MAGAZINE

ART DEPARTMENT

Oval track race cars are one of the foundation blocks of our gig, and a lot of them appear as current or Vintage iron at the track. Lattin is a collector of some note and this piece has some significance, but the pass must have been a demo, what with the probably not-techable Kelseys and no cage. The humans, Lattin, Higbie, are noteable, and the shot is preliminary to the kickoff of the 50th Anniversary Bonneville meet. Maybe Historic.

As usual, enjoy. Smoke it over.Study it with me, and learn something about the Art of Photography. I can feel the heat, see the glare of the sun over Peter's shoulder, and I can hear the crunch of the salt as they pushed the car out there. I can see that black line disappear in an arc over the horizon, and I can see the trucks, cars, umbrellas, tarps, tool chests , ball caps, panamas and pith helmets behind us.

T's are a brave new world. We are maybe the fourth or fifth generation of Teasers who got hooked on these crazy contraptions. We got charmed out of slick hot rods and into sometimes rusty, usually primitive, leaking, leaning, popping, mysterious, obsolete pieces of..........gold. That's right, Podnuh. Solid gold. You can't have this much fun for this price and still have something to look at when you're done.

The T people were kind of a laugh to us when we were Slick-Dog hot rodders, cherishing braided steel lines, and block-sanding the tops of frame rails that we would never see again. They were austere to use a kind word and tight as a frogs' ass (That's water-tight) to be blunt. They still are. 'Ever try to sell something to one of them? God. We usta ridicule their restorations (with just cause) although some of them knew what was up.

There were guys who majored in T's just like there are specialists in any other thing. They spent their whole hobby careers accumulating parts (hoarding? Nah) for some undefined future need. They just didn't want the stuff to get away. Then they died. What to do with a yard, barn, warehouse, garage, storage shed and old trailer full of T parts that look like a mountain of rust to most of us?

COULD YOU MAKE HAY OUT OF THIS?

Find somebody who will take the whole package.

Someone who has all the answers to the questions in the first paragraph. It's the only sane way to divest of Dad's junk. But you have to find an insane person who will haul it off. In-sane and in-formed. If he posesses the knowledge and the strong back, he is the only one on earth who can make it happen.

He loads it all up, takes it to his own garage, barn, storage shed, trailer, warehouse, and sorts it while unloading. Now it is in more order than it has been since the twenties. Groups of engine blocks, axles (dropped and stock) frames, brackets, headlights, even bodies, windshields and frames, springs and ...you get the idea. Go to the phone. About 6 calls is what it takes. You see, the most important trait this man has is that he is the fulcrum of information. He knows the parts, he knows where they are, and he knows who needs them. If you have all three features in your field, then you are a success, aren't you?

THE VALUE DOUBLES WHEN YOU STACK IT UP

So the fire sale is on, and the parts get distributed .To engine specialists, chassis specialists, a couple of complete cars go out. Some absolutely impossible parts go to the pitiful bastards who stood around with their hats in one hand and their cash in the other, and what we have here is Evolution, Daddy. Natural selection. God's Order. Recycling. The needs of the current group of Model T Miscreants will be met. Hopefully the demised would approve that his treasures went to worthy people. They'd have to be worthy if they want the stuff at all. If they weren't worthy they would have no interest in original parts. They'd need beefier parts for all those EFI-equipped polished aluminum running gears, anyway. If you saw through the rust at all, you passed muster.You Qualified .(Maybe for the Hooligan, but you qualified.)

"Clean to the skin; STONE to the bone," a blues-man once said.

You have percolated yourself down-nay, refined yourself into that esoteric netherland of T-Beelia. Early twentieth century, post industrial revolution, gas-gaspin' internal combustion indulgence. These machines, meant to enhance quality of life, turn out to be neat. Had they invented neat, bitchin, jive, cool, fun, out-there, far out, jumpin', yet? 'Doesn't matter, Ol' Boy. If you know T-Truth, these piled-up castings, stampings, forgings and droppings give you a buzz like a boiler-maker for breakfast. All the duties, responsibilities and demands of life shift into some 90 year old overdrive and all of your intellect is employed to conjure why you- yes, Brother- YOU could -SHOULD- make the car of your dreams with this modest start.

"How much you gonna have t' have for that '25 Touring Body?" (Its upholstered. That's practically a car.) "I already sold it to....." Who gives a shit who he sold it to? That was MY favorite car in the whole world. I thought we were pals. Maybe he didn't notice my hat in my hand..............

"Bedsides, you already have a T Touring." I guess I forgot.

Now I know how the dead guy ended up with duplicates.