Armando Magri Autobiography - "Then and Now"

[EricOlson]

Chapter 26, Heading to Marion, Indiana for the National Miniature TT Championship, part 5 of 5
From the Autobiography of Armando Magri

Week Two: Nothing much happened during the week prior to the Wisconsin race. I stayed with Ozzie in Chicago, and he showed me all around the city. We visited the factory in Milwaukee one day. We got to see my bike being overhauled. It was a great day.

Come race day, the whole event was postponed due to a storm. There was nothing left to do but ride back to
Sacramento.

Oz decided he wanted to ride back to Sacramento with me. Things went great until somewhere in Iowa. Oz asked if I could adjust his carburetor, so we switched bikes in order for me to diagnose his problem. We hadn’t gone a few miles when I had to turn his gas reserve on, so I pulled into the next gas station.

Oz kept right on going, just like in Indiana, except now he was on my bike.

When I came to the next small town, I expected to see him. I asked a gas attendant at the only gas station in town if he had seen a man on a Harley with a checkered windshield. He said “Yeah, one like that went by a little while ago.” A few miles out of town I saw my Harley, parked along the side of the road, near an overpass. “Oz, where the hell are you?” I hollered.

“I’m up here, Mag, taking a crap!” Once he came down I said, “I’m taking my bike and heading home. If you can keep up, fine. If not, I’ll see you in Sacramento.”

I must have averaged 80 mph the rest of the way home. The bike ran great, of course, because of the factory overhaul.

In Reno, I was worried about the tires, so I found a used one at the Harley dealership. It was essentially bald, but I figured it would get me back to Sacramento. Cruising over 90 mph up to Donner Summit, I stopped to check the tire and it had worn through two plies. So, I nursed it down the mountain doing about 50.

Ozzie pulled in to Sacramento 24 hours after me. “Hi Mag, how ya doing?” He never got it that I was mad, so what the hell? That night we went to Alameda together and, with that rebuilt engine, I took 2nd at the TT at Neptune Beach, in Alameda. Sam Arena won.

Armando Magri visiting with relatives In Chicago, 1938.jpg
Armando Magri visiting with relatives In Chicago, 1938

Somewhere in Iowa, Armando retrieves his motorcycle while his cousin Oz is taking a crap 1938.jpg
Somewhere in Iowa, Armando retrieves his motorcycle while his cousin Oz is "taking a crap"

TT race at Neptune Beach in Alameda, California. Sam Arena won, Armando Magri took second..jpg
TT race at Neptune Beach in Alameda, California. Sam Arena won, Armando Magri took second.

Armando Magri, 2nd place at the Friday night races at Neptune Beach in Alemeda, California, 1938..jpg
Armando Magri, 2nd place at the Friday night races at Neptune Beach in Alemeda, California

[EricOlson]

Chapter 27, Who Won the 1939 Oakland 200 Mile National?
From the Autobiography of Armando Magri

My second attempt on Oakland’s grueling track came in 1939. This time I had a good-running machine, Frank
Murray’s WLDR. The practices went smoothly. No more test rides for Perkins. This time I was keyed-up, focused on qualifying, then on the main event.

I qualified with a solid time and started the race in row two of a five row, 25 rider field. Sam Arena, last year’s winner, was on my left. Jimmy Young, who won in 1935, was on my right. My old pal from Chico, Mario Stillo, was right in front of me on row one, along with Ed Kretz, Jimmy Kelly, Ted Edwards and pole sitter Ernie Holbrook.

I was doing well in the main event. Kretz, Kelly and Stillo all went out somewhere around lap 50. Then Holbrook spilled and was out of the race. Meanwhile, Jack Cottrell had worked his way up to the lead from his fourth row starting position.

Cottrell was Dud Perkins’ number one racer. He had dashing Errol Flynn looks and raced a black and white WLDR just like mine. A fierce competitor who took second behind Arena last year, Jack didn’t want any part of a runner-up finish this time.

