Rolling Thunder — Murphy’s Kurtis-Buick

“It’s pretty loud,” he warned, as the starter slowly cranked. The big Buick coughed a couple of times, belching vapors out toward the street until the starter seemed ready to quit. And suddenly it lit, bah-boom, boom, boom, boom, like an artillery barrage. “Jesus!” I uttered, involuntarily jumping back and covering my ears, as thunder shook the garage and rattled my eardrums – exactly as it had forty-some years before.

It was at the Pomona Fairgrounds in 1956, my first time ever on a starting grid, and I stood wide-eyed and transfixed as a beautiful blood-red Ferrari Monza was pushed into place not two feet in front of me. The car’s powder blue Pirelli suit-clad driver making last-second adjustments to his safety belt before going into battle. With my pitpass proudly displayed, I was right there with him, waiting for the magic moment when he’d start that Ferrari up – right next to me. In anticipation, I edged a half-step back, touching the side of the car behind me, Bill Murphy’s Kurtis-Buick, just as its engine exploded into life. I must have jumped a foot straight up, hands still jammed in my pockets, whirling in mid-air to see Bill Murphy laughing. It was a good day for Murphy. Not only did he scare the hell out of some dumb kid, but he blew the doors off that Ferrari – and everybody else – to win yet another California sports car race.