of attention being given to the project that year because it was a 392 engine, that is until we set low e.t. in Ontario. I think all of those guys who were running the ‘elephant’  were paralyzed by fear that the engine would keep doing that.”
Some didn’t stay paralyzed for long. Dick Crawford, who worked with Donovan to develop the engine, remembers showing up at the shop Monday after the race to find a line of racers wanting to talk to Donovan.
As successful as the engine was, Wiebe and longtime crewmember "Sonar" Steve Phillips were still running his front-engine slingshot, even though Garlits’ win at the 1971 Winternationals had put the handwriting on the wall that the rear-engine design was the way to go.
“Garlits told me that it took more power to run a rear-engined car (due to their weight), and my front-engine car was running just fine,” he explained. “Maybe he just didn’t want me to run one. Plus, I knew there were some bugs with those cars, and I figured that I could always go that route once they worked out. I was a little stubborn. I said earlier that I wasn’t afraid to try things; try is one thing, change is another.”
(In an early 1972 interview in Drag Racing USA, Wiebe also explained that he felt safer in the front-engine car, protected as such on the sides by the rear tires in the case of a wreck, and because his new 417 didn’t oil, he wasn’t worried about engine fires, one of the real and advertised advantages of the rear-engine car. ”Therefore, I will run this combination for the rest of the year until there’s a better way to improve,” he said.)
Wiebe stuck with the front-engine design through the 1972 season and went winless. Garlits, who had won the 1971 AHRA crown, won it again in 1972, and Wiebe finally relented and had Ed Mabry build him a rear-engine car for the 1973 campaign.
Success came quickly. He won the 1973 AHRA Grand Am at Green Valley and not long after scored his first NHRA national event win, at the Springnationals in Columbus, where he beat none other than Garlits in the final. Wiebe was leading the AHRA points over Garlits. Things looked as if they were back on the upswing for “Kansas John.”
Then came Tulsa.
Garlits’ PRA National Challenge, which was scheduled by AHRA in Tulsa in August, the week before the U.S. Nationals (the original event, in 1972, was scheduled on top of Indy), offered a big payday, and Wiebe was eager to get some of it. He qualified No. 1 with a 6.11 and drew young Jeb Allen in a fateful first-round matchup.
“After we ran low e.t., we pulled the heads, and No. 7 looked like it hadn’t hardly even fired. I would run three different compression ratios in my motor -- the pistons are like little soldiers, but one of them doesn’t know what the other one is doing; if 7 and 8 don’t want to do their job and burn, you make them do it -- so I just put a higher compression piston in that hole and tightened the nozzle down.
Don Gillespie photos
John Wiebe, near lane, collided with Jeb Allen in round one of the 1973 National Challenge in Tulsa, Okla.
“I was so pumped up for the first round that I even put a little more clutch into it. It left and started shaking. I drove through it, but the back end was hopping and then started coming around; I lifted, but with that spool [rear end], it just drove me right into his lane and into the side of his car, and we started rolling.
“It seemed like it lasted 20 minutes,” Wiebe remembered. “I always remember Pat Foster saying, ‘Tip the can and sit low,’ so I got down in there as low as I could, which pushed my legs up higher.”
The two collided about 200 feet downtrack and began a horrific and fiery tumble. Wiebe’s car ended up on top of the guardrail back in his lane, but because the guardrail support posts stuck out above the top of the guardrail, as he slid down the top of the rail, he suffered a compound fracture of his right leg. Garlits won the race, and at that point, it seemed that Wiebe’s bid for a second AHRA championship had come to an end.
OK, stay with me because this is where it gets sticky.
Surprisingly, West Coast heroes James Warren and Roger Coburn stepped in, at Wiebe’s request, to help. At the time, AHRA rules dictated that the points stayed with the car and not the driver, so Warren and Coburn could fly Wiebe’s colors and earn points for him. It’s such a bizarre scenario that you understand why the rules soon changed.
A financial agreement was quickly struck, and Warren and Coburn wrapped their Rain for Rent dragster with Wiebe’s name and, with AHRA’s blessing, showed up at the next AHRA event, the Grand Am at Orange County Int’l Raceway. Reportedly, Garlits was unaware of this development, and thinking that Wiebe’s championship bid was over, chose to enter his experimental “shorty” dragster (180-inch wheelbase). He got beat in round one (as did Butch Maas driving Garlits’ Wynn’s Liner), and Warren won the race, which should have given Wiebe back the points lead, right? But …
With Wiebe out of action with a broken leg, the California duo of James Warren and Roger Coburn carried Wiebe's colors into the final two races of the 1973 AHRA season (as was allowed then by the rules) and lost a winner-take-all final round to Garlits at the final event in Fremont. (Reyes photo)
According to Drag Racing USA, Garlits lodged a protest with AHRA and, incredibly, won the appeal because, according to AHRA, "Garlits was not given fair notice of the Warren entry.” The article was not clear about whether Warren/Wiebe was stripped of points or somehow Garlits was given points, and no article I can find explains who had the lead heading into the season finale, the AHRA World Finals at Northern California’s Fremont Raceway.
I contacted Garlits for his memories on this subject. His recollection is that Wiebe had the points lead going into Fremont. “There was no appeal,” he insisted. “I did raise hell, but Tice insisted that Warren run in Wiebe’s place, and I beat them anyway. Don ‘Mad Dog’ Cook made up a rhyme: ‘All of Tice’s horses, and all of Tice’s men, couldn’t beat "Big Daddy," now or then.’ Tice saw Wiebe as the next Don Garlits and was moving me into the spot as president of the AHRA, then he died, and the wife thought differently about me running the association. Tice liked me just fine but was figuring on Wiebe to replace me when I took over the presidency. I wasn't ready for that just yet.”
