Shifty Maneuvers
Uncle Mike said he would cut off my Geritol If I didn't write this column. The little sonofa-Morgan must drive a Ford. Lucky for him he is family.
Uncle Mike is a full 6 months younger than I am so he knows NOTHING. He is a child. But I live under the roof of his trailer and I am kinda subservient to him. That means I have to take orders from the little fool, sometimes.
My assignment, this time, is to talk about the early days of my racing experience.
Racing is all I ever did. Billy France and I were schoolmates. Nobody got along with him. He was a cocky boy. His old man started this Nascar deal. Big damn deal. My old man did double life. That's harder.
We got involved in the Soapbox Derby back in the '50's. It was the thing to do. Simple enough. We would build little cars which would roll faster than the other little cars. Rules were very explicit. Had to build the cars ourselves - budget was $15.00.
We had a good time, but Billy was getting his ass kicked. Billy didn't take that well.
He soon learned his handicap was his big head sticking up. Bad aero's. Billy thought they were saying 'arrows'and he promptly shit his pants.
Next season he came back with a new car. You won't believe this - he was laying face down in the car, and looking through peepholes in the grill. Supposed to be more aero. NOT. Too much butt still sticking up. We cleaned his clock. Again.
Not brag - just fact - look it up. Billy never beat us. I went off to sell used cars and Billy went off to sell Nascar. I sold a jillion cars and Billy dint. Case closed.