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“Yesterday, December 7th, 1941 — a date which will live in infamy — the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan… No matter how long it may take us to overcome this premeditated invasion, the American people in their righteous might will win through to absolute victory.”

— President Franklin D. Roosevelt at the emergency joint session of Congress, December 8, 1941

And with that, passenger car production in the United States would soon cease, and the industrial might of America’s car companies would be retooled as the Arsenal of Democracy.

As is still the custom, car dealers in December 1941 had been selling their new 1942 lines since early September. Sales were somewhat moribund, perhaps because the public was well aware of the new war already raging around the globe and was anticipating America’s eventual involvement. There were some notable styling changes that appeared in 1942, like the disappearance of running boards and the extended torpedo fenders on GM cars, but underneath the change from 1941 models was minimal. Maybe for the same reason.

In any case, the attack on Pearl Harbor 80 years ago today essentially ended civilian car production in the US for nearly four years. On January 1, 1942 new car sales were strictly rationed, by law, while production briefly continued to fill existing sales backlogs. On February 12 the last 1942 civilian production car rolled off American assembly lines, which would be fully dedicated to the war effort.

In total fewer than one million 1942 model year cars were sold in the US, the lowest industry output since 1915. They are a rarity, and it always piques my interest when I spot a ‘42 at a car show or in a car ID request. And it’s not always that easy to solidly ID one, unless the photo has a clear shot of the grille and trim. Once the war ended in 1945 Detroit resumed selling near-clones of the 1942 models for a few more years while they retooled for the modern postwar boom. That’s why you’ll often see me IDing a car as a “1942 or 1946-48” model year.

But what you’ll see in the following case photos are definitely ‘42s, and the folks in them often illustrate the grim determination of Americans following Pearl Harbor. An excellent example is this photo from @AstonishingFMan, with a young man looking fresh from military training. The people here are unidentified, but I suspect the man on left is his father and the young gent a cousin or family friend. One wonders if the soldier was an early enlistee after the attack, and if the 1942 Ford Tudor behind them has a war gas ration sticker on its windshield.

The last production 1942 Ford came off the line on February 10, and the company began producing all manner of equipment for the war effort — most notably B-24 bombers at its Willow Run plant, and GPW Jeeps. Ford’s GPW Jeeps were slightly less numerous than Willys MB Jeeps, but they were essentially identical except for the embossed manufacture logo on the rear panel. Ford also made trucks, tow vehicles, amphibious GPAs, missiles, and engines for M-4 and M-10 tank destroyers for the duration. The shot below shows B-24s being assembled at Ford’s Willow Run plant in 1942. The depicted ‘42 Ford may have been built there less than a year earlier.

The determined young flyboy in this photo is the grandfather of Andrew Feldorenzo, sitting behind the wheel of a 1942 Pontiac convertible in Sarasota, Florida. I suspect at Sarasota Army Air Base, a busy site in 1942-45 for training bomber crews as well as fighter pilots. At the bottom of the photo you see how the torpedo fenders extend into the door, a new Harley Earl styling feature that first appeared across all GM brands in the 1942 model year.

The last 1942 Pontiac came off the line on February 2. During the war, GM’s Pontiac division didn’t get the glamor tank and bomber production assignments of some of their sister brands and competitors, but they contributed to victory by producing 20mm and 40mm anti-aircraft guns and cannons as well as torpedoes for warships and naval torpedo bombers. I’ve got to think more than a few Imperial Japanese ships and planes were put out of commission by those products. Pontiac also produced components like engine blocks and drive axles for GM’s tank and military truck production.

It wasn’t just men serving in uniform at the time. This smiling WAC (Women’s Army Corps) is Catherine Schuyler’s grandmother, who is about to get into a very snappy 1942 Buick Roadmaster convertible. The WACs were first established as the WAACs (Women’s Auxiliary Army Corps) only a few months after Pearl Harbor, as all hands — both men and women — were needed on deck. My beloved great aunt Fran likewise served as a WW2 WAC. I pointed out the extend-into-door pontoon fenders on the Pontiac in the previous photo, which were also a new feature of Buicks in 1942. But only the top-of-the-line Roadmaster had them extend all the way through to the rear quarter panel, as you can see here. This would be just about the most advanced styling you would see on any prewar American production car.

The last 1942 Buick civilian car, another Roadmaster, rolled off the Flint assembly line on February 3, an event commemorated in the photo below. For the duration of the war the Buick plant was retooled for the production of war materiel, most notably aircraft engines. Buick was the main producer of cylinder heads for massive Pratt & Whitney radial engines, many of which eventually found their way to the B-24 bombers made at Ford. Those engines were also used in Douglas C-47 Skytrains for troop transport and to airdrop paratroopers. Buick also made M-18 Hellcat tank destroyers, and engine components for amphibious landing craft. I suspect the workers in this photo were in the thick of that production.

GM cars weren’t alone in getting a fender styling update in ‘42. The dauntless sailor here, a family friend of “Duck Hunter TX,” is leaning against a 1942 Packard Clipper sedan. The Clipper’s integrated fender design was a somewhat daring departure from the rest of the 1942 Packard line, which retained their conservative 1930s style fender separation. But the real star here is the young swabbie, looking ready to take the fight to Tojo and avenge Pearl Harbor.

You can get a better gander at those Clipper fenders in this Packard publicity shot, showing the last prewar production Packard car coming off the assembly line on February 9, 1942. Note the “It’s ‘all out on ENGINES” line on the placard.

