The Race of Gentlemen (TROG) has only been around since 2012, and it’s been held in various locations on both coasts, but it’s already achieved the status of an enduring icon. The formula is deceptively simple: racers are limited to pre-1935-model-year hot rods and pre-1947 motorcycles (tank shifters preferred). Engines are limited — four-bangers, flat-sixes and flathead V-8s are preferred — but somebody brought an Auburn V-12 this year. Old carburetors, steel wheels and other American-made parts only. There’s minimal safety stuff; roll bars are optional and old-fashioned open-face helmets are OK, and there are no formal classes. It’s really “run what ya brung.”
Building TROG
The loosely organized event is the brainchild of Meldon Van Riper Stultz III, himself an icon from Asbury Park, N.J., by way of Keyport. His Instagram handle is “YEOLEGHOST,” and he’s worth a follow. Mel’s piercing gunfighter eyes, heavy tatts, scraggly salt-and-pepper beard and standard outfit of a battered and multi-pinned leather motorcycle jacket and rolled-cuff jeans all make him look like a cross between a pirate and a biker — and he’s a bit of both. Mel started as a member of the Rumblers, who are famous for their “Kustom Kills and Speed Thrills” New York City meet-ups, then resurrected the Oilers Car Club when the last dying member passed him the torch. Surveying the scene, not missing a beat, Mel usually wears a wry smile as if to say, “I’m having fun, I’m having you on and there’s nothing you can do about it. So, fire up whatever you drove or rode here, and let’s race.”
When asked what inspired the idea the idea for TROG, Mel said, “ I was reading this great book, ‘King of the Boards: The Life and Times of Jimmy Murphy.’ It was so good, the hair on my arms would stand up with excitement. At the time, I was growing bored with the hot rod scene, having jumped into it heavy and soaking it all in. I tend to get bored with things that grow popular, and I seemed to be regressing further into the automotive history. I was dreaming of creating a race that was more archaic than ’40s-built hot rods, and more like what I was reading in the [aforementioned] book. But I could not find willing racers with this type of museum-quality machines willing to participate. So, I called all the traditional hot rod buddies that I could gather.”
The first The Race of Gentleman (immediately abbreviated to “TROG”) was held on the beach in Allenhurst, N.J. Not surprisingly, it was a hit right out of the box. Rusty rods, bellowing bikes, a sexy flag lady leaping high between the staged drag racers and no one keeping elapsed times — it was a scene that resembled a ’50s flashback, even a reenactment. Participants “got it” immediately, and they couldn’t wait to do it again.
For the second year, the circus reconvened and traveled to Wildwood, a classic Jersey Shore beach town that’s sprinkled with old-style illuminated signs, funky ’50s-style motels, lots of cool bars, narrow streets and ocean-weathered houses. Tradition lives on strongly here. The 36-room retro StarLux Hotel, where much of the event coalesces, looks as though time stopped when Ike was president. Wildwood is a Fiestaware pitcher-turned-beach town. Colorful flashing neon abounds. Duffinetti’s Restaurant and Lounge, just a few blocks west of the StarLux, opened in 1947, serves Italian comfort food (read: lots of red-sauce dishes) and looks the same inside as it did then. The Beach Street Oyster Bar & Grill in Wildwood Crest attracts more sophisticated race-goers. You won’t starve. There’s a wide range of bars and eateries to please everyone.
TROG’s three-day event, now held annually in Wildwood (we’ll comment more on this later), and sporadically in other places, such as Pismo Beach and Santa Barbara, Calif., attracts several thousand spectators, and a few hundred racers — some of whom build cars specifically for TROG. Parts swappers, gear vendors and hot rod enthusiasts are there, too, many of whom wouldn’t be anywhere else on that date. Astutely — and probably sentimentally — Stultz wanted an event by the ocean. Sand is a lot safer for racing than asphalt. As more cars choose off, the packed, sandy surface changes. You have to be clever to compensate for the shifting coefficient of traction.
Cars assemble in the “pits” on the beach, line up two-by-two, and they race in one direction for an eighth of a mile. The crackle of open exhausts, the aroma of fuel and the colorfully dressed drivers, riders and spectators all make it seem as though you’ve somehow drifted back into a simpler time. There’s a friendly vibe — no one’s critical of the cars and bikes. They collectively share a joy that underscores their affection for a bygone era that most of them never knew in person. As someone who was there in the ’50s, I can attest that the feelings are the same. “If you dream about the old days of racing, this is the closest you’ll get,” reported Rolling Stone in an article highlighting the event, and it’s true.