Regardless of who had the lead, it all got settled in Fremont. As Wiebe remained hospitalized and in a full-leg cast in Kansas, Garlits qualified No. 1 with a 5.97, and, after a week’s rain delay, Warren matched that e.t. in winning his first-round race. As if following a script written in Hollywood, Garlits and Warren both reached the final round with the title in the balance. They launched evenly, but “Big Daddy,” as he has done time and again, saved the best for last and ran low e.t., 5.95, to easily outdistance Warren’s troubled 6.35 for the championship, his third straight.
Come Winternationals time, Wiebe was healed and ready. He ran well but never got further than the semifinals (at the Springnationals) and ended the year not qualifying for the tough World Finals field yet still finished a respectable fourth (behind Gary Beck, Dave Settles, and Herm Petersen) in NHRA’s first points-based championship year. He also slayed his National Challenge demons by dominating the 1974 version, which had been moved east to New York National Speedway.
Wiebe won the AHRA Top Fuel title in 1975 and 1976, then retired in early 1977.
Wiebe finished just 10th in the NHRA standings in 1975 but won his second AHRA championship and repeated the title in 1976, his final full season. He finished seventh in NHRA points in 1976 and just missed winning the U.S. Nationals when he received a red-light in the final round against Richard Tharp on a weekend when there was speculation that erroneous red-lights were being triggered by “shineback” from the sun on polished front wheels. In addition to the Top Fuel final, the Pro Stock and Pro Comp final rounds were decided by red-lights.
In light of those successes, when Wiebe, still in his mid-30s, announced in early 1977 that he was retiring, it was a real bombshell. He ran only the early part of the season, with his last race being the East-West event at OCIR. Looking back, he says there were a number of factors, including a young family that he never got to see enough, the end of his relationship with Donovan (he began the year with a late-model KB instead), and some frustrating things that happened at OCIR and the week before that pointed him to his decision, which was immediate and irrevocable.
“I wasn’t angry; it just felt like some of the fun was gone,” he said. “I made my mind up. My wife asked if I should finish the season out because of my bookings and sponsors, and I told her no, that I was done, and that was it. I never looked back.
“I didn’t miss the traveling. One Monday I was on the Garden Grove Freeway [in Southern California], and Wednesday night I was on the Garden State Parkway in New Jersey. I stopped in Newton to pick up an engine and some clothes. Or how you drive all night, and when the sun hits the windshield in the morning, you’re toast, and you still have another 1,200 miles to go.
“Or when your pistons were sent to Boston instead of Long Island or you went to a machine shop on the road and told them how you wanted something machined, and they’d do it by the book instead of how you told them. As time goes on, you forget all of that, but you remember people like Ed Donovan and James Warren; the friendships, they’re forever.
"I liked being with the fans, the young kids; I’m a people person. Someone once told me, ‘Drag racing stars are people not cars,’ and that always stuck with me. That was an era that I was fortunate to be in. There could not have been a better 12 years for me to race.”
After leaving the cockpit, Wiebe got involved with Wichita Int’l Raceway for about a year and a half trying to resurrect what was a rundown operation, but the promoting business left a bad taste in his mouth, and he quit.
(Above) Fittingly in light of their years of battles, Wiebe, left, and Garlits were inducted into the International Drag Racing Hall of Fame the same year, in 1994. They reconnected a few years ago in Reading. (Below) Wiebe has long enjoyed the challenges of hunting and is a proficient bowman.
In 1994, Wiebe was inducted into the International Drag Racing Hall of Fame along with Garlits, NHRA founder Wally Parks, publishing magnate Robert Petersen, Sox & Martin, and Chevrolet legend Zora Arkus-Duntov.
“I didn’t deserve to be in with those guys,” he said humbly. “That was a great year for the Hall. To be there with Mr. Duntov was amazing. I had a ‘56 Chevy as a kid, and we used to say his name reverently. I was more overwhelmed then than I ever was at any race. He’s your hero, your icon, and you’re being inducted with him.”
Life after racing includes Wiebe’s other passion: hunting. He has hunted and fished since he was a kid, and he has found his greatest challenge in bow hunting deer.
“With a gun, you can be a quarter-mile away; there’s no challenge in that; with a bow, my self-imposed limit is about 20 yards,” he said. “It’s a real challenge. It’s like these deer have college educations.”
Like drag racing, the challenge is in the details, the technology, and the experimentation. Wiebe utilizes infrared and motion-detector trail cameras, scents, calls, rattles, observes patterns and eating habits, and experiments with different combinations of arrow shafts and arrowheads.
“I still like to chase perfection,” he said, “even if that means getting out there three hours before the sun comes up and waiting all day for a shot. If you can spend some time alone where it’s pretty and be at peace with yourself and your creator, you’re a pretty fortunate guy.”
Talented in racing, fortunate in life, “Kansas John” Wiebe had it all.
Fifty years ago this weekend, Don Prudhomme drove Roland Leong's Hawaiian Top Fueler to victory at the 1965 Winternationals, his first of 49 career wins.
I had planned to publish today my column about the life and times of John Wiebe, but after a heads-up from Skip Allum in Don Prudhomme’s camp, I realized that the timing was just too good not to make a last-minute decision to postpone it a week.
