First Love

By Bryan Hutchinson

It is about 3:30 in the morning and I am exhausted from the grueling past 28-hour journey. My mind is in overdrive and I am pondering this question: “What car first made me fall in love?” From the beginning it was the MG—first the marque as a whole and quickly one particular ole’ girl that would meld herself into the genome of my composition.

As far back as I can remember my memories are interwoven with 20 weight Castrol, Whitworth threads and Lucas bullet connectors. My dad fell in love with the MG early in life and carried that passion through his military career, while raising our family and through many memories even to this day. Truth be told, I cannot remember a time when we didn’t have an MG or two or three sitting around. They may not have run, may not have been driven, may have only been a playground for growing boys in a fenced-in suburban backyard but nonetheless were always there. Over the course of my life I cannot think of a single time when my dad, brother or I didn’t have at least one MG.

My daughter Madison says that she stopped counting how many different cars or motorcycles I have had at 100. I don’t know what that number is, but I do know thus far I have owned 29 MGs. Bookended by a ’52 TD and an ’80 LE, the number keeps growing. All of them have great memories—like my oldest daughter Peyton standing in the seat of a beautiful burnt orange ’79 B as we went to preschool four blocks from home. Kids in the garage with 40-grit sandpaper getting them ready to paint, or on creepers with me chasing wiring shorts late at night are common memories to me.

A couple of years ago Robert (brother), Karen (wife) and I did a frame-off restoration on a ’62 MKII. I feel pride every time I see a picture of her on Facebook, knowing that the new keeper of the keys is lovingly cherishing her. Maggie, our ’73 MGB, has provided over 70,000 miles of memories in the 20-plus years she has been around, including winning the Moss Motoring Challenge and proposing to Karen on a long cross country trip. Indeed MGs have come and gone and thus far only one has been given the not-for-sale-don’t-ask-or-offer status. I am always happy when they come my way and happy when they go to new homes, never regretting when they pull out of my drive.

Except once.

The car that made me fall in love was a 1970 MGB that my dad owned. It was the car that transformed me into the gearhead I am today. I never drove it to school, never took it on a date and, with the exception of adding wood blocks to the pedals for a sneak trip down the road, I have never even driven it. Yet this car had a magical effect on me.

It came into our lives when I was in 5th grade. A freckle-faced, long haired and puny elementary school kid, I didn’t understand the importance of the car. At first it was just cool, loud and not something any of my friends had. Her skin was two-toned orange and white, her Minilite wheels and Goodyear tires were tucked up deep inside of her flared fenders. The pad was missing from her roll bar and a big “10ep” was emblazoned on her doors. You see, this old MG was not like any of the others we had ever owned and the enjoyment she would bring would not be on the prairie lined roads of North Texas. This car from birth was a purebred racer. She was lean, full of venom and bore a historic pedigree. Life changed that moment I first saw her and I officially became a gearhead.

Her story started in 1968, before she was born. I am researching now, but here is what I know thus far. British Leyland had just purchased MG from British Motoring Company and brought the marque under a larger brand. The shuffle led to the cancellation of the factory sponsored MG race team. In mid 1969, British Leyland began the process of creating factory supported race teams in England and here in the USA. In all, it is believed that nine cars were designated by MG to be exported and shared with three teams here in the states.

Gene Fisher was a prominent fixture in the British car world. Among his other dealings, Mr. Fisher owned Overseas Motors Corporation and was the southwestern US distributor for British Leyland Motors bringing many of the Jaguars, MGs and other marques to the states. Moreover, his 1966-1968 fielding of the Purple People Eaters (1965 Austin Coopers) proved successful, winning three consecutive American Road Race of Champions National Championships. He was a natural choice to receive the first group of cars.

And so it started. The cars were shipped in January 1970 to the Port of Houston where Overseas Motors took possession and immediately began the process of building the team. All three cars, with factory support, were treated to Huffaker chassis and suspension work, fully-built engines and a host of other unique tricks. Capped off with the famed white and gold paint schemes, the cars took to the track in time for the 1970 Southwest Region’s National Series where the team captured the championship. Wayne Rutherford went on to Road Atlanta for the first SCCA National Championship but failed to finish the race. In 1971 Carlos Garza became the driver of this MG while McDaniel and Rutherford fielded the other two cars. The team continued to see success in 1971 finishing 1-2-3 in the Southwest region championships.

