BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 304
back parking lot. He allegedly drove a ‟66 GTO, a tri-power, truly one of the fastest
production cars on the street. I emphasize the words “production car” because, while the
GTO, aka the “Goat”, could outrun almost any production car, my ride wasn‟t in that
category any longer.
My car, depending on which track I took it to, was either Super Stock D, or C
Gas. My car was a true hotrod. His was a showroom hotrod.
There‟s a difference. Somewhat akin to the difference between Muhammad Ali
and Fats Domino. I‟m not sure Ali was ever a dancer, singer, or piano player, but I know
damned well Fats wouldn‟t‟ve gotten in the ring with him.
I beat the black asshole in three turns, took his money, and let him challenge me
again. Why not? It was easy money, and he was an asshole, so it all made sense to me.
Perfect sense. I finally grew tired of listening to his mouth and told him my car would
kick the hell out of his. When he asked about it, all I‟d admit to was a ‟66 Chevelle with
a 396, nothing more.
Of course, if it was that simple, his 389 cubic inch GTO with a tri-power setup,
three two-barrel carburetors, would handily defeat a stock Chevelle with a four-barrel
396 engine. Everybody knew that, and so did he.
Now he was excited and saw a chance to get his money back. He wanted to race,
and we finally settled on a hundred bucks for a quarter mile race. We‟d line „em up right
there on Willow Street and race to the other end of the Oldsmobile plant, give or take, a
quarter mile.
I was happy. I‟d raced a lot of cars on that same “track” and never lost a race.
Never even had a serious challenger.
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