Turk. What a strange moniker for a pure-bred Italian. I admit it does appear strange, on the surface, but it has a lengthy and convoluted history, which I will share with you. Bear with me.
This all started in junior high school in the wilds of Springfield, Massachusetts, probably sixth or seventh grade. Two of my buds were assisting me in conducting a particularly disruptive activity. Come to think about it, it was my very first venture into automotive testing, potato in the tailpipe. The buds where Billy King and Jimmy Olden. How the hell I remember those names I'll never know. Now I can't even remeber where I left the damn keys. For what ever reason, one of them decides to dub me with the title 'Young Turk'. Why I'll never know, but he must of thought it fit. Over the years I have tried to research the term with only minimal success. The best I have come up with is the following: 'Young Turk - meaning a rebellious member of an institution, movement, or political party'. Rebellious I was, no question about it. The rest of the definition is probably hog wash because none of us were particularly versed in history, current events, politics, or anything else that would produce that comprehensive of a definition. There you have it, but it ain't over!
We all moved on to different high schools, and I lost the name tag. After graduating from Technical High School (note - Starting Q'Back and defensive linebacker for the 1954 Western Massachusetts Champions, sorry to drift) I joined the Strokers Hot Rod Club. At the first meeting I end up sitting next to my junior high bud Jimmy Olden. He immediately proceeds to introduce me as the Turk, round two. That name stuck with me until after I graduated from college and moved to Detroit. But it ain't over!
I joined Chrysler Corp and attended the work/study program at the Chrysler Institute of Engineering. I fast tracked directly into the Race Group and snagged the project engineer job for the 1968 Hemi 'A' Body program. I designed the configuration, help build it and was the test driver for about six months. Immediately after the first test we went into 'production' of 75 Plymouths and 75 Dodges at the Hurst facilities in Detroit. At one of the first drag meets for the 'production' vehicles I was strolling through the pits with the engineering boss Tom Hoover and the product planning czar Dick Maxwell. All of a sudden we all hear someone shout at the top their lungs, "Hey Turk." Of course, I was the only one who turned around. Standing just behind us was Bill 'Farmer' Dismuke, chief tech inspector for NHRA. But known only to me, he had also been a member of the Strokers Hot Rod Club from Springfield, Massachusetts and an old friend. After the introductions Bill said, "I hope I don't find any oxygen bottles tucked away in those Chrysler Hemi Cars." A little explain.
While a member of the Strokers, I owned a 1955 Ford Thunderbird and was constantly getting beaten by the local Corvettes. My devious mind, that had yet to be versed in the basics of engine design and performance, decided that the easiest way to supply air to the engine was to just supply the most essential component - oxygen. Why not? I made a simple tubular fork, drilled it with holes, and mounted it on top of the carburettor. I then placed a small oxygen bottle on the driveshaft hump between the two seats. Attached a simple globe valve to the tank and ran a hose directly to the carburettor fork. Control, what control? Of course no electronics where available, simplicity was the way to go. I jetted the carburetor as rich as possible so that it would still 'run' without oxygen and a little blipping of the throttle. I would sit at the starting line just keeping the engine running with manual control of the throttle. When the light went green I mashed the throttle and cracked on the oxygen. Sometimes, when I shifted I backed off on the oxygen, but most of the time I regulated the oxygen by monitoring the spark knock. Hear the rattle, roll back the valve. It worked, for a while. I think I won a race or two, but black death reared its ugly head. Rings, pistons and cylinders became one. I do believe this was a one time event, but never the less, old Bill remembered it well and my Chrysler cronies never let me forget my very first engine development program; and the moniker 'Turk'. But it ain't over!
Next, 1970, I moved from Detroit and landed in Southern California and the AAR Trans Am program. All was quite for a while. However, in 1971 I was contracted to Chrysler to conduct their race engine development work at Keith Blacks in Southgate, California. Shortly after arriving at KB's, Tom Hoover joined us to outline the program details. As soon as he walked in he greeted me with a gigantic, "Hello Turk," KB picked up on it immediately and he stuck with it big time. During my stay at KB's, I met many many people from various areas of the racing/performance industry and the moniker continued to follow. But it ain't over!
The years drifted by and I involved myself in various mundane activities, its a long way down from the top. Then one day the elder Turk had a vision, of Quixotean proportions, a modern steed on which he could go forth and do battle once again. Steel, aluminum, and various modern fibers of an exotic nature, powered of course by a four stroke recip, with but two wheels afixed to the earth. Yes you guessed it, a modern day motorcycle, with no less than 1000cc of wailing aggressiveness. Turk took to the track and became obsessed, once again, of being in control. To his surprise, and to others, the Turk was quick. Quick enough to be consistently nipping at the heels of much younger competitors. The moniker 'Fast Bob' became an addendum to Turk. I guess he's still evolving. But it ain't over!
To this day many people still bid the Turk a good day and good luck. And I must admit, that after you follow my numerous adventures and misadventure, you will see that my rebellious nature has never left--for good or bad, but always with cause. But it still ain't over!