Lest one be confused, TROG isn’t about counter-culture — it’s a ’40s-’50s revival.
Mel Stutz had good reason for deciding to hold his event on the beach in New Jersey. He’s told people many times “…by having it on the beach, you see the kids, girlfriends and wives actually get excited about it and want to come and spend the day enjoying the show. It creates a neat dynamic of young kids (as well as) the older crowd we typically would see at these events.”
TROGlodytes’ perspective
TROG gets rave reviews. Rob Gibby is an old hot rodder-turned-contemporary Bonneville racer. Here’s his take:
“There are car shows, and there is Pebble."
“There are races, and there is Indy."
“There are fun car happenings, and there is TROG.”
In speaking of Stultz, Gibby adds, “Mel evokes the spirit of Von Dutch. And Wildwood has 1950s charm. To be clear, Mel curates a collection of old cars for a weekend-long party that includes racing."
“The way that hot rodders built cars from junkyard parts, back in the day,” says Gibby, “is the fodder of TROG. Not only has it enabled young folks (who admire the past) to compete, there are old-timers, too. Senior citizens like ‘Speed Swanson,’ and Freddy ‘The Flash’ Mijka, are having the time of their lives. Speed’s ’29 banger roadster could have been built in the ’40s-’50s. Flash’s car, the famous ‘Lobitz Special,’ is part of the extensive Keith Majka Indy Car collection in Paterson, New Jersey. TROG puts all ages in the epicenter of the old hot rod world. Listening to them, you’d think they were driving at the NHRA Nationals!”
Rob Ida, who owns a noted shop in Morgantown, N.J., has been a “TROGlodyte” since the event’s inception.
“I’ve attended every event over the past 10 years,” Ida says. “What truly started out as a gathering of guys that thought it would be cool to run their old hot rods on the beach sand in Asbury Park, New Jersey, grew into a culture. TROG has become not just a #hashtag, but a term to describe a certain type of hot rod or bike. Mel has not just re-created something, it’s more as though he has re-written history. His ability to envision this, and gain enthusiasm in fans and participants, is something special. Some people are spending a year building a vehicle specifically for the next TROG.”
One of the many cool stories that comes from TROG is when Bruce Springsteen appeared in Wildwood. He didn’t show up looking to sign autographs and have his pics taken with fans, he showed up to take photographs. “The Boss” is a hobbyist photographer and went to TROG to have some fun. He even took Mel’s portrait, developed it in his darkroom and sent it to Mel as a gift. Springsteen later assembled images and put together an exhibit at the “Sea. Hear. Now.” music festival that used TROG as its subject.
The Race of Gentlemen doesn’t have formal classes like, say, the RPM Nationals, but for hot rodders who just want to run their cars and have fun, it’s perfect. Tech is cursory, and many of the cars, while great looking and even period-perfect, might not pass a full-on NHRA inspection. Serious, fiercely competitive racers would prefer structured classes, but most TROG entrants love it. So does everyone else, except perhaps, the cops.
Speed Bumps in 2022
Unfortunately, in September 2022, an illegal pop-up “Fast and Furious”-style group called “h2oi” invaded Wildwood. The group had no permits for its impromptu event, things quickly got out of hand, and mayhem ensued. The crowds were unruly; the local police were unprepared and undermanned, and when the dust settled, sadly, two spectators were killed. The New Jersey State Police had to send reinforcements to calm the situation. So, when the “TROGlodytes” arrived a few weeks later, they were subject to frequent random motor vehicle stops and ticketed for minor infractions, such as vintage license plates that didn’t match their cars’ registrations.
But the real problem was the weather.
I decided to drive up from my home in Virginia to Wildwood in my ’39 Ford. It’s about 225 miles. My ’39 looks pretty stock except for a seriously lowered stance, and it packs an early Chrysler 354 Hemi with twin four-barrels backed by a five-speed Tremec and a Currie 9-inch Ford rear end with parallel leaf springs. I’ve driven it up to Ty-Rods in Boston and it’s very reliable. Of course, the windshield wipers aren’t the best, but that’s why there’s Rain-X.
