Early Santa Barbara, a Memoir by Michael A. Jacobsen

The first Santa Barbara road races, Labor Day weekend, 1953, stick out as among the best events I witnessed among all the 1950s California races. Really early Santa Barbara included some time trials held at the far west end of the Goleta airport and adjacent, mostly dirt, roads in 1949; Roger Barlow, the Pollack brothers, Phil Hill, Taylor Lucas, John von Neumann and others participated in those trials.

Santa Barbara—really the airport at Goleta, some five miles northwest of town—was a very welcome new venue for Southern California. For my Dad—as for those California Sports Car Club founders mentioned above—racing anywhere was a blessing, but racing at a place that was also a holiday resort was the sought after venue, as already proven by the fabulous weekends at Pebble Beach, Palm Springs, Reno and Torrey Pines. While we attended the ’53 events at the first two of those hallowed venues, there was no Torrey Pines in ’53, so Santa Barbara was ushered in with great enthusiasm. Sure, we entered the airport races at the one-and-only events at Chino and Terminal Island, but these were short tows from our Pasadena home on race days, not gala weekends, and the courses were bumpy and uninteresting.

Santa Barbara was also mostly an airport circuit, but rather the best one. The configuration of the track remained essentially the same for the entire decade, and beginning in ’55 events were held both Labor Day and Memorial Day. The start/finish was on the paved secondary runway paralleling Hollister Avenue, but separated from it by a two-lane access road that formed the “nearside back straight,” and the terminal, a restaurant, some lawns and some hangars. Heading west from the start, the cars swept around a right-hand bend that was laid out between hay bales somewhat tighter the first year than later on (compare the track map from the program to the tire tracks visible in the photograph), and between buildings, making a kink onto the two-lane road, which almost immediately turned onto that nearside back straight, which was separated from Hollister by a ditch and a fence. The ditch collected a few cars each weekend, notably Bill Stroppe’s Kurtis. This two-lane straight then made a gentle sweeper to the right, and then a tighter right onto the “far back straight.” The connection here was made by a short section of pavement laid down just for the races. The far back straight now headed west along the airport’s main runway, at an angle that took it slightly farther away from the start/finish straight, and then went through a right-right-left loop that turned it back east, to parallel the far back straight with the “near back straight’ which was slightly shorter and turned left sharply back to the start/finish. The length was about 2-½ miles, the straights were not long.

Only the first event situated the paddock on a grassy infield between the start/finish and the near back straight, with one long row of racecars just off the pavement, and service cars lined up behind them. For this reason, I watched most of the races from the outside of Turn One, as we were allowed to cross the front straight only a few times during the day. At later events, with the paddock on the cement backed up to the large hangars, one could exit the paddock and take up a post watching the kink and Turn Two, which was really the best place; I liked it better than the back loop, a very slow turn where lots of cars spun, but rarely with any consequence. Watching the cars come off Turn One fast, negotiate the kink, which ran between phone poles, and then braking hard for the turn with the ditch, one got a better idea of who could really drive. At one of the ’55 events I watched as my Dad came through this section in our N Magnette and nearly crunched the rear of John von Neumann’s Porsche Spyder. When I asked Dad later, he said “Yeah—there was a time when Johnny didn’t give an inch to anyone in any corner.” At the May ’56 meet, we found John alone at the hotel bar on Saturday. He was steaming mad at his number one driver Ken Miles, who had taken over the 550 Johnny himself had driven the previous season. Miles drove the car up from Hollywood, and pranged it in a fender bender on the way. “Lars, do you want to drive it tomorrow? I’m gonna fire that SOB,” Johnny said. One too many martinis. Dad avoided John’s pit the next day. Of course, John eventually did part with Ken, who then took over Otto Zipper’s 550RS, but not that week, and of course Ken won his race.

Most years we stayed at the old Mar Monte Hotel, next to the bird refuge. This was really very nice, though Dad preferred the Mira Mar or the Biltmore, but were both booked by the time Dad got around to our reservations. However, we were not the only ones; as I took my seat by myself in the dining room on Friday night—the folks went to the King Supper Club on Milpas St., where there was a stripper to watch while your steak was served—my waiter pointed out film stars Tony Curtis and Piper Laurie at the next table.

I wasn’t much interested, as my thoughts were on racing. I didn’t learn until the next day that they were there to shoot scenes for a film about road racing called Johnny Dark. This film has rather good footage of the actual races, and some staged footage of Phil Hill in his winning 2.9 Ferrari, as well as the movie’s “star” the Woodill Wildfire. In the film, the Wildfire, thank god, does not outpace the Ferrari, but instead Hill retires with mechanical trouble!