Thanks Billy and Jimmy, I owe ya.
This all started in junior high school in the wilds of Springfield, Massachusetts, probably sixth or seventh grade. Two of my buds were assisting me in conducting a particularly disruptive activity. Come to think about it, it was my very first venture into automotive testing, potato in the tailpipe. The buds where Billy King and Jimmy Olden. How the hell I remember those names I'll never know. Now I can't even remeber where I left the damn keys. For what ever reason, one of them decides to dub me with the title 'Young Turk'. Why I'll never know, but he must of thought it fit. Over the years I have tried to research the term with only minimal success. The best I have come up with is the following: 'Young Turk - meaning a rebellious member of an institution, movement, or political party'. Rebellious I was, no question about it. The rest of the definition is probably hog wash because none of us were particularly versed in history, current events, politics, or anything else that would produce that comprehensive of a definition. There you have it, but it ain't over!
We all moved on to different high schools, and I lost the name tag. After graduating from Technical High School (note - Starting Q'Back and defensive linebacker for the 1954 Western Massachusetts Champions, sorry to drift) I joined the Strokers Hot Rod Club. At the first meeting I end up sitting next to my junior high bud Jimmy Olden. He immediately proceeds to introduce me as the Turk, round two. That name stuck with me until after I graduated from college and moved to Detroit. But it ain't over!
I joined Chrysler Corp and attended the work/study program at the Chrysler Institute of Engineering. I fast tracked directly into the Race Group and snagged the project engineer job for the 1968 Hemi 'A' Body program. I designed the configuration, help build it and was the test driver for about six months. Immediately after the first test we went into 'production' of 75 Plymouths and 75 Dodges at the Hurst facilities in Detroit. At one of the first drag meets for the 'production' vehicles I was strolling through the pits with the engineering boss Tom Hoover and the product planning czar Dick Maxwell. All of a sudden we all hear someone shout at the top their lungs, "Hey Turk." Of course, I was the only one who turned around. Standing just behind us was Bill 'Farmer' Dismuke, chief tech inspector for NHRA. But known only to me, he had also been a member of the Strokers Hot Rod Club from Springfield, Massachusetts and an old friend. After the introductions Bill said, "I hope I don't find any oxygen bottles tucked away in those Chrysler Hemi Cars." A little explain.
While a member of the Strokers, I owned a 1955 Ford Thunderbird and was constantly getting beaten by the local Corvettes. My devious mind, that had yet to be versed in the basics of engine design and performance, decided that the easiest way to supply air to the engine was to just supply the most essential component - oxygen. Why not? I made a simple tubular fork, drilled it with holes, and mounted it on top of the carburettor. I then placed a small oxygen bottle on the driveshaft hump between the two seats. Attached a simple globe valve to the tank and ran a hose directly to the carburettor fork. Control, what control? Of course no electronics where available, simplicity was the way to go. I jetted the carburetor as rich as possible so that it would still 'run' without oxygen and a little blipping of the throttle. I would sit at the starting line just keeping the engine running with manual control of the throttle. When the light went green I mashed the throttle and cracked on the oxygen. Sometimes, when I shifted I backed off on the oxygen, but most of the time I regulated the oxygen by monitoring the spark knock. Hear the rattle, roll back the valve. It worked, for a while. I think I won a race or two, but black death reared its ugly head. Rings, pistons and cylinders became one. I do believe this was a one time event, but never the less, old Bill remembered it well and my Chrysler cronies never let me forget my very first engine development program; and the moniker 'Turk'. But it ain't over!
Next, 1970, I moved from Detroit and landed in Southern California and the AAR Trans Am program. All was quite for a while. However, in 1971 I was contracted to Chrysler to conduct their race engine development work at Keith Blacks in Southgate, California. Shortly after arriving at KB's, Tom Hoover joined us to outline the program details. As soon as he walked in he greeted me with a gigantic, "Hello Turk," KB picked up on it immediately and he stuck with it big time. During my stay at KB's, I met many many people from various areas of the racing/performance industry and the moniker continued to follow. But it ain't over!
The years drifted by and I involved myself in various mundane activities, its a long way down from the top. Then one day the elder Turk had a vision, of Quixotean proportions, a modern steed on which he could go forth and do battle once again. Steel, aluminum, and various modern fibers of an exotic nature, powered of course by a four stroke recip, with but two wheels afixed to the earth. Yes you guessed it, a modern day motorcycle, with no less than 1000cc of wailing aggressiveness. Turk took to the track and became obsessed, once again, of being in control. To his surprise, and to others, the Turk was quick. Quick enough to be consistently nipping at the heels of much younger competitors. The moniker 'Fast Bob' became an addendum to Turk. I guess he's still evolving. But it ain't over!
To this day many people still bid the Turk a good day and good luck. And I must admit, that after you follow my numerous adventures and misadventure, you will see that my rebellious nature has never left--for good or bad, but always with cause. But it still ain't over!
Thanks Billy and Jimmy, I owe ya.
The Young Turk - 1958
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The Greasy Turk - 1968
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The 'Older' Turk - 2013
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