You see, tomorrow, Feb. 7, Saturday of the 2015 Circle K NHRA Winternationals, will mark the 50th anniversary of “the Snake’s” breakthrough first career win at the 1965 Winternationals. It’s too good a coincidence to pass up.
Yes, race fans, it has been a half-century since Prudhomme vaulted into the national spotlight in Roland Leong’s Hawaiian; they went on to also win that year’s Nationals in Indianapolis, helping to launch two of the greatest careers in NHRA Drag Racing.
Make no mistake, Prudhomme, just two months shy of his 24th birthday, already was a well-known driver in drag racing circles, having driven the fabled Greer-Black-Prudhomme dragster to unprecedented match race success in 1963 and 1964, and Leong, just 20 years old, had already made a bit of a name for himself as the owner of the dragster that Danny Ongais had driven to Top Gas honors at the 1964 Winternationals, but it took the 1965 Winternationals, televised on ABC’s Wide World of Sports, to make them national heroes.
I’ve recounted here previously the histrionics of the event [The One-Day Wonder], at which rain and heavy fog Friday and Saturday forced the entire event to be completed Sunday, and the story of how Prudhomme and Leong first joined forces [The Hawaiian's Winters Wonderland], so I won’t rehash those details but concentrate instead on the victory and what happened (and could have happened) after the big win.
Despite the inclement weather, Prudhomme and Don Garlits were among the few who got in any runs before Sunday, with ”Big Daddy” blasting his Wynn's Jammer to a speed of 206.88, the fastest in history, Friday with an e.t. of 7.81. Prudhomme, meanwhile, hustled the Hawaiian to a 7.80 at 204 mph. By the time that the field – the first 16-car field ever – was set at noon Sunday, Art Malone – who later that year would compete in the Indy 500 -- was No. 1 at 7.56 , Prudhomme no.2 and Garlits No. 3.
Tom McEwen, who had qualified No. 7, fouled out in round one to No. 9 Bill Alexander, and Prudhomme got a single when Willie Redford was unable to fire the Carroll Bros. & Oxman entry. It probably didn’t matter because Leong and Keith Black had put the screws to the Hawaiian, which ran 7.87 with Prudhomme lifting to a speed of just 173.74 mph. Garlits and Kalitta also advanced to round two.
Prudhomme followed with an even quicker 7.77 at just 175,78 to overcome a holeshot by James Warren, who was at the wheel of the Chrysler-powered Warren & Crowe car after his other ride, the Chevy-powered Warren & Coburn fueler, had missed the show.
Kalitta also moved another rung up the ladder in a great match with Malone while Alexander caught another huge break when Garlits red-lighted away a 7.86. Another favorite, No. 5 qualifier Ongais, at the wheel of the Broussard-Davis-Ongais Mangler, lost to future NHRA Chief Starter Rick Stewart, but it was determined there had been a starting-line malfunction, and probably because of the one-day nature of the race and the shortness of time, instead of ordering a rerun, officials advanced both to the semifinals to race one another again. Weird, right?
Anyway, Ongais then threw away a wild 7.78 on a red-light to Stewart in the unusual three-pair semifinals, and Kalitta red-lighted to Alexander, giving Alexander his third straight free pass. Prudhomme had the odd-lot bye and eased to a 9.63.
Alexander then had the bye in the newly created fourth round, and Prudhomme joined him in the final when he beat Stewart with another 7.75 at 204.08 mph.
Historic photos of the final round like the one above show Alexander jumping out to a big lead with his Jim Brissette-tuned entry (or, as the National Dragster photo caption read, “Alexander’s foot expressed itself first”), but Prudhomme flagged him down on the big end with another stout pass of 7.76 to collect the victory and the '65 Ford F-250 truck (equipped with a camper) awarded to the Top Fuel and Top Gas winners. Leong was not even old enough to legally buy himself a celebratory beer.
Even though he won the race, Prudhomme admittedly has been “aggravated” at himself for nearly 50 years for giving up that final-round holeshot, but, as you will see – in one of those great “stories behind the stories” that I love so much – he finally feels vindicated.
Do you see what I see? Keep in mind, this is cellphone footage of a TV, but it's good enough to catch an eye-opening occurrence. (Hit Play button to start)
As I mentioned earlier, the event was broadcast on ABC’s Wide World of Sports, but you can’t find a video of that anywhere online. Enter Jana DeHart, who as president of Up For It Inc. produces, directs, and writes for numerous outlets, including Fox Sports, Speed, and Velocity networks, the last two on Barrett-Jackson coverage. She became friends with “the Snake” through his Barrett-Jackson auctions of some of his great old cars, including the Hot Wheels haulers.
She also has been documenting Prudhomme’s resurrection of the Shelby Super Snake dragster and had purchased one of those mash-up video compilations sold online hoping for some footage from 1967. She didn’t find that, but she was thrilled to discover a good 10 minutes or so from the 1965 WWOS Winternationals show, including the final round. Realizing the upcoming 50th anniversary, she made a video of the final-round portion, shooting her TV screen with her iPhone, and texted it to Prudhomme. It only took one view for Prudhomme to suddenly feel better about that holeshot. See if you can spot what he did.
Yes, race fans, from the camera behind the car, you can clearly see Prudhomme’s side of the countdown Tree skip the final amber bulb (burned out, I surmise) before the green while Alexander’s side of Tree functions normally.
“I kicked myself in the ass for 50 years because I was late, then as I’m watching this video – which I’d never seen before – I see this, and it’s just amazing,” Prudhomme told me. “You can see now why it startled me.” (Prudhomme then shared the video with Leong, who still chided his former driver, telling him he was lucky he had a good car underneath him that weekend.)