Indeed, Packard went all out making engines, famously the Merlin V-12 made under license from Rolls-Royce. Those mighty Merlins were used to power the RAF’s legendary Spitfire fighter planes, and the Packard version was used in the equally legendary P-51 Mustang fighters of the US Army Air Corps. Those Packard Merlins were also used in Canadian De Havilland Mosquitoes and British Lancaster bombers. Packard also build another legendary V-12 marine engine, the 4M2500, used in Higgins and Elco PT boats.

Circling back to GM, in this photo from Joseph Spiegel we see his older brother in 1944 romping in front of the family’s 1942 Oldsmobile Dynamic coupe. A good illustration of the ‘42 model year reset: the disappearance of running boards, Harley Earl’s extended door fenders, the sloping fastback. Olds called its fastback body style the “Dynamic,” Buick and Cadillac called it the “Sedanette,” Pontiac called it the “Torpedo” or “Streamliner,” Chevy would call it the “Fleetline.” This would be the apotheosis of GM styling up until 1949. And the photo also provides a good illustration of what all those soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines were fighting for: peace, freedom, and a new generation happily playing in the yard.

No further 1942 Oldsmobiles would be made after February 5. For the next few years the Olds plant in Lansing, Michigan was all about cannons — 125,000 of them — along with millions of artillery shells. Those Oldsmobile-made cannons constituted the business end of thousand of US tanks like the M4, M10, and M18, and also found their way into ground and naval anti-aircraft applications, and the nose cannons of US fighters and bombers. Oldsmobile also produced axles for heavy military trucks and castings for aircraft landing gear, and their durable Hydromatic automatic transmissions were used in tanks to cut valuable training time for tank drivers.

The unidentified man in this photo from @fobrg is posing for a snowy photo op in front of a 1942 Nash Ambassador convertible, probably the rarest of the ‘42s seen in this issue. Like Ford, the ‘42 Nash featured minimal cosmetic changes to the ‘41, and would remain almost identical through 1948. It’s somewhat noteworthy that Nash at the time fell into the conservative, “normal” part of the car design spectrum. In 1949 they would throw that template out the window, creating some of the weirdest and wackiest postwar car designs that, whatever you thought of them, set Nash apart from the crowd.

Nash marked its final 1942 production car with the photo below, dated February 4. During the war Nash-Kelvinator would have an aircraft focus, building over 18,000 Pratt & Whitney R-2800 radial engines. Those were the power plants of Grumman F6F Hellcats and Vaught F4U Corsairs, the #1 and #2 leading fighter planes in taking out Japanese aircraft in WW2. They also build propellors, Jeep trailers, rocket motors for naval artillery, and oddly enough, over 200,000 pairs of binoculars. The most surprising thing is that Nash was the largest builder of Sikorsky helicopters in WW2. One doesn’t generally associate WW2 with helicopters, but the US military did have a few hundred of them which were mostly made at the Nash plant in Kenosha, Wisconsin.

I will finish off the 1942 model illustration with this swell 1943 photo from C. Stewart Wright III showing his dad (I presume C. Stewart Wright II) and a buddy during their training days at Ball State U. in Muncie, Indiana, prior to shipping out to Europe. The star-wearing staff car behind them is a bit of a chimera; it is a “Plodge” — essentially a 1942 Plymouth with 1942 Canadian Dodge trim. This car was made at Dodge’s Canadian plant in the latter days of 1941, as part of the Lend-Lease Act. Prior to Pearl Harbor, America was still walking a tightrope of isolationism as Europe descended into war. Concerned that directly donating military goods to Great Britain would provoke a German declaration of war against the US, Roosevelt proposed the Lend-Lease Act — “lending” US supplies to Great Britain on a delayed payment plan — as a fig leaf. Canadian manufacture of those goods added another layer to the fig leaf. It’s likely this staff car was initially slated for shipment to the British military, but after Pearl Harbor ended up enlisted, like these boys, into the US Army.

I would be negligent not to mention the many contribution of the Chrysler Corporation to America’s efforts in WW2, most famously the heavy duty 4- and 6-wheel drive Dodge WC Power Wagons that slogged through the mud of Europe during the race to Berlin. But Chrysler also built over 25,000 tanks, including the M3 Grant and the M4 Sherman, and huge 18-cylinder Wright Cyclone radial aircraft engines. Seven out of the 8 Cyclone engines on the Enola Gay and the Bockscar, the two B-29s whose nuclear payload ended the conflict with Japan, were built by Chrysler.

While I don’t as yet have specific ID cases involving their 1942 car models, I would also be remiss not to mention the WW2 contributions of other GM divisions like Chevrolet and GMC who built countless trucks, ambulances, aircraft engines, and amphibious “Duck” boats; or Cadillac, whose modified flathead V8 passenger car engines were used to power M5 and M24 tanks. Not to mention Hudson and their Invader engines that powered most of the D-Day landing craft, and Studebaker’s “Deuce and a Half” Hercules trucks and all-terrain “Weasels.” Even America’s smallest remaining car companies — Checker, Graham-Paige, Crosley, and American Bantam — got into the act, along with nearly all commercial truck makers. And of course there were the military motorcycles of Harley-Davidson and Indian, and the Airborne motor scooters provided by Cushman.

So next time you run across a 1942 model at a car show or museum, doff your cap to the men and women of America’s WW2 auto industry. Their ingenuity, productivity, and near-overnight transformation into the Arsenal of Democracy made sure that America’s entry into war 80 years ago today would be over less than four year later.

