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He came
riding into New England from the South in the cockpit of a rocket
ship. He’d be with us on and off over a 15-year period, most always
when the supermodifieds or the midgets gathered. Then, with the same
suddenness he was gone, back to the Southlands. He had taken our
trophies, drunk all of our beer, and stolen our hearts.
Word came north from Shreveport, Louisiana
last week that Armond Holley passed away at on July 13. The
seventy-one year old lost a battle with metastasized bone cancer.
For those who really know this sport, Holley will be revered forever
as King – and first Outlaw – of that unbridled formative period of
supermodified racing in the United States. It was a time of
lightweight missiles, built with what Armond called "oh too thin
material" and gargantuan motors.
Holley’s wandering pathway to over 500
career victories stared early. Even before he could drive on the
road, he cut countless laps around a tiny dirt track in Mississippi
owned by his father. When he came of age he was gone, barnstorming
around the South in jalopies and subsequently NASCAR modifieds.
Rumors about the wiry, caffeinated road warrior spread, and soon he
was in the seat of a Grand National (early Nextel Cup) car. He had
the look of a shoe-in for the big time. He even ran on the road
course at Daytona, but by the mid-sixties a new configuration of
race cars began pulling on his heart. He dropped it all to run the
wild early supermodified circuit that twisted through Alabama,
Tennessee, Florida, and Mississippi, swapping wins with legends such
as the Allisons, Hooker Hood, Rat Lane, and Ival Cooper.
The more outlandish the ride, the faster
Holley would go. And so it was just a matter of time before he
crossed paths with Bill Hite, the quirky builder of America’s
wildest short-track cars. Super-straight Hite and Gypsy-like,
fun-loving Holley somehow shared that strange attraction of
opposites. They crisscrossed the country, radical 4-wheel-drive
monsters, rear engine cars – and even one with no shocks, springs,
or suspension whatever – in tow.
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Photo by
Dick Berggren |
In the early 1970s, sponsored by Bill
Port of Midwest Auto Specialties, the Hite and Holley show first
performed in New England, then at Oswego, and in the Midwest. They
won everywhere, while Armond’s home base alternated between
Connecticut and Ohio.
Holley’s popularity in the racing
community landed him rides pretty much at will. While he was North,
there were a few tangents from the strictly-super diet into both
USAC sprints and the midgets. He was NEMA champ in 1976.
For all his national traveling, it is
curious that Armond’s last race was at Thompson. It was October of
1985. Armond was in the pits with his friend Skip Matczak who had
signed Richie Evans to run his super for the day. There was an evil
wind of fate in the air, and Richie was chilled by it. At the last
moment he uncharacteristically turned Skipper’s super over to Armond,
who delivered a solid, top-10 performance in his final effort.
Richie’s final effort would come the next week, when he died in his
modified at Martinsville.
For people in the pit area, just as
memorable as Holley’s gutsy chargers in open wheelers was his
captivating ability to spin a yarn. So many of us recall him sitting
on a stack of tires, always a stack of beer cans right nearby,
rubbing his face, slapping his knee, and starting out "Gawd
Almighty, I was goin’ down the backstretch at that Jackson one night
at 150 miles an hour and…."
The disarming aspect of Holley’s stories
was that, if you investigated, they usually proved true. Ask NEAR
Hall of Famer Marvin Rifchen. Marvin saw Armond run in the early
supers in Mississippi – "skeeters", as they were called. At one
point the death-defying slingshots were going faster at Jackson than
the NASCAR cars were at Daytona International. "It was really
something," Marvin remembers. "That Holley had absolutely no fear."
Now, as word of his passing spreads
through the racing network, everyone, it seems, has a story about
Armond.
Denny Hudock
(Lorain County, Ohio, Speedway Hall of Fame representative): "When
Bill Port went down to Louisiana to check out the rear engine super
he was buying from Bill Hite, the conversation came to drivers. No
one up in the Cleveland area had any experience with a rear engine
car like this one, and Port asked for a recommendation. ‘There is
only one guy who can win for you right out of the box,’ Hite told
Port, ‘and his name is Armond Holley and he is a RACER. Anything,
anyplace, anytime.’ The two set up a meeting with Holley, and the
rest is history. When Port bought the 4-wheel-drive car, it was damn
near unbeatable here. Holley was once "black-flagged" for running
under his qualifying time at Sandsusky and he was fast qualifier. At
Lorain he was beating the field so badly that they started him on
the pole, one lap down! Everywhere they went, they won. Armond
Holley was pretty much a vagabond racer who went where the fast cars
were."
John McCarthy
(former NEMA president and
car owner): "I can see it in my mind as if it happened this
afternoon. We were all in the pits at Thompson, time trialing.
Armond was kind of movin’ around like he always did and he glanced
over at the fourth turn. He saw a photographer taking shots right
next to the apron. He went right over there and asked the guy – who
was totally taken aback – to move away cause that’s where Armond was
gonna go. That’s just what he did. He put two wheels in the infield
right at that spot and he set fast time. He knew what he was going
to do beforehand and he could see wrecks before they happened. He
was a helluva driver."
Skip Matczak
(champion supermodified/Silver
Crown owner and former employer of Armond Holley as a tool and die
maker): "I think there are two things that made Armond so fast.
First his passion. It was fiery and it never went out. Second, his
vision. Did you ever notice that pupil in one of his eye was like a
cat’s? ‘Well, Stanley,’ he’d tell me, ‘that’s just a birthmark.’ But
what I saw was a periscope. I think he could see out of both sides
and the back. And what a character! In the middle of one night we
were coming back from Oswego and some woman got crossed up into the
fence on the Mass Pike, and her car blew up. She was all dazed.
Armond jumped out of the truck, ran across the road, and pulled her
out of the flames. Then he turned around and came running right
back. ‘Let’s be going, Stanley,’ he said. ‘I think we can still make
last call.’
Armond Holley
Jr. : "I was just twelve or so
when Dad quit racing, but I sure remember it. He didn’t want me to
have any part of it. He wanted me to pursue education, baseball,
anything else. ‘This is a game that does have its highs,’ he used to
tell me, ‘but it will break your heart.’ When I moved up here to
Michigan, I called him and told him I was going to give it a try. He
finally agreed to meet me at Sandusky to get me networked a little.
He never showed. I think it was on purpose. So, I called back and
told him I’d bought a modified. He went nuts. ‘Why didn’t you just
take your money and throw it in a bonfire?’ He carried on and on,
gruntin’ and groanin.’ Then suddenly, I heard his voice change.
‘What kinda motor have we got in that thing?’ he asked. Soon I was
hauling that car down South and I spent two months with him working
on it. It was great. This January I’m gonna take it down to the Ice
Bowl at Talledega. That’s a good show. You see all the old guys like
Red Farmer and Hooker Hood walking around the pits. How I wish Dad
could be with me. I sure will miss him."
Originally published in Speedway Scene in July of 2005.
© 2007 Lew Boyd, Coastal 181
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