So, 50 years later, what do Prudhomme and Leong remember about the event? As could be expected, details and e.t.s of the actual runs have long since faded (other than the final round), but the general sentiment about what it meant to both still resonates.
The Chinese Year of the Snake had started just five days earlier, and that rang true throughout the rest of 1965. They had hung around California after the Winternationals win and whipped the fields up and down the coast, so they decided to go on tour. Chassis builder Rod Peppmuller built them a frame for a new long-haul trailer, and a neighbor of Prudhomme’s helped them build the body for the enclosed trailer they would need for a cross-country trip through the elements and to protect their car and parts from thieves. Prudhomme and Leong headed east and experienced unprecedented success throughout the year, capped by that big Indy win, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Leong and Prudhomme, at the 1965 Winternationals. Buddies then, buddies now.
"The Snake" gives Leong a friendly "Hawaiian punch" in Pueblo, Colo., 1977.
Together at last year's U.S. Nationals. Buddies then, buddies now.
Still, I wonder how (of if) both of their lives might have been different had they a) not joined forces and/or b) not won the Winternationals. They’ve both told me that winning the Winternationals sent their booking requests through the roof, and because those were the lifeblood of teams back then, what might have happened had they “only” been Winternationals runner-ups?
“You couldn’t make a living running national events,” Prudhomme confirmed, “but the publicity you got by winning one helped you get those match race dates. It’s like cutting a hit song so you can go out and make money doing concerts. We ran match races to be able to run the national events.”
“If we hadn’t gone on tour, we could have just ended up being a couple of Southern California guys who happened to win the Winternationals,” said Leong.
And what if on that fateful Saturday evening at Lions in October 1964, Leong had proved to be a natural Top Fuel driver instead of crashing his new car on one of his first passes? Would Prudhomme, who was without a ride after Tommy Greer decided to stop funding the G-B-P entry in late 1964, have found a ride with someone else for 1965, and how successful would he have been? Would engine master Black have worked with his young protégé Prudhomme and his possible new ride or would he have stuck with the well-heeled and in-need-of-help Leong and whomever he chose as a driver instead?
“I’ve told Prudhomme he’s lucky I wasn’t worth a [damn] as a Top Fuel driver,” joked Leong, who actually had been successful as a driver of his gas dragsters in Hawaii, where he once set the state record. “He’s lucky I was all guts and no brains.”
Leong admits that he knew nothing about nitro or Hemi engines when he decided to go fuel racing but was smart enough to figure out that Black did and hired him to help, then pretty much had Kent Fuller duplicate the G-B-P chassis. And, as we all know, it was Black who told Leong he shouldn’t drive and nominated Prudhomme to drive the Hawaiian once Fuller had repaired it after Leong’s off-track excursion. But would Black have stayed with Leong if Prudhomme were not involved?
Leong thinks not, and if that's true, I’d venture that it’s extremely unlikely the Hawaiian would have won the Winternationals, and it would delayed (at minimum) Leong’s rise to glory. Leong will certainly tell you there’s no doubt of the influence that “Black Magic” had on him throughout his career; his operation was based out of Black’s shop until he died in 1991 – interestingly, but maybe not coincidentally, Leong’s last full year as a car owner.
(Leong remembers the notoriously competitive Prudhomme once telling the steady yet conservative Black, “I’d rather blow the [expletive] engine out of the chassis than lose a race,” and Black responding, “Well buddy, you’re driving for the wrong person.”)
I asked Prudhomme what he might have done had he not driven for Leong.
“Geez, I’d have probably gone back to painting cars,” he mused, and when I asked if he thought he could have gotten another ride to start 1965, he replied honestly, “I like to think so. At that time, there were so many Top Fuel cars out there, it’s quite possible. I think I had a pretty good rep as I driver because I also drove Ed Pink’s car when I wasn’t driving the Greer car. But hooking up with Roland and winning the Winternationals was amazing; it was everything because it launched both of our careers. I was fortunate to get a ride in a first-class piece of equipment, and both of us took advantage of it.”
I wondered if Leong ever regretted not being his own driver and if the Hawaiian would have done better with him in dual roles, as Prudhomme did, or with, as it happened, him as the owner/tuner and marketing guy. He admits we’ll never know but thinks he could have held his own, but he has no regrets about the way it all turned out and can even laugh about it.
“C.J. Hart was the manager at Riverside [Raceway] when I got my gas dragster license, and he was also the manager at Lions when I crashed and took my license away,” he remembered with a laugh. “After his wife died, he went on tour with the NHRA Safety Safari, and I ran into him one night at dinner and thanked him for taking away my license and saving my life because I probably would have crashed it again. I’m happy with the way it all turned out.”
Leong, who is in Arizona this Winternationals weekend tuning Tim Boychuk’s Nostalgia Funny Car, also was a little reflective. “When we left Keith Black’s shop that summer in 1965 to go on tour, I never imagined we’d end up doing this our whole lives. I had just turned 21, and here I am at 70 still tuning race cars.”
“It’s cool to have been part of it,” agreed Prudhomme. “Hopefully we influenced some people along the way."
And although they parted company at the end of 1965 – Leong went on to win the 1966 Winternationals with Mike Snively in the Hawaiian while Prudhomme went out on his own with the B&M Torkmaster – Leong says he totally understood Prudhomme's decision to leave to try to make a name on his own. There were never any real hard feelings between them in what has been nearly a lifelong friendship despite that Prudhomme fired Leong (“Three times!” Leong says) during stints as crew chief on Prudhomme’s Funny Cars in the late 1990s and early 2000s.