V for Victory, Keep ‘Em Flying, and Happy Motoring,

Dave

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Most of us, at one time or another, have heard the old urban legend about a friend of an uncle of a friend of a cousin of a guy who stole a JATO rocket motor from an Air Force base, strapped it atop a Chevy Impala, and torpedoed the contraption into an Arizona cliff side at 300 mph. There’s an intense primordial appeal in that story; the idea that somebody would have the unmitigated, glorious, throbbing balls to try something so foolhardy in the pursuit of momentary thrill. The anonymous guy behind the wheel of that Impala is our modern-day Icarus, the fabled Greek of old who fashioned wings of feathers and wax only to have them melt when he flew too close to the sun. Sure, we cringe at the thought of Icarus plummeting to the sea and the Impala pilot spackled across the rock facing. But we equally envy them for their courage and ingenuity and hubris, and the rush we imagine they felt in the seconds before final climactic catastrophe. 

Sadly, like the ancient fable of Icarus, the JATO story isn’t exactly true. After a thorough investigation, the mythbusting website Snopes.com concluded that the events never actually happened: “the legend of the smoldering Chevy smashed into a cliff face is pure fabrication,” it sniffs. Maybe so. But like all good yarns the JATO legend has a grain of truth, and the unvarnished truth is this: men once did strap rocket motors to their cars, and they were cheerfully supplied by the Turbonique Company of Orlando, Florida. 

Though the company no longer exists, mere mention of the name “Turbonique” still inspires shudders of awe among drag racing enthusiast, the company’s principle target market. Even in the Wild West atmosphere of 1960s drag racing, its products stood alone at the zenith of no-compromise, crazyass crazy: rocket motivation for strip or street, by mail order, no questions asked. Remember Acme, that mysterious purveyor of catapults and jet skates to cartoon coyotes? Pikers, compared to Turbonique.

The architect of Turbonique’s madness was Mr. C. E. “Gene” Middlebrooks Jr. A native of Jonesboro, Georgia, Gene Middlebrooks went on to study mechanical engineering at Georgia Tech. “A damn fine ME,” recalls a former colleague who requested anonymity. “He had an innovative mind and could solve just about any mechanical problem.”

He was also in the right place at the right time. When Middlebrooks graduated college in the duck-and-cover days of the mid-‘50s, the Cold War was in full swing. He landed a job with aerospace contractor Martin-Marietta, working on the company’s propulsion system for the Pershing nuclear missile program. By 1957 the Soviets shocked the world with the launch of Sputnik, the world’s first artificial satellite, sparking the Space Race and lending even more urgency to Middlebrooks’ work at Martin.

But amid all that work to foil the Red Menace, it was clear that Middlebrooks was a gearhead. There is no record of him racing competitively, but in 1957, at the age of 25, he applied for his first U.S. patent: “Supercharger for Internal Combustion Engine.” The patent, #2,839,038, was granted the following year. Superchargers were nothing new (the first US supercharger patent was granted in 1922) but Middlebrooks’ design was based on a very novel concept. Previous pressure boost devices were all parasitic: conventional superchargers (driven by a crank pulley) and turbos (driven by exhaust pressure) both sapped power from the very same engine they were intended to pressurize. In other words, these devices take power to make power. By contrast, Middlebrooks’ 1958 patent supercharger was driven by a 12 volt DC electric motor, completely independent of the main combustion engine. 

Ingenious, but the initial design proved impractical. Getting decent boost out of the electric supercharger setup required heavy batteries for power, and few were ever sold. Middlebrooks continued to tinker with self-powered supercharger designs when not working on rocket propulsion. Somewhere along the way, a light bulb went off: why not combine the two? His second patent, “Drive Control Means For a Turbo-Compressor Unit” (US #2,963,853, granted in 1960) contains a clue to his technological epiphany. The description reads:

“This invention relates to a gas-driven supercharger for an internal combustion engine… the gas which drives the turbine is supplied under this invention either by the exhaust of the internal combustion engine with which this device is used or by supplemental generating means.”

And when it came to generating supplemental gases, Middlebrooks knew there was nothing like a solid fuel rocket motor. Middlebrooks went to Miami and had Aerodex investment-cast his crazy idea in Inconel 713C alloy, and in 1962 the company – and the legend — of Turbonique was born.

He called it the AP (for “Auxiliary Power”) supercharger. Visually it appeared to be a spiral turbo with a spark plug, and was engaged with a dash-mounted switch; a sort of prehistoric Nitrous setup. When the driver threw the switch, the supercharger unit would receive liquid oxygen for ignition, and then was fed a rocket fuel named “Thermolene,” Turbonique’s trade name for N-propyl nitrate. The exhaust thrust from combustion would spin a turbine impeller up to 100,000 RPM, ramming the engine with such intense boost that it literally turned it into a giant two-stroke. Turbonique dyno-tested an AP unit on a new Chevy 409 in 1963, increasing horsepower from a stock 405 to 835 — backing up their advertised guarantee to “double your horsepower” — although it came with a recommendation not to run the unit for more than 5 minutes, and only with forged cranks, pistons and connecting rods.

Now, all of us enjoy horsepower. Still, it’s difficult, in today’s litigious safety culture, to imagine anyone sending away good money for a hop-up which  involved plumbing the trunk of your car with highly volatile rocket fuel, and which could easily blow your crankshaft out the bottom of your engine. It’s even harder to believe that a company actually manufactured and advertised it.

