Belle, the late runner up.

I grew up in a Pontiac household. To my father, if it wasn't a Pontiac, it was a piece of crap. Our family daily driver was a 1969 GTO Ram Air IV in Matador Red (think blood red) with white interior and centerline wheels. My father was drag racing a gold 1963 Tempest Le Mans followed by a 1981 Firebird. He chose a 1957 GMC 2500 pickup as his tow vehicle. Why: Because it had a 348 cubic-inch Pontiac V-8. That's why.

Because of the divorce, my parents sold the Goat for only $1,500 in 1982. I would still love to own that car today, but the $60,000 or $100,000 required to purchase it would not be in my price range.

The GTO was great, but much of my youth revolved around a 1963 Tempest, which he called "Wampum II" (my first Wampum was a 1961 Catalina, which he sold when I was three). He bought a bright white '63 coupe from Jack White Ford in 1973 or '74. The first time he ran it as a drag car, he fired it up and drove it down the streets of Riney Luck, a subdivision in New Berlin, Wisconsin, where the rumble and cackle of its 434 cubic-inch V-8 (bored out of a Pontiac 428) was so loud that it could be heard over the swampy Riney Luck Lake (which was a swampy lake). Yes, there was a swamp in our backyard) reverberated and could be heard a half mile away. He traded his horse to an old sign maker, who put the name "Wampum II" on the rear fender in exchange for an apple from our backyard. I don't know if that same man wrote the irreverent "No Gravity, Earth Sucks" on the trunk lid, but I sure thought it was clever.

I remember when I ran 12.40 seconds in the quarter mile. That was early on, and my mother occasionally competed in powder puff classes in this car. She was a much better drag racer than he was and should have been his driver all along. I remember when he ran an 11.63 at Byron Dragway in Byron, Illinois, I ran the return lane to tell him about it. His best time was 10.76, 126 mph, and I remember how proud he was when he broke into the 10s.

I also remember being yelled at and all the swearing he unleashed while breathing on the brakes. He also remembers how he almost got into a fight with his neighbor Ernie when he tried to use a crowbar to open his trunk in order to speak during an epileptic seizure. I remember arguing about the money he was putting into the car and how Christmas presents were not necessarily as important as a rebuilt transmission. I also remember him selling this car in 1980 or 81 and putting a lot of money into a Firebird. He sold the Tempest to a guy he called "Tank" who was a big guy who helped my dad with his pit crew. After that, I didn't see him again until 2009.

I started looking

I was single, career driven, and looking for toys, and I wanted to find that old Tempest. My father enjoyed it as a drag car and was obviously infected with a need for speed. I like to go fast too, but I like tracks with corners. What if I could modify this thing as a sort of transom racer? It would be vintage on the outside, with the old drag body intact, but with a Chevy small-block crate engine underneath, a Tremec 6-speed manual transmission, Detroit Speed front clip and all the bells and whistles, and a modern independent rear suspension. Install it. That way my father and I could enjoy the same car in our own ways, decades apart.

I thought I had a clue about this car. A close friend went to diesel mechanic school with Tank in the late 1980s, but he too only knew the name Tank. Useless.

With no names to look for, I turned to the Little Indian chapter of the Pontiac Oakland Club International, a club for fans of the 1961-63 Tempest. I was not surprised to learn that they had a so-called "rope drive," a flexible piece of steel in a torque tube leading to the rear transaxle (my father had converted a Wampum II to use a conventional transmission and driveshaft). It had a four-cylinder engine, unusual for the time, a rear swing axle with independent rear suspension, and a unibody platform in a world where body-on-frame was the norm. Weight balance was improved, handling was better, and the floor was flat with no driveshaft humps.In 1963, Pontiac added the Tempest Le Mans as a one-year wonder model. Styling was fine-tuned, available only as a coupe and convertible, and powered by a 326 cubic-inch V-8 based on Pontiac's 389, producing 260 or 280 horsepower. There are clubs for every kind of oddball.

I sent an e-mail to the Little Indian newsletter telling them I was looking for a gold 1963 Pontiac Tempest LeMans called Wampum II that raced in Wisconsin in the 1970s. Unbeknownst to me, the club published my letter in their next newsletter and three people responded. The first guy said he remembered my father crashing it. I would have remembered it.

