RUN-INs WITH THE LAW

[DAverkamp]

Nailed it!

 

[DAverkamp]

SPIKE'S Story #1
I have several stories of run-ins with the law, thought I'd share a few here.
Back when I was just out of High School, I was crusing down Ventura Blvd around Noon in my '30 Ford A Coupe, and for reasons I don't remember today, I pulled a "U" turn in the middle of this 2 lanes each direction boulevard. As soon as I did so, I passed a police car going the other way...I was looking right at the cop, and he was looking right at me. For a moment, I was sure I was toast. I had a friend, Rick, with me in the car and I told Rick "Crap...hold on". Before the cop could turn around in opposing traffic, I dashed behind a Bank building and, just by the grace of God, found a hiding spot behind an 8' hedge behind the Bank. Rick and I bailed , cut through the Bank Lobby, and went into a McDonalds next to it. After grabbing lunch and lounging around sufficiently for danger to pass, we both started to walk across the McDonalds parking lot when, slowly a car fender was keeping pace with us. It was the cop. He told us to stop, and admitted he had no idea where we could have hidden that Model A, but we were going to get a ticket when he did find it. He didn't, 'cause we waited him out, and I retrieved the Coupe . Amazing that I got away with that. How do you out-maneuver a modern police car, and hide a tall vehicle behind a bush? Luck

I can’t “1 up” these stories except for maybe in that in my 37 years of driving I have had zero speeding tickets (1 warning on my way to work) and 1 minor crash (my fault after bartime resulting in the guy who T-boned me at a 4way flashing intersection was a wanted coke dealer from FL who’s career ended when the popo arrived).

Anywho, my close call was at Xmas time of ‘89 when I came home from Ft Benning Infantry boot camp and airborne school on leave back to Oshkosh with orders to Panama. My wheels to use was the family “spare” car, a 74 Satellite Interceptor my Dad bought at auction and younger brother added a 750 DP and headers to. It was a snowy, fruitless night chasing tail with my bud and we ended up at the Country Kitchen on Main St, downed our chow and coffee to “sober” us up and proceeded to drive him home to rest up for the next night of patrol. At the first stop light I had to be a show off on the throttle and go through the column gears from 1-D when I looped her going into D and stopped 180 degrees mid lane. An unmarked detective just had to be turning onto Main as I finished that stunt and he hit his lights. I lit up a Marb Red, popped the hood and unscrewed the wing nut on the air cleaner as he approached and then fondled the carb hard hoping to gas up my hands. When he got to me I started dropping F bombs at my little brother about him souping up the car and how the throttle stuck. He asked if I was military and when I turned around he was running a high-n-tight as well! I fumbled around through my wallet and pulled my DOD ID before my DL and told him what I just did before coming home on leave and he started telling me he just ETS’d the Marines and became a cop and we talked a little about our MOS’s. He then stayed in the center lane to block traffic as I “unstuck” the carb. I learned alot from that experience and don’t know if he knew I was OTL but will be forever thankful for that learning lesson and of course, still respect the Jarheads!

 

[delawarebill]

wow great stories of back then... i'll add mine... buddy and i both driving our Tbuckets back from a show in maryland. side by side at a red lite i looked at him and smiled... green lite and i took off, no burn out just nailed it... well i didn't see the state trooper behind me.... OOOPs.. he pulled me over and said if i info was all good he'd let me go. info was fine but he said do it again and i'll get a ticket... after that i looked in mirror before hand...

