Thank you all for the love and
friendship, Dad was truly blessed to know you all.
This really isn't a tribute to
Pat Foster ......... Its a tribute to all the friends that made
Pat Foster.
I grew up at the drag races and
shared a lot of things with dad, we both had our regular family
and our racer family, my biological side witnessed over the the
last few months something very few people experience - to borrow
a line from Jim Hume - "There is drag racers and what we
call " the others".
My dads brother and sisters,
my brothers knew what dad did for a living, but didn't know who
he did it with, personally like I did. I wasn't a bit surprised
by the ARMY of my dads friends that "stepped up". Most
people who are reading this already know what I'm talking about,
Its hard to even explain it to "the others" .
As a kid I was lucky enough to
witness a few heroic thrashes at the drags , I pulled this story
from "National Dragster"
1974 world finals:
During qualifying Saturday
afternoon Shirl Greer kicked the rods out and had a huge fire
, His qualifying mate on the pass, Pat Foster, dived into the
raging inferno to help safety personnel extricate him.
"As they took me away
on the stretcher, I looked at the car and said to myself that
that was the end of that one," Greer recalled. "There
was no way I was gonna get enough points to win the championship."
When Smith and Hall both surprisingly
failed to qualify, the remainder of the Funny Car community came
together -- including Smith and Prudhomme - to give Greer a fighting
chance.
"Some of the guys came
by the hospital that night and told me that if I could drive,
they'd have the car ready for me," Greer said. "When
I got to the track Sunday morning and saw the car all patched
back together, I just couldn't believe it."
1974 world champ - Shirl Greer
I so miss my man, my pop's.......When
my tears fall ........the lessons and words he gave me comfort
me. He is a hard act to follow.
My dads last words to me... leaving
his room I said "goodbye" he shook his head no, and
said " Hey ....... Tiger, there is never a goodbye between
us."
To all my Dad and I's ol pals
and some I just had the pleasure of talking to or meeting ,even
fans that have wrote me with a few words about Pat , I just want
to say love you all.
Cole Foster
a few Patty-isms- from Cole
"I was never the best ............
but not bad!" = driving career
"shitbox" = racecar
"Lets put this shitbox in the trailer, and get the fuck
out here." dad said he invented the word!
"bad actor" = Impressive race car
"hot lash" = trick
"jackoff" = idiot
"Lop" = see "jackoff"
"bitchin" = great
"keep on keep'n on" painted on Setzer car
"What you see ,is what you get" painted on Setzer car
"way good" = "way bitchin"
"Period " = end a sentence
"flat ass" = "that shitbox was flat ass on one"
"on one" = good run
"cave" = shop
"weak suck" = under achiever
"deal" = everything
"Knay" = fuck'n A
"horseshoes and hand grenades" = close
"dolly" = cute girl
"donkeys" = bottom end guy
"who do you drive for" = asking who was on the phone
"Stout"= see "bad actor"
"yahoos" = see "jackoff"
"slide or slid" = "man ,slid right into that deal"
"saybye" = end a call
"Lumpy" = John Lombardo
"Jelly" = Larry Board
"Joe P" = Joe Pisano
"pudd'n" = Tom Prock
"LV " = Linda Vaughn
"Dongoose" = Don Trasin
"Vipe" = Snake
"Waldo" = John Galaspy
"Snoz" = Dale Emery
"Weasel " = Bob Brant
"Wolfy" = Bobby Clober
Cole & Pat in Yokohama, Japan
Pat holding court in Japan.
Japan trip....new friend.
Indy 1971 Foster/Pulde Don Cook forgot to torque
the rods the night before 1st round.
When you're hot, your hot ..... this one was a long
walk back to the pits.
Cole checking out Dad's latest restoration.
Patty & Tom Ivo
Pat and Cole with Ed
Pink at the NHRA Museum in 2007.
We spent '07 Winternationals with The Candies Family.
Amazing people.
Cole's shop in Calif.