Leong remembers how, when he fell on tough times in the summer of 1973, when his entire Funny Car operation was stolen from a hotel parking lot in Gary, Ind., his pal Prudhomme opened his shop doors and let Leong – who had purchased Ray Alley’s similarly chassised Engine Masters Charger as a replacement – take whatever engine pieces he needed to get back up and running. “He never charged me a dime,” says Leong.
(Not that it was always rosy; Leong remembers calling track operators trying to book his Hawaiian prior to the 1966 season only to find out, much to his chagrin, that Prudhomme had already called them all and gotten himself booked on the strength of their 1965 season. It only took Leong and Snively also winning the Winternationals to fix that.)
They remain the best of friends. Leong is almost always present whenever “Snake” throws a get-together, and they talk on the phone pretty much every day. Just a few weeks ago, I got a call from “Snake” while he and Leong were hanging out at the “rich guy” sports car races at Laguna Seca in Northern California. For a couple of guys who were raised an ocean and a culture apart but grew up together in the sport, they’re an interesting pair.
“I can’t explain why we stayed good friends this long,” said Leong. “We just clicked right from the start and stayed friends through it all and still have fun together doing a bunch of stuff. I’m overjoyed that it’s worked out like it has for us.”
You do not want to piss off this guy.
“You’re going to make me pull out what little hair I have left!”
That was the way my Monday began. On the other end of the phone was Larry Sutton, and he didn’t sound very happy.
Sutton, of course, is Southern California’s most famous starter and was at the controls of the Christmas Tree that launched Don Prudhomme and John Wiebe to their controversial dual 6.17s to kick off Lions Dragstrip’s 1972 season at the memorable Grand Premiere event about which I wrote last week.
Sutton began working at Lions as a teenager handing out time slips and by late 1959 was the chief starter, a position he held for the track’s remaining 13 seasons, so, as you can imagine, he holds a very large and soft spot in his heart for “the Beach.” He was good-naturedly bristling this fine morning that I would even suggest that Lions’ clocks could be called into question. We’ve had a good relationship for decades, cemented no doubt by the column I wrote about him here back in 2008 [The Good Guy in the Black Cowboy Hat], but it was still cool to hear him in a bit of a huff.
“Lions was always on the cutting edge when it came to the clocks,” he insisted. “We were part of Chrondek’s testing group, and we were constantly upgrading the clocks to the newest and greatest thing. We always had good clocks. As to any funny stuff with the clocks, it would not happen. There was never a phony e.t. or time slip given at Lions. There was never any B.S.
“Why was Lions always so quick? The track itself was very good. It had a very dense asphalt, like none I’ve ever been on, and we never scraped any rubber off the track. We would take a firehose and Tide and a street sweeper to scrub the track, which is why there was never any oil on the track. VHT was a local manufacturer and helped us out with product; they would give us drums of the stuff [traction compound], and we used it a lot. We were constantly prepping the track, which was not common in those days. The air was so good, and we had the best racers from throughout the nation coming to Lions.”
In the days since the column printed, I’ve also exchanged numerous emails with Wiebe and heard (twice) from two longtime Insider readers whose names should be familiar to longtime column readers: Lions regulars Robert Nielsen and Cliff Morgan. I didn’t think people would accept the challenge of stumping for legit or not.
There are several unknowns that make this a tough call, not the least of which is the lack of reaction times or other incremental times like we know today. The other is Wiebe’s memory, which, while still sharp, still is trying to refire 43-year synapses. It’s his recollection that he was just a few feet behind Prudhomme at the finish line that raises the most eyebrows considering his big starting-line deficit.
“One important thing to remember that current drivers are probably not aware of is that if you are in a rear-engine and see only your opponent’s front tires, you might be very close in the lights,” Wiebe explained. “In a front-engine, you sat so much further back you saw more of the opponent’s car in the lights. That is why my memory bank says about half-a-car.
“The e.t. is probably disputable,” he admits, “but not the close finish.”
In a classic slingshot vs. rear-engine dragster match, John Wiebe, near lane, defeated Jeb Allen in the semifinals of the 1972 Grand Premiere with a 6.41 best, then improved more than two-tenths to a 6.17 in the final. Possible?
Nielsen’s debating skills have become legendary, so I knew when he began his email with “There is ABSOLUTELY POSITIVELY no way both of these cars could have run 6.17 in that specific race,” I was in for some interesting reading.
His first position was similar to one that Prudhomme had suggested, that a drop of more than two-tenths in one round (Prudhomme’s previous best was 6.39, Wiebe’s 6.41) was a big hurdle.
“I would like to think that fabled Lions starting-line bite could have caused this dramatic improvement, but that, too, is unreasonable. I would challenge anyone to come up with another example of this type of performance gain for one round of racing only to have the cars then go back to what they were running after that single round. In drag racing, that just plain does not happen.
“All right, that is the subjective argument. Now, let us look at this particular run from a more analytical perspective and how the race actually played out. For sake of argument, let us first assume one of the cars did in fact actually run a 6.17. If we look at the starting-line photographs, they clearly show Wiebe being dead late off the starting line. Wiebe was able to nearly make up this starting-line deficit by the time they got to the finish line (confirmed by Wiebe’s recollection: ‘I chased him down and actually thought that I had won based on how much of his car I could see at the finish line.’)
“In order for Wiebe to make up the starting deficit, he would have had to run a faster elapsed time than Prudhomme. Therefore, there is absolutely no way Wiebe and Prudhomme could have run almost identical elapsed times under this scenario. Prudhomme’s elapsed time had to have been slower than Wiebe’s!”