 

[mrgmhale]

No, that yellow Coupe was not mine, You can see the color of my Coupe in my first post, though I vaguely remember a yellow Coupe owned by someone south of the boulevard up in Woodland Hills. I worked at the 76 Union station on Topanga and Burbank....right next to that Dennys you mentioned ( small world, huh? ), and after that at Woodland Hills Auto Parts, just west of Topanga on Ventura Blvd. You mentioned Ken Tice. I believe his last name was spelled Theis, something like that, but pronounced exactly the same. Ken was the owner of Ken's Racing Engines, on Parthenia, a few blocks east of Topanga. Of all the cars I've owned, and I've posted quite a few on here, I also had a "32 Pick-up, bright yellow, with a Flathead. Ken's racing engines did the port, polish & relieving on my flathead block. I think he must have done the valve work too. I know I assembled it. Ken now lives and has his shop up somewhere around Bass Lake, California.
Yeah, it was a while ago my friend, but what fun!
Included here, is a shot of that Flathead Ford I built for my pick-up, being inspected by my good friend Lauren Arana, who I've known since the auto parts store days, through us both working at PAW, we had our own shop called A&A Machine, and he went on to Ed Pink's Racing Engines, and I to Valley Head Service. The Flathead was a runner.... that's me on the left, Lauren in the doorway.

Yep, you and I shared a lot of common stomping grounds in Woodland Hills, no doubt. And yes, the Denny's I had mentioned is right next to your old 76 station. The Ken Theis (you are correct re the spelling) I am thinking of was in his late 40s, maybe early 50s back in 1973. So I suspect he is no longer alive. If he is by chance still alive, he will by now have long since retired. His main Go To building tech was "Mondo," a gifted engine technician. I was allowed to hang out at his shop while he was building my Chrysler 383 into a much beefier engine. I remember how that build ran me $1,500 back then - a fortune for sure, making just under $5.00/hour at the grocery store. But, it was a very strong running engine for sure. I still marvel that I had managed to not get myself killed back then.

I dug up one article that mentions Ken, and refers to his "Odd Couple" engine. I remember seeing a logo in his shop that included the Holman Moody "eyes" next to the "Odd Couple" text. Perhaps he had a son named Ken? Anyway, here is the one link I dug up:

https://www.motortrend.com/news/ask-anything-3/

I can still smell the fragrances in his shop. He had a Sun distributor testing/setup machine. No Sun scope, however. Lots of cars were inside the shop, all waiting to be worked on. He was a fairly gruff gentleman, although he tolerated me hanging out during my engine build pretty well.

 

[Spike Morelli]

mrgm,
We must have brushed shoulders back when! About Ken, I think he is still with us. Last I heard, he was raising Alpacas, and doing Nostalgia racing engines. I personally last talked with him 6 years ago at Lake Ming, in Bakersfield, Calif, we were both at a dragrace/ boat show there. Disregard the circle Jet boat in the foreground below, but that's Ken's trailer behind. I was hanging out with him and a group of other builders all day.

 

[Spike Morelli]

I can speak for the majority of car guys back then, although our youthful enthusiam sometimes got us in a tight spot, we were really decent good guys. We respected the law even if we pushed it here and there. It was just kicks back then.
One of my favorite cars running around back then, was Tom McMullin's flamed, blown, Deuce roadster. It was not just a cool street car, but he drag raced it ( both on the strip and the street ), and took it to the salt flats for some wide open blasts. Tom once pulled a stunt where he boogied down the freeway, and popped his 'chute in front of a cop. Fellow L.A. Roadster members were there to photograph him doing so. Here's a cool club photo of how that ended....note the drag slicks and ticket book in the officer's hand. My God, yesterday was outasite!

 

[69 Rustang]

The Model A looks great with the ‘32 shell. Looks like you were hanging out with the Model A club in the picture.

I sure wish I had your luck based on the stories you tell, my interactions with the law mostly ended badly, but it was often my own stupidity that put me there.