Pop and Carl Olson
As far as a service, at dads
request there wont be one. He had his own by getting to talk
to most of his friends, and the ones he didn't get to talk to
knew how he felt. He said, "I do not have any enemies, loose
ends, or unsettled issues. I have been there done that. I've
been good to my friends, and they've been good to me. I did every
thing in my life I wanted to." I didn't argue. lol Cole
I
would like to thank both Dan and Cole for their heartfelt contributions
to their Dad's page. Foster was very proud of his family and
its easy to see why. DE
I have read with sweet melancholy,
all your letters and kind words about a man I knew well. To me,
he was always Pat. I know and have met many of you and have heard
many of your names over the years. Even though we weren't together
for the last year and a half, you don't live with a man like
Pat Foster for 27 years and not still love and care about him.
He was definitely "one of a kind!" He had the kindest,
most generous heart, was an amazingly creative and talented craftsman
and was a great dad. Together we raised the youngest of his three
wonderful boys, JT, who is just now 21. To JT, Pat was just "dad",
and I don't think he ever really knew what he did before becoming
dad. So it was very special for him to read all about his dad's
career and the letters from some of the people who loved and
cared about him.
I thought it might be interesting
for some of you who only knew Pat through drag racing to know
some of the other things Pat did in between racing projects.
When Pat "retired" from drag racing in the late 70's
he dropped out of the scene for awhile but there was a whole
other side to him that emerged when we moved to Carmel, CA. He
opened a shop and started a whole new career in fabricating custom
parts for a unique, new home in Big Sur for friends of ours.
He made custom furniture and wall art out of wood and architectural
features out of metal. He restored the woodwork of an antique
Diamond T flatbed truck. He was an avid golfer and designed and
built a line of golf putters out of black walnut and brass.
After about four years, work
began to dry up and he fell back on what he knew best, drag racing.
We ended up in Dallas, where Pat built cars and racing trailers
for Raymond Beadle. While there, he was involved with several
other "interesting" racing endeavors before our eventual
move back to California to build a dragster and manage a racing
team for Dan Fitzgerald. But after the shop and car was built
and Fitzgerald decided he didn't want to race, Pat ended up running
his construction equipment rental business. He often joked that
he had GOMS (Grumpy Old Man Syndrome) and so dealing with the
public on a daily basis, understandably was not his cup of tea.
With his connections, he landed at Nissan for a few years. When
it looked like Nissan might shut its doors another move was in
order.
We began looking at opportunities
which would get us out of California, when Tom Hanna contacted
Pat out of the blue and we ended up in Wichita, Kansas in 1992.
After a few years, he decided to start his own business and it
was a roller coaster. Before car orders really started coming
in, times were lean so Pat built custom fireplace grates, a pressure
tank for a plastics manufacturing company and automated machinery
for a pet products factory and dozens of other things. He started
doing some repairs for customers of a wheelchair supply company
where he met and made friends with a paraplegic young man who
had him build several custom wheelchairs. Just about the time
he thought this business was never going to take off, he got
busy. Real busy! Between building cars he also did his hemi commercial
and Junkyard Wars.
When Pat got an order for a re-creation,
he wouldn't be able to sleep soundly for days. Starting with
just an idea, he would spend weeks researching and gathering
pictures and information. He would fret and fuss about it until
suddenly in the middle of the night the answers he was fretting
about would come to him in his dreams and he would bolt out of
bed, dress and go directly to his shop in the garage and start
building the car. You wouldn't see him for days. Then after weeks
and months the car would begin to take shape. Just as in drag
racing, there was always a period he called the thrash and the
house was sometimes taken over with people, some of whom had
come to Wichita to do some special part of the car or the lettering.
As they worked 'til the wee hours, there was a constant flow
of words like "Jeeeeezus!" or "What the F…!"
coming from the garage. Then, "piss, mud or flood",
after painstakingly looking after every detail, the car was finished
and it was "way bitchin". Then for days there was a
constant parade up and down the driveway of people, who had come
to see the new creation. Sometimes I would tentatively stick
my head in the garage to see what was going on and would always
see Pat in a deep conversation with someone I'd never seen before
but who seemed to be his best buddy. When I would later ask,
"Who was that?" he would reply, "I was hoping
you knew!" Then finally the day would come when the new
owner picked up the car. Pat would go into a two week depression
over the loss of his "baby". Then it would start all
over.
