[Roger Vincent]

He seemed to be a reincarnate rock star. He stood erect and straight as an iron pole belying his 76 years. People jostled for a closer look. Cameras videotaped; cameras snapped. They placed homage glove boxes in front of him for a signature. “Mr. Bondurant would you mind….Mr. Bondurant could I please…Mr. Bondurant what was your impression of the GT40…Tell us about your victory at LeMans in the Cobra….,” The questions were endless and the satisfaction on his face was one that is rarely seen on some other period icons. He charged no fee for his signatures, he was polite, courteous, and offered any number of anecdotes free for the asking. “You know I took that GT40 down the straight at LeMans achieving a top speed of 212! It was the third fastest qualifying time in 1964. Did you know I gave some of the first high speed driving lessons to James Garner, Tom Cruise, and Paul Newman? No? I did. I found actors to be some of my best students. They studied my every move, how I shifted, how I used my feet, where my eyes where looking. They wanted me to drive first for about 45 minutes before they took the wheel. They were and are really good competitive drivers on the track.”

I tentatively approached him along with the rest of the worshipers during an autograph signing moment, “Mr. Bondurant, how would you like to drag race an SPF Cobra down main street?” Looking me over, and looking momentarily for the car he said quite excitedly, “I would love to do that! Where’s it parked?” I pointed down the block and said, “It’s sitting there in the corner in the shade with the door open and the keys in the ignition.” He quickly turned from the autograph seekers who were still holding their pens glaring at me. He set off at a pace that I struggled to match. When we got to the car I began to wonder if he could still drive and if he would have difficulty lowering himself into the cockpit. With one swift single action he was in the seat, strapping down waiting for me to open the passenger door. I fumbled entry and embarrassedly explained that I “rarely ever got into that side of the car.” He said, “Where is the ignition?” I pointed. He asked why it wasn’t starting. I said I didn’t know. Then he moved the gear lever into neutral and it fired with a nice roar. He grinned. Revving the engine he said, “What’s it got in it?” I said it was a 427. Then added quickly, “Windsor.” To my delight he said, “That’s a wonderful combination, high horsepower, and low weight.” I responded, “Yeah, that’s what I thought…” I pretended to be more knowledgeable than I was.

By now the crowd is beginning to recognize the icon behind a Cobra moving toward the starting line. The event staff waved us to the front of the line, passing a disappointed civilian who seemed to understand the ownership icon issue facing him. There was no way in hell he was going to take my place, no sir. Not today. As we pulled onto the starting line cameras began, pictures were made, and everyone waited to see what the old man could do. With a wave of the hand from the starter Bondurant feathered the clutch and accelerator just as wheel spin began to occur and then nailed it when he felt them hook. A master craftsman at work. He snatched second, changed just before the rev limiter kicked in, and grabbed third never missing a beat. He leaned over and said, “This is one hell of a fine Cobra, it has great horse power and I love the engine.” I beamed from ear to ear, satisfied that my investment in engines had not been for nothing. Then I realized he was a gentleman. Still, it’s a nice thing to hear from a legend. Making our way back I said, “Want to do it again?” Without hesitation we made a second pass, this time seven miles per hour faster than the first. He said one more pass and he would have it nailed. But others were now waiting for him to drive their cars since they had seen him drive his first Cobra for the day. Just before he exited the car, I said, “You know of course Bob, now that you have driven this car you must leave your signature.” He reached for his silver permanent marker and said, “I came prepared.” He leaned over and wrote his name on the glove box. When I got back to my crowd I showed the signature to my ride-along nephew who exclaimed, “Damn, you let some guy write on your car?”

I wrote this for the Kentucky Cobra Club and is on their web site. BTW, if anyone reads this who took pictures or video of Bob's first run of the day (in my SPF), could you please contact me? Thanks, Roger