The year is 1957 and this is anywhere in America.
"Bonnie, come here!" her mother summoned.
Bonnie ran into the kitchen, "Yes, mama?" she asked.
"Go tell Joey I need this trash outside before dark," she ordered.
"Okay, mama," she acknowledged then rushed out the door anxious to relay mother's orders to her brother. "Joey! Hey, Joey!" screamed Bonnie as she descended the front steps.
Joey was engrossed in his current task and had no time to cater to his sister's immature whims. "What!" he answered dismissive.
Bonnie scanned the front yard but did not see any sign of her brother. "Where are you?" she inquired.
"Under the '32."
Bonnie hurried over to find Joey's legs protruding from the under the '32. "What are you doing under there?" she queried.
"I'm working. What do you want?" he was curt.
"Mom wants you to take the trash out," she relayed with an air of clout.
"I'll do it later, I'm busy," he said dismissive.
Not the response she was expecting, she decided to enforce the matter. "No, now! She said now!" demanded Bonnie, backed by the authority of mother.
Joey crawled from under the car. "Listen squirt, I'll take it out when I'm good'n ready," he was emphatic.
Bonnie placed her hands on her hips and peered down at her brother. "I'm gonna tell mom you said that," she replied still wielding her proxied authority.
"You do that, I'll tell mom I saw you smoking behind the gym," he gave a quick retort.
Bonnie's eyes lit-up and advertised fear, "You'd better not, you promised!" she fumed.
He displayed a sheepish grin and crawled under the '32. Bonnie stood for a moment to weigh her options and realized quick she had no ground so stomped back to the house.
Joey concentrated on the job of getting his rod ready for tonight's race. The 1932 Ford Coupe is something he had yearned for since he was a child. Not just any 1932 Ford Coupe, Joey had his mind set on a chopped and channeled, fenderless, no engine cover or side panels, dual-quad setup. A true high performance hot rod the likes of which he saw in rodder mags when he was younger. Others had their "hot rods" but Joey wanted the hot rod. In his mind, there was no other.
Tireless hours he spent on his dream learning the inner-workings of engines, transmissions and rear ends. Necessary skills like electrical, cutting, grinding, welding and many others one would consider a waste of good time.
He could teardown and rebuild an engine or transmission in a day provided no machining was required. That he left to the pros as they had the proper equipment. His unnerving attention to detail impressed even the veterans of the industry. Joey had built a reputation in the race world by being Joey. He was not the most personable or social but he knew his way around an automobile and he was more competent than many professionals.
As he concentrated on his job he heard the familiar sound of tires on the road mixed with the mild rumble of exhaust as an automobile approached.
"Joey!" cried the familiar voice of James "The Madman" Sykes who was the craziest driver Joey ever met. Madman was the best circle track driver in these parts. Roundy-round they called it. The whole race is one big left turn, pretty much. Joey joked he was so good at it he even thought in circles. The sport had been around for about ten years now and was a bit popular. People seemed to like watching cars turn left for fifty laps or so.
He slid from under the '32 and saw Madman there with his brand new red Corvette convertible. "I see you prefer plastic these days," he joked as he stood and made his way to the shiny Detroit machinery.
"This here's a fiberglass wonder," said Madman with aplomb.
As Joey stood there wiping his hands clean with a rag, he inspected the new toy. "Wonder huh? Well I look at it and wonder why anybody would spend money on a plastic automobile," he kidded and smirked as he continued with optimism, "Hey that's got the 283 in it doesn't it?"
"Sure does. Light and fast she is," he said with pride as he stood back and admired his new acquisition.
A quick survey of the body lines, Joey then stepped to the fender and looked down at the hood and prompted Madman. "Well?" Madman rushed over and popped the latch and as Joey raised the hood he eyed the power plant nestled between the fenders. "Hey, this has dual carbs! Not bad, not bad at all," he said. Then added, "Any day Madman, any day," This was Joey's subtle way of a challenge to race his race, not roundy-round but the only kind of real racing there was—drag racing. Madman knew better than to accept, even jokingly, about racing Joey in his wheelhouse, as many others did from the kid with the ugly car—they lost, every one of them. Some had very impressive machines, but as Joey would say, "Pretty and impressive don't win races. If it don't work together, it won't work out, it won't win."
Madman approached Joey, "So, you ready for tonight against Muggsy?" he said as he slapped Joey on the back.
Joey lowered his head in false humility, "Almost, got a few things to tweak, then I'll be ready," he said.
"You need any help there Joey. I'm all yours," offered Madman.
"No, thanks Madman, I've just about got 'er taped," he said.
Madman knew Joey well and could tell when he was busy and had something on his mind as he was cordial but short with his conversation. "Okay, kid. I'll get outta your hair, I don't wanna be the one to cost you the race."
Joey looked Madman in the eye, "See ya later Madman," he acknowledged.
