Thank goodness it was a long winter because we needed every bit of it to get our new toy back together. Jim still didn’t want anything to do with that 6:71 supercharger, so he turned it over to me. I went back through all my Hot Rod issues, and found a tech article on how to build a roots- type blower for competition; I followed the instructions verbatim. Jim concentrated on the 392, and other than new M/T rods, he used what Hamam didn’t destroy. True to form, he pursued re-assembly of the engine in his own unique way. Two things stand out in particular. Night after night he would gently blow cigarette smoke through the injector barrel value to figure out where fuel would or would not go at different throttle openings. I thought he was nuts, but years later I would find out just how clever he was. He also inserted cigarette paper between the points in the Vertex mag to set the timing. Good thing Jim smoked, eh?

The third member of our team, Helga Oska, wasn’t all that mechanically-inclined, but his girlfriend was a doll, so you know they were always welcome to hang-out and watch us work (which they did).

Getting ready to take it out to Collins Rd. (first fire-up) ; note; 'mother of all chutes

It’s spring 1963 (that’s May in Toronto) and on the first decent day that’s warm enough, we tow our racer to a quiet, rural, back road to ‘light the candles’. On the first attempt, it sputtered, coughed, but would not fire. After a period of quiet contemplation, maybe 4 or 5 ‘butts’, Jim adjusts the mag and the injectors. Sitting on the rear slick, he said, "We need to push it faster before you let out the clutch. I’ll honk when I think it is fast enough, then floor it, and it should start". Jim gets the old Buick straight eight roaring, honks the horn, and I hit the switch and floor it. Ka-blam; it starts and almost rips off my head as I blaze down the road. Panicky, I get out of it and hit the brakes, and Jim just about creams me from behind. After a good laugh we’re at it again, this time without the WOT part. Jim gives the horn a tap, I apply spark and gas, and off I go down this nice, quiet lane, idling my dragster over a gentle rise when suddenly, coming in the opposite direction, a cop; yikes! I shut it off and pull over. There we sat, by the side of the road, wondering when we would be getting out of jail, but he never came back for us……go figure.

Jim tending to the 392; Helga checking the track; Fred deep in thought

Suiting up for one of the most memorable runs of my life

This is without a doubt my most vivid memory, even after all these years. It’s fun to tell now, but at the time, I wouldn’t say that was true. If just sitting behind an idling, gas-burning, 392 cid hemi was exciting, the thought of charging down the 1320 at full throttle was heart pounding. But, you’re 24, fearless, full of yourself, somewhat naïve, and definitely unfazed by most dangers. The stage was St. Thomas Dragway, Sparta, Ontario. Now, I have to say that I repeatedly visualized this run in my head. My best buddy and teammate, Jim Arnold, asked me every day if I was scared. Even if I was, I could not admit it; because there was no way I was going to let him drive it. You see, I was the hero-driver and he was the mechanical genius in this partnership. Or, at least that was the way I viewed it.

St. Thomas Dragway; Jim's straight 8 Buick push car; boy would I love to have that car
today

Back then, you pushed down the track in front of the spectators, slowed to a roll, maneuvered a u-turn, came to a stop, and waited for the push car to do the same. At the driver’s signal, the push car would then bring you back up the track. Jim Arnold was very good with this procedure. He would get me to 30 mph, honk the horn, and I would hit the mag switch. But, he would stay on the push bar until the engine fired and I could pull away. Anyhow, that’s the way we did it, not knowing if it was correct or not. I distinctly remember the first big hit of adrenaline shooting through my body as I slowed behind the starting line for another u-turn to get the dragster set straight to go down the strip. With all senses on full alert everything seemed to slow down. I gave the engine two vigorous whacks which cleared away nearly everyone close to the car (back then one could literally walk within a few feet of a car running in the staging lanes), waited for Jim’s nod, and eased her to the starting line. Staged, the flagman leapt into the air and I floored it. The tire smoke was as startling as the roar of the engine. The tire smoke was blinding and billowed off the tires well past half-track, but I was determined not to lift. It seemed like eternity getting to the finish line, but I knew I was going REAL fast as my peripheral vision was a blur and it was all I could do to focus straight ahead. Suddenly, the finish line was behind me and things got real exciting. I hit the chute lever and pulled hard on the brake handle, but that had little or no effect. Rapidly, I gobble-up the shut-down area and know I’m in big trouble. Directly in front of me was a cleared grass area, and then big trees proceeded by small trees. No sand trap, no net; just trees!! From hard and bumpy I went airborne. I ducked down as low as I could and just went for a ride. I remember thinking it’s over if I smash into one of those big pine trees. Miraculously, I landed upright amidst all those big trees, but basically, unscathed. I looked up, said, ‘Thank you Jesus’ and climbed out. The wheels were still on it, but smoke was pouring out of the back from the burned brake shoes (drum brakes are not the way to go). And, the chute? It was still in the pack. The red flag (big!) attached to the cotter key that went through the pull string was never removed and that would not let the chute deploy…..was I hot.