Well mister, know this: America wasn’t always a nation of lawsuit-happy crybabies.  No sir, once upon a time, before the advent of EPA and OSHA and the Consumer Products Safety Commission and rubber-coated playgrounds and multilingual warning stickers on stepladders, risk-takers walked this earth. War-hardened, devil-may-care Americans who knew that “instructions” were something to throw in the trash along with the empty Falstaff bottles. The kind of men who had a garage full of blowtorches and 110 electric welders, chain smokers who gardened with space age insecticides and tether lawn mowers, and bought their kids Jarts and clacker balls and ThingMakers and M-80s for Christmas. 

It was an age when people understood that fun and risk went hand in hand, and it was in this zeitgeist that Middlebrooks found a willing customer base. One was a young Minnesotan named Ky Michaelson.  

“I was drag racing a BSA bike, and I wrote to Gene when I heard about the rocket turbos and rocket motors,” he recalls. “They were very, very exciting and new at the time.” 

Michaelson, who grew up in a family of daredevils and tinkerers, saw the potential in Middlebrooks’ rocket designs and became an early user and Turbonique distributor. It was Michaelson’s entrée into a 45 year career as a rocket builder and stuntman that earned him the nickname “The Rocketman.”

Another early customer was a mild-mannered, bespectacled Arizona chiropractor named Dr. Gerald Guest. In a 1965 letter to the company, he sang the praises of his Turbonique superchargers: 

“Dear Mr. Middlebrooks:

I wish to inform you of the success I have had with the superchargers I purchased in October 1963.  The first installation was on a 1963 Plymouth 426 cubic inch Wedge Engine. A speed of 146 mph with an E.T. of 10.21 seconds was most gratifying after the standard performance of 116 mph in 12.64 seconds. 

My second installation was on a 289 cubic inch Studebaker engine with equally good results of 132 mph in 11.70 seconds. My third and present installation is a 1963 Volkswagon [sic] not quite yet completed. It has been my experience that all your advertisements in regard to flexibility of transfer of unit from vehicle to vehicle is true as well as instant phenomenal horsepower.”

Guest’s dragstrip feats and enthusiastic endorsement were featured in a later Turbonique magazine ad. I’m unable to determine the mysterious doctor’s current whereabouts, but as you will see, he remained a Turbonique maven for years.

The rocket superchargers sold well, but they were only the beginning (and only the mild side) of the Turbonique product line. For those interested in upgraded insanity there were Turbonique Drag Axles, which appeared to be a center section for a quick change differential, but with a mutant spaceship tumor growing from its hinder. That tumor was, in fact, a rocket engine providing direct drive to the rear axle. When not in use the car would drive under conventional power through the front drive shaft. When the driver hit the “panic button,” the rear-mounted rocket immediately engaged and began channeling One. Freaking. Thousand. Thermolene-addled rocket horsepower to the rear skins. Total weight: a scant 100 pounds. It was advised that the driver keep his thumb on the switch during operation since, having no clutch or fuel metering, the only way to control acceleration was by shutting off the fuel supply. 

One enthusiastic early guinea pig for Middlebrooks’ new drag axles was Zack Reynolds of Winston-Salem, North Carolina. Reynolds had a taste for serious crazy and, as an heir to the R.J. Reynolds cigarette empire, the financial means to underwrite it. He had Middlebrooks install a drag under his 1963 Ford Galaxie, which he campaigned as the “Tobacco King.” And not just on the drag strip.

“Zack Reynolds’ Ford was street legal,” recalls Middlebrooks’ former colleague. “He kept it in his garage. I didn’t want to be near him if he was in it. Zack would cruise the streets in Winston-Salem and burp it every now and then. Gene had some misgivings about handing over such a rocket to Zack. He wasn’t sure where Zack would launch it.”

Another early adopter of the Turbonique drag axle was the barnstorming Joie Chitwood Auto Thrill Show, who installed a unit underneath the “Sizzler” ’66 Chevelle SS for traveling exhibitions. The Chevelle’s driver was a young daredevil named Jack McClure who, like Guest, would reappear in the Turbonique saga. Other famed drag axle cars followed, like the Ozark Mule Mustang and the Turbine Dart Dodge. But the most memorable installation of a Turbonique drag axle was the Black Widow VW Beetle. 

The nasty little flat black Bug was Turbonique’s own, a traveling exhibition of the company’s rocket technology. It was driven by Roy “Mister Pitiful” Drew, a fearless young Black racer out of Kansas City. In a match race against Tommy Ivo’s “Showboat” at Tampa, Drew and the Black Widow shut down Ivo’s 4-engine rail with a 9.36 second pass at 168 mph, a triumph that was proudly noted in Turbonique advertising. 

The Black Widow was eventually destroyed when, during an exhibition run at Tampa, it went airborne at 183 mph and tumbled through the traps. Most companies today would avoid any association of their products with a violent wreck, but not Turbonique. Its 1968 advertising prominently featured the crumpled remains of the Black Widow with Drew standing alongside, flashing a 100 watt smile.

Okay, so rocket superchargers and drag axles are all well and good, but what if you were a discerning 1960’s daredevil who really needed undiluted, industrial-grade insane? You’d be in luck, because also Turbonique provided microturbo engines. Not rocket powered superchargers, or rocket powered axles, but rocket-powered rockets: pure thrust engines, reoriented for horizontal speed. 