SPIKE'S TRUE STORY #5
Again this happened way back in around '74-'76, I'm about 19 years old and I worked in a gas station. . My good friend Rick and I decided to tip some Scotch one night, late. We were at his older sister's house, again, really close to my parent's house. I left Rick's late, just going home on back streets. I got into my Model A, made it to the corner, maybe three houses away, and the red lights blast through my rear window. I pulled over. The Policeman walks up, puts the flashlight in my face, checks out what I'm driving, and says "What year is this?" Being a car guy, i don't hesitate to get right into it with him. I get out, show him the engine, do a walk around, tell him how original it is and on, and on. After about 15 minutes of yapping, the cop says, "I just stopped you to look at your car". I'm sitting back in the car now, and I start the engine. The cop leans up to the window and asks me, "You seem OK, but have you been drinking?". "Uh, yeah, just a little, sir" "Do you live close?" Yes "Can you stick to the back streets and stay off the boulevards?" Yes "OK, then drive safe and go straight home , OK? Nice car". Those days are long gone.
The photo shows my '30 after I modified her with a '32 Ford grille at a Model A Ford road rally.....

 

[Spike Morelli]

Rustang, thanks for the comment about the Deuce shell on my Model A. I was good friends with a man who restored early Fords for a living back then. At one time, I aquired a slew of hot rodish parts for my "A" from him, and , for fun, put '39 Ford hydraulic brakes, 16" Kelsey-Hayes spokes, a high compression Winfield "Red" cylinder head, Ansen downdraft intake with an "81" Stromberg, custom header, and Mallory ignition. It was during that period that this man gave me an original "32 Ford 4 cylinder radiator core and original shell/grille, pictured. I found a hot rodded '30 headlight bar that had already been dropped, and bent with a "peak"forward, to clear the grille. It was fun to old school hop-up the 'banger. A year or two later I went completely through the engine and put it back to stock and went back stock on everything else. It was all vintage bolt-on stuff. ( Just in case you're into the details)
As to the stories....yeah, I've thought many times how fortunate I've been regarding those things that happened. They all could have ended so differently.
I've been lucky to be able to own all of the cool cars I've had, time goes on, you trade up, or find another that catches your eye, but they're all gone now. The only cool car I have left, is my Mach 1. I'm tired of telling people about cool cars I use to have! I'm keeping this one until they bury me!

 

[kevken1959]

Wow! All incredible stories. So here's mine.

My first Mustang was almost identical to the original "Eleanor" that starred in the 1974 movie "Gone in Sixty Seconds." It was a medium yellow gold 1972 Q code Mach I that I bought off a used car lot on Canal Street in New Orleans my junior year in high school in 1977. The car served me well in high school and I loved it. I knew nothing about working on cars, however, so when the time came to rebuild the engine I paid a guy to teach me how to rebuild it. It turned out not only was he a Pothead, but he didn't know much more than me about building an engine. I later found out that when he reassembled the engine, he mismatched all the connecting rods and rod caps. The motor was obviously extremely tight when I first fired it up, so we decided to take the car for a drive to "break the motor in."

It was a hot Sunday afternoon in Slidell, LA. As I turned onto West Hall ave, a small two lane road going through a rural area of town, a Black 72 Charger loaded with some black dudes pulled up alongside me and the Pothead. We hit it and I managed to take them and passed in front of them. As I was flying down Hall Ave., my eye caught the glimpse of a 1974 White Ford LTD State Trooper with small lightning bolts decaled all down his front passenger fender (I can't remember what those were for, maybe one for each stupid white kid he caught trying to outrun him). I saw the red lights come on, and I downshifted and floored it. I was doing 90 down this small road and no longer saw the trooper's lights. I was almost in the clear. All of a sudden I saw a big red and yellow barricade right in front of me, so I slammed on the brakes and swerved the car to the left, missing the barricade by a few feet.

The road ahead was clear. All I had to do was make a few turns and back track home, and I would be free as a bird. Unfortunately, the car had killed and would not crank. You see, the motor got so hot that all the freeze plugs popped out, and there was antifreeze everywhere. I told the Pothead to get out and help me push the car, but he just looked at me with a blank stare. That three minutes it took for the State Trooper to come flying around the curve was the longest three minutes of my life! I asked the Pothead to go get some money to bail me out of jail, and I took a trip to jail in the trooper's car. All the way there I asked him about what motor he had in his car and how it was built. He said his name was "Trooper McGee." Apparently he was running for Sheriff. On the way to jail, I noticed yard signs with his face on it, and the words "Trooper McGee, you'll get the best in me!" He booked me, and I shared my cell with an old drunk named "Clyde," who wasn't much of a conversationalist. Having been there a few hours, I was getting hungry, so I asked the guard for some lunch, to which he replied, "This ain't no country club, boy!"