Madman hopped in his new toy and displayed the grunt of a plastic car by leaving two long tire marks in front of Joey's house. A grin crossed Joey's face as he watched the red Corvette fade in the distance. Joey turned to his '32 then decided it was best to do his mother's bidding before things escalated.
Later that day, the crowd had gathered to larger than normal out on Old Mill road. There was tension in the air and plenty of light left for a good run. As Frankie drew the line across the road for the line-up, Joey pulled up in his '32 and Frankie guided him to the line. Muggs was next to pull forward for the line-up in his Model A. Frankie walked to Joey's window, "Hey Joey, I ain't got the light," he said.
"You ain't got the light. The biggest race of the summer and you ain't got the light," said Joey annoyed.
"Sorry Joey, I forgot."
"Maybe you should see if someone's got a light we could use," he offered.
"Yeah, yeah, that's a good idea, Joey," said Frankie as he stood there.
Prompted by his lack of initiative, Joey said, "Hey Frankie, maybe you should go find that light before we run out of gas here."
"Oh, yeah right, Joey," Frankie left and disappeared into the crowd. Moments later he came back with a dirty white rag as a signal light. Joey looked at Muggs and pointed to the rag. Muggs thumbed a reluctant okay.
Frankie took his position between the two cars. He pointed to Muggs and he signaled ready. Frankie then pointed to Joey and he signaled. Frankie raised the dirty white rag in the air and yelled over the din of the engines, "Ready!" The engines revved higher. "Set!" Clutches with a slight disengage. "Go!" he dropped the rag and ran between the cars.
The two rods roared off the start line and headed for the finish line, a quarter mile away. They left a cloud of smoke and the smell of burnt rubber in the air as their rods quickly diminished in size as they headed for the horizon.
Joey felt the familiar and intoxicating pull of g-force on his body as the '32 accelerated off the line. This only fed his desire to push the '32 harder to obtain even more force as more force meant more speed and more speed meant a win. The sound of the engine was healthy tonight. He could feel the internal parts working in harmony causing a quick and powerful response as he had the pedal floored between shifts. The little tweaks he did prior to tonight's race were paying off as he inched ahead of the model A. His shifts were smooth as should be when in harmony with machine. He slammed the shifter to fourth and buried the pedal. It was all he had. Only the floor interrupted his push of the pedal to infinity as he hoped what he did have was enough. The Model A slowly drifted back then disappeared from his peripheral vision. The '32 rolled over the line and won by a half a length. In less than fourteen seconds Joey had won himself a Model A hot rod.
Moments later he pulled up to the awaiting, cheering crowd. They soon surrounded the '32. "Best drag yet Joey!" said Frankie as he approached the car.
Joey climbed from the '32 and soaked-in his win. Adoring fans patted his back and expressed their congratulations. The Model A pulled up and Joey walked to the driver's side. He leaned on the driver's side window, "Sorry, Muggs. But don't you worry, I'll take good care of her," consoled Joey.
Muggs sneered a little and, with reluctance, climbed from the Model A. "This ain't over Hanson," he said in disappointment and handed Joey the keys and pink. "I'll get ya next time Joey. You can bet on that," he said with disdain.
Somewhat annoyed with his attitude, Joey replied, "Yeah, yeah, I here ya. Nobody likes a sore loser Muggsy."
Frankie approached. "Hey Joey, you wants I can drive 'er home for ya? Huh Joey, whataya say Joey, huh?" he pleaded.
"Yeah sure, Frankie. Have a ball," responded Joey. Then added, "Don't you do nothin' crazy now you got that, Frankie?"
Frankie began his walk to the Model A. "I got it, I got it, nothin' crazy," he said dismissive.
The celebrations of the win were in full swing as Joey turned and headed back to the '32. He did a cursory scan of the crowd as it was much larger than usual. Word must have leaked somehow about the race or the local activity had somehow caught on as there were many new skirts in the crowd and they were all looking at him. Not bad, he thought as he scanned. While he strolled to the '32 one skirt he passed caught his attention out of the corner of his eye and the vision of her lingered. He looked over his shoulder as he walked and searched for the girl. She was among the other bobby soxers as he made eye contact and smiled. The girl noticed and reciprocated. Joey continued toward his destination but could not shake the lovely vision from his mind and decided to revisit the place in the crowd he had seen her. She was gone! A quick desperate scan of the crowd did not yield a result so he abandoned his search and hope. He directed his attention on his engine and as he studied it after his best race of the summer, a soothing lilted voice came from behind.
"I see you won," said the polite voice.
It was unfamiliar but pleasant. He turned, it was the girl from the crowd! A wave of relief passed through him as he had thought she was lost in the sea of faces. He collected himself, "You like racin'? he returned the politeness.
"Sometimes," she said.
"Sometimes? What makes you like one race from another?"
