A Visit With Clem
A VISIT WITH CLEM
BOB SANFORD
Remember The Barn Job? The First To Go 140, Then 150, Then 160? Now It’s A Good Also-Ran. Can Clem Get It Back On Top? Or Will His Love For This Hand-Built Marvel Wither And Finally Succumb To His Urge To "Junk It And Get A Harley?"
It was the 1950’s, and the country was mesmerized by chino pants, sputnik, greasy duck-tail haircuts, Hadicol, Ike, Flvis Presley and such all time movie greats as “Hot Rod Rumble. ” Hollywood, in fact, had just discovered teen-age subculture as plots for lowbudget films-not to mention, of course, as a sizeable group of people with money to spend on movie tickets. Cinema tically, Young America was portrayed as Pat Boone and/or Tab Hunter and/or Sal Mineo, who would drive a couple of dozen kids through town and down to the Malt Shop in a rumbleseated, Model “A” Ford Hot Rod. Arriving at their destination, the group would “pile out” over the side, the array of saddle shoes, penny loafers and white bucks hitting the pavement almost simultaneously. And once inside, the girls (Tuesday Weld and/or AnnMargret and/or Annette Funicello) would sit atop their piles of crinolines, demurely sipping their sodas, while the boys, periodically combing their greasy hair and snapping their fingers in time to the latest Dion “Platter, ” would talk about Pat Boone’s and/or Tab Hunter’s and/or Sal Mineo ’s Model “A” being “real gone,” or “Sano,” or “Cherry,” etc., etc. At some point during the movie, there would be a “grudge race” at the local drag strip, with Pat Boone, and/or Tab Hunter and/or Sal Mineo shutting down the bad guy and winning Tuesday Weld and/or Ann-Margret and/ or Annette F unicello.
Well, young, middle America pretty much bought what Hollywood had to say about the nr, and for awhile it looked like drag racing might overtake professional baseball as the National Pastime. New drag strips began to pop up all over the nation and no one under 25 years old would be caught dead without “duals” and a “four barrel” on their ’49 Merc. Speed was the order of the day.
IN THE MIDST of this era, a young man, who had recently moved to Southern California from Buffalo, N.Y., rode his Vincent motorcycle to spectate a drag event at Pomona, Calif. He was a mechanic by trade and machinery and competition had always held a special fascination for him. ("And drag racing," he was to say almost 20 years later," seemed to me to depend more on the machine than the rider.")
Next week, the same young man was back at Pomona, but this time as a participant on his street-legal Vincent. And the next week the lights on his bike had disappeared. Then off came something else. An addition would be made, here a change, there a change.
Finally, in I960, a motorcycle that was to become legendary on America’s drag strips emerged, its hand-made and super-secret parts covered by those familiar Vincent casings. _>
Clem Johnson and his famous “Barn Job.”
For the majority of the next decade, the Barn Job terrorized drag races throughout the country, becoming the first motorcycle to crack the 140-, 150and 160-mph barriers, as well as first to break the magic 10-sec. elapsed time mark. Johnson’s machine was the Ferrari among Fords, the aristocrat of the two-wheeled world. Nothing and no one could hold a candle to him.
In the days when everyone else was striving for machines weighing 300 lb., the Barn Job weighed in at a cool 250. While others were struggling at 120 mph, the Barn Job would whiz through the “eyes” at 151.51. For more than five years, Johnson held both the elapsed time and Top Speed national record. This was it. The ultimate in single-track drag equipment.
Well, Tab Hunter is self-exiled in Europe, Annette Funicello is a middleaged housewife, “Love Story” has replaced “Hot Rod Rumble,” hair is long and greaseless, Pat Boone is busy saving kids from drugs, slow VWs are more stylish than hot ’49 Mercs, and drag racing no longer seems in danger of replacing baseball.
But what of Clem Johnson and the Barn Job? They are, thank you, alive and well in West C’ovina, Calif. Furthermore, the Barn Job is no less than fifth best among Top Fuel bikes in the country.
“And,” Johnson said a day or two after being eliminated in the semi finals of the NHRA Top Gas & Fuel Nationals, “I say we’re going to get up on top again.”
Clem Johnson lives in a modest suburban neighborhood, some 30 miles from Los Angeles. He is a 39 1/2-yearold bachelor and shares his house with a 21-year-old cat and a 20-year-old motorcycle. There is a swimming pool on the back patio, about half-way between the immaculate house and the super-immaculate work shop. His once wavy black hair is now predominately gray, but he still has the appearance of a young man. It is doubtful that anyone would call him middle-aged.
He is articulate, but seems shy, as he speaks softly and slowly, very seldom looking at you when he talks. Somehow, he does not seem like a man who has ridden a motorcycle at speeds exceeding 1 60 mph.
His partner and head mechanic, Ralph Owen, is also there, and he, it seems, would gladly do all the talking. He is definitely not shy. Owen once owned the “biggest damn Harley in the world,” but he shucked it and went in with Clem. The two now get together a couple of times a week to work on the bike and brainstorm for new go-fast ideas.
Somewhere during the course of the conversation, you get the feeling that a lot of the enthusiasm of earlier years has disappeared. Words like “antiquated,” “vintage” and “has-beens” occasionally pop up in the conversation.
