Who could have guessed that we’d somehow survive countless hours of spray paint and glue huffing only to face an economy decades later demanding the same skill set we developed to finagle $2 model kits with 20 hours of hard labor? Sweet irony, reflected in our ultimate model of choice: the show rod.
In hindsight, we can see (with corrective lenses) that our childhood preferences were informed by a media in cahoots with manufacturers and marketing departments. But we can’t deny how deeply the hook was set. Wild show rod imagery continues to haunt the subconscious until it ultimately can’t be repressed any longer. At that point, we must lay out a show rod chassis design on the garage floor and begin flinging sparks, start collecting the show rod models of our dreams, or both. There’s no other way to continue on without going incurably insane. That’s just how it is. Alas, economics dictate which path to pursue, and many of us find ourselves on the short end of the dollar. So, which way to the hobby shop?
Luckily, we now live in an era of aging hoarders, reproduction entrepreneurs, and instant worldwide communication with both camps. The models are out there, and this book will hopefully save you some time and money in your quest to sniff them out. An informed hunter is more likely to succeed than not. And the education is actually a pretty fun ride! If there’s anything as wacky and amusing as a full-on show rod, it has to be the stories behind how they came to be chosen and modeled. Those adventures even carry over to the manufacturing and marketing of the model kits themselves.
Model cars continue to transport torches from one generation to the next. And that torch power propels them across all borders. Custom car historian Rik Hoving and eight-year-old son Abe get down to the details in the Netherlands on Ed Roth’s Revell Outlaw kit. (Esther de Charon Photo, Courtesy Rik Hoving)
Alas, history has not been kind to us researchers, as little documentation remains regarding full-scale show rods and models of the time. Manufacturer catalogs seem to have vanished with the years, leaving model kit release dates to be repeatedly shuffled to suit the agenda du jour. Many of the principals involved have passed on. And most of the survivors readily admit to memory loss. Regardless, I sleuthed on, with a little help from my friends . . . and this endeavor required enough of them to fill an entire Acknowledgments page!
MANUFACTURER CATALOGS SEEM TO HAVE
VANISHED
WITH THE YEARS
Another wrench in the works is the confounding definition of a “show rod.” In 1:1 scale, show rods are generally defined as completely scratch-built cars, intended for indoor car show display. “Scratch-built” has its own ambiguity, but is recognized in the chassis fabrication arena as referencing a totally custom-built frame, chassis, and body. There is plenty of gray area to go around, as some of the wildest show rods (Chuck Miller’s Fire Truck and Red Baron and the Bell and Trantham’s Outhouse, for example) sat on standard T-bucket chassis (which were non-stock yet still aftermarket production-line creations, often in kit form, further confusing the issue). In fact, Fire Truck even employed a production-style body (although it was scratch-built. Where do these loopholes end?).
So while show rod parameters are somewhat elastic, publishing space limitations dictate sticking to some semblance of guidelines. For the purposes of this book, the publisher and I have agreed to abide by the rules of the model kit collecting domain, where the show rod term generally pertains to scale copies of actual show rods or original concepts that could be actual show rods. Caveat: I am prone to throwing rule books out of windows. You’ve been warned.
An Illustrated History of Show Rod Modeling
Like any stars of pop culture, the show rods and their scale counterparts were worshipped, then derided, most abruptly.
Once extinct, they repeated history again, reinvented as desirable collectibles from a most unique era (again, seemingly overnight). Humans just can’t seem to stand the status quo, or resist the unobtainable.
Museums, galleries, and countless upper-crust home dens have hosted carefully presented scale displays of influential automobiles since the 1800s. Most of these downsized cars were promotional items produced by independent contractors, such as Chicago’s National Products, and released to the public via the auto manufacturers themselves. All were duly admired by a public still awestruck by the Industrial Revolution and praised in hushed tones of admiration. Classical music often set a respectful background tone for these displays.
By the 1960s, America boasted an immense army of car modelers, and most of the soldiers were content with crafting faithful reproductions of their favorite Detroit offerings, along with some European classics, selected race cars, and a plethora of military vehicles. But down in the trenches, scale hot rods of varying disciplines had begun to replace Duesenbergs and Packards in popularity, and Top 40 rock ’n’ roll was scratching its way out of transistor radios and is now the workbench soundtrack of choice. Adolescent bedrooms festooned with torn car show posters and malodorous socks replaced gallery ambiance. And many model displays enjoyed brief life expectancies, destined to violent ends at the hands of bored suburban youth with easy access to fireworks and slingshots.
A wonderfully strange and compellingly fresh take on automotive design had begun to bubble up from the grassroots level of hot rodding in the late 1950s. When factory design teams pushed themselves to accommodate corporate orders for concepts of possible (and impossible) future styling trends, rogue individuals toiling in obscure garages took note and inspiration from the results and ran with them, producing the freestyle custom cars that came to be known as show rods. Unlike Detroit’s paradigms, these “glue sniffing beatniks” (to quote my dear father) scratch-built frames, chassis, and drivetrains to fit flight-of-fancy body designs that seemingly knew no boundaries. Swaggering with the realization that, “If you can imagine it, you can build it” (Steve Scott’s words), purpose-built show cars were driven straight into America’s consciousness at full throttle.
The ensuing 1960s and 1970s, show rod models represent one of the most minuscule niches within the vast scale modeling microcosm. Yet the fervent passion of its practitioners has only thrived since the first such model was sprung on an unsuspecting public. Just which show rod model was actually the first to be released is as open to interpretation as the Holy Bible or the National Hot Rod Association (NHRA) Rule Book. As of today (2014), it’s being declared a convoluted six-way tie: Revell released its Lincoln Futura concept car kit in 1956. This was a total mind blower that ultimately achieved icon status as Batmobile.
Mike Schnur builds hot rods and muscle cars by day, then unwinds at night with some light-scale crafting. He represents a hard-core contingency who believe the Lincoln Futura to be America’s first show rod. Futura undisputedly represents early show rod ideology. Mike’s original 1956 Revell kit exudes cool futurism even today. (Photo Courtesy Mike Schnur)
But can a Detroit-built concept car also be considered a show rod? No two modelers seem capable of agreement on this. Monogram’s 1960 Black Widow and Green Hornet kits were edgy-wild for the time, but are deemed too tame by today’s standards to merit show rod status. The insane-at-the-time Ford Leva Car was kitted in 1961 and directly inspired both Ed Roth and George Barris, yet it is somehow not considered a show rod. Today’s