Automotive high performance is like an addiction or a chronic disease: it attacks some of us early in life and never lets go. I was about 10 years old when the American automobile first grabbed my attention, especially hotrods. That was more than 40 years ago. I remember the sweet sound they made as they rumbled down Main Street.
In the mid-’60s, the style was front ends raised a few inches with the front bumpers removed. This was, of course, before the pony car era came into full swing, so I grew up looking at mid-50s to mid-60s full-size cars, mostly Chevrolets. My home town in southern Illinois had its share of home-built hot rods. What I recall the most were the tri-five Chevys and ‘59 and ‘60 Impalas.
I had my local hotrod hero. His name was Jack, and he always had a hotrod Chevy of some sort, minus the front bumper. Occasionally, I’d catch Jack taking off from a stop sign, and I’d yell, “Spin your tires, Jack.” And he would.
He pushed the clutch pedal down, revved the engine, popped the clutch, spun both rear tires, slammed second gear, then third, then forth. That was so “neat.” I loved it. The sound of glass pack mufflers, the squeal of spinning tires, the aroma of burning rubber, the sight of slamming gears affected me. I promised myself that I, too, would do that one day. And I did. Jack passed away a few years ago, but his burnouts live on in my memory.
Moving on. I thought it was really neat looking inside just about any of those cars and seeing the transmission converted to floor shift. Back then, lots of cars were fitted with three-on-the-tree-shifted transmissions. So, it was easy switching to floor shift. Converting automatics to manuals was popular in those days as well.
What caught my eye, though, and it’s kind of strange, was the empty shifter hole on the steering column. That hole could mean only one thing: This car is a hotrod. “Wow. Someone can take the shift from the column and put it on the floor. And make it work. How ‘neat.’” is what I thought. “Someday I’m going to do that to my car.” And I did.
I bought my first car the month I graduated from high school. I found a light blue ‘66 Nova, two-door hardtop, 283 two barrel, three speed for $700–a car that had never known a hotrodder. Perfect, I thought, for building my own version of the cars that had held my interest for so many years.