The Isky Roadster

In a single word, the Isky Roadster is--different. And it's about as subtle as Dolly Parton slung in a WonderBra. Just look at the old crate. Its wide--and I mean wide--whitewall tires are mismatched front to rear, the black paint is reminiscent of the original lacquer that Henry's boys sprayed on in '24, the maroon (at least it appears to be maroon)leather interior is ripped and faded, and the engine! Any rodder today not familiar with the early flathead ware on the Isky Roadster could be excused if they concluded the V-8 to be some early OHV attempt by Detroit. Or maybe the French. Or both.

Despite its rough edges, it's also fair to point out that the old roadster is essentially the same 1924 Model T that Ed Iskenderian--who still owns the car today, I might add--built as a hot rod in 1940. That includes many of the same once-shiny parts that, 60 years later, now appear to be finished in equal parts of rust and chrome. Patina is the operative word that some enthusiasts use to describe this sort of jaded appearance. And, given that acclaim, the Isky Roadster has enough patina to fill an antique shop.

However, above all else, the Isky Roadster is packed with charisma and charm. It's the quintessential hot rod roadster, one that has survived the test of time, serving as a direct link to rodding's roots for every Tom, Dick, and Harry to have built a street rod during the past few decades.

In truth you can throw all the disparaging adjectives that you want at the Isky Roadster, but you still won't chink its tarnished armor. This car is a legend. It's rolling history, a been-there-done-that icon that any street rod builder today worth his billet and plastic repops should revere with awe and respect. The story behind the Isky Roadster dates back to the days even before America entered World War II. As near as Iskenderian recalls, he acquired the car in 1938. Today, if you ask the Camfather himself, he'll tell you it was 1940 that he actually got the car rolling with its V-8 power.

Starting at the beginning, though, you should know that Isky originally purchased the car from his buddy John Athan, who had built it into a hot rod--or soup job, as hot rods were known back then--a few years before selling it to Iskenderian. Athan, who later gained fame as the builder and owner of the '29 A-V8 that became known as the Elvis Car (because it appeared in the Elvis Presley movie Loving You), sold the Model T to his friend "because I didn't want a hot rod with a tractor motor anymore," as he put it. In translation, Athan was ready to step up to a hot rod with a V-8 engine, and the little T frame wasn't sufficient for such an endeavor. On the flip side, any car would satisfy Isky at the time, so he plopped down his four bucks, and the Model T was his.

The deal actually solidified their friendship, and today Athan and Iskenderian remain best of friends, frequenting Southern California rod runs and happenings together. Moreover, the two old hot rodders still cajole and behave like a couple of giddy teenage boys who love cars, coming across like a senior citizen's version of Mutt and Jeff. Athan is the tall and lanky one, Isky the short guy with the barrel chest and a big smile who still packs cigars as if the smoke and cinders themselves lend to his youthful vitality.

But I digress. This story is about Isky's T and V-8. And it was in 1940 that Iskenderian wrestled a '32 Ford 21-stud V-8 from the wrecking yard and shoehorned it between the Essex framerails that he adapted to his new roadster. Eventually the engine's parts manifest would include Jahns pistons (at 13:1 compression!), a Vertex magneto (only after a Zephyr was tried), and an Edelbrock manifold (a two-pot Navarro was initially used) supporting a trio of Stromberg 97 carbs.

Perhaps the most recognizable addition would also become the car's signature feature: the Maxi "F" cylinder heads, a semi-overhead valve conversion that sprang forth during the late '30s. Originally, the Maxi heads were intended for commercial trucks to improve engine cooling, but Isky the hot rodder knew of a better use--in his car. The Maxi head conversion featured overhead exhaust valves that were better jacketed by the cooling water. The intake valves remained in the block, thus allowing use of the Navarro, and later Edelbrock manifolds.

Naturally, today the motor's valvetrain utilizes an Iskenderian camshaft, but in 1940 Isky followed the lead of most other young hot rodders and relied on Ed Winfield for the cam stick. As for the remainder of the drivetrain, he stuffed a '39 Ford Top Loader transmission with Zypher gears, looped it into the drivetrain ahead of a late-model Ford rearend that was positioned by a '32 spring, then headed out to the desert for some dry lakes racing fun. Eventually--on May 5, 1942, to be exact, as indicated on the Western Timing dash plague that to this day remains on the car's Auburn dashboard--the Isky Roadster set a top speed of 120 mph at El Mirage. Not bad, then or now.