Saturday morning we towed the Magnette (serial no. NA 0878) out of Hollister to the airport and found our way to the hangar area where scrutineering was going on. We flat-towed the car with Dad’s company ’53 Chevy sedan. Most cars had chromed bumpers that you could clamp a tow-hitch to, and I still have the special tow bar made to attach to the dumb irons of the Magnette. We pushed it into line behind Howard Wheeler’s 212 Ferrari (I use the “correct” terminology here, but in the day everyone referred to all Ferraris as “2.9s” or “4.1s” and not as “250MMs” or “340s”.)

This was the ex-Phil Hill car with which Phil had won Torrey Pines the previous summer. Wheeler raced it for three years very successfully, almost always winning or placing in Class D. I stood between the two cars while waiting for the line to move. My back was to the Ferrari when Wheeler fired it up and blew wet carbon dust from its left-hand bank all over my new blue denim trousers. Mom would not permit me to wear jeans to the races. For months afterward I would not let her wash the Ferrari off those denims, but she would not let me wear them either. At the Coronado Speed Festival a few years ago I found myself standing between the same two cars, waiting for our “Torrey Pines Reunion” demo laps, with Phil Hill ready to drive his former 212 standing next to me; he was quite amused by the story. While reminiscing about Torrey Pines, Phil with his usual modesty told me why he was able to lead the main event at the first race there in the V8-60 powered MG TC called “2Jr,” twice passing Michael Graham in the Chapman Cad-Allard for the lead; it was because the TC “was perfect for that course.” Alas, it started to shed fenders, then its gas tank, so Phil retired.

Next it was off to the paddock. It was usual to pit cars of the same make near each other. I don’t remember who was next to us, because I spent most of the time between races hanging out with Mike Mayer at Randy MacDougall’s pit. Mike, who was my age (11 in ’53), was the son of Randy’s mechanic Harvey Mayer, who was still caring for Randy’s new 1.9 Ferrari. Next to Randy’s car was Hill’s 2.9, and then Wheeler’s 2.6-liter car. Behind Randy’s Ferrari was parked his daily driver, a Porsche roadster. Two months later, on the way to Reno, we were stuck behind a 16-wheeler on then two-lane highway 395, when Randy passed us both in the Porsche, with a young lady in the passenger’s seat, waving gaily as he went by on the right, with two wheels on the verge!

The Mayers lived on Newport Beach’s Balboa Island, where my family always spent their summer vacation. I had heard from Mike in July that Randy had a 166 Ferrari on order; he was expecting a car like the one pictured in the latest Road & Track, which had an Abarth body with fender cutouts and looked quite ferocious. Randy had sold his OSCA to Al Coppel after Pebble Beach in April. When the Ferrari finally arrived, it had the standard Vignale “bobtail” body that was also the style of the new 4.1 cars delivered to Sterling Edwards and Bill Spear, both of which appeared at March Field that Fall. The red and black paint job on Randy’s car was really nice. During the next winter off-season Randy decided the body was too heavy, and had a special cycle-fendered body made for the car, which he claimed saved 200 pounds. At Pebble Beach, in ’54, Randy drove the car in that form to his best class win (Edwards won overall in the 4.1), then rolled it at Willow Springs and retired from driving at Nanette Fabray’s insistence. At Santa Barbara, I stood by while Randy and Phil Hill compared the serial numbers of their Weber carbs, finding that Phil’s were newer despite that his car was ostensibly five months older than Randy’s. One suspects that the 166 was rebuilt and renumbered from an older car, a trick Ferrari is known to have used. Poor Randy—the present owner of his old OSCA (#1122) is convinced that that car, too, was rebuilt from an older car and not a completely new car when Randy bought it!

Harvey Mayer inspired quite a few enthusiasts from the Newport Beach area to go racing, among them Eugene Scott, who had a beautiful Special built in part by an outfit called Rosan Inc; the same crew, that included Marvin Faw, built the very successful Pickford Jaguar special. Scott’s car looked like a larger version of the second Barlow Simca special, with a cycle-fendered body that was very shapely and painted maroon, though initially it had been black. Powered by a V8 60 with much speed equipment, Gene offered the car to my Dad to race; Dad took it out for practice but declined the ride. The car had a fabricated De Dion rear end which worried him, and a three-speed tranny that was difficult, though he thought the car very nice overall. Later, the car got a Bristol engine and was known as the “Rosan Special.”

