A real life "American Graffiti" drag race

In 1971 My family moved from San Francisco California to Lebanon, Missouri. This happened because my dad was from Missouri, and his mother and a lot of brothers and cousins lived near Fort Leonard Wood. My dad was an expert mechanic and a lifelong gearhead. He loved Pontiacs. During my growing up years he had a 1959 Catalina with the Tri-Power 389, a 1964 GTO, and a 1965 2+2 with the Tri-Power 421. He worked in a Chevy dealership in California where he got a reputation as a carburator expert. People with Tri-power Pontiacs, and Tri-power 427 Vettes came from miles around to have him tune their cars. The legendary Dino Fry said there was no one better at tuning multiple carbs than my dad. Guys with Hemi and Six-Pack Mopars started coming to this Chevy Dealer to have my old man jet their carbs and tune their ignition. He carried this heavy rep with him when we moved to Missouri. He went to work at Lindsay Chevrolet in Lebanon, and soon word was out as far away as Springfield about the "Wizard of Lindsay Chevrolet."  Gearheads from all over brought their cars to my old man. For a small town, I guess because of the many farming communities around it, Lebanon had quite a street racing scene in the early '70's. The early '70's was when Interstate 40 and Interstate 44 bypassed the legendary Route 66. Every Friday night just outside town, on "Old 66" people would congregate and the racing would be on. The King of the Lebanon Street racing scene was a 20 ish guy nicknamed "Little Orris." He was actually about 6 ft tall, but his father's name was Orris, so this childhood moniker stuck to him. Everyone who had a hot rod feared "Little Orris." He worked at the same dealer my dad did. He drove a 1966 SS396 Chevelle. This Chevelle had a solid-lifter L78 396 under the hood backed by a Muncie 4-speed and a 4.11 geared 12 bolt posi. The buildup to the big race started innocently enough one Friday when Orris blew the doors off a 1969 Hemi Road Runner. The Road Runner driver protested that his car was pinging and not running properly. Arrogant little King that he was, Orris told the Road Runner driver to have my dad tune his car up and come and try again. The Mopar man took this advice. I remember my dad admonishing the guy. "Whether its a Hemi, or a Six-pack or a Vette or a GTO, none of you idiots can leave well enough alone." "As soon as the car fouls a plug, you start screwing around with the carburators." "Pretty soon it won't even start, much less run decent." The guy took the tongue lashing and said, "Ok. How much is it going to cost me to shut Little Orris' big mouth?" Dad told him to come back after closing time. The manager was a gearhead who had been stomped on by Orris, and allowed my dad to use the scope, the Sun distributor machine and the infrared exhaust analyzer after-hours. That way him and my old man could split the money, instead of having to charge the guy the daytime dealership rate. The three of them worked on the Road Runner from 6 pm to almost midnight. I'll never forget the final test drive down I-44. ( I was in the backseat ). The driver punched it at the bottom of the on-ramp, and lit the tires up. The dual AFBs roared like a lion,and we were rocketing forward. The Torqueflite hit second, and the car hip-faked a little sideways, and smoked the tires for another 75-100 feet. The car hit third and laid another 8-10 feet of rubber. I couldn't beleive it. My dad's GTO was fast, but this thing was ungodly. It just kept pulling on that mountain of torque like a locomotive. Finally, the driver and my dad and his pal the service manager agreed that he should let off before the tires came apart, because it was obvious the Big Hemi was not going to run out of power! The Road Runner driver paid my dad more than he'd asked for. "This thing never ran that good, not even when it was brand-new!"  The following Friday night the Road Runner driver went looking for Orris. Orris and the Chevelle beat him off the line, but at the top of second gear, the Hemi caught him, and then passed him. Beating the "King" by a good two car lengths. The exultant Plymouth driver taunted the dejected Orris. "Thanks for the tip." "Your mechanic did a great job."  Orris' brother had a 1970 Plymouth GTX with a 440 Six-Pack, a 4-speed and a 4.10 Dana 60. Orris decided to fight a Mopar with a Mopar. He borrowed his brother's car, had my dad tune the carbs and the ignition, and then challenged the Hemi Road Runner driver again. Word spread quickly among the gearhead community that "Orris has a new car, and he just had the "Wizard" tune it, and he's going to crush that guy in the green hemi Road Runner."  That Friday night hundreds of people lined both sides of the road near the 1/4 mile stretch that had been marked off the deserted section of old 66 that everyone knew about. The local Police figured they might as well avoid a problem, and instead of trying to stop the race, they closed the road to ensure no old lady would dawdle into the race and cause a tragedy. Since my dad had tuned both cars, we were there. The two cars lined up, and just like in the movies the "Flagger" stood between the cars and turned a flashlight on. Orris was an artist with a 4-speed. The GTX came off the line with very little wheelspin, just enough to get the engine up on its torque curve. Even with an automatic, the Hemi Road Runner lit the tires up allowing the GTX to jump ahead. You could hear Orris powershifting at the redline. Crack! Second gear. Crack! third gear. But the Hemi came on strong in the mid-range and pulled even. Crack! Orris hit 4th. Everyone was jumping up and down and screaming. They roared across the finish line, the Hemi ahead by half the length of the front fender. Orris demanded that they go 2 out of three, and the Road Runner driver agreed that being that close, 2 out of three was the best way to settle it. But the local Police had seen enough. Their was too many people on and around the road to let them go again. The cops told everyone to go home or get tickets and or go to jail. Everyone left. For years after people speculated on whether or not the GTX could have beat the Road Runner, but the rematch never happened. However my dad's legend as a tuner certainly grew from this. To hear people tell it today, their was thousands of people lining the road, and tens of thousands of dollars were bet on it. Funny how tales grow taller every time their told. However, I was there at this real-life "American Graffiti" drag race. Matermind