Pat never lived his life in fear
of losing it, for that would be losing the point of life. Life
was never dull and for him it was always full speed ahead. Mike
Berry who wrote several stories over the years about Pat in the
Wichita Eagle signs his emails "Life is not a journey to
the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and
well-preserved body, but rather, skidding in broadside, thoroughly
worn out and loudly proclaiming... Wow! What a Ride!" A
perfect description of Pat! I'm sure he's telling stories right
now with his hands out to the sides palms up going in all directions.
He will be missed and lovingly remembered!
Leslie Foster
Below are some photos of Patty
that reflect a side most of his fans never knew about. Thanks
to Leslie for her great tribute and for sending along these shots.
Patty working on the
M/T Ford LSR project in 1968.
Just a Dad - Cole, Pat,
J.T. and Dan
Tom Hannas property where Pat
fished most days after work. He was pretty passionate about his
fishing for quite awhile. He approached it just about like he
did racing by analyzing everything from light to water clarity
to temperature to time… and there were a lot of four letter
words flying around as well as lures and hooks.
Pat and Cole shooting hoops at
a Kansas Family Reunion. Probably the only picture ever taken
of Pat in shorts. Pat’s family (grandparents) had a farm
and raised his dad in Baldwin, Kansas where his dad eventually
met his mom. So the Fosters came from Kansas and then we returned
to Kansas…full circle.
Pat napping with JT.
Great dad!
Drag
car builder Foster dies
BY
MIKE BERRY
The
Wichita Eagle
We lost a great car guy this week.
Pat
Foster, who had brought his one-man crusade to save some of the
original ground-pounding front-engined dragsters and early funny
cars to Wichita back in the early '90s, died early Thursday at
a hospital in Coeur D'Alene, Idaho.
He had
moved there about a year and a half ago, after recovering from
life-threatening health problems that required multiple surgeries
here. Foster, 68, had put together a new shop and was working
on another historic car when he was again felled by a medical
setback just before Thanksgiving that left him in a coma for
weeks.
He had
rallied back, though, being the tough old bird that he was, and
it looked like he might even be able to get back to work.
But
then came more complications, and he finally made the decision
he was not going to prolong the inevitable.
I had
met Pat in 2000, through freelance photographer Craig Hacker
and I knew within minutes I was going to like this gruff, grizzled,
pony-tailed drag racer as a person.
"Patty,"
as he allowed his friends to call him, let it be known he did
not suffer fools gladly. You never had to ask what he thought
on the subject at hand. He told you, short and sweet, and if
you didn't like it, tough.
I visited
him several times in his tiny one-bay shop at his home east of
Wichita and always came away shaking my head and grinning. I
marveled at the quality of his craftsmanship and the lengths
to which he took his research in making sure the cars he restored
were spot-on.
When
he was meticulously re-creating the famed Beebe & Mulligan
fuel dragster, he said to me, "If I'm going to do this car,
I'm going to do it right." And that's just what he did.
I had
exchanged e-mails with people who knew Pat a lot better than
I did and was aware of his decision to let the end come naturally.
I had sent him a card, but that didn't seem enough.
So when
one of those people told me he had just got off the phone with
Pat and that I should call him, I didn't waste a minute. I started
dialing.
It wasn't
until the next day when I finally heard that gravely voice of
his come on the line. "Foster here," he said. We talked
for a few minutes and he seemed to need to explain why he had
made the call he had. I told him a few years ago, I wouldn't
have understood, but having just turned 60, I did understand
now.
I held
it together pretty well till we signed off. He was one of the
most fascinating characters it's ever been my honor to know.
And
I smiled when a kind lady who had been keeping me posted from
Pat's bedside told me that the tag line that I use on my e-mails
was a pretty apt description of Pat's leaving us. Someone named
Peter Sage had written, "Life is not a journey to the grave
with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved
body, but rather, skidding in broadside, thoroughly worn out
and loudly proclaiming... Wow! What a Ride!"
Sit
low, Patty Foster, and don't lift.
