I learned about loss and the pain of its after-effects in the deaths of FF racers Scott Harvey (in a twin engine airplane crash months after I enjoyed a wild flight out of West Palm Beach with Scott and his friend/mentor Bruce MacInnes); Tom Stewart (in a Formula Atlantic accident at Lime Rock); Gordon Smiley (IndyCar, Indianapolis), Gilles Villeneuve (F1, Zolder), Jeff Krosnoff (IndyCar, Toronto); and in the terrible FF accidents which badly injured my close friends Gordon Medenica (also at Lime Rock) and Michael Jordan (at Laguna Seca).

Amazingly given the intensity and number of drivers, cars, and races, fatalities in Formula Ford have been rare. Praying that holds true as so many 40-50-year-old FFs return to the fray in vintage racing,

I learned about the rewards of genius and the perils of lust — both — from the Lola T-340/2. The “genius” was in the design and marketing of a very forgiving race car in which anyone except those who stiffened its chassis could get up to speed quickly, featuring a drop-dead gorgeous fiberglass (if the T-340 was stunning then I have no adjective for the subsequent 342) and fair price.

As for “lust” … well, Lolas always had “it”; late U.S. importer Carl Haas always understood how to market “it”; and as much as we loathed wrenching on them — all those miserable small tubes, tabs and ear attachments points — we loved looking at them, sitting in them and (sadly for me it was only twice) driving them.

Whenever I hear the words “Formula Ford,” I first picture a T-342. Red. Fresh out of the Carl Haas Automobiles crate. Parked in a puddle of drool.

Ahem.

As with humility, I learned much of what I now understand about generosity from Formula Ford and could bore you with an endless number off stories: Dave and Sherrie Weitzenhof in the motorhome they shared with Tim Evans offering food, parts, expertise … anything and everything (except race victories which Dave and Tim selfishly kept for themselves). Engine builder Joe Stimola helping out rival New York tuner Fran Larkin in a crunch — and vice versa. Rich guys buying meals, gas and tires for broke guys who beat them. Broke guys sharing their last sandwich or tube of Hylomar with other broke guys.

There was as much a generosity of “spirit” in FF as of “things” and my mentor, journalist Gordon Kirby, taught me as much about that as anyone, investing huge chunks of time showing me the ropes of the income-producing slices of the word biz, introducing me to so many of the Big Names he’d come to know as friends in his tenure as North America correspondent for Autosport — Doug Shierson, Mario Andretti, Alan Jones.

And Paul Pfanner, via his publications FORMULA, California Sports Car, SportsCar, and ultimately RACER, fanning the embers of FF enthusiasm to new peaks, boundlessly generous along the way, helping countless writers, photographers, drivers and mechanics scratch a living out of motor racing.

Nor will I ever forget the life lessons learned from Jeremy Shaw, the British import hired to take my job at On Track magazine and give it legitimacy (R.I.P. both that mag and that great job), a writer whose appreciation for FF surpassed even mine and Kirby’s (if not Pfanner’s), and still the only guy I’ve met so keen to race he would own a FF with its engine in the wrong place.

(Remember the Mallock?)

Jeremy has invested in the careers of, what, 50? young American drivers through the Team USA Scholarship which he created, found funding for, and has overseen since 1990, West Coast FF stars Jimmy Vasser and Bryan Herta his first two “finds”.

The second Team USA Scholarship winner, Bryan Herta, tries on a Lanan-prepped Reynard FF amidst a crowd of notable onlookers including Jeremy Shaw (standing, cap and blue jacket) and RACER’s Paul Pfanner (next to Shaw, brown shirt).

His chosen are awarded the prize of entry in the BRSCC Formula Ford Festival and Walter Hayes Trophy in top-flight modern FF1600s, the UK staying faithful to the Kent Ford engine which itself has been given new life — another story.

I learned about perseverance from a lot of guys in Formula Ford, beginning with John Herne (with whom I got to share a 16F) — attending college; selling blood for food money; and dreaming about racing FF in England. Eventually, Herne would do so, spending a season in UK FF2000, his dream becoming reality as it would for so many, courtesy FF’s accessibility, if not affordability.

Bruce MacInnes taught me much about perseverance as well: He was the NEDiv superstar when I first showed up at Lime Rock in my Toyota station wagon (I pretended “Corona” was Japanese for “Winnebago” and lived in the thing for nearly a year), shiny new FORMULA magazine press card in hand. Once he’d coughed up the money for a Winkelmann, Bruce probably never again had more than about two nickels to spend on racing, but you never knew it as the entourage surrounding his Stimola Race Prep Zink grew to rockstar size, Ted Wenz stuck babysitting Seymour Chicken, and Bruce, many hard dream-busting years later, emerging the best of the best Skip Barber Racing School instructors.

Formula Ford, like real life, was all about winning, but along the way it taught me there is more to winning than just getting to the checkered flag first — no discounting the latter, of course.

So many FF races, so many winners, most in my mind now a blur (I can no longer remember all the CSPRRC FF winners in chronological order without Googling), but two wins and two races stand out, and I will bring a blessed halt to these ramblings with these.

Both race wins I remember so vividly today, decades after the fact, involve Brian Goodwin. That you’ve never heard of Maine’s best-ever road racer is a reminder of early FF’s harshest reality: Moving up and out required an all-consuming commitment; and Goodwin — businessman; family man; man of faith (now a Jesus follower, who has in the years since guided me and my family down that same road) — chose not to make it.

In the late ’70s, I worked in his restaurant and on his Lola and Crossles, furthering my reputation as the worst FF mechanic in U.S. history despite tutelage by one of the best, the late Chris Wallach (who had been David Loring’s wrench). Despite my lack of skill, Goodwin still won races and two remain active highlight reels in my over-burdened memory: One was at Summit Point in a monsoon, Brian and Chip Ganassi (yes, the Chip Ganassi, a terrific FF driver) lapping the rest of the 35-car field en route to a 1-2 finish.

The second was at Road America in a pro race (Was it an AFFA race? Can’t remember) by the thickness of paint, crossing the line four abreast after an epic, race-long battle featuring Goodwin’s Crossle, Citation-Zink’s Dave Weitzenhof and Tim Evans, William “Fox” Henderson’s Crossle, and several other FF luminaries in one of the hairiest races I’ve ever watched.

(Not the hairiest: That was the AFFA Pro FF race on the concrete-lined NASCAR oval at Dover.)

Most frightening FF race ever? MacInnes leads Evans and Weitzenhof to the checkered, a Zink Z-10 1-2-3 at Dover. Image by Leigh Fosberry

A lot of Wisconsin grass was torn up on that day at Road America. Any one of those four guys could have won. Goodwin did on that day.

Forty years later — 50 years since the first proper FF race in the U.S. — the memories of hundreds of individual races are long turned to dust. So hard tracking down results. But the lessons about life?

Well … all I ever really needed to know I learned in Formula Ford.

Happy 50th.

(Most of this story first appeared in the race program for the FF 40th anniversary event, held 10 years ago at, coincidentally, Road America. Not from FF but New Englander transplanted 40 years ago to California, I’ve been thoroughly schooled on recycling. – SN)