I waited, and waited, and waited. Where was everybody? Didn’t they know I almost got killed? I stood on top of the rear slick and looked back up track, but saw no one coming. I started walking back through the debris field I had just created, very dazed, very confused. Finally, I see the track ambulance and a couple pick-ups stopped at the end of the track. To the guys wandering around, I yelled, "Hey, I’m way back here you dumb sh-ts". Actually, the dragster was another 100 yards back into the trees from where I managed to walk out (of). It was a miracle I never hit one of those big pine trees. Oh yeah, we ran 174 mph and the record at the time was 179 mph by a rather famous driver from California named George Bolthoff. Now, how good is that for your first run in a supercharged dragster?

"I go out with this guy, and he takes me into the woods on the first date. Men!"

As the pictures show, this dragster was, well, a tank with slicks. By 1964, there was a well-established after market chassis industry. We really wanted a lighter car, so in 1964 we purchased a frame from Lakewood Chassis (same as Joe Schubeck). We built the new car from scratch. We used a ‘57 392 Chrysler bored out to 485 cid. Jim used M/T rods and pistons, a Delta hard chrome crank, Isky cam, and Enderle injectors. With this combination, we set the Canadian record for AA/GD with an 8.46 and 179.68 top speed. About that time, I negotiated a minor sponsorship deal with George Foote who owned Karbelt’s Speed Shop in Toronto. George was a first-rate guy and really enjoyed going to the races. Over time, he expanded his commitment to us and that allowed us to go nitro racing. Now, he was giving us parts, nitro, traveling expenses, and a tow vehicle. Our first race with nitro in the tank was the 1965 Springnationals at Bristol, Tennessee. We qualified 15^th with a 7.901 at only 156.52 because I was still a little reluctant to run her through the lights. At that time, we were dubbed the "Canadian Frantic Four" and as fate would have it, we drew the "California Frantic Four" (Weekly-Rivero-Fox-Holding) with Ronnie Goodsell driving. Excitement must have been my middle name because it was another ride to remember. I left on him and didn’t see him until ½ track when all hell broke loose. We didn’t know a fuel car needed to have a Greek coupler to harness all that power, so the u-joint we were using failed; the engine rpm went through the roof, and shelled the Schiefer clutch. The aluminum bell housing sheered away from the engine and spun. The throttle with its safety loop was attached to the bell housing, and what was left of the u-joint and drive shaft tore a nice size hole into my right ankle. The pain was excruciating and even with the brakes locked-up, I took the car into the guard rail just to make it stop. I pulled myself up, and perching on the cage, ventured a look at what was left of my right foot. When I saw just a blood-soaked white sock and no foot, I passed-out. Turns out that my sock got pulled down by all the thrashing and covered my foot which was still attached to the rest of me. Just another uneventful day at the drag strip; geez.

Before and after; a little bit of Tommy Ivo blended with a touch of Masters-Richters

Niagara International Dragway; 1964

Jim and Beezer providing the muscle (ed. Note: Bob Beezer was the Indian rain dance
personality prominent at NHRA national events in the 60's

We won, and in those days, you got pushed back up the track to collect the $$$

I will let the pictures that follow finish the Farndon-Arnold-Oska story. But, briefly, we match raced extensively, a lot against my rival and life-long friend, Scott Wilson ("Time Machine"). We were also the first to go over 200 mph in Canada. We did that at Niagara International Drag City during the "Battle of the Nations" race on May 22, 1966 (ok, Scott beat me that day, 8.06-8.15, but I got the 200.76 slip).