It is here that the story of this old MG takes a twist. In June of 1973 Fisher donated the racer to the Northwood Institute of Texas, a small college in Cedar Hill. The college was one of only four in the country with its own race program. The car remained at Northwood until the mid-1970s when it was bought by Les Conner and returned to the SCCA circuit. He raced her on and off until 1983 when it came to live with us.

The day it came home, I knew life would be different. I soon began to understand that weekends in the creeks and woods would be replaced with long drives to different tracks throughout the southwest USA. Surreal. I learned how to wrench. I learned what tire pressure does and how to maximize grip. I learned what a properly tuned engine sounds like and how engine timing can be adjusted to free up power at high RPM. I experienced rattlesnakes in our tents and jack rabbits on the banks of Texas World Speedway. I enjoyed fast laps in the pace car driven by Paul Newman around Hallett Motor Speedway. Years later, I came to understand my mom’s jealousy of that. I saw grown men cry and withdraw from races in south Louisiana after eating too many Tobacco boiled crawfish. Good and bad, fun and difficult, I grew into a gearhead with that old car.

My dad campaigned her in the SCCA series winning both Southwest Regional and Southwest National championships in 1985 and 1986. One of the sister cars reportedly made its way to Canada where it was destroyed. Glen Popejoy totaled the other car in a racing incident somewhere around 1984. My dad continued to run as he could afford to. His last race in the car was in 1988 at the Grand Prix of Dallas Vintage Race. It was there that Wayne Rutherford found the car and my dad. After exchanging stories and reminiscing, Wayne autographed the door. The car was loaded on its trailer never to be raced again.

For years, my parents worked to keep the car around. Though she wasn’t on the track anymore, there was always hope. It survived a trip to California and a couple of more to Illinois. In 1998 my dad gifted the car to me. My grandiose plans were to return it to its former glory. I was young with a young family and eventually diapers and a mortgage collided with dreams. A fellow from North Carolina drove across the country with an old trailer, paid me for the car and she was gone. As she turned left out of my yard, I felt my heart sink. Physical pain took control of my gut and I knew she was gone.

As I continue pondering the question of first love, life has changed. In the 16 years since I parted ways with that car my girls have grown into amazing women. I remarried and three more children fill my heart with pride. My career has changed and luck, coupled with hard work and divine grace has brought me some vocational success. My love for cars has only grown and with each one I obtain, each story that is shared, each gearhead that I meet I find myself feeling richer and fuller. While I still regret selling that old MG, it no longer haunts me. Where once I would be woken from my sleep dreaming about it, I am now at rest. As Paul Harvey would so eloquently say: And now, the rest of the story.

In 2004, I began looking for that car. Not that I could do anything about it, but I just had to know. The internet was gaining steam and blogs, chat rooms and Facebook started taking the place of our front porches and barber shops. People who had a story to tell, would share it for the world to see. One day, I found such a story. It was from a man in North Carolina who was looking for any history that could be found on the “Overseas Motors MGBs.” My attention was caught. Blog after blog and site after site I began hunting. I would find a name, then a phone number or address, write a letter and mail it off. Sometimes I would get a response, mostly my requests went unanswered. That changed in 2013 when sitting on the porch on my first night in a new small house, I found a link that led to a forum that led to an email that led to the car. It was safe, secure, radically changed but with most of the original parts. It was tucked away in a barn in south Florida under the care of a gentleman racer and his wife.

So here I am, exhausted yet wide awake. For three and a half years I have been working to get her back. On Saturday afternoon the gentleman racer and I came to an agreement. I left at 5:00 pm on Sunday afternoon, drove all night and most of the day to get to her. When I saw the Firestone rain tire, I knew her instantly. She has changed since I remember her last, shedding fender flares, gaining a roll cage, losing all of her paint. I peeked in at the through-bored SU carbs. I picked up the seat we hand made to fit my dad’s frame. I held the front valance that I helped make some 30 years ago in an old shop where I learned to wrench. Yep. It’s her. My first love.

Tonight, she is on my trailer and again I am her keeper of the keys. Two days from now she starts the road to recovery and I think if I can keep it secret long enough, she will make a grand reentry to public eyes at a Texas MG event just in time for my Dad and Mom’s 50th wedding anniversary. I will let you know how it goes.