As he had promised Lepone at the very beginning of their relationship, Jenkins quit, too, and sold the outfit to Bob Panella in 1983. Bill was retained to tend the car during practice sessions and baby sit at national events, but that all proved frustrating. He couldn’t see beyond the mule in front of him. His heart wasn’t in it and the situation was exacerbated by the very width of the continent—he in Pennsylvania, Panella in northern California. Perhaps for the first time Bill realized that his former life was over and that he’d have to accommodate things he wouldn’t have dreamed about when he was The Grump. All the while, the performance of Lepone’s car equaled that of the Panella/Jenkins combine. Like a car magazine editor who, after decades of humping, all of a sudden has no magazine. What the hell happens now? Ex-editor or Bill Jenkins, it didn’t matter—neither could quit what had become their reasons for life. Regardless, Lepone and Jenkins continued to communicate.
In early summer of ’85, Joe bought a Don Ness Camaro to foster his big idea. Though the thought had occurred many times before, the joining of forces would probably work now that he’d proven himself under fire. Lepone had developed a healthy approach to life, striving to balance body, spirit, and mind, and applied this ethic to drag racing. The idea was to marry Bill’s 27 years of experience (and his factory connections) with Joe’s immutable self-confidence and enthusiasm.
They pooled resources, looking to disprove things with positive ideas and constructive criticism, operating under the assumption that knowing what not to do saved precious time. In Lepone’s estimation, the association wouldn’t have been as smooth as is it was if not for Joe Tryson. “Nothing escapes him in preparation,” said Lepone. “And not having to worry about that made my job so much easier.” NOTE: Around ’92, Tryson left Jenkins Competition to work in Moroso’s Winston Cup facilities as an engine builder. He’s since moved on and up, but there’s no doubt that his role at Jenkins Competition was critical to its success.
The combination was stout enough to take runner-up at Phoenix. In late summer of ’85, Jenkins Competition built a 500ci engine for Lepone’s Camaro. Joe was runner-up at the Fallnationals and powered on to win the World Finals a few weeks later. It was a real victory for him and a psychological one for Bill. A few months later, Lepone set Low ET (7.51) in the cool, crisp Pomona air.
All the while, and despite what you may have heard about the dragstrip being the ultimate dynamometer, Jenkins preferred the latter method most of the time because it ensured a quick return of information and it saved equipment and after his Pro Stock program went on the skids in the late ‘80s, he focused again on research and development for Chevy’s 90-degree V6 program. He also did little-block V8s for Division 1 Comp Eliminator racers, and when the small-block Pro Stock Truck series exploded in the early ‘90s, our man Bill was The Man. He thrived. He built motors that won championships for Larry Kopp. When NHRA summarily dropped the series, Bill went back to doing Pro Stock big-blocks for Mark Pawuk, Dave Connolly, and others. Virginian Jim Yates, currently fourth in Pro Stock standings, is the one firing Bill’s bullets now.
You see him hard by the drag strip, awful red shirt, crumpled fishing hat, hide-behind-‘em shades, cigar stub smoldering, making notes, poring into the starting line as if to see through it. That’s what Bill has done for more than fifty years. He watches the way other cars leave, scuffs the asphalt with his shoe, and goes back to his tune-up logs looking for a cross reference, one that might have been made many races ago. The track is Jenkins’ inner sanctum, so you do not utter much more than a grunt to him while he’s at work. You gotta hand it to Bill. Most drag racers his age would dispense orders from remote, air-conditioned confines, working the car via high speed communication. Being there is the only way he knows how to manage it. You can’t scuff a starting line through a computer screen. The man is clearly from a different time.
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Troy Coughlin’s Primo
