I was 10 years old, and that was the year, for me, that the seed was planted. There was a guy who lived across the street from us that had a 55 Chevy. His friend had a 57 corvette. They would work on there cars almost every week end and all I could do was watch. I wanted too help them so bad but they wouldn't let me do anything.
So one Saturday morning I asked my dad if I could clean the engine in his car, 47 Chevy fleetmaster. He said sure, so I got his box of tools and went at it. The only problem was I kept taking things off, like the cylinder head. I thought my dad was going to kill me. That car was our only transportation. He got some help from a friend and they got it back together.
I was living in St. Louis then and in my sophomore year my dad got sick and I had to quit school and go to work full time to pay our house rent. I soon realized I was more of a liability, so I went into the army. Got out in
Colorado and went back to school. From that time on I have been deeply involved in cars and murdercycles.
Ken