Bo Lisman spilled. Then Babe Tancrede and Jimmy Young were out. By lap 197 I had worked my up to second place, behind Cottrell. My pit crew kept a count on the laps, and finally signaled for me to pass #21. Drafting Jack on the back straightaway, I sling-shotted around him and got into the corner first. I was winning the Oakland 200!

But when I raced past the grandstand no checkered flag came out. I found out that it had come down for Cottrell, right behind me. By the time we got into the winners circle the loudspeaker was announcing Cottrell the winner and Armando Magri in second.

My pit crew and Murray were hollering that there was a mistake in the lap count. The officials were telling us that I was almost a lap behind Jack. Bullshit!

Gladys Murray and Lu came flying down from the grandstands. We kept up the protest, but it was no use. They handed Jack a nice little trophy and a check for $500. Sitting alongside him on the winner’s circle, Jack leaned in and said, “You hold the trophy too Magri. You’re the one supposed to be holding it.” But he said nothing to the officials. Why should he?

The details that led to this mistake can be understandable. Our Harleys looked the same. His number was 21 and mine was 2. We both wore black leather pants, white shirts, white helmets and knee-high boots. At the speeds we were going, it confused the track spotters on certain laps. Ernie said they were positioned in the middle of the infield, making their task harder.

In these large National Championship races, there were always double-checks, to determine each rider’s finishing position. The first set of lap-checks was done by automobile race-checkers, who were more accustomed to spotting for cars. A second more sophisticated check was done by motorcycle people. Knowing this, Murray and my crew encouraged me to file a formal complaint with the AMA, who sanctioned the event.

When the AMA analyzed the first set of check sheets, many errors showed up. A lap was recorded twice for #21, for example, while #2 recorded no lap. It still didn’t help. The AMA Officials said they would have to go back and analyze the second master list, which would take some time.

Jack had already left the track with the trophy. All of the spectators were gone. It was just one of those misfortunes that I had to live with. It would have been my greatest career victory.

I found out that George Harais, the AMA referee, and his committee of checkers worked until 1 am, checking the master list. I was notified too late that I had actually won the race, but nothing further happened. When the factory poster came out, the photo of Jack and me both holding the trophy was gone.

Three years before he passed away, Dud Sr. and I were having a long conversation in his office, and he finally admitted that he knew all along I had won the race. He had been in close contact with the officials and knew all the details. After all, George Harrais worked for Dud, and Jack raced for him.

When Tom Motter wrote his book “History of the Oakland Speedway,” he printed my version of the 1939 race, then graciously listed “Armando Magri/Jack Cottrell” as the co-winners.

A photographer catches 1938 winner Sam Arena and Armando Magri, as they consult on race strategies..jpg
A photographer catches 1938 winner Sam Arena and Armando Magri, as they consult on race strategies

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Armando Magri, second from right, about to pass a slower racer in the later stages of the Oakland 200

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Armando Magri and Jack Cottrell both hold onto the trophy, but who won.jpg
Armando Magri and Jack Cottrell both hold onto the trophy, but who won?

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[EricOlson]

Line up for the 1939 Oakland 200-Mile National.jpg 1939 Oakland 200 Mile National line-up. Bottom, left to right: Ernie Holbrook, Billy Mills, Jack Cottrell, Mario Stillo, Jimmy Kelly, Jim Brathwaite, Ed Kretz, Armando Magri, Ben Campanale, Babe Tancrede, Billy Matthews, Harrison Reno. Top, left to right: Bo Lisman, Cy Homer, Goldman, Al Chasteen, Paul Albrect, Hap Jones, Bigsby, Dick Jughead Milligan, Lowrey, Sam Arena, Stople.

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[EricOlson]

Harley riders and sponsors at the 1939 Oakland 200 Mile National. Armando is 3rd from left.jpg Harley riders and sponsors at the 1939 Oakland 200 Mile National. Armando is 3rd from left

[EricOlson]

Chapter 28, Riding the Rubicon Canyon on Harleys. We Did That!
From the Autobiography of Armando Magri

This…was one of the dumbest things I ever did on a motorcycle, but I had accomplices. I had heard tales about an abandoned 19th century stage coach road that went through the Rubicon River Canyon, from Lake Tahoe through Wentworth Springs, Georgetown, Auburn and on into Sacramento. One story related how a Dodge truck was the last vehicle to attempt this hazardous road.