Because reaction times and 60-foot times were not recorded (according to Nielsen, Lions never had reaction-time clocks let alone incremental timers), he put together some assumptions based on estimated wheelbase and 60-foot clockings (since the best photo shows Prudhomme about 60 feet into his run).
Nielsen estimated Wiebe’s wheelbase at 240 inches and did some fancy calculating about how long it would take his car to cover that first 60 feet, and although the numbers he used were not accurate, he estimated that Wiebe would have had to run more than two-tenths quicker than Prudhomme to make up the distance shown in the photograph.
(Wiebe does not remember the exact length of his car, so I did some comparative shopping. Don Garlits writes in his book, Don Garlits and His Cars, that his Swamp Rat 13 slingshot, built in late 1969, was 220 inches, and multiple sources report that Swamp Rat 14, his first rear-engine car, was — surprise — only 215 inches in wheelbase; Wiebe’s slingshot was built in 1970 by Roy Fjastad at SPE, so I think 240 might be a bit of a stretch, so to speak.)
Flipping the script the other way and assuming that Wiebe did really run 6.17 (which he has said he believes) means Prudhomme would have run somewhere near his previous runs (low 6.30s to mid-6.40s) for him to surrender his big lead so that they arrive together at the finish line.
Finally, Nielsen posits the theory that Wiebe’s low slung chassis allowed the elapsed time clocks to start when the rear tires cleared the beams (about a 20-foot advantage), which his (albeit flawed) math again showed to be more than two-tenths of a second, meaning that if Prudhomme actually did run 6.17, Wiebe ran somewhere back in the low- to mid-6.40s, which was what he had run in previous rounds.
(Wiebe’s response: “I don't think I would argue with the guy. Some of his numbers might be inflated and maybe not; a lot of fans are smarter than a lot of racers I have discovered.”)
This whole thread is wearing me out. What about you, "Kansas John"? Thought so.
I sent Nielsen’s theories to Morgan, another regular attendee at Lions shows, and he weighed in, “Wiebe's car wasn't 240-inch chassis, probably more like 200 inches, give or take. Front-motor cars were not that long, and 220 inches is about the most I remember for those cars. The 60-foot time would have been way slower than today’s cars, maybe 1.5 seconds (??). I agree that ‘Snake’ put a car length on Wiebe at the start, so say he was maybe a tenth better off the line. So for ‘the Weeb’ to make that time up, he would have had to run real close to .10 quicker than ‘Snake’, just to be even with him at the finish. Did the fact that Wiebe's car didn't have the front body on it have anything to do with the times? Back then, the front wheels were what broke the beams, both at the start and finish.
“I was at that race, and, of course, the final round is what stands out in my mind. I look back at it now and think, yeah, they could have run those times, but back then I thought they were maybe bogus. I always thought Lions' clocks were honest, but this could have been a malfunction. My vote would be ‘bogus times,’ just based on neither driver even coming close to backing up the 6.17s at that event.
“I think they both had the power to run 6.17 regardless of chassis style. It was getting the power to the ground that was the ‘problem’ then. Interesting that 1972 started off with world record of 6.21, set by Garlits at the 1971 Nats (yes, I know he had a staggered wheelbase), and then 6.17 at Lions, 6.15, 243 by Garlits at the Gators, then a bunch of 6.0s by various racers, and finally the first five by either Tommy Ivo or Mike Snively, and finally, that 5.91 by Don Moody at the Supernats that year. BIG drop in e.t.s, from 6.21 to 5.91. Interesting time in drag racing history.”
(What’s missing from this discussion is the proverbial “hot dog wrapper blowing through the lights” and triggering the e.t. beam prematurely, and although I did receive one anecdotal story that claims, in a roundabout way, that’s what happened, after a lot of consideration, I respectfully decided that what this mystery didn’t need was a grassy knoll.)
Forget “Deflate-gate” — we’ve got Lions-gate on our hands here.
I asked Sutton about the possibility of low-slung cars messing with the timing lights or other trickery that might have come into play from time to time.
“There were always guys trying stuff, like hanging things below their cars; I caught a lot of people doing that,” he remembers. “I would always look at the cars very carefully, and I’d watch the beams as they backed up from their burnouts, and if they didn’t just quickly flash, I knew something was hanging below the car. One guy was really good at it; he was always running fast and winning and never red-lighted. Then I noticed that he would always wait until I turned away to do his dry hop. When I wasn’t looking, he would flip a cog and lower the car. Guys were always trying things.
“I watched that stuff like a hawk, every bit of it. Parachutes, helmets, too low — everything. I was fanatic about it, not just for safety but so we could have a good, fair race. I wasn’t just up there to push a button.”
So we’re ready to move on, right? Wiebe is. Well, except for this one race in 1976.
“Remember when I was runner-up to Tharp at Indy and they said I red-lighted? So did all the other Pro category drivers, and they were all in the left lane as was I with the sun low in the west. We need to speculate on that one.”
Two weeks ago, when I started the 1975 thread with a report on Irwindale Raceway’s wild and wacky Grand Premiere, I mentioned the event’s Lions Drag Strip roots, a race that kicked off the fabled SoCal racing facility’s final season in 1972, and that I would write about it soon. I could tell that quite a few of you were eagerly licking your chops at the prospect because it was the kind of race that left an indelible impression on you whether you saw it firsthand or, like me, read about it in the magazines.