REMEMBERING
PAT FOSTER
Patty
Foster was a man’s man – but not in the sense of what
used to be called a male chauvinist pig. Pat was the kind of
guy who'd strap on a welders mask at night, and a firesuit the
next morning. As a race car driver he competed in an era when
some car owners regularly said to their drivers, “No matter
what, don’t lift.” I saw Foster live – and come
close to dying – following this credo. When I asked him,
after he'd climbed out of another inferno in Barry Setzer’s
Vega at the Springnationals in Columbus, why he continued to
drive like that, he just winked, smiled and said “He tells
me to drive it to the lights, but it's my decision whether I
go all the way. Gotta fix this. We're running at Englishtown
Tuesday night!” Foster always went all the way, in every
aspect of his life.
Pat’s
boys are terrific, but in all truth Patty himself was not lucky
in matters of the heart. It was if the gods had said, “You’ll
be a master craftsman, a renowned racer, an envied constructor
and have a wealth of friends, but in this one area, my friend,
things will not always go your way.”
Like
everyone who was lucky enough to know Foster – and he was
one of those last-name-only guys – I have stories that somehow
help define the man.
When
Carol and I were living in then-considered-remote Kagel Canyon
in Southern California there were numerous evenings when we'd
hear the approach of a rumbling Harley. We'd smile, waiting to
see if the motorcycle would turn down our dead end street. We
knew if it did it would be one of three people – Foster,
Peter Bassin, or Dale Pulde. It didn't matter which one it was,
we had the door open and smiles on our faces before the late
arrival had even switched off the engine and kicked down the
stand.
Foster
always regaled us with stories, but behind his smile there was
a razor-sharp mind able to dissect the inner workings of the
NHRA decades before other drivers could see beyond the finish
line. Long before there were chassis specs written in rule books
Foster – who worked with almost all of the sports legendary
builders -- and partner Jim Hume were building cars that were
closer to works of art than they were to everyone else’s
cookie-cutter designs.
In our
younger years all of us did things that were questionable, if
not downright illegal. It was, after all the late 60s and early
70s, and while there will be those who are in denial, the reality
of our little world was that we drank too many beers and smoked
too many hand-rolled cigarettes or inhaled through small, custom-made
metal pipes behind closed doors.
At one
point Foster had a “farm” hidden behind the 8-foot
walls of his San Fernando Valley home, a crop he successfully
took to market after convincing his then junior high school son
that if he and his friends left it alone there'd be plenty for
everyone. Believe me, there was.
Should
I have skipped that little vignette? Are anyone’s sensibilities
offended? Patty’s wouldn't have been. Every time he talked
about that crop he'd help laugh so hard tears would come to his
eyes. Okay, so Patty wasn't a saint, but let's admit it: None
of us are. Only our mothers thought we deserved sainthood, but
as we got older they probably figured we'd be going to hell despite
their best efforts.
My fondest
memory of Foster is the night we sat three feet from the largest
stereo speakers I'd ever seen in his rental house somewhere in
the Carolinas, listening repeatedly to the Stones’ “Can’t
Ya Hear Me Knockin’.” I wondered what the neighbors
might have been thinking until, as Foster re-placed the needle
in the proper groove, I could hear their sound system moving
the walls of their house next door.
Not
too many years ago I got a call from a guy named Don Trasin.
He told me he'd bought the last Jade Grenade front-motored dragster,
and wanted to know everything I could possibly tell him about
it. Sadly for me, that was one car before I became a partner,
but one thing I did know, and that was the one guy I'd trust
to restore that gem -- Pat Foster. I put them in touch with one
another, with the result of Foster’s efforts being the best
looking front-motored Top Fuel car I've ever seen. You can't
miss its gorgeous green colors during its Cacklefest appearances,
or as it sits beneath the spotlights of the Wally Parks Museum
of Drag Racing in Pomona.
As the
years go by I find myself saying good-bye to far too many good
people, and it seems to me that more of the best of them take
that final step into the great void far too early, leaving us
to wonder at their lives, and cherish their memories. I won't
shed a public tear for Patty. He’d’ve kicked my ass
if he thought I'd do something like that, but I, along with countless
others, will miss his smiling face, his insightful comments and
his “When’s-the-next-round” personality.
It doesn't
matter what your ingrained religious beliefs are. What counts
is what you believe inside your heart and soul. I'd like to believe
that somewhere there's something that some might consider a heaven.