It was 1940 and I was still working for Murray. I had a yearning to try this road on a motorcycle. One summer day I gathered five of my friends and told them about my idea to ride down the canyon. Along with me were Earl Axtell, Bud Ernst, Bill Burns, George Holmes and Ken Unden, who my son is named after. We were all riding 61 cubic inch Harleys, which weighed 535 pounds. None of us had the slightest idea what we were getting into.


We stopped at the Pack Station at Wentworth Springs, to ask the mountain packer about the conditions in the canyon. He advised us to forget it. Just a few weeks earlier he had to take pack horses in to retrieve a stranded BSA motorcycle. The engine was ruined from going over the large granite rocks.


The old man told us t walk over to the edge of the canyon and take a good look down. “That in itself will be enough to make you change your minds,” he said, adding that only one vehicle had made the journey in modern times. It was a specially built one-ton Marmon Harrington truck with high clearance and four-wheel drive.


Being smart-asses, we didn’t even bother to look down at the canyon. We took off, against the old man’s advice. Within a few hundred yards, we began to understand what he was talking about. The years and weather had taken its toll on this road.


Being an adventurous group, we decided to push on. That was a good word for it too. Push we did. The further in we got, the more hazardous the boulders became. There were stretches where we had to lift each bike over rocks and deep ditches. The distance to the bottom of the canyon was only three miles from Wentworth Springs, not that far. But before we reached that point we had smashed exhaust pipes, broken brake rods, scratched our paint jobs and damaged other parts on the bikes from scraping them against the rocks.


George and Bill had little riding experience of this sort. We had to ride their bikes across some tough stretches, then go back for our own. Once we reached Rubicon Springs, we took a much-needed rest. Earl had some smashed cookies in his saddle bag. Once we started up the other side, it wasn’t as hazardous, but still difficult.


A half-mile in we came across an abandoned 1925 Cadillac with chains around the rear tires. Later we would learn that this car had come in a week earlier, and slid off the road. It had fresh gasoline in it, so we used door stripping for a siphon and helped ourselves.


We came out of the canyon at Camp Richardson, along the shore of Lake Tahoe. It was almost dark. From there, we rode to Homewood, where Ken’s father-in-law had a cabin. After making dinner, we all stretched out on the living room floor, a bunch of smart-asses, totally pooped out.


Al told, it was the dumbest thing we ever did on bikes. The only thing we accomplished were bragging rights, which came in handy one day.


After World War II, a great many surplus Jeeps were sold at public auctions. That began a “Jeepers” craze. For many years Jeepers would come to Rubicon Canyon for a big jamboree.


In the late 1970s, I was talking to some of the guys over at S and H 4-Wheel shop, across the street from our dealership. We got into quite a discussion about the Rubicon Canyon. When I told them about our trip in 1940 they snickered. They thought I was spreading it on pretty thick. So, I said, “Hang tight and I’ll be right back.”


When I returned, I asked them if there was an old Cadillac near Rubicon Springs, and they began to look at one another. “Of course,” one said. “Who would ever try to pull that thing out?”


“Well then, take a look at this photograph,” I said. It was a photo Earl took of Kenny siphoning gas out of that old thing, with two of our Harleys parked on the background.


There was no further snickering.

Knuckleheads on Knuckleheads, 1940.jpg
Knuckleheads on Knuckleheads, 1940

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Kenny taking gas from the abandoned Cadillac at the bottom of Rubicon Canyon, 1940..jpg
Kenny taking gas from the abandoned Cadillac at the bottom of Rubicon Canyon

[EricOlson]

We made it!.jpg
We made it!

