Tiny Tim about to put the...
Tiny Tim about to put the pedal down thanks to one of his older brothers. Their parents never owned, drove, rode, or were even interested in cars. Was this racer the spark that fired up the lad to become one of the premier racing engine builders in Southern California?
Tim Timmerman was one of the first employees to work at Blair’s Speed Shop in Pasadena at Don’s location on Arroyo Parkway before Blair moved to Foothill Boulevard and Daisy. Tim later became one of the premier racing engine builders in Southern California for over 60 years. Tim raced his hot rod wheel to wheel with some of the biggest names in auto racing in the ’40s.
My father never owned or even drove a car, Darrell Tim Timmerman of Santa Ana, California, begins. He was a butcher by trade and wasn’t interested in cars; he took the trolley to work. My dad was in his fifties when I was born in 1921. I was the last of nine children, growing up in Canton, Oregon, near Portland.
Even if Mr. Timmerman had an interest in an automobile, with the average wage of 22 cents an hour in the United States, the price tag for a new Ford in the first full year of production in 1909 was out of his reach at a hefty $825. It would be a while before there would be a chicken in every pot and a car in every garage.
Hot rods and Harleys are like...
Hot rods and Harleys are like oil spots on the driveway—you can’t have one without the other. OK, Tim’s ’35 wasn’t hot rod material, but Ford was selected to lead the field as Pace Car at the 26th running of the Indy 500. Tim raced his hot rod and his Harley on a regular basis, so when the time came to go sliding around Carrell Speedway on two wheels or one (he could ride a unicycle you know), it was no big deal.
Tim purchased his first car, a Model T, during the depression. It was a running roadster that he bought for $7.50. He was too young to have a driver’s license: I got it home and one of my buddies wanted to drive it. I let him take it and he came walking back. You know, they had three pedals; he hit the center pedal, which is reverse, going fast and screwed up the trans. And not knowing anything about cars, I finally took it to a blacksmith a block away from my folk’s house. We took the engine out and I sold it to him for 50 cents.
I got my ’29 Ford roadster when I was in high school. Jim Travers was from California and he drove up to Canton in his ’29 Ford roadster and we became acquainted. Jim’s dad had a foundry in town. I knew there was a lot of hot rodding going on in California; I knew it was the center of all the action. (Travers, along with Frank Coon, later formed Traco Engineering (TRAvers & COon), which became a major engine supplier to the Can-Am road racing series.)
Travers had a four-banger too, but it was warmed over with a Winfield head and cam. Mine was bone stock. He was going on about how exciting it was that he made it from L.A. in his four-cylinder. I asked him when he went back to L.A., if I’d send him money would he get me a cam and head for my Model A engine? He said, Don’t do that, the guys down there are starting to put Ford V-8s in Model A’s. That’s the way to go.’ He talked me into it.
“That’s me when I had hair...
“That’s me when I had hair on my head at Carrell Speedway working on Manuel Ayulo’s carburetor. After I got it fixed he said, ‘hop in!’ That was a scary ride. He had a seat but I didn’t and I was hanging onto the door. Man, he come flying down that front stretch and broadsided it into the corner … that’s a weird feeling when you’re not driving.”
I went and got a V-8 in a wrecking yard. I found a ’35 Ford Flathead and put it in my roadster. It just bolted right up to the trans. I was young and didn’t really know what I was doing. There weren’t any speed shops in Oregon before the war, but I did it. I really and truly believe I was the first one in Oregon to put a V-8 in a Model A.
I was in high school at the time and taking wood shop. I asked the instructor to help my buddy and me make a mold for an intake manifold for the V-8. He said he would because he liked the idea that we were trying something challenging like that. We took it and had it cast. It had two carburetors and it worked, Tim laughs.
After Tim built his A-V8, one of his buddies built one too. They heard on the radio that Pearl Harbor was attacked. Tim continues, He said let’s go out and volunteer. None of us wanted to go into the Army; we’re going to go into the Navy. On Monday we went and volunteered. They took those two guys but when they found out I had asthma they wouldn’t take me.

“I saw Tim’s bitchin’ black...

“I saw Tim’s bitchin’ black Deuce roadster with California plates blow by,” Tom Medley says, fresh out of the Army. Tom lived in Salem, OR, and loaned his engine to a buddy who was racing this Model A roadster at the same horse track where Tim was racing.

Tim (right) couldn’t remember...

Tim (right) couldn’t remember the details of that carefree day with two of his Oregon buddies in 1943. It’s clear they were home on leave with one friend wearing a flight jacket and the other a military overcoat.

The guy standing on the passenger...

The guy standing on the passenger side of Tim’s Deuce roadster is Tom Medley. “There was a big garage where they let us work on our cars … tune them up or whatever you wanted to do to them before the Yakima race. Tom was in the garage and saw my California plate and started chatting with me. That’s how we got acquainted.”

When Tim backed into the fence...

When Tim backed into the fence at the horse track, his racer came home with a badge of courage. Tim took his sweet time getting it fixed after telling a thousand stories on how it happened.

Tim’s ’32 never cooled off:...

Tim’s ’32 never cooled off: Race on the street, sideways at Carrell Speedway, and then straight to—and on—the lakes. He ran them all: Harper, Rosamond, and El Mirage. El Mirage Jan. 27, 1946, Tim ran 105.26 under a Russetta Timing Association meet. The following year he bumped it up to 124.13 with a little tweaking.

Want a quick lesson on how...

Want a quick lesson on how to chop a pickup top? Look carefully. That’s how!