But I can't envision that with floating clouds and angels with
wings. For me it's an extension of this life, and I know there's
a drag strip there, one that probably looks like one of those
tracks that have been plowed under. Maybe it's like Irwindale,
or maybe even like U.S. 30, but the surface is glass-smooth and
the tractions always great even if there are oildowns. There
are a bunch of racers getting ready to run right now, and there,
pulling an aluminized mask over his beard is the newest arrival,
the guy they've all been waiting for, Pat Foster.
Jon
Asher
"No
Sad Music for Me"
"Sooner
or later all things must die. Only the sun seems invincible.
And so it becomes each man's responsibility to garner as much
and contribute as much as he can during his indefinite term's
existence upon this earth. Some people are fortunate in being
able to live a lifetime in a few short years. Others linger on
for many years, often failing to realize the rewards they are
attaining. As for me, I have lived many lifetimes during the
years I have relished on this earth. The friends I have known
and the people I have loved (many of them undoubtedly unaware)
have been more rewarding, more gratifying than all other things
combined. To those who are left behind I would like to express
these assurances. We have worked together, fought together, argued,
and defended one another. We have shared our misgivings and sorrows
just as we have shared our satisfactions when a job was well
done. In the many phases of my lifetimes there were many things
for which to be thankful. Fortunately, there have been very few
times when I didn't look forward to the new day. For this I can
only credit the people with whom I was associated. Their tolerance
and their forgiveness of my shortcomings were neither unnoticed
nor unappreciated, although I suspect they too were often unaware.
And now, having lived these many years, I can truthfully say
that I am satisfied. There will always be new goals one would
like to accomplish, but such ambitions only come as a result
of the happiness one feels as a result of past achievements.
For me, there is no real regret in leaving - only an aching concern
about the feelings of those left behind. It would be my wish
that instead of traditional sad-sounding music, my services could
enjoy a happy, happy note. To me it's a celebration, commemorating
the many years I have been fortunate to spend among the greatest
people there are. If I could offer but one bit of advice, it
would be: Look around you at the good people you know - don't
take them for granted as they're most of what makes life worth
living. Enjoy each day, despite its discomforts and shortcomings,
and take a little time to appreciate even the little things that
are good. So join me now in celebration, for I have gained far
more than one man could ever contribute. You, my friends, have
made it all possible. Let the music have a happy note, and be
glad that one's life was as abundantly rewarded as mine has been.
I sincerely hope yours will be even richer, in rewards far beyond
any monetary equal."
Even
though we knew it was coming, its still hard to fathom. Not having
any new stories to hear from Patty, or any of his craftsmanship
to look forward to seeing, makes his loss painful. I'll treasure
the photo below of Patty (albeit minus ponytail) explaining to
Paul Candies and myself how it should be done.....Foster-style.
Thanks
for the memories P.F. Flyer.
Henry
Walther
I'll
always remember some of the stores that Patty would tell. From
the start he would have you crying so hard it hurt, in side.
But if you had to ask him something, About Drag racing. You would
always get a straight answer, I remember when Jim Hume &
Patty had the shop over in Van Nuys and I would stop by to see
what those two were working on. The work that came out of the
shop, Was super. I would always look forward in seeing Pat at
the Reunions. We will always miss that smile and how the HELLARE
YA, with a big old hand shake.
The
last time I seen him and talk to him was at the Hot Rod reunion
back in Ohio, last year. Here's a shot of Brendan and Patty just
before Brendan's big blower deal and the bad fire.
Patty,
I will always miss seeing you and in our next life, I hope to
see you again.
You
old friend, with all my Love - RIP Thumbs Walt Stevens
As we waited for the sad news
that we knew would receive one day, it still doesn't make it
any easier when it finally arrives. I considered Foster a good
friend, we had many discussions about dragsters and we agreed
on many concepts of what a dragster should look like.
His many posts, great sense of
humor and oh the stories he could tell. The Dusty Rhoads story
of him at Lions was one of my favorites.
We'll all miss him terribly.
One of my prized processions
is the award he made for me in 2000 with a replica of the push
bar key that was on TV's single Buick.
Sit low Patty
Lee...
