Racing Roadster

It was the era of the Indy roadsters—1952-1964—a time many consider to be the glory days of the Indianapolis 500. The popularity of the event progressed nationally even when competition was more gritty and less marketed. It was still the great American race because, even though those years were dominated by cars from Frank Kurtis (who debuted the first Offy roadster in 1952) and A.J. Watson, the most savvy and well-funded of backyard motorheads could still hope to build a car and qualify. Between Kurtis and Watson in Glendale and Eddie Kuzman, Lujie Lesovsky, and Quinn Epperly elsewhere in the Los Angeles area, Southern California was the hotbed for IndyCar builders. The local hot rodders saw what was going on firsthand and the rest of the world read about it in Hot Rod . The Indy 500 was something to which even average street racers aspired.

Today, the romance is compounded by the sleek lines of the vintage Indy front-engined roadster body style and the seemingly crude technology used to run frightening speeds in the open-cockpit racers virtually devoid of safety gear. The appeal of these roadsters has always compelled Tony Martinez, whose office at Memory Lane Auto Dismantlers in Sun Valley, California, overflows with scale models of historic open-wheel circle-track cars. Despite more than an acre of ’40s and ’50s Detroit iron behind his desk, the prize Tony was after was a real vintage race car. One day he was chatting with an old customer and mentioned the urge. “An old Indy racer, huh?” said the customer. “Got one in my attic I might be willing to let go.”

The long-forgotten car turned out to be the ’57-’58 Bob Estes Special built at Estes’ Lincoln-Mercury in Inglewood, California. Most of the work was done by Jud Phillips, a dealership mechanic who later went on to Indy successes including crewchiefing the winning Bobby Unser car of 1968. Estes had owned Indy racers since 1951, and this * one was built specifically for the big race. It was notable at its time for its abnormally huge rear upright wing (that was handformed in fiberglass over a wooden buck stuffed with trash), and came to be known as The Wing Car. The wing was designed for aerodynamic stability, but drivers would later report that it worked too well in a straight line, making turns more difficult.

The car debuted in 1957 as No. 7 and was driven by Bob Veith in his second Indy 500 appearance (his first with Bob Estes). Veith qualified at 141.010 mph, earning a 16th Place starting position behind the Mercury Turnpike Cruiser pace car. He finished in Ninth Place, earning $5,969. The rest of the car’s life in 1957 is largely unknown, though we did find a photo of it crossed up on a dirt track in Trenton, New Jersey; presumably it made the rounds as a champ car.

The car number for 1958 was 26 and the driver was Don Freeland, an Indy veteran who had shoed other Estes Specials from 1953 to 1956. He qualified at 143.030 mph and started in 13th position—right behind rookie A.J. Foyt, who spun on lap 148—and finished Seventh, earning $7,049. Photos of Freeland after the race show him soaked in oil from the knees down, which was standard for the Offy-powered racers. The ’58 Indy is remembered for its opening-lap pileup in turn 3 that DNF’d eight cars, sending Jerry Unser out of the park and killing Pat O’Conner. The Estes Special is seen in most of the photos of the crash as Freeland ducked into the infield to avoid the carnage.

Just a month after the ’58 Indy 500, the Estes Special became one of just a handful of American cars to compete in the Monza 500 at the Autodroma near Milan, Italy. It was the second year of the race, conceived by the Automobile Club of Milan, which was designed to pit American and European drivers in an international standoff. The Italian racers and audience proved nonplussed by the proposition, and it was a financial debacle. That fact led to the race’s demise after its second year in 1958, and it was another 20 years before American IndyCars would compete in Italy, making the participation of the Estes Special quite historic. The long straightaways and high banks of the Autodroma’s 6.2-mile course made it much faster than Indy, and Freeland qualified the No. 26 at 175.180 mph. Unfortunately, it broke a cam gear and never finished the race.

Once the car returned home it completed locally, but after nosing into the wall at a race in Milwaukee, it went into storage. It remained there until 1961, when Bob Estes retired from Indy racing after 10 seasons. During that time, his cars had finished seven Indy 500s and led just seven laps. The entire race operation was dismantled, and the No. 26 car was sold to Chet “Slim” Fisher of Glendale, California. Slim replaced the crunched aluminum nose cone with an aftermarket fiberglass version, changed the front suspension from transverse torsion bar to transverse leaf, and shortened the wheelbase 5 inches in preparation for turning the Estes roadster into a championship dirt-track car. He’d marked a tapeline where the tail wing was to be severed, but before the deed was done, Slim’s partner Ray Douglas was killed racing one of their other cars. Slim never returned to the racetrack. He disassembled No. 26 and stored the parts in the rafters of his garage.

It sat there for 37 years. It was in 1998 when Slim struck the deal for Tony Martinez to buy the roadster sight unseen. Tony knew the car by its history, and he knew it was in pieces. All he asked was help putting it back together, which Slim figured he could do in about a week. Tony was so excited to see the car that he couldn’t sleep, but that didn’t last long—Slim worked through the night and had No. 26 back on its wheels in 36 hours. Tony tells us that Slim’s two adult daughters had grown up in the house where the dismantled racer was stored and never even knew it was there.

History emerged from Slim’s garage that day. Despite the modifications made after Indy, the Bob Estes Special still carries its lettering from 1958. The names of Don Freeland and Jud Phillips remain on the body handformed from sheets of magnesium. Many of the historic racing decals remain, including the United States Auto Club crest that was applied to all the American cars that raced in the Monza 500. If you look closely at the left side of the rear wing, you can see the tapeline Slim made in preparation to cut it off. When you experience the car in person you can’t help but marvel.

On one hand you’re impressed with the craftsmanship of these hot rodders, but on the other you can’t fathom driving this thing 175 mph, getting showered in scalding oil, with nothing more than a seatbelt and a helmet, on the high banks of the Autodroma. Those mechanics were skilled, those drivers fearless. It means even more to Tony Martinez, who fulfilled a lifelong dream with a car raced in the year of his birth and carrying the number under which his father competed. He’s been approached by the Indianapolis 500 Museum to participate in race festivities with the car, and he’s already turned down offers to sell it for many times what he paid for it. This one’s a keeper.