The 1966 Turbonique catalog profiled one application: a 1964 GTO powered by twin T-22-A Thrust engines.  According to the catalog caption, “the same type JATO (Jet Assisted Takeoff) kits that give aircraft short term, super performance is also applicable to automotive use.” So there you have it: the real origin of the JATO urban legend. 

Other cars used the pure thrust approach, like Ed Pike’s Pegasus Cougar and Marlo Treit’s “Miss Demeanor” three-wheeled streamliner.  Still, even with a rocket there’s a lot of weight and inertia involved in moving a large hunk of Detroit steel down a race track. That’s why many discerning folks opted for the ne plus ultra of Turbonique insanity: rocket go-karts. 

How insane? The ’66 catalog shows official quarter mile time slips sporting E.T.s in the mid-8.8s with speeds up to 160 mph. Next to them, a small photo of our old chiropractor friend Dr. Gerald R. Guest behind the wheel of his Turbonique rocket kart, apparently to shake the boredom of too many 146 mph passes inside a Plymouth. The danger in these contraptions was sufficient enough that even Turbonique felt compelled to add a gentle warning in their sales literature:

“TOO MUCH: The above cart, which is equipped with T-21-A engines, is considered unsafe for 1/4 mile competition as pictured. The thrust/weight ratio is such that speeds over 160 mph are reached within 4 seconds.” 

Turbonique, the company where safety comes first! Such pleas for moderation fell on the deaf ears of “Captain Jack” McClurg, who left the Chitwood Thrill Show to race rocket go-karts full time by the late 60’s, and eventually piloted a drag kart to over 240 mph in the early 1970s.

But hey, why stop at the drag strip? Turbonique’s literature showed all kinds of helpful rocket application suggestions — outboard boat motors, helicopters, snowmobiles, hovermobiles, and my personal favorite, a go-kart propelled by an unshielded turbine prop. On the civic side Middlebrooks developed a rocket powered water pump for firefighting. If there was an application for rocket motors, Middlebrooks seemed likely to find it.

The ultimate application? The ‘66 Turbonique catalog features this product endorsement story from an up-and-coming Montana two-wheeled daredevil:

“Motorcycle Daredevil Evel Knievel plans to soon jump the Grand Canyon with his Turbonique equipped, “Norton Atlas Scrambler.” Many of you may have heard Evel outline his plans for the Canyon jump on the Joe Pine Radio/TV show. Evel is dead serious in his plans for the Canyon jump. He is sponsored by Goodyear Rubber Company and several other large firms. Arrangements must be made for the Canyon jump with the Bureau of Indian Affairs, Navajo Chief Raymond Hokai, and the U.S. Forestry Service. Knievel plans to make the jump next summer, and has both Montana’s Senators Mike Mansfield and Lee Metcalf trying to clear the way for him. He’s also contacting Arizona’s Senators and Representatives.”

Chew on that last bit and contrast with the current state of Federal nannyism. Not only did people do crazy shit back then; actual elected United States Senators cheerfully pitched in to help them do crazy shit. 

That would prove to be the ultimate high water mark for Turbonique, and soon all began to unravel. Product failures – including crashes and explosions – started occurring with troublesome regularity.

“The propylene nitrate was a problem,” says Ky Michaelson. “It had a habit of pooling inside the turbo casing when you backed off the throttle and could ignite and just grenade when you hit the throttle again. In the late 60’s Arctic Cat put a Turbonique motor on a new factory racing team snowmobile, and I warned them not to do it. It blew up and hurt the driver pretty bad, along with a couple of spectators.”

Michaelson eventually began making his own rocket motors, powered by safer and cheaper hydrogen peroxide. Turbonique stubbornly clung with propylene nitrate, possibly because the company was selling it commercially. Whatever the case, by the time Middlebrooks published the pictorial book “Hot Rotor” in 1969 the company was in deep financial trouble and under federal investigation.

It all came to an ignominious end in 1970, the details of which are dryly and dutifully recorded in the transcript of the Federal appellate case “431 F.2d 299, U.S. v. Middlebrooks, (CA5 (Fla.) 1970).” It recounts how one Clarence Eugene Middlebrooks, Jr., mechanical engineer, was found guilty on sixteen counts of Federal mail fraud relating to the sale of Turbonique speed equipment. He was sentenced to two years imprisonment and fined him $4000 on eight counts. His appeal was denied. 

The government alleged Middlebrooks misled consumers into believing Turbonique products were of finished quality and ready to install, where the actual products came in a kit that needed significant machining and assembly. The truth - according to several people I spoke with for this article – is that Middlebrooks became so obsessed with designing new applications and products that he sacrificed production budget to fund expensive research and development.

“He was continually coming up with ideas and prototypes for new products,” says Michaelson. “The castings and machining were extremely expensive, and I think he tried everything to come up with the money.”

In the end, none of Middlebrooks’ new ideas ever made it into production. Today, surviving Turbonique equipment is extremely rare, in part due to its extreme heavy duty use and habit of exploding, and because some suppliers reportedly destroyed their own inventory to avoid liability judgments. Turbonique’s “Thermolene” trademark lapsed, and is now a brand of weight loss pill.

While Middlebrooks served his sentence, Evel Knievel’s fame grew. But he never got permission to do the Grand Canyon jump; eight years and a hundred broken bones after he appeared in the Turbonique catalog, Knievel made a disastrous 1974 jump attempt at the Snake River Canyon. Would he have made it on the Turbonique Norton Atlas Scrambler? We will never know. His ride that day was the “X-2 Skycycle” designed by NASA engineer Bob Truax, whom Knievel would later call “an egotistical little bastard who burned up Gus Grissom on the launch pad.” But that’s another story.

