Читать книгу Chrysler's Motown Missile: Mopar's Secret Engineering Program at the Dawn of Pro Stock - Geoff Stunkard - Страница 7

Foreword by Donnie Carlton

Don Carlton Jr. (left) and Ted Spehar are honored at the 2014 East Coast Drag Times Hall of Fame induction ceremony. (Photo Courtesy Tina Spehar/Spehar Family)

The truth is, I thought my dad was just like all the other racers. During the time he drove and owned the Missile, I considered it to be normal life. It wasn’t until later that I understood what he accomplished in his career and how special the whole Missile thing really was. To be honest, what my dad’s work accomplished and demonstrated is what led to the work ethic I still have today.

My earliest memories were of the Southern-style match races my dad did before then in the best-of-three format. Right near here in Lenoir, North Carolina, we had the Hudson and Wilkesboro drag strips within a halfhour drive of our home; then, there were places such as Piedmont, Farmington, and others. He would work all week, go out and run on Friday night, Saturday afternoon, Saturday night, and Sunday. Then, he’d go back to work again. When Pro Stock began to get popular, he could win $500 or so at each of those tracks on the weekends, which was more than he made during a week in the factory. He would often come back home between the races to sleep and would also pull the pan down and put fresh bearings in the Hemi. He worked in the furniture industry back then, and he also did mechanical work on other hot rods, helping people get ready for the races that weekend. I just thought that was the way every racer lived.

When he began doing the Motown Missile program in Detroit, Michigan, I didn’t travel much yet, but our family eventually moved up there. I wanted to be part of it and came over to the shop sometimes. They would let me help clean up, wash parts, and sweep the floor. Joe Pappas and Dick Oldfield were always kind to me, and I was in awe of the factory guys who would come by and talk. When I was a little older, I was more involved and could help take a Lenco transmission out, handle some tools, and sometimes mix our special gas. Back then, we had our own blend of Sunoco and AV gas, and I would take the proportions from each barrel and mix a batch up. That was a pretty important job.

At the same time, Clyde Hodges ran the shop that was in our old house. My dad grew up right on this property, and it had been in the family a long time. Clyde was a real country backwoods sort of guy, but he could weld and knew how to build engines. People said the engines he built were as good as Ted Spehar’s stuff. I admit right now, that was a matter of opinion, but it was his reputation. Anyhow, my dad had already started building the new concrete-block 100 × 40-foot building here even before the factory backing went away. When it was over, he and Clyde did it all and even built whole cars here, including the Colt that Dad was killed in. When the operation moved back here, we received a huge amount of parts and lots of titanium stuff, plus cylinder heads, blocks—you name it. We had a warehouse full of parts.

Young Don and his dad are pictured at a 1974 match race at Milan Dragway. (Photo Courtesy Joe Pappas)

I was about 15 when he was killed in 1977. Of course, it was very hard on all of us. At my age, I was busy being interested in girls and school, and the shop eventually closed. In the late 1970s, I tried a little drag racing, but since my name is Don Carlton as well, there was a lot of pressure on me at the local tracks to measure up to his reputation. Still, I enjoyed racing, and after I tried circle-track driving once and liked it. I actually did a bunch of Sportsman circle track racing locally. I was never a professional, but I did pretty well with that for some years. By then, however, we no longer had any affiliation with Chrysler, and it eventually became expensive enough that I decided to quit.

You know, my dad was never a top-hatter. He was cool, but he didn’t have airs, fancy clothes, or flashy stuff. I would probably look like a showboater compared to him, but that was just the way he was. I think that for him, driving a race car was just the thing he did. It was natural. He could work on them too, and that whole Missile team fit together very naturally. Plus, the guys were all friends. Richard Oldfield, Dick’s son, and I were about the same age, and we spent time together. Our parents would get together and play cards sometimes, and we also went on the road with the team to a few of the events in the summer.

The car my dad was killed in was buried in the landfill on Lick Mountain, right above where Hudson Dragway used to be. The guy who ran the bulldozer there was an old high school drag racing buddy of dad’s, and he told me years ago it would get uncovered every once in a while. He understood what it meant to us, and even with some of the parts left on it, it was never stripped apart. Just buried. I think a few guys might have taken souvenirs from it, but the landfill has been closed due to some of the other nasty stuff people sent there. I think that is just as well.

I still have the old shop, but it has expanded. I run several businesses out of it, making materials for the local furniture industry and packing business. The old motor room is used as an office by my plant manager, and some of my dad’s trophies are still in his display case, even though that area is used for storage now. Some of the family still lives on the property too, just like always.

As for me, I often play a round of golf with Stuart McDade, who is still in the area. He doesn’t talk much about those days now. Still, it was really good to see the whole Missile team back together at Henderson for that reunion event a couple of years ago. Looking back, we really did have an amazing time when we raced. The reunion recalled a time that is still very special to all of them, and I think my dad would have loved it.