The final headline that came out of the race was the stunning Top Fuel final between Don Prudhomme and John Wiebe in which both ran elapsed times of 6.17 – the quickest in history by a fair margin – and the skepticism cast upon those numbers. The other unforgettable part of the event was that it was, as my good pal Bret Kepner would describe it, “a crashtacular” and included an overbackward Top Fuel wheelstand, an on-track collision between two Funny Cars, plus two nasty fires and a roof-removing blower explosion among the floppers. So much for getting your season off to a good start.
When the 1972 season kicked off at Lions, no one had a clue it would be the beginning of the last waltz for the track. Steve Evans had taken over management of the fabled facility the previous summer and given the place a complete makeover. The death knell – some will say sounded by neighbor complaints of an expanded racing schedule that included a new motocross track – came Aug. 30, when the Los Angeles Board of Harbor Commissioners ordered that the racing facility be vacated by Dec. 31 of that year to make way for a scheduled cargo-container holding facility for the greater Los Angeles port district.
So, when the Grand Premiere went into the history books, everyone was just calling it another unforgettable night at “the Beach,” a place that had been the site of so much history and so many great runs in its 17 previous years. No one knew the end was so near.
The track was good, no doubt about it. During Saturday’s NHRA national record session, Tony Nancy also reset the national speed record in Top Fuel to 233.16, and “Dyno Don” Nicholson lowered the Pro Stock e.t. mark to 9.54.
Gary Burgin set the NHRA Funny Car national e.t. record in the Braskett & Burgin Vega Saturday; his Sunday didn't go quite as well.
Gary Burgin, in his and Dave Braskett’s new Vega, ran 6.72 in qualifying to break the 6.80 national record set by Leroy Goldstein and the Candies & Hughes team at the previous year’s World Finals in Amarillo, Texas. As good as Saturday was for Burgin, his Sunday would be disastrous: He would cross the centerline in round one and be rear-ended by opponent Joe Winter, with near-disastrous results.
(Oddly, Burgin’s 6.72 fell well short of the track record, which had been set a month earlier at Lions’ Grand Finale by Bill Leavitt, who ran a stunning series of passes – 6.48, 6.51, and 6.53 – though national records were not available for those runs. And although Burgin got the record, he wasn’t even the low qualifier – that honor fell to Kelly Brown in the Mr. Ed Charger at 6.64 during the non-record-eligible portion of qualifying – and eventual winner Gene Snow ended up with low e.t. for his 6.54 final-round blast against Bobby Rowe’s 6.55. Weird, right?)
Qualifying was also highlighted by Jack Martin’s overbackward Top Fuel powerstand in the Penner-Beach-Martin dragster. Martin’s car launched hard, went near vertical, then pirouetted 90 degrees before slamming down onto its left side and sliding across the centerline and backing into the opposite-lane guardrail. The car was destroyed, but Martin emerged uninjured. Bob McFarland then rode out a hellish fire in his Dodge Demon flopper and was rescued by Mickey Thompson, but not before being severely burned over both legs and part of his torso.
|I was surprised to find this Grand Premiere clip from Don Gillespie's Lions DVD trilogy on YouTube. You can buy the whole series yourself in the NHRA Store.
The carnage continued Sunday with the First Round from Hell for the Funny Cars. In the second pair, Stan Shiroma defeated Tom McEwen, but a deafening blower explosion tore the roof off his Midnight Skulker Barracuda. He was not able to return for round two.
Then came the Burgin-Winter shunt. Already ahead of them, they had seen Dale Pulde get crossed up in beating Leavitt and “Mighty Mike” Van Sant and the Stone, Woods & Cooke Mustang cross the centerline to hand the win to Pat Foster in Barry Setzer’s Vega, so maybe it was the track. Burgin launched hard with the front wheels dangling but crossed the centerline on touchdown and got up briefly on two wheels, all of this right in front of Winter, who had no place to go. Winter rear-ended Burgin and pushed him out of the way in what looks like the world’s fastest PIT maneuver. Burgin’s car turned turtle and slid on its roof along the guardrail. The roof was ripped off, but Burgin otherwise emerged unscathed. Winter’s front end was heavily damaged, and he, too, could not make the second-round call. Four pairs later, Omar “the Tentmaker” Carrothers lit up his Mustang in losing to Rowe.
All of this brings us back to the much-talked-about Top Fuel final, which pitted Prudhomme and his new lightweight Kent Fuller-built Yellow Feather rear-engine dragster against Wiebe, one of the last slingshot holdouts, who was coming in hot after debuting Ed Donovan’s new aluminum 417 at the 1971 season-ending Supernationals, where he was the No. 1 qualifier with a 6.54 low e.t. and was runner-up. The week prior to the Grand Premiere, Wiebe had won Orange County Int'l Raceway's All-Pro Series opener (originally slated as OCIR's 1971 season closer in December but delayed by rain until January) with a best of 6.44.
At Lions, Prudhomme ran 6.42 against Carl Olson’s red-light and, after an easy second-round bye, ran 6.39 to defeat Bob Noice to reach the final but had done so at the expense of some of Keith Black’s finest parts. Wiebe, meanwhile, who had Donovan in his corner, had run a shutoff 6.54 to beat Jim Nicoll, then took an easy pass when teenage Randy Allison red-lighted before pounding SoCal’s other teenage phenom, Jeb Allen, with a 6.41.
Two angles of the final show that Don Prudhomme got out to a healthy lead on John Wiebe.
