Blackie is the name; speed is the game. This is my story.

I am a 1938 Buick Century Sport Coupe – black in color with beige mohair upholstery. I was known as a bankers’ hot rod in my pre war days.

My first owner, August R. Hawthorne II, AKA “Augie” by his friends and revenuers alike, was, simply put – a rather shady character. He purchased me new in Spokane, Washington in November of ’37 for the sole purpose of bringing Canadian spirits across the border. A plus was my ability to elude the law in their fast, for the short run, Fords. No car, save a Duesy, could keep up with my 320 cubes and 390 rear end. Being a Sport Coupe I have dual spares on my fenders and a large trunk -- all the better to stow cases of hooch disguised as farm machinery. Usually trips were uneventful but I could be called upon to run up to 100 mph as the Buick factory advertised. Century means 100, of course.
This activity went on through the war years, as Augie was always able to get petrol in Canada during our “machinery” runs. I lived a pampered life --garaged during the day, making our living at night. The advantage of my black paint color was obvious. Augie knew the roads so well, I usually ran with the lights off. By the late forties, Augie made enough to retire to Florida and sold me.

I entered a new life, Drag Races! My new owner, Steve, lightened my load by removing my spares and fitted me with a 1941 dual-carb setup. Now we could pull low 16’s and easily blow everybody off the road. Steve treated me great, regular oil changes, tune-ups, and the best tires. It did bother me about the pink slip challenges on weekends, but we never let each other down. During the ‘60s the muscle cars came on the scene and Steve announced my second retirement.

I spent a decade hibernating without baths or oil changes in a barn outside of Loon Lake, Washington, always longing for the good old days with Augie and Steve. Then one day in 1973, I was sold in a package deal that brought me to Salem, Oregon. My tires were bald, paint was faded, and my 320 cubes felt like 50. I got the works: paint, upholstery, and a Bob Pipkin rebuilt engine. Soon, like Cousin Willy sings, I was “on the road again”.

I guess I’m sort of a senior citizen now, but still could do 100 if called upon. We have this silly 55 mph rule and $3.00 gas so my owner only takes me to tours, shows, and grocery runs. Not bad, considering most of my brothers wound up in wrecking yards and were recycled into Toyotas!