In 1969 I had the opportunity
to work with Pat at Mickey Thompson's shop. He was one of the
very best fabricators I have ever known along with John Buttera
and Nye Frank. He loved drag racing and will be missed forever!
Butch Leal
PEACE BE WITH YOU
PATTY FOSTER
Sy
He will be missed here by many,
we will grieve a man many of us held in hero status and many
of us got to know and to know him is to love the guy. He was
straight forward and no BS and willing to help you out even if
you were a weak suck. Just know though he will be welcomed to
the afterlife by many of his heroes and his peers. His passing
is very heavy in our hearts but at least his pain is over and
when you hear thunder on a stormy night, remember it is Foster
sittin low keepin the bitch lit and keepin an eye on all of us
as he makes pass after pass on the big strip in drag race heaven.....
Gods Speed Patty you are one
awesome and respected man and thank you again for gracing my
car with your touch.....
Tom Morris
When I had Heart surgery a year
and a half ago - Patty kinda talked me through it, (He'd already
gone through it a couple of times himself at that point), and
one of the things he told me was, "keep a handle on things",
"ya ain't just along for the ride" ...
Ya know, we're all gonna get outta here someday - and it's gonna
be too soon for sure ... doing it on your own terms seems like
a 'Keeping a handle on it' type of deal - - Pat's still the guy
in the hat and the silver suit doing the driving...
Foster is in my thoughts Fred
Vosk
I had the pleasure of meeting
Mr. Foster in Columbus last year when he signed my 6 year old
son's helmet. What a great guy, he talked with us for a few minutes,
and even offered to let my son sit in the 'Goose Vette. I'll
never forget the dry-hops in the Vette during the Cacklefest,
it was by far the highlight of the event, even though he said
he was probably going to get yelled at for it.
Thanks Pat.
Scott Frymoyer
The first time I ever went to
the drag's I was 9 year's old on pit side. I hear something that
is so loud, I take off running for the fence, It was Pat Foster
doing a burn-out at O.C.I.R. in the Barry Setzer [red car] Funny
car. At age thirteen I was working there, and at 46 I think about
it like it was yesterday. Thank You Pat Foster for all the good
memories.....
Mike O
RIP Patty!
SUSHI & BLUES TRAVELERS!!
You won't be forgotten!!!
Alan R. Miller
My condolences to Pat's family,
and the entire Drag Racing community.
Bob
I don't think a better Memorial
could have been written. It is obvious how much love and thought
went into to this piece.
Oddly enough the first time I
can remember seeing a Foster project was a sports car. My father
was a sports car racer in the 50's and 60's so my first racing
experiences were at road courses not drag strips. So the Nissan
GTP cars were something to drool over when I was younger. The
962 Porsches, Group 44 Jags, and the Gurney Toyotas were basically
ruling the road until the Nissan showed up. The car just looked
mean!! And, it proved that it was mean by basically taking no
prisoners. To my knowledge the car never lost unless something
bizarre happened. I am one of those people that identify with
the sounds and to me there are some sounds that truly bring shivers.
A Top Fuel Car on a burnout, a Ferrari V-12 screaming by on a
straight, or the Turbo "chirp" of the Nissan downshifting
hard into a corner.
Then I get out of my house and
start expanding my racing base of interests into dirt cars and
ultimately into drag racing. And once again I am awed by the
craftsmanship of Pat Foster. And through this 1320 family I was
lucky enough to meet and talk with Pat on several occasions.
I will always look on those meetings fondly.
God Speed Patty
Donovan
I hate opening up the computer
as it seems every week we lose more friends.
Patty, we miss you dearly.
Prayers are with you and family.
Tell Jungle I said "Hi".
PLUM & DOTTIE
DE - THIS is all any of us can
ever hope for........, thank you!
What a WONDERFUL tribute to a wonderful, wonderful, talented,
loving, caring individual.
I was SO blessed to be back in
Spokane to visit "Mr. Everything," as Phil Burgess
so fondly put it; for the past 3 weeks. And, to be there when
Cinders was there, was the icing on the cake!
Hook - you too, are SO blessed
to have the children you 'n Gordie have brought into this World.
I SO wish I could have "right click, save as....."
Patty's sharper than ever mind. Patty did it his way, and I learned
from that.
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