Model: LeBaron 4D

Year: 1978

Engine: 318 V8 w/2bbl

This car was a first in a lot of respects. It was my very first car, my first derby car, and first in a lot of other things that I won't mention. It was, in actuality, a gift from my parents when I graduated highschool. I drove this car EVERYWHERE! Me and this car drove all over New England. My sister was the first person to call the car Betsy and the name stuck. I honestly thought that this car had an honest-to-God spirit. Everyone said that the car looked like it was eternally pissed off. She was my rusty, trusty comrade for about three years. The end for her came, however, when the exhaust flat out broke off at the Y-pipe and I was too broke to repair it (plus the $500 in other repairs needed to make it road worthy), plus I had another car (my wife's) waiting in the wings and we were only allowed 1 parking spot at the apartment where I lived at the time. It was a crying shame as the car still ran real strong. So, when me and my wife sat down to decide what to do with the car, it was either scrap it or derby it. I wouldn't get much change from the scrapper and I forever wanted to drive a derby so I decided that the best, most honorable way to put my old friend out to pasture was to let Betsy go out fighting.

I must say that we had the most fun building Betsy. I drove the car to my folks house to build it and the whole family got involved in it's construction. Going through the car and cleaning it out was like touring a museum of my post highschool years. Scary stuff!! I even lassoed my uncle who owns a garage into hauling the car to the track on race day.

I was so nervous on race day. My dad and I went over the car with a fine toothed comb several times and sure as ever she ran like a champ. We did have one scare about 3 hours before the race. Tim, my then future brother-in-law was helping us inspect the car and after that, it wouldn't fire up! I thought I was doomed. As it turned out, Tim accidentally disconnected a wire leading to the starter. It took about 2.5 seconds to fix.

The derby itself was something else. No one would be pit with me and I knew NO ONE who derbied, so I ended up spending 2 hours sitting on my car in the pit. I did talk to some of the veteran drivers who were more than happy to share some tips with me. It became painfully obvious that I had no idea how to build a car. I left the battery in the stock position (this would be the doom of me) and I didn't bother padding the interior of the car.

I drew the 3rd heat and everyone was nervous as it looked like it was going to rain and thunder was heard in the distance.

Click on the picture to see a bigger picture.

A before shot of the old girl.

Betsy on race ray. The lurker in the corner is my lovely wife Tina.

The infamous "Betsy"

Betsy's better half.

Betsy, waiting in line.

Upon pulling up to the line, everything I had rehearsed in my head was gone in an instant. When the ten count was gone, I just dropped the hammer and let her fly. I learned two things real quick. First; that first hit is the worst hit. Second; never let go of the wheel, which is precisely what I did. I went flying all over the place, stunned out of my gourd. The car also stalled, but fired right up. It took about a minute for me to come back to earth and realise what I was trying to do. I immediately threw it in gear and started thrashing. The car occassionly stalled but always fired back up.

There's Betsy knocking out the poor dude in the little LTD.

Crush 'em against the wall!!

Betsy going after the competition again.

Me spinning Betsy around to tangle with the guys at the other en of the track

This probably wasn't the brightest of moves. I should have stuck to my corner and kept picking my targets.

That's me putting the pop on someone's nose.

The killing blow came when I took a viscous hit to the nose of the car and it stopped Betsy cold. The nose of the car was real low and the car wouldn't move. I was told, that from the grand stands, it looked like my frame was broken and my cut exhaust was spitting great gouts of fire as I stood on the accelerator, trying to shake loose. Finally, I took another great shot, this time to my passenger side and the car stalled and wouldn't refire. When I say 'wouldn't refire' I mean that sucker wasn't even turning, not even a tick from the solenoid.

There I am, dead as a door nail and suffering from a nasty headache.

Upon post race inspection it was discovered that the first big hit to Betsy's front end did a number of horrible things. First, it stripped the tire off the rim, driving the car nose first into the muck. Second, it bent the steering column something fierce. Third, it put a bolt through the battery. So, when the car was hit that second time, there was no juice literally (the battery innards had leaked out onto the track) to turn the car back over. So here I was; Broke as a church mouse and kind of hurting. I had no choice, but to give the car up. I had no way of getting it home to repair it (Uncle was good for a one way trip only) It needed a battery and a tire, neither of which I could afford. To boot, we had run out of film so I was unable to grab any quality after shots. At the Brockton Derby any cars that are not picked up the next day become the property of the sponsor. So, I hung my head low and bid my friend goodbye.

But that wasn't the end of Betsy's story. A week goes by and my dad, my younger brother, and myself attend the big finale, where all the previous week's heat winners were competing for $1000 grand prize and what should appear in the pit. Yep, that's right, Betsy!! Apparently, some other driver was hard up for a car and when ownership passed from myself to the sponsor, he bought my car for $100. He swapped tires and dropped a new battery in her, but left most of the original paint on it. I was mad, but happy at the same time. It should have been me driving that car, but I was happy that my old friend was getting a second, well deserved shot at glory. Unfortunalty her new owner wasn't much better than her old one. The heat was a long and brutal one and Betsy stayed in the thick of the action the whole way, laying hit after hit on the competition. The old car took a much as she gave. The frame never really bent, just the rear bumper started curling and the nose was pretty shredded. Betsy had lost three tires as well. Her bid to win was cut short when it came down to the final three cars and the guy driving Betsy tried an arena shot with his nose and his intended target moved and the battered Chrysler ended up perched on the barriers. I should note that Betsy was the only car still able to drive off the track under her own power.

I learned a lot about derbies in 1995. To this day, I never stop regretting not running her myself. I found myself, up until the 1999 season, extrordinarily strapped for resources and that forced me to give up a few cars that were drivable. Betsy did get me hooked for life though. That old goofy mopar was my ride during that unknown stage of my life righ after highschool when I didn't know what to do with my life and she was my ride during my first derby when I was equally clueless. It was kind of fitting.