(Leslie Lovett/Jere Alhadeff photos)
In the final, Prudhomme jumped out to about a car-length lead, but Wiebe began to nibble away at it when Prudhomme’s engine again began to labor. Wiebe ran out of racetrack, and Prudhomme lit the win light, 6.174, 235.60 to 6.175, 236.22. Almost immediately, doubts were expressed about the e.t.s. Sure, Don Garlits had run 6.21 in Indy the year before in what was a stunning pass, but to have two cars run four-hundredths quicker was pretty unbelievable considering that neither driver had even run in the 6.30s the year before. There was talk that the staging beams had been out of kilter throughout the race so that low-slung cars like Wiebe’s stayed in the beams for the first car length.
Drag Racing USA thought so much of the controversy that a cover blurb on its May 1972 issue read "Wiebe and Prudhomme 6.17 E.T.s: For Real?"
According to the DRUSA report, Wiebe was quoted at the time as saying, “There is no possible way this car can go 6.17. It just isn’t possible.” Prudhomme, however, commented, “If you doubt it, just watch what happens in Pomona [the Winternationals].” What happened in Pomona was Prudhomme ran a best of 6.57, and Wiebe, who ran 6.78 at Orange County Int’l Raceway the weekend after the Lions event, couldn’t even crack the 6.90 bump in Pomona.
In light of Leavitt’s stunning Funny Car times at the end of 1971 and the dual 6.17s, I asked Lions historian Don Gillespie, whose seminal three-DVD history of “the Beach” is a true treasure, if it was possible that the Lions clocks were somehow “juiced” since the renovation. His answer was an emphatic “no.”
“Lions was always known as a racer's track,” he asserted. “Places like OCIR catered more to spectators. To that end, Lions always had many of the top racers, plus press and manufacturers on hand -- a tough crowd to ‘fool,’ I would think. Sorta like sneaking a starving artist’s felt painting into the Louvre and passing it off as van Gogh!”
So, after all this research, my jury was still out, but I was leaning toward the numbers being legit. So, 43 years later, here comes Mr. Insider, with the bright idea of getting to the “story behind the story.” But what will Wiebe and Prudhomme think – hell, even remember – four decades later?
(Above) Prudhomme's Yellow Feather dragster tipped the scales at 1,190 pounds, about 400 less than the wedge that preceded it. (Below) Wiebe's slingshot was running the still-new revolutionary aluminum Donovan 417.
Unfortunately but understandably, Prudhomme’s memories of the event are lost to time and the sheer number of events in which he competed in 30-plus years in the cockpit and even more as an owner. I walked him through the facts, and he thoughtfully pondered the two-tenths drop in e.t. between his best run and the final and was a bit conflicted.
“I don’t know how you drop two-tenths unless you’re falling down a mineshaft, but I don’t think Lions ever had phony clocks,” he said. “I’m sure we had it hopped up for the final, but the rear-engined car was still really new to us. We had the wedge the year before – that was a huge mistake; it was terrible – and the new car was so much lighter and better. We even milled the outsides of the block to take weight off of it. That car hauled ass.
“It’s possible we ran 6.17, but I don’t remember,” he said, then added in typical “Snake” fashion, “But the most important thing I heard in this conversation is that I won, so I like that.”
Wiebe, however, had no problem recalling the race in detail, and, contrary to the comments attributed to him at the time, he firmly believes that he ran the 6.17 and that he could have run even quicker with the right tune-up.
“We were still running the car kinda safe by the time we got to Long Beach, and I was really just out there to have fun,” he recalled. “Someone told me that Prudhomme and Black were really out to get me in the final, and I look over there, and Keith Black himself is working on the car; it looked like he had an army over there. Still, I think I was a bit nonchalant about the whole thing. I think I put a couple [more percentage of nitro] in the tank and advanced the cam two degrees and maybe put one or two [degrees of timing] in the mag to turn the wick up a little bit. Ed [Donovan] told me to put a bigger bottom pulley on to get some more overdrive for the blower. After all that, I still think we had even more room, and in retrospect, I wish I’d have laid its ears back a little further because it might have run a .12 or a .13. Even though he got the jump on me at the line, I chased him down, and I actually thought that I had won based on how much of his car I could see at the finish line. I remember that I was pretty devastated by that loss because I didn’t put more into it. We weren’t even close to smoking the tires. I just played it too safe.”
Regardless of any controversy, advertisers were all over the e.t.s in the next issue of National Dragster with Black, Fuller, and Pennzoil all touting Prudhomme’s e.t and Mondello and M&H bannering Wiebe’s performance. The numbers gained more post-legitimacy within a month when Clayton Harris drove Jack McKay’s New Dimension to a 6.16 (also at Lions) and Garlits ran 6.15 and 6.17 the next month en route to winning the Gatornationals. And, of course, by year’s end, low e.t. would be a 5.91 by Don Moody at the season finale in Ontario, Calif.
"Wiebe and Prudhomme 6.17 E.T.s: For Real?" You decide.
My chat with Wiebe, who hasn’t given a lot of interviews in the years since he quit racing in 1977, was a great chance to learn more about his career, which I’ll share next week. His time in Top Fuel was only about 12 years, but he packed a lot of racing into it.
I also was pleased to hear from Fritz Allison, the younger brother of the aforementioned Randy Allison, who with Jeb Allen, John Stewart, and Billy Meyer led a successful teenage revolt in the nitro ranks in the early 1970s. Fritz gave me contact info for Randy and his crew chief Gary (also their brother), so I hope to talk to them soon, too, to shed some light on their efforts, which haven’t received quite the ink that Allen, Meyer, and Stewart have in the years since.
So many columns, so little time. Just the way I like it. See you next week.