Hurricane Ian was threatening the Jersey Shore, but the event was still on so my wife Trish and I piled into the Ford and headed up 95 toward the Delaware Memorial Bridge. The rain wasn’t too bad yet, and there was always the hope that the hurricane would turn and rumble out to sea. When we reached Wildwood and checked into the StarLux, we found old cars and hot rodders everywhere. The police presence was evident — you couldn’t blame them after what had happened earlier — and they seemed to be manning every intersection. But all our lights worked and our car doesn’t make too much noise at low speed, so we didn’t attract attention. We enjoyed a nice dinner at the Beach Street Oyster Bar, then tire kicking and checking out the scene.
As we headed for the beach Friday morning, hundreds of people were already there. Guys were working on their cars, and the swap meet was in full swing. We spotted the Barillaro brothers, Mike and Jimmy, from Knoxville, and their just-finished belly tank, and we saw a few other guys we knew. All the cars looked as though time had stopped sometime in 1955. No billet, no overheads, lots of patina and surface rust, skinny tires and the ever-present rap of straight pipes in the air. The bikes — Indians and Harleys — were bobbed and stripped like a scene out of “The Wild One.” The vibe was upbeat, but so was the wind. People were checking the weather status on their phones, but everyone was surprised with what suddenly happened. Around 11 a.m., Mel Stultz gathered everyone together, picked up a bull horn and sadly announced that the city had canceled the event. We were told the beach could be underwater by late afternoon and surely by tomorrow morning.
We were disappointed, but some folks — those who’d probably spent months building their cars — were really bummed. That said, people gathered ’round, took a quick show of hands to say they’d not seek refunds so Mel wouldn’t totally lose his shirt, and many people headed for a host bar downtown where they were selling TROG merchandise.
Looking to the Bright Side
That night, the rain howled and I was sure the water would be in the hotel parking lot. But our ’39 was fine and we elected to hang out with our pal, Terry Cook, founder of Lead East. Terry had driven down in a two-tone ’56 Hudson Hornet sedan that he’d mounted on a Chevy Caprice chassis with a 350 small-block and a TH400 transmission. When the going gets tough, the tough look for a great bar. We headed for Duffinetti’s, and since the storm had receded a bit, we started checking out other places. Gibby suggested Secondo’s in nearby Cape May, an Italian-Greek combination that was four stars and then some. I sat next to Mel’s mom, Barbara Calvert, and learned how her always-unconventional son had started the whole deal. One of my favorite quotes from Mel is, “I looked at a beach and I saw a racetrack.”
While the East Coast TROG sadly ended, Mel was already looking forward to his West Coast event.
TROG West at the Flabob Airstrip in Jurupa Valley, Calif., in early December was a smash hit, with a Night of the TROGlodytes chopper show and a curated traditional custom car show called “Trog d’Elegance.” On Saturday, the runway crackled with the roar of bikes and hot rods. They allowed early overheads, and social media lit up. From what I could see in Facebook and Instagram posts by dozens of friends, TROG’s California drag racing more than made up for the rain cancellation in Wildwood.
The addition of early overhead-valves isn’t by accident, but by Mel’s design.
“I’ve grown bored again with gents stripping down stock Model As to create beach racers,” Mel says. “I’ve really been trying to introduce more early-’50s-style hot rods these last few years. More chopped and channeled cars, with engines set back, etcetera. I also encouraged a rail class. This was so guys could save on buying bodies and hop up their engines more.”
We had to ask what his favorite part of the current event is.
“Honestly, Sunday evening, when it’s all over and I can finally celebrate,” Mel said. “Being a lover of people and good times, I can’t relax until I know everyone is safe and sound. So when the races are over, I enjoy the hot tub and a cold beer with friends, and a big, old ‘Wahoo! We did it!’”
As this is written, Mel advises that the 2023 East Coast date and exact location aren’t posted, but it’s my hope we’ll all be back in Wildwood. After all, we now know where all the good restaurants are, and we’ve been promised a roadster ride on the beach.
We’ll be there next year — we hope you will be, too.
At press time, TROG announced on its website that it will be presenting 1/8-mile drag racing for hot rods and motorcycles at the Flabob Airstrip in Jurupa Valley, Calif., on April 15-16.
Learn More www.theraceofgentlemen.com
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