That 1974 failure at Snake River Canyon seemed to presage a new era in the American psychological zeitgeist; the rise of safety fetishism, that patronizing nerf-ication of anything sharp or dangerous or cool. Crazy guys eventually discovered an even more destructive device than rocket powered go-karts: class action attorneys. In my mind, the Canyon Jump was the single event that triggered the long cold bad trip that was the 1970s.

After completing his sentence, Gene Middlebrooks lived out a quiet life in Florida. At the time of his death in 2005, he was reportedly operating a small resort north of Orlando with his wife. There is no record that he ever designed or built another speed part, but it’s impossible to believe he wasn’t thinking about it; a man doesn’t work on rocket motors and 200 mph go-karts for 15 years and just walk away. But society and the culture had changed; risk had suddenly become bad, unwanted, an evil that government programs were aimed at eliminating. For Gene Middlebrooks – a man who spent years creating risk for willing customers – the new climate of Safety Über Alles must have been cold and inhospitable. 

Will it ever get back to the way it was? I don’t know, but I’m an optimistic sort.  A few months ago I stumbled upon a complete vintage Turbonique C-2-A rocket supercharger. It’s out in my shop now, where I am attempting restoration, and keeping my eye open for a worthy car project to use it on.

Anybody know where I can get a canister of N-propyl nitrate?

Car designs are often described in aest…

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Or so went the lyrics of Lieber & Stoller’s “Black Denim Trousers,” which became a 1955 novelty hit for The Cheers (with 1970s game show staple Bert Convy on vocals)…

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The winners all commented (fairly simultaneously on Sept 30) that the car here is approximately a 1916-20 Marmon Model 34 touring. Which, while compelling, wasn’t a complete slam dunk ID because (a) every 1916 and later Marmon 34 I can find has wire wheels, and (b) every pre-1916 Marmon 34 has hood louvers.

After consulting a few in-the-know old car aces, I am ready to conclude you three fellas were correct; it’s a 1916 Marmon Model 34 touring, but one from very early in the 1916 production run, built with leftover parts bin hubs and wheels from the previous production year. That practice was not unheard of, especially at smaller luxury brand companies like Indianapolis-based Marmon.

Just goes to show you can teach an old car-IDer new tricks.

But what’s more annoying is when I get a very earnest car ID request, with a decent resolution full shot of the vehicle, and I am left well and truly defeated by it. Even after hours of research and cross checking my reference resources.

Case in point: this wonderful submission from Mr. Don that he explains was found in a box of old family photos:

Despite my best efforts to the contrary, I’m afraid the make & model of this beauty remains a mystery (at least to me). Therefore I am going to turn to you, the DCIDS reader, to help alleviate my stress and ignorance over it: the first person who conclusively solves this ID in the comments (which will be open to the non-subscribing public) will receive a complementary one year subscription to DCIDS and my undying gratitude.

Now before you rush off to the comments section and type in “1877 Model T!” or “Rolls-Royce!” or “1929 Chitty Chitty Bang Bang!” I would like to point out I have literally spent 8-12 hours pursuing a solid ID on this car to no avail. So if you think you have the correct ID, please include a link to a photo that you believe proves your case. If I agree, consider yourself welcomed into the DCIDS Legion of Honor.

To get you started (and to reveal / articulate a bit about my car IDing process), I will deconstruct the photo and focus on some unique features of the car. Up front, it has 10 spoke wood wheels, 10 bolt hub, and 6 bolt rims. It has an arched, narrow flange grille that is painted rather than plated. No bumpers, and parallel leaf springs. Gently curved fenders that follow the tire radius. shallow bucket headlights. And most unusually, no louvers or vents on the hood. Possible suggestion (but not proof) of a steam engine.

Next, let’s go to the back. Aha! 12 spoke wheels in rear, which establishes this as a “10/12” wheel configuration. In addition, there is a hub cover and no visible hub bolts. Note also the smooth curvature from the running board into the rear fender, which is also very unusual.

Now let’s look at the cowl: a smooth high arch with no seams or creases, and the bottom of the windshield frame follows it. The two piece windshield tilts bottom and top independently, and their is a windshield spotlight.

Finally let’s zoom in on the mid-rear section. There is a second smooth cowl for the rear seat (this would be termed a dual cowl phaeton or touring). Note the rear door crease that is curved. There are no external door hinges or handles, and a small leather patch on the front door for the driver’s arm.

A successful ID will have all of these features. I’ve hunted about and eliminated the following close-but-no-cigar candidates:

1917-19 Chevrolet Series D touring

1917 Pan Model A touring

Circa 1919 Mercer touring

And that’s when I declared this one a cold case. So I hope you can unstump Yours Truly, and happy ID hunting!

Dave

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These are not those photos.

Instead, in this issue we will turn a candid camera on some of the Goodtime Charlies and Goodtime Charlenes in m…

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Around the age of 18 months I was involved in my first car wreck. Well, I mean, I wasn’t driving or anything, and I have no actual recollection of the incident. From what I am told I …

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Dan Stoner is my former Editor & Chief at the late lamented Garage Magazine and Autocult Magazine, and now is Creative Director at Hemmings Media Lab where he has a terrific column at Hemmings, the bible of the collector car world.