"Oh, I guess it's a lot of things but I think it's mainly the drivers that interest me most."
Joey knows an invitation when he hears one. "So you like my drivin'?" he asked.
The girl, unsure why she felt the need to play with him, did just that. "Not you, silly," as she exaggerated the thought of Joey as the subject of her attention as nonsense. She continued, "Oh, no, it's the other guy I was lookin' at. He's so boss!" she laughed and was patient and anxious as she awaited his retort.
Joey, a little deflated, responded as he would as if it were just another dame. "Well you picked the wrong guy, didn't you, doll?" he defended.
She took a step closer and looked him in the eyes and smiled. "I was just joshin' you. I most certainly picked the right driver," she said playful adding a submissive and seductive look.
He peered into her eyes and was drawn-in as he felt a warm smothering. There was something about this girl he could not peg. She was not like your normal bobby soxer. When she looked at him there was a confidence and certain determinism there he could sense and feel. This dame was with it! She had more than marbles rollin' around up there, he thought. He also felt the sting of remorse of his attack. "Hey look, I didn't mean nothin' by that picked the wrong guy thing, you know?" he groveled.
"Yes you did," she said matter-of-fact. Then continued, "But it's okay. Guess I was askin' for it a little," she surrendered.
"You go to Rockford High? I've never seen you," he said with a change of subject.
"No, I'm from Joshua county. I go to Franklin," she said. The girl's attention went toward the '32. "Your car has many interesting colors. You don't like one-color cars?" she queried.
"I'm working on the mechanics right now. Pretty paint comes down the road."
"It went really fast tonight. What are those two things on top there?" she said as she pointed to the engine.
Joey looked to verify the destination of her point. "Oh, those are carburetors," he announced.
"Why do you have two carbinators?" she said somewhat dimwitted.
He displayed a little annoyance at her mispronunciation. "It's carburetors," he corrected.
The girl exaggerated her pronunciation and her struggle to say the word correctly. "Carburetors," she repeated.
"Hey, you got it now," he said polite with encouragement. He paused, then decided to impress, "This is a deuce coupe, doll. A thirty-two deuce coupe. Deuce means two, as in two carburetors. In fact that's her name—The Deuce," he stated proudly. He paused as if to gather his thoughts then continued, "But she's much more than that. She's the whole works—engine, trans, rear—the whole works. It all works together," he kept it simple for her.
"Oh, I see. And all that makes it go fast?" she feigned ignorance.
Joey could see he was still a little over her head in this area so he dialed it down more. "It makes me win and it's just cool, that's all," he said somewhat dismissive.
"Cool huh? Yeah, I'd say you got that part down pretty well, hot rodder," she flirted as she left his side and walked toward her car. Joey stood captured by her every step until she reached her car and turned to address him, "So tell me, hot rodder, is that a special grind cam in there? Sounds like you did a little head work too. A little port and polish maybe? Bet she's got a balanced crank too," she laughed as she climbed in and started the engine.
Joey, in disbelief of what he had just heard, stood there dumbfounded, confused and more than a little impressed. He ran to her car just before she pulled away. "Hey, wait!" he leaned on the window. "Who are you? How do you know so much about engines?"
She kept her eyes forward staring through the windshield. "I know more than engines, I know racing. Heard about this hotshot winnin' races and I thought I'd come see," she said.
His eyes widened, "Oh, you race too?" he said with interest.
She cracked a smile, "No, just a fan," she clarified.
"You have a name, just a fan?" he asked.
She looked him in the eyes, "Donna," she said hoping he wouldn't forget.
"Just Donna?" he asked searching.
"Just a fan, Donna," she joked.
"Well, just a fan, Donna, I'm Joey," he said cordially.
Her cheeks blushed a little. "I know your name, silly. Everyone knows about Cool Joey," she flirted as she hit the gas and disappeared into the night leaving Joey standing there a little confused yet encouraged.
Donna tried her best to concentrate on her driving as she headed for home. Her thoughts of this kid racer crawled through her mind. The way she acted with him was not at all congruent with her character. Only in recent weeks had she heard of this boy that wins races—this Joey kid. She had to go, had to see, even if just to say she was there and be done with it. After all, everyone knew of this kid and had been to at least one of his races. Something much different than expected had happened. Infatuation entered in with an undeniable urge which drove her thoughts and actions. After every race it was all she could do not to stay and talk to this racer. She had never been so forward with any boy, much less a greaser!
In an attempt to bury all thoughts of this racer, they somehow managed to creep their way back to the fore of her mind and the memory of their encounter became clear and vivid. He looked deep in her eyes and she was captured. She knew nothing of this boy, yet she felt a strange familiarity. An inherent prediction of what he would next say led her to play and toy with him so expertly. What's wrong with you, Donna? she thought to herself as she turned on the radio to drown her thoughts and emotions.