The next guy sent me a picture of a gold 1963 Tempest called Wampum in North Carolina. It was an incredible coincidence, but it was a Tempest, not a Tempest Le Mans, and it was called a Wampum, not a Wampum II. Wrong car.

The third gentleman said he worked at Shelby American in Las Vegas, but he was from Wisconsin and it was his buddy "Big Mike" who bought the car from my dad back in the day. He gave me Big Mike's real name and contact information and said he lived in a town called Johnson Creek, about 20 miles from New Berlin, where I grew up.

Pay Dirt

I thought a guy named Big Mike might also be a tank, so I contacted him and sure enough he had a car. He had been sitting on it for 30 years and was now trying to sell it for $3,000. I was excited, but my mood took a turn for the worse when he sent me a picture of the car. The door still had my father's name on it, but the name "Wampum II" was gone. Worse, it was just a shell, with no engine, no drivetrain, no suspension, no interior, no electrical system, and there was no way it could be road-ready without spending an extra $20,000 or $30,000.

Memories of my parents' arguments, Christmas, and divorce flooded my mind. I had no place to store car parts, and I obviously didn't feel like spending money on an expensive project. I passed.

By the spring of 2015, I owned a 1968 Pontiac Firebird. But since that car was brand new, automotive engineering had done wonders for modern cars, and my Firebird ran like a bullhorn. So I started looking for parts to upgrade its performance. One place to do this is the annual spring Jefferson Swap Meet and Car Show in Jefferson, Wisconsin, an open-field event held in April, often in cold, wet weather. I was supposed to go on Saturday with a friend who owns two 1960s Pontiacs, but when we woke up in the morning it was raining, so we decided to spend the dry time playing video games and watching baseball in our condo.

Sunday morning I received a phone call from a stranger. Maybe he subscribed to the Little Indian newsletter; Wampum II was at the Jefferson swap meet and the owner wanted $2,500. He was interested and later returned to learn it had sold.

I knew where my father's car was for 6 years and did nothing. Now it is missing.

Or was.

It was like a twist of fate

A month later, I drove to Road America in Elkhart Lake, Wisconsin for the Midwest Automotive Media Association's annual Spring Rally. My route included a short trip to Highway J, less than a mile from the circuit. There are always about 20 cars in the yard of the house on the north side of the road. Often a Pontiac or two would be there, but as I passed by at 60 mph, I never found one worth stopping for. One friend, however, did find one. He said he saw my father's car, but wasn't sure.

Of all the cars and all the gin joints in all the world, my father's car sat on a trailer on this property, under a tarp. That car just couldn't get away from me. It was as if fate had brought us together. If the new owner had lived a block away from that road, or anywhere else, I would never have seen that car again. The car was begging me to buy it.

The "Glen Bell" was gone from the door, but the trunk was marked ".There is no gravity the earth sucks." The car still needed tens of thousands of dollars worth of parts, but I left a note on the front door of the owner's house telling him I had acquired the car from my father. I left my phone number, and when he called me a few days later, he said he was going to run it again to compete in vintage drag races. I hadn't changed my mind about buying the car and thought it would be cool to have it back on the track. But I kept his license plate number. Just in case.

Almost five years after leaving that note, I awoke from my Saturday night nap to a phone call from the owner. I had preferential negotiating rights and he was asking $5,000 to $6,000. I knew he was most likely only spending $2,500 or less on this car, but I did not let him know that. He said he wasn't in a hurry and I said I would think about it.

So I am back to where I was when I first found this car 11 years ago. I want it, but I have no place to put it and it costs too much to get it. But experience tells me not to spend a lot of money on bad things. I'd love to turn it into a project car, but Motor Authority doesn't do that sort of thing.

The Wampum II is the car that got me interested in cars (well, that and the GTO Ram Air IV). It was my father's pride and joy until he bought the next, more expensive racing car. It was a contributing factor in my parents' divorce, and the lessons I learned from that, I would not buy this car. It can't stay off the radar, but it can't overcome the mental hurdles to make it yours.

For now.