Pothead showed up around midnight to bail me out of jail, and he drove me home and luckily my folks didn't know what had happened. Pothead kept hounding me for the money he gave me to get out of jail, but I kept stalling him. Heck, I didn't have a job, and I sure wasn't going to ask my Dad for the money! About a month later, Pothead's car was in my driveway. That was quite unusual. We weren't really good friends, and he had never been to my house before. As I walked through the front door, Pothead was at the table with my Mom and Dad, and they had troubled looks on their faces. Then my Dad looked at me over the top of his glasses, like he always did when he was mad at me, and he said these words: "Kevin, we know." Only the "know" seemed to go on forever, like Kevin, we noooooooooo." Pothead left with his money from my Dad, and we never spoke after that.

You'd think that was the end of the story, but you would be wrong. You see, I forgot about the court date and did not show up, which led to the embarrassment of a police officer showing up to my house while my parents were there and yelling at me for failing to appear in court. This of course led to more fines. My court date was rescheduled, and when I appeared, the judge, to my surprise, didn't seem to like me very much, and seemed intent on inflicking as much pain and suffering on me as possible. I think the tickets were over $600, and my license was yanked for a month and I was put on probation for a year. The judge told me he had better never see me in his chambers again. The whole thing was quite unnerving.

Luckily, as I was a minor, nothing went on my permanent record and my parents still continued to love and forgive me like they always did. It became something we would laugh about over the dinner table years later. I have about ten such stories to tell, but no time left today.

 

[DAverkamp]

Wow! All incredible stories. So here's mine.

My first Mustang was almost identical to the original "Eleanor" that starred in the 1974 movie "Gone in Sixty Seconds." It was a medium yellow gold 1972 Q code Mach I that I bought off a used car lot on Canal Street in New Orleans my junior year in high school in 1977. The car served me well in high school and I loved it. I knew nothing about working on cars, however, so when the time came to rebuild the engine I paid a guy to teach me how to rebuild it. It turned out not only was he a Pothead, but he didn't know much more than me about building an engine. I later found out that when he reassembled the engine, he mismatched all the connecting rods and rod caps. The motor was obviously extremely tight when I first fired it up, so we decided to take the car for a drive to "break the motor in."

It was a hot Sunday afternoon in Slidell, LA. As I turned onto West Hall ave, a small two lane road going through a rural area of town, a Black 72 Charger loaded with some black dudes pulled up alongside me and the Pothead. We hit it and I managed to take them and passed in front of them. As I was flying down Hall Ave., my eye caught the glimpse of a 1974 White Ford LTD State Trooper with small lightning bolts decaled all down his front passenger fender (I can't remember what those were for, maybe one for each stupid white kid he caught trying to outrun him). I saw the red lights come on, and I downshifted and floored it. I was doing 90 down this small road and no longer saw the trooper's lights. I was almost in the clear. All of a sudden I saw a big red and yellow barricade right in front of me, so I slammed on the brakes and swerved the car to the left, missing the barricade by a few feet.

The road ahead was clear. All I had to do was make a few turns and back track home, and I would be free as a bird. Unfortunately, the car had killed and would not crank. You see, the motor got so hot that all the freeze plugs popped out, and there was antifreeze everywhere. I told the Pothead to get out and help me push the car, but he just looked at me with a blank stare. That three minutes it took for the State Trooper to come flying around the curve was the longest three minutes of my life! I asked the Pothead to go get some money to bail me out of jail, and I took a trip to jail in the trooper's car. All the way there I asked him about what motor he had in his car and how it was built. He said his name was "Trooper McGee." Apparently he was running for Sheriff. On the way to jail, I noticed yard signs with his face on it, and the words "Trooper McGee, you'll get the best in me!" He booked me, and I shared my cell with an old drunk named "Clyde," who wasn't much of a conversationalist. Having been there a few hours, I was getting hungry, so I asked the guard for some lunch, to which he replied, "This ain't no country club, boy!"