The problem, they say, is with all of the new store-bought, snap-on, bolt-up speed equipment available through your local dealer or mail order houses. It is impossible, they contend, to compete against this sort of thing with a machine that has, for all intents and purposes, been hand-built from the ground up. “Someday,” Clem says rather wistfully, “I’m going to junk it and get a Harley.”
At the same time, though, there is still enthusiasm, as the two talk and scheme about ways to “get back on top” with the big Vincent. For one thing, they have just discovered that the oil pump is unsatisfactory and are planning ways to alleviate that situation.
Then there’s the problem of getting rid of the battery and fitting the magneto that’s been kicking around in the closet for some time.
And, of course, the supercharger they purchased 2Vi years ago, which they plan to put on only after the bike goes 170 mph. But right now, it’s the oil pump. Then, Clem says, they can get on with the “mile-long list of things to do.”
But, five minutes later they tell you they certainly would tie interested in getting two Honda Four engines, with a carte blanche on spare parts. Fight cylinders, they say. titled in a (Tem Johnson-built aluminum trame. Well, there’s just no telling what it could do. But right now the problem is the Vincent’s oil pump.
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(Tem doesn’t ride the bike anymore, but that’s probably beside the point. He hasn't ridden it. in tact, since he lengthened the wheel base from 55 to 67 in. two years ago. Jimmy Lineweher, of Fineweber eam fame, pilots the Barn Job now, and (Tem sits on the sidelines, taking notes in his ever-present little brown hook, then meticulously prepares the hike for its next run.
Actually, you sort of feel that (Tem never really enjoyed the riding side of drag racing all that much. His love was, is, and will continue to he planning and building. Driving was a necessary evil.
"It's a hairy experience.” (Tem says, when describing what it's like logo 160 mph. He said that he had to force himself to leave the throttle on every time he approached super-speeds, leading one to believe that he’s glad Fineweber is handling that end of the job.
“The difference between Jimmy and I,” (Tem says smiling, “is that 1 get nervous and he doesn’t. Ami he's the only guy 1 know that doesn't. Murray, Smith, ail those guys get nervous. But nothing bothers Jimmy.” And Ralph Owens agrees.
1 he secret to successful drag racing, both (Tem and Ralph also agree, is total devotion and dedication to the sport, plus perhaps more importantly keeping your mouth shut about performance discoveries.
“We don’t even tell Jimmy what we’re doing.” Owens said. “He doesn’t even know the gearing we use.” Which, as (Tem interjected, may or may not be true.
But security is where it's at, they emphasize. Joe Smith, they'll tell you, even files off the numbers on his tires (“Why, I see more people out there at the races feeling tires than titties,” Ralph said). And Leo Payne knocked himself out of the running by letting out all of lus secrets, they claim.
But (Tem Johnson's real secret for success lies in (Tem Johnson's head and hands. He is a Master ( raftsman. The only thing Vincent about the Barn Job is the casings, cylinder jackets and timing gears.
Five rest is Farly (and some not-soFarly) (Tem Johnson. With the exception of these few Vincent parts and the tires, tubes and rims, everything on the bike has either been built from scratch or totally reworked. He has a job as a machinist for a local pharmaceutical firm, and does some of the work at the company’s shop.
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But the vast majority is done in his own shop, including grinding cams with a cam grinder that took him eight months to build a few years back. Pistons, gears, valves, lifters, you name it: Clem Johnson builds it.
Such things as the Barn Job’s Hillburn injection system have been so radically changed that company officials themselves wouldn’t recognize their own product.
But the very sanitary frame is the eye catcher. Made of fabricated aluminum, the long, lean beauty looks a bit like a very powerful, leaping greyhound dog.
It is essentially a backbone type frame, with the backbone doubling as a fuel tank. This, of course, is different from most drag bikes, with double-loop, cradle arrangements. The Master C’raftsman made it from 3/16-in. aluminum tubing, shot peened for strength, when he did the previously mentioned extension work (55 to 67 in.). A flip-top, Teflon-lined fuel cap was designed and built by Johnson to resist the tremendous vibrations created by drag bike speeds. (Teflon, incidentally, is used to prevent deterioration by the upwardsof-60-percent nitro used in the fuel mixture.) The entire front end of the bike front wheel, C’eriani forks and backbone/fuel tank-can be detached by removing a few bolts, thus making work on the 1600-cc V-Twin considerably simplified.
Ironically, the bike’s name, Barn Job, is derived from something that the machine is definitely not. When Johnson was working as an auto mechanic in Buffalo, his boss referred to the hurryup, don’t-give-a-damn jobs as “Barn Jobs.” For some reason, Clem thought the name to be apt and christened the world’s fastest, most detailed piece of motorcycle drag equipment the Barn Job.
Clem will tell you, after detailing all of the amazing precision work they have done, “Somewhere along the line we got left behind.”
Then he’ll talk some more about “antiquated equipment” and new snapon, store-bought Harley speed devices. But he is convinced that the Barn Job is capable of 8-sec. bracket quarter-miles and top speeds in the 170s. “If we can only figure out how to get that damn oil to flow properly . . .” And then put on the magneto. And, of course, the supercharger.
