Midstate Vintage Stock Car Club

This is the fifth year running with the club, but I was a member for the six years prior to that while I was still building my car. My interest stems from a childhood of going to our local track Five Mile Point with cars out of my dad’s junkyard and my mid-life crisis produced a replica of one of those instead of a boat or sports car. Never had so much fun in my life!

More driver/owner information below.

Car	Engine	Favorite Track	Hobbies	Sponsors	Crew Members
1934 Ford 3 Window Coupe	250 c.i. Pontiac 6cyl	5 Mile Point	Racing, Photography	Wood's Auto Harpursville, NY	Big John Ross

By Gary Wood

It was summer of 2000. I was about to experience something I'd been dreaming about since I was a kid (another story). Here I was, 50 years old sitting in my '34 Ford coupe in the second row, outside spot in the first Midstate Vintage Stock Car Club heat race of my life. I didn't even notice the noise. My helmet felt heavy. I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. The sweat ran down the back of my neck as I glanced at the flagger. He held out one finger above the yellow flag hanging from his left hand telling us we had one more pace lap before the green flag lap of my rookie season. I flipped the visor down and snapped it in place. I looked Heavenward and said "OK, Colleen. Time to dance..." It was winter of 1993. My dad and I were having lunch, talking cars. He had a junkyard while I was growing up - taking it over from his father when my grandfather died in 1950. I had visions of Street Rods in my head, having found an old coupe body a year or so before. As we talked, the conversation turned to an appearance by an antique stock car club we'd seen the past summer at our local 1/4 mile dirt track. As we talked about the days when he used to field cars from the year and run them at the track, he sensed the excitement in my voice. "Why don't you use that old body to build an antique race car and join that club? You're not getting any younger!" he said. It took about 30 seconds to talk myself into it. My kid brother had a junkyard (oops - Auto Recycling business) and could supply me with lots of needed stuff. Why not? Well, that 30 second decision turned into six years of blood, sweat and tears - literally! I already had the body and luckily, it was a '34 Ford 3-window Coupe, my favorite of all the cars raced from my dad's yard growing up. I had a dozen or so picture of the car when it ran, starting in 1961, so the paint scheme was no problem. I found an old chassis in town, a complete 1970's Pinto bodied car to be more exact with a quick change rear end already under it's 1957 Chevy California box frame. Bingo! I was off and running - err, more like walking very slowly. I had learned some basic acetylene torch skills and stick welding as a kid (remember that 'another story'?). Luckily, however, fate hooked me up with a member of the antique club who lives only 20 minutes from me who was a professional welder - Big John Ross. He was somehow able to squeeze all of his 6'8" frame into his own '34 Ford 5-window Coupe. My team was now complete. Not the team I was used to watching work on my dad's cars as a kid - five or six guys each night of the week - but a team non-the-less. What lay ahead was six years of freezing to death in my garage and sweating my butt off in the summers. My two daughters were still involved in school activities so my time was fairly limited. I'd talk to John on the phone for ideas, call a couple of other club members, plan my battles and spend nights preparing for John's visits every 4 - 8 weeks. I can handle welding brackets and such, but when it's gonna protect my butt, "Let John do it" was my motto. Well, I don't have to relate the whole six years to you since you already know what is involved if you're reading this. Suffice it to say, my completed car is named "Christine", since in her construction, my dad's foot was broken and I lost the end of my left index finger. During this time, my family was extremely supportive. Any time 'risk' or 'danger' popped into any conversation, I'd quickly point out racing's overall safety record. My wife was always behind me, if this was what I wanted. "At least I know where to find him" was her answer to questions of my spending so much time in the garage. Even family out of state found my endeavor to be exciting. The one person who, most of all, got behind me with her 'go for it' attitude was my sister-in-law, Colleen (Col). I first met my wife in 1967 when the 'baby' of her family, Colleen was 7. Right from the start Col and I had a special relationship. I taught her to tell time, giving her a dime each time she answered correctly. She later admitted to faking a mistake more than once - I'd continue offering the dimes. Her life took her down many bumpy roads, but eventually she pulled herself together and got a degree in ASL (American sign language) and devoted herself to causes for the hearing impaired. She became an interpreter for the deaf in Canton, Ohio and touched many, many lives. She was planning to attend my first race and lead the cheers knowing full well I'd finish last. Col died in November of 1999 at age 39. Cancer doesn't care about your plans. She had requested that at her funeral the song "Thank you for being a friend" be played. Her husband and two sons stood and reminded us all how she would want us to celebrate, not mourn. A few months later I heard a country song on the radio that included the line. "If you get the choice to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance". Colleen and her philosophy of life immediately came to mind as though she was speaking directly to me. Why do we strap ourselves into these cars and slam our foot to the floor, trying to get past the guy in front of us? Dumb? Nah, Just choosing to "dance".