Pothead showed up around midnight to bail me out of jail, and he drove me home and luckily my folks didn't know what had happened. Pothead kept hounding me for the money he gave me to get out of jail, but I kept stalling him. Heck, I didn't have a job, and I sure wasn't going to ask my Dad for the money! About a month later, Pothead's car was in my driveway. That was quite unusual. We weren't really good friends, and he had never been to my house before. As I walked through the front door, Pothead was at the table with my Mom and Dad, and they had troubled looks on their faces. Then my Dad looked at me over the top of his glasses, like he always did when he was mad at me, and he said these words: "Kevin, we know." Only the "know" seemed to go on forever, like Kevin, we noooooooooo." Pothead left with his money from my Dad, and we never spoke after that.

You'd think that was the end of the story, but you would be wrong. You see, I forgot about the court date and did not show up, which led to the embarrassment of a police officer showing up to my house while my parents were there and yelling at me for failing to appear in court. This of course led to more fines. My court date was rescheduled, and when I appeared, the judge, to my surprise, didn't seem to like me very much, and seemed intent on inflicking as much pain and suffering on me as possible. I think the tickets were over $600, and my license was yanked for a month and I was put on probation for a year. The judge told me he had better never see me in his chambers again. The whole thing was quite unnerving.

Luckily, as I was a minor, nothing went on my permanent record and my parents still continued to love and forgive me like they always did. It became something we would laugh about over the dinner table years later. I have about ten such stories to tell, but no time left today.

Sounds like you had a good span of learning the “hard-way” as a teen! That’s some funny sh-t right there! I will guess that the cops favorite movie was California Kid but didn’t have a cliff to push you off of and ‘ol Pothead’s fav had to be Dirty Mary Crazy Larry!

 

[Spike Morelli]

SPIKE'S #7
I have a friend, known him for years, A painter and pinstriper named Tommy Otis, or more famously known as "Itchy". Itch had a gig to stripe a customer's car in Malibu, and called me, telling me I need to accompany him to the job. I wasn't doing anything so I went with Itchy to Malibu. The customer's house was in a gated community at the beach. Well, the customer ended up being Brian Setzer ( of Stray Cats / Brian Setzer Orchestra fame ). Being a former musician myself, now I know why Itchy invited me, we had common ground in music. Anyway, Itchy striped one of Brian's cars ( he had a bunch of rods and customs ). After the striping was finished, Setzer decided we all needed to go get some lunch on the beach, down Pacific Coast Highway . Itchy and I had come in Itch's '36 custom/rod, Setzer wanted to drive his orange coupe, and said to me "Itchy says you used to have hot rods, you take the blue roadster". So Setzer hands me the keys to his '32 roadster and burns rubber out his driveway, with Itch and I in hot pursuit. The three of us are now blasting 70 mph on Pacific Coast Highway, weaving in and out of traffic, it was a scene. Itch pulled up alongside me, took his hands off the wheel at 70, and snapped a photo of me hauling ass down PCH. Such rebels! ( See below ) When we got to where Setzer wanted to eat, he pulled around back of the building and Itch and I followed. Almost immeadiately, a cop follows us and parks behind the building too. The officer walks up to Setzer, pissed off at chasing the three of us, stares for a second, and says..."Hey, aren't you......." , Setzer speaks right up and says "Yeah, I'm him,....Stray Cats". The officer didn't ticket any of us, just had a word with Setzer and left us alone. Whatever Setzer told the guy, it worked.