The Jalopy Journal and its affiliated H.A.M.B. message board is a long time meeting place for citizens of traditional (1930s-60s) style hot rodding society. Established by fellow Austinite Ryan Cochran, whose Atomic Industries also operate The Ford Barn which focuses more on factory stock prewar Fords. I recommend both, but a forewarning: you better know what you’re talking about before posting, lest you be scorched in the replies.

Just as the oldest democracy in the world was founded in Philadelphia in 1776, the oldest old car club in the world - the Antique Automobile Club of America (AACA) - was founded in Philadelphia in 1935, with roots that go back to 1931. I’m basically a fairly competent amateur hobbyist of old car identification, these guys are Oxford Dons on the subject. The AACA Museum in Hershey PA is a must visit for car nerds, as is their annual nearby swap meet. Keep an eye on the AACA calendar for events near you.

My buddy Bobby Green lives his best life, with a stable of amazing vintage race cars is a converted 1920s church. And with his partners at the 1933 Group operates a network of wonderful bars and restaurants across Los Angeles, many of which are restored iconic L.A. joints, like the Formosa Cafe and the jaw-dropping Highland Park Bowl. Drop in for a cocktail next time you’re in SoCal.

I can’t say enough about Charles Phoenix: historian, author, raconteur, comedian, bon vivant, and curator of all that is midcentury atomic boomerang starburst Googie goodness. And growing up as the son of an Ontario, California Oldsmobile dealer, he knows 1950s cars, and he frequently features them on his informative (and hilarious) Facebook and IG videos.

Simply put, Plan59 is the absolute best site on the internet for vintage automotive advertising illustration from the 1930s to the 1960s. Their scans are impeccable and provide a dazzling textbook for students of car identification. And they are affiliate of indispensible vintage photography site Shorpy.

My Houston friends Reuben and Toya Levi are the creative force behind Grits Co. and The Green Book Project, dedicated to celebrating the automotive heritage, style, and design of Black America. That spirit is embodied in their handsome swag and feathered cartoon mascot Roscrow. “Grits” isn’t just about breakfast dish; it refers to, as Reuben says, “the true American grit of working hard and living the ‘Gritty American Dream.’"

When it comes to automotive history there is nothing more American than the hot rod, and the American Hot Rod Foundation is dedicated to preserving and celebrating that history. Their site is a treasure trove of vintage hot rod history and images, and as a 501(c)(3) your contribution to AHRF are tax deductible.

Dave Shuten and I go way back, when he was still restoring crazy 1960s show cars out of his garage in Michigan, and he graciously sourced me some rare 1960s custom dressup stuff for my 1931 Ford Coupe of Justice. Dave has moved on to the big time and now is the chief mad scientist at Galpin Speed Shop in Van Nuys, restoring all manner of wacky 1960s show rods like the Bathtub Car, The Pink Panther, and Ed “Big Daddy” Roth’s immortal and infamous Orbitron. You can also see Dave on the Discovery TV show “Car Kings” whose production was sadly scuttled after a partial season due to COVID. Hopefully there’ll be another season at some point.

My buddies Juan and Jesus Espinoza from Salinas CA run the best damn lowrider magazine/ website/ swag brand around, Deadend. Stunning photography of all manner of lowriders, bombas, and ranflas, often accompanied by very lovely ladies.

Keep ‘Em Flying! My old Chicago hot rod pal Chad Hill at Django Studios is a whiz at 1940s influenced graphic design, and in particular WW2 aircraft nose art. Among Chad’s accomplishments in this arena are recreating the nose art on “That’s All Brother,” the Douglas C-47 Skytrain that lead the Normandy invasion on D-Day, and after restoration reprised that flight on the 75th anniversary of D-Day in 2019. Hit him up for your next graphic design job or B-17 restoration.

Mel Stultz and the Oilers car club out of New Jersey run one of the best car events on Planet Earth, The Race of Gentlemen (TROG) held every year on the Jersey Shore. No tea sipping million dollar Delahayes or Delages here, just hard core prehistoric hot rods and Harley and Indian bobbers drag racing on the beach, and as photogenic as any champagne sipping Concours d’ Elegance or Mille Miglia.

That’s it for the link love now, but will provide more in future Substack posts. If you have other worthy sites of interest to the DCIDS community, let us know in in the comments.

Happy Motoring!

Dave

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I. Thou Shall Attach The Hashtag. For car ID requests on Twitter that would be #DavesCarIDService. It’s how I keep track of the request queue and which ones I’ve already covered.

II. Thou Shall Focus On Quality Stuff. This doesn’t necessarily mean quality cars, it means quality subject matter. In particular this means old photos from your personal family albums; those are the main focus and priority of DCIDS. Rusting heaps in the wilderness and interesting old cars seen on the street are cool too, but lower on my to-do list.

III. Thou Shall Not Tag Me With Stupid Viral Internet Pics. Have you ever seen a funny or amazing car pic/Photoshop on Twitter, or Facebook, or Reddit, or et cetera, and thought, “I bet Dave would get a kick out of this one!” I regret to inform you that you would lose that bet, because trust me: I’ve already seen that stupid picture umpteen bazillion times, and all you’re doing is clogging up my request queue.

IV. Thou Shall Not Seek To Test Dave. I have never claimed expertise, infallibility, or omnipotence, I just try my level best to figure out cars in old photos and have some fun with it. There are no medals, trophies, or kewpie dolls for stumping me. Thus any car ID request that smells like you already know the answer — and are testing me to see if I get it right — will be promptly ignored.

