THE GOOD ANGEL DRIVES...

A low-buck sleeper that'll blow your eyes out

Story and Photos by Nick Scavo

            I'm sure you've all heard the story of the little old lady who only drove her car to church. Well, this ain’t the car, and Steve Smith is definitely not her. But Smith is church going, soft spoken, and unassuming, an all-around good guy, someone who'd never hurt a fly. That is unless you’ve seen him flying down a deserted road late at night, teeth clenched, pedal to the floor, spray on, or even worse, if he's next to you at a stoplight.

            This little story began 15 years ago. We noticed this guy at the track, kinda heavyset, wore glasses. He was always at "The Grove" (Great Lakes Drag-A-Way, Union Grove, WI). He never asked questions, never bugged us, and always kept to himself. He just watched. One day we were racing in a class would later be known as NMCA's Super Street. I was driving a ‘69 Chevelle owned by Chuck Samuel and Chuck was busy with his ‘65 El Camino.

                The day was nearly done and we were putting the radials back on the car to drive it home when this guy finally said something. Chuck and I talked to him a little bit and he told us that he loved the street car stuff and he loved watching, but didn't have a fast car. Chuck asked him if he’d like to drive the Chevelle, and of course Steve said that would be fun. So we put the slicks back on it and handed him the keys. We didn't even know his last name! Well, he did great. I don’t remember how fast he went, but I’m sure it was fast enough.

                Steve, a dry-waller in his family’s business, has been the moral backbone for my crew, You see, I'm the guy who’s first response to someone annoying him would be a head butt to the bridge of the nose. Steve was the good angel on my shoulder, although my bad angel was very convincing sometimes (and lots more fun to watch). The good angel always tried to help us do the right thing, like not stealing ice (for the intercooler) at the gas station. You know, that’s where you take 20 bags and tell the cashier you only took 10. Steve would remind us that it wasn't right, and I began to realize I didn't need bad karma on race day. He tried to get us to turn the other cheek, but sometimes people "need" to have a tow rig run them off the road when they won’t let you merge into the only open lane. On more than one occasion he reminded me to do the right thing; it was just HARD sometimes.

            Steve would be there for the long hours of prep work and in the garage with Chuck Samuel until the wee hours while putting the finishing touches on a car for a race. He was there for the long drives with us to the races, or with me every time I hurt pistons while I was in my "burnin' while you're learnin'" phase (man, we tore up a lot of stuff learning back then) while trying new stuff in the Impala. Like when we developed the double cross-plate and when we tested solenoids named that I named “Fat Man,” “Little Boy,” and “Trinity” all famous nuclear bombs. By the way, Fat Man solenoids are now marketed through Fast Times Motorworks.