Though he continued to make his flat rate every day at another Olds store in Wayne, his nights were full of moonlight. Eventually, the tune-up business consumed him. It put him on the map and had taught him about life in a way that he could not have learned in school. Jenkins’ inquisitiveness, persistence, and thoughtful, intelligent questions along with his ability of total recall, formed the corners of his foundation. By ’58, he’d realized that Detroit was in the initial throes of its dynasty of speed and he was at the epicenter of a phenomenon ready to blow its lid.
But in those days drag racing ran a very poor second. Virtually all references to the gloriousness of speed (other than the Indy 500) were attached to NASCAR and a stock car racing vein. The engine of the day was about 350 cubic inches and used a four-barrel carburetor. Optional tri-power carbs stood in a row, lining the engine like the portholes on a Buick fender, waiting for the eventual drag racer. Detroit was creating a new market based on self-sustaining high performance fed by racing and by selling street replicas of race cars as the epitome of brand loyalty.
In July 1959, young Dave Strickler brought his 315 horsepower tri-power Biscayne to Bill’s shop on Route 30, marking an auspicious occasion. He liked what Bill did so much that he brought him a 350 hp version for the full treatment a few months later. A year later, the two formed their famous partnership and began racing the first of the “Old Reliable” cars out of Ammon R. Smith Chevrolet in York, PA. It was a sure thing because Dave was married to Ammon’s daughter Susie.
The synergy between Strickler and Jenkins was capitol. Bill’s engine prowess and mystique and Dave’s good racing sense and preternatural reflexes made them the biggest Super Stock draw in the East. Chevy racers Don Nicholson and Hayden Profitt were big shooters, too, but hung out on the West Coast. Soon the rivalry became a national one. Though there was both overt and clandestine factory involvement in drag racing it was more about saving face than politics--obviously the last pure moments in the history of stock-body drag racing.
Jenkins’ involvement with racing didn’t do a thing to improve his tune-up business, which was already breaking down the walls. His single-lift dispensary was now quite outmoded. In 1961, Jenkins Competition leased the back bay of Ollie’s Sunoco on Route 30 in Berwyn. The stable included their national record-holding ’61 360 hp 409 Biscayne, a bubble-top 409/409 Bel-Air, the ’62 409/425 Impala Sport Coupe (raced in FX), and the lightweight dodger ’63 427/430 Z11 hardtop. The Z11 Impala remains his favorite. Jenkins adored it. He rolls a cigar around in his mouth and puffs mightily. “It was awesome.”
Jenkins brought an end to his cottage-industry racing. Chevrolet had been good to him, but in 1963 The General announced that all motor racing activities would be indefinitely taboo. The back door was nearly closed but if you were the right guys, clandestine parts were out on the street. The season had been outstanding and the association with Smith just as good, but Strickler and Jenkins couldn’t ignore the fragrance of a factory racing budget.
Jenkins had had some late season success with Max Wedge Dodges, Bud Faubel’s “Honker” among them. Frank Wylie had been paying close attention to the pranksters from Nowhere, Pennsylvania, and as the Dodge racing boss, he lured Bill and Dave, as well as Faubel, over to his camp with nine A/FX race cars. The following year, Bill was hard pressed to change his livelihood. He quit tuning engines and raced for money. But in 1965, the Fates had another idea. “Strickler got the deal. I bought a Hemi, prepared it (with Al Joniec and Tony Pizzi) and drove for the first time at a NHRA national event. I never wanted to drive at all…it just proved (to be) an end.” 
To be continued ...
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Shannon Jenkins Race Shop Tour
Dale Wilson's People