V. Thou Shall Be Sensitive To Copyright. I’m lenient on this in regards to my weekend ID threads on Twitter, and fine if you want to request an ID on a secondhand image in the right spirit. But my Substack is a commercial enterprise, and I will only images here that are properly permissioned. If you submit a photo from your family albums, I assume you have copyright and it’s cool for me to use it. I started the Substack as little side hustle for beer money, and I don’t want to deal with nastygrams and take-down orders from lawyers.

V. Thou Shall Provide a Little Descriptive Info. Instead of just tagging me with a photo, provide what background info you can - the people, the location, the occasion, etc. It helps in providing a narrative, and can be useful in IDing the vehicle.

VII. Thou Shall Keep Thy ID Requests To At Most 4 Per Week. I appreciate enthusiasm for this service, but sometimes I get a huge boatload of requests from the same person which makes it hard to accommodate others. Please realize I will not ID more than 4 images from the same account in a week, so pace yourself and let me get to others who are waiting.

VIII. Thou Shall Not Half-Ass It With Thy Photography. Most of the old family photo requests I get are captured via cell phone camera. Which is fine, as long as you put a modicum of effort into it. Focus as best you can, avoid light bounce, take the original pic out of the glass frame, don’t take it at a distorted angle. Capture each original image separately. Rotate / crop as necessary. Ideally, use a flatbed scanner. That may be hoping for too much, but a fella can dream can’t he?

IX. Thou Shall Remain Patient. Just as pushing an elevator button will not make it go faster, repeating the same car ID request at me will not make me get to it faster. Due to backlog it typically takes 2-3 weeks to get to a request (less if it’s a totally boffo picture), but if it meets the other guidelines it’s on my radar. If I somehow have overlooked it after 3 weeks feel free to tag me again.

X. Thou Shall STFU About Politics. This is the cardinal sin; I have always treated DCIDS an oasis from politics, and if you barge in and befoul my ID threads with your pet political peeves, you will be promptly blocked.

After the psychedelic tumult of the 1960s, the Ha…

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First up we have @rudolfc123’s grandfather, looking like a young Paul Newman while removing the spare tire from a pretty impressive luxury car, a 1931 Lincoln Model K sedan. I suspect his muscles were obtained without a gym membership. What say you, Tammi Jo?

Ooooh, twist those lug nuts big boy, mama likey. Looks like the kind of man who would be handy around the house, unlike some I could name.

Wait, didn’t I just uhh… clean the gutters a while ago?

Yeah, like March. Now shut up and keep the pictures coming.

Okay, but can’t we at least keep it civil in public? Anyway, here’s another Adonis grandpa of a DCIDS client, @graceisforyou’s “Papa Jim” flexing with a 1928 Studebaker Commander Victoria coupe that, according to Grace, he purchased for $50. Your assessment, TJ?

I’ll take that six pack to go, thank you very much. By the way, when’s the last time you ever paid $50 for an old car, Captain Beer Gut?

So this is how it’s gonna be, huh. Anyhow let’s move on to our next specimens, two unidentified vagabonds submitted by Christopher Lill, ready to hit the road in a 1928-29 Ford Model A roadster. Against my better judgment, I shall again ask my wife to provide her reaction.

So long Dave, I’m running off for a watermelon picnic with Smiley McOveralls.

You know I’m beginning to think this co-writing thing was a mistake.

Less jibber jabber and more sexy grandpas, sweetheart.

Okay whatever. Get a load of the smoldering Valentino-like eyes of Joshua Thom’s grandpa Simon, nonchalantly leaning on the spare tire of a 1929-30 Chevy sedan. Take it away, TJ.

Need a light, Tall Dark and Handsome? How about you and me play a little Simon Says.

Aren’t you always after me to stop smoking?

Yeah, but Simon is smoking even without the cigarette.

I’ll ignore that remark and move on to our next exhibit, @auwmark’s dapper dad with his well-shod foot propped up on the running board of his first car; which, as best as I can determine, is a 1930 Oldsmobile or Buick 3 window coupe.

Now here’s a man who cleans up well. Unlike…

Yeah yeah yeah, unlike some men you know.

Look, do you want my comments or not?

I guess so, but honestly I’m beginning to regret giving you editorial license. How about we move on to the next one?

Fine by me, keep bringing on the beefcake.

Well I guess you have some smart aleck remark to make about these two gents, submitted by @TheClayCochran.

Tell me more.

I am informed they are Enzo Bartolucci & Reno Carboni of Ridgefield, Connecticut, and I have deduced they are leaning on a 1928-29 Ford Model A roadster.

I would like to order one spicy Italian meatball sandwich, please.

I’m thinking we should close this thing out soon, so here’s one more for you, submitted by @TxAg11. This is his grandfather showing off some of his rodeo winnings, including a saddle, two rifles, and a brand new 1955-56 Dodge C-1-B pickup truck. Take it away, “honey.”

Yippee yi yo kiyay! Now there’s something I could see riding off into the sunset. And may I say this cowboy is a real Texas man, unlike…

Yeah yeah yeah, we get it Tammi Jo.

Anyhow, that concludes this special free beefcake issue of DCIDS, but there will be more in the future so smash the subscribe button if you don’t want to miss. And I would like to announce there will be an opening for a new female guest commentator.

As always,

Happy Motoring,

Dave