Five pooped knuckleheads, done for the day.jpg
Five pooped knuckleheads, done for the day

[EricOlson]

Chapter 29, Racing the Daytona 200-Mile National in 1940, Part 1
From the Autobiography of Armando Magri

Another event I entered twice was the 200-Mile National at Daytona Beach. This event was considered the premier of motorcycle racing in America.

Daytona was first famous for speed trials on the beach. Joe Petrali had set a speed record on the new Harley- Davidson EL model at Daytona. But the salt flats at Bonneville, Utah, was becoming the more popular location for speed records, and Daytona needed to do something.

The 200-mile race began in 1937, when they moved another Savannah race event to the 3.2-mile Daytona course. The course was simple enough, going one direction along the sand, and the other direction on State Road A1A, with huge banked sand turns at each end. With half the track in sand, a terrific pace, and torturous turns, it demanded the most efficient, best-performing equipment available.

When the race started, the tide would be out. As the race ended, the tide had come in, and bikes were riding next to the water. In certain areas, when the waves came in, the passing race bikes threw up giant rooster tails, creating a unique spectacle.

Several riders from the California were heading out there. Ed Kretz, who won the first 200 in 1937 was going, as well as Bruce Pearson from Los Angeles, Al Chasteen from Stockton, Harrison Reno from Pomona, Sam Arena from Watsonville, and Jimmy Kelley from Haynes, California. I had just finished 2nd at the Oakland 200-Mile National a few months before, so why not go back east and see how I do against their racers?

Ernie Holbrook, a San Francisco racer, and Dan Cohen, an AMA commissioner, and I set out in late January for Daytona with our two WR race bikes stuffed into Ernie’s 1937 Buick coupe. Ernie had a sign painter caption the back trunk on his car. It read “San Francisco to Daytona Beach, Florida” with some oranges at the bottom.

We were not prepared for any emergencies, and Ernie’s heater quit on us after we barely got out of San Francisco. Going over the Sierras, we got caught in a fierce snowstorm with no defroster. We improvised by lighting a candle to clear a small viewing hole in the windshield. The fenders had built up so much snow that we were spinning out a lot, but with no real harm.

As it turned out, the entire southern United States was caught up in a cold spell. Even Arizona was cold. It snowed the night we stayed in El Paso. I should have thought to buy a good pair of gloves, but I didn’t think it would be so damn cold once we finally rolled into Daytona at midnight. But it was.

To be continued…

Biker lifestyle, Sacramento, 1940, Armando and Lu Magri, and Rex the dog..jpg Armando and Rex the dog, Sacramento, 1940

Lu Magri, 1940.jpg
Lu Magri

Armando Magri on the WLDR he raced at Daytona, 1940.jpg
Armando Magri on the WLDR he raced at Daytona, 1940

Ernie Holbrook and Armando Magri, on their way to Daytona, 1940.jpg
Ernie Holbrook and Armando Magri, on their way to Daytona, 1940

Snow on the way to Florida. Who would have guessed.jpg
Snow on the way to Florida. Who would have guessed?

[EricOlson]

1940 Daytona 200 entrants.jpg
1940 Daytona 200 entrants

[EricOlson]

Chapter 30, Racing the Daytona 200-Mile National in 1940, Part 2
From the Autobiography of Armando Magri

As with the Oakland 200-Mile National, Daytona organizers allowed a week of practice, which better allowed us to be right for race day. Unfortunately, the weather did not cooperate.

The morning temperatures were as low as 23 degrees, and there were no gloves to be found in Daytona, completely sold out. Why did I come to Daytona without gloves? Some of the riders took pieces of cardboard and tied them onto their handlebars for wind breaks. It actually worked.

With all of the cold, it was still great to hang out in Daytona all week. Frank and Gladys Murray, my bosses, had also come out from Sacramento. I met Dot Robinson, who loaned me her motorcycle, so I could take a ride on the beach. I saw Hank Syverston again, the head of Harley-Davidson racing, who I first met in Marion, Indiana. Dud Perkins Sr. was there.