Ken Miles’ win at Pebble Beach, in April, and his run of wins after that had vaulted him to a position of prominence in the Cal Club, and at this event he was responsible for the new configuration of actual races. Typically, in 1950, there was no racing on Saturday, only practice, and three or four races on Sunday beginning at noon. By ’52, the number of entries had increased, and two novice races and two production car races were added, so that there were usually six or so events.  While the trend was to expand and race both days, Miles, who had a club racing background in England, organized a weekend with 16 races, all for 5 or 10 laps except the 35-lap main event. All of Saturday’s events were for production cars, except that the term was applied loosely, and both Hill and MacDougall were allowed to run their Ferraris, along with Jim Lowe in his Frazer-Nash Le Mans, Carl Block in his Le Mans Allard and even Sterling Edwards, still running his Jaguar XKC!  Lowe and Hill put on a stirring race. Jim beat Phil through Turn One when Hill got sideways, and held him off for three of the five laps before the Ferrari got by. Both, however, were disqualified for running locked rear ends!

Sunday’s races were mainly for the modified cars, and Dad ran twice, finishing 7th in both races, which were won, naturally, by Miles in the R1 MG special with Stan Mullin 2nd in his Le Mans Porsche, a car also shown in the concours, which had to be moved to Monday on account of the full race calendar! Miles was fanatical about racing, and he managed to run in three events, since the first three finishers in the Under 1500-cc event were allowed into the main; he finished 5th there. Reliability was never the strong point of the Magnette, as Dad had it so hopped-up by ’53 it seldom finished a longer race, though he did manage twice to finish the 50-milers at Pebble Beach. So the 10-lap races suited the car well. At this Santa Barbara, besides Miles and Mullin, he was beaten by Hastings Harcourt’s Porsche, Chick Leson’s lovely, ultra-light Simca Special, Fred Datig’s Le Mans Deutsch-Bonnet (which passed Dad on the straight!) and only one other MG, Ed Barker’s modified TD.

The Main would have been all Bill Stroppe’s in his short-wheelbase Kurtis 500 with a Mercury flattie in it, but he first put it in the ditch allowing Hill to gain quite a long lead. Watching from outside Turn One, I could not quite see what happened, but knew someone had spun at Turn Two; when Stroppe failed to appear ahead of Phil it became apparent. In his effort to catch the Ferrari, Stroppe had another spectacular spin right in front of me, smoking the tires badly but avoiding the hay bales and hangars. Ernie McAfee, on the other hand, in only his second race, put his new bright red Siata 208s into those bales twice, crumpling the front fender. After the race, we observed him beating out the fender, and Mother gave him a jar of her nail polish that just about matched the Siata’s paint; it was entered in the concours!  The Wildfire, driven by veteran H. Haile Chace, finished well down, as it was powered by a not so hot Willys F head. Its Glasspar body was modified at the front and rear and to my mind was not as good looking as the standard Glasspar body, an example of which, Ardun Ford-powered in the hands of Bill Pollack, finished 3rd on Sunday. This car, known as the “Mameco Spl” or the  “C.T. Special,” was recently restored by VR contributor Mark Brinker. Seven years after that first Santa Barbara race, I would move into the Anacapa Hall dormitory at UCSB (overlooking the race track!) in a room down the hall from Mike Woodill, son of the builder of the Wildfire. We had some success building push-carts for the then popular college push-cart races, twice winning the UCSB title—mainly due to the athletes we had to push for us!

The Santa Barbara concours d’elegance was held on the lawn of the Biltmore Hotel, between the 101 highway and the ocean at the south end of town. Still there, the trees have become larger, a semi-circular driveway has been paved that takes part of the lawn, and there is more shrubbery where there was once lawn, so that no goodly number of vehicles could today be parked there. In truth, the concours of those days generally attracted 30 or 40 cars, some of them the latest models of imported sedans like Hillmans and even Volkswagens, still fairly rare in ’53, as well as sports cars.

At this one, I do not recall the winners, but in addition to Ernie’s Siata, there was a Type 35 Bugatti, a large open Delahaye, an Austin 7 “Nippy,” and Ysmael’s Ferrari coupe among others. We always voted among ourselves, and the Bugatti took our Best of Show. The Siata, was a beautiful car, and for reasons I could never fathom, Ernie later repainted it yellow and black, and drilled holes in all parts of it in an attempt to keep up with the 2-liter Ferraris…even the ears of the knock-offs and the ignition key were drilled. Of course, I immediately drilled holes in the Magnette’s key to surprise my Dad. He then admonished me not to touch the knock-offs!