The body and interior as they appear today were actually finished after Isky's discharge from military service in World War II. Armed with a wad of cash, he called on a guy named Jimmy Summers to smooth the Model T's body. Summers, it turns out, was rather well known among Southern California hot rodders during the '40s, maintaining a reputation as a guy who did quality work. As Isky puts it today, "He was a real hot-shot in those days."

Among the car's body modifications was the unusual grille shell, formed from the top halves of a '33 or '34 Pontiac radiator shell (Isky can't recall exactly which year). Summers also cut down the back of the '24 body about 3 inches and trimmed its edge with a stainless steel strip to help secure the upholstery. Laddie Jerbeck laid out the leather upholstery, and it was about that time that Isky sought a new Clay Smith camshaft for his engine. As the story goes, Smith couldn't supply him with a new race cam because demand was critically high among the rodding crowd, so Isky took it upon himself to concoct his own cam grinding tool. With no real knowledge of how a camshaft should be built, he began whittling on a stick, and after several aborted attempts, eventually got it right. The rest, as they say, is history, and thus was born Iskenderian Racing Cams.

But back to the Isky Roadster. By 1948 the car was looking pretty good. It was among the top hot rods in Southern California, leading to its selection as the cover car for the sixth-ever issue of Hot Rod Magazine. It's worth pointing out, too, that the radiator ornament on the car today didn't find its way onto the modified Pontiac radiator until after the car appeared in Hot Rod. According to Isky, he had built the winged-skull ornament in industrial arts class while attending Long Beach Poly High School before the war. Today, he points to the cast aluminum piece with pride, stating proudly that he made it himself more than 60 years ago.

For that matter, not much else has changed on the roadster during the past few decades. It still rides on the same 16-inch Kelsey-Hayes wheels shod with wide-whitewall tires, and the headlights remain perched atop the same stanchions that Iskenderian and Athan built for the car before World War II. Understandably, Isky hasn't changed the engine's valve covers that bear his name, either. The valve covers were specially cast--the original Maxi conversion used two short valve covers per side--for his engine, and then Isky etched his name in script for a personalized touch.

The car earned its own nickname, too: La Cucaracha, meaning cockroach in Spanish. As the story goes, shortly after he acquired the Model T from John Athan, Iskenderian ventured south of the border for a little weekend getaway. A Mexican sheriff that he befriended during the trip jokingly referred to the fenderless T as La Cucaracha, and the name stuck.

Irony of ironies, the car sat for several decades in the back of the Iskenderian Racing Cams building, where it shared cell time with bugs and rodents and other unspeakable creatures that manage to take up residence in dark places. And there La Cucaracha sat, consuming much-needed shop space while Ed Iskenderian tended to his thriving business. A man who's always been reluctant to part with his belongings (both personal and business-owned), Isky never truly considered selling his hot rod, so the car never truly left the building. Oh, he occasionally drove the car, taking the aging hot rod out for a magazine photo session or video clip, never minding that the car was last registered in 1951.

But for the most part the car sat forlornly in the back of Iskenderian's shop. Not until rodding's most recent renaissance during the mid-'90s did Isky decide to wipe off the dust for good so that he could rejoin the growing legions of rodders at local rod runs. Among the first events he attended was the L.A. Roadsters' bash on Father's Day, and Isky and his old heap didn't make it beyond the gate; the car didn't meet the club's standard of finish, and so was rejected entry. This, of course, created quite a stir among old-time purists, and the situation was eventually rectified. In the process Isky got his coveted L.A. Roadsters mug, the L.A. Roadsters were allowed to remove the egg from their collective face with dignity, and the stock market didn't crash.

Today, the Isky Roadster resides in the NHRA Motorsports Musuem at the Pomona Fairplex. The modified Model T's place among the other exhibits is well earned, too, because the Isky Roadster shows first-hand how hot rods were built back at a time when, as Iskenderian himself put it, "We didn't have any magazines to tell us how to build them." Judging by the high quality of workmanship, and the amount of charm evoked by La Cucaracha--aka the Isky Roadster--it's apparent that guys like Ed Iskenderian didn't need any magazines to show them how to build hot rods. They did just fine, all by themselves.

Makes you wonder: Did Dolly Parton rely on a magazine to steer her into a WonderBra? Doubt it.