I met the old board track racer Jim Davis, who was our official starter. Babe Tancrede and Ben Campanale, who I raced against at Oakland, both came down from Rhode Island. John Harley, who I met at the factory in 1938, was there. Motorcycle clubs, company presidents, pretty ladies, everyone was at Daytona!

By race day, the temperatures had warmed up. Starting positions were chosen by lot, and I was lucky to get the 14th position in a 75 rider main event. When the flag dropped for the race, I was up with the leaders and everything went well for five laps.

Then on lap six, my rear wheel completely locked up. Fortunately, it happened on the sandy part of the track. I managed to keep the bike under control while staying clear of the riders bearing down on me.

That ended my 1940 attempt, but I vowed to come back and try again. My buddy Ernie Holbrook took fourth place, so we were happy about that. On the way home we took in the Mardi Gras in New Orleans. I ended up with a $59 bill for everything when I got home. It wasn’t a profitable race, but it sure was a lot of fun.

Sam Arena, far right, and crew arrive at Daytona, in the middle of a cold spell, 1940.jpg Sam Arena, far right, and crew arrive at Daytona, in the middle of a cold spell, 1940

Armando Magri, Hank Syverston, Dud Perkins and Ernie Holbrook, Daytona, 1940.jpg Armando Magri, Hank Syverston, Dud Perkins and Ernie Holbrook at Daytona, 1940

HANKSY~2.JPG Hank Syverston, head of racing at Harley-Davidson, racer Ernie Holbrook, San Francisco Harley dealer Dudley Perkins Sr. and racer Armando Magri, at Daytona Beach, 1940

Harley-Davidson Director of Racing, Hank Syverston, Ernie Holbrook and Armando Magri, Daytona, 1940.jpg
Harley-Davidson Director of Racing, Hank Syverston, Ernie Holbrook and Armando Magri, Daytona, 1940

98203905_873587786459470_6925284175209562112_o.jpg Ernie Holbrook gets his bike prepped

[EricOlson]

Armando Magri, Ernie Holbrook, and Al Chasteen at the 1940 Daytona 200.jpg Armando Magri, Ernie Holbrook, and Al Chasteen

Armando Magri, Joe Herb and Sam Arena, Daytona, 1940.jpg Armando Magri, Joe Herb and Sam Arena

Armando Magri's Daytona bike in the pits, Daytona, 1940. Photos by Armando..jpg Armando Magri's Daytona bike in the pits. Photo by Armando

Armando Magri with Dot Robinson, on Dot's bike, Daytona, 1940.jpg Armando Magri with Dot Robinson, on Dot's bike

DUDLEY~1.JPG Dudley Perkins Sr. riding a Harley with a Goulding sidecar

[EricOlson]

Ernie Holbrook, Armando Magri and Dud Perkins, Daytona, 1940.jpg
Ernie Holbrook, Armando Magri and Dud Perkins

Ernie Holbrook took 4th at the 1940 Daytona 200. Cannonball Baker is in the middle.jpg Ernie Holbrook took 4th at the 1940 Daytona 200. Cannonball Baker is in the middle.

Hank Syverstein, Al Chasteen, Hap Alzina, and Walter Davidson Jr., Daytona, 1940.jpg Hank Syverstein, Al Chasteen, Hap Alzina, and Walter Davidson Jr.

THESEA~1.JPG

Jimmy Chan, Bruce Wolters and Steve Chan at Daytona, 1940, photo by Armando Magri.jpg
Jimmy Chan, Bruce Wolters and Steve Chan at Daytona, 1940, photo by Armando Magri

[EricOlson]

Babe Tancrede and Dud Perkins, 2nd and 3rd from left, at Daytona, 1940.jpg Babe Tancrede and Dud Perkins, 2nd and 3rd from left

Babe Tancrede at Daytona, 1940.jpg Babe Tancrede

Woonsocket, Rhode Island Class-C racer who won Daytona 200. Here is Ben Campanile '38 and '39..jpgBen Campanale at Daytona, 1940, photo by Armando Magri


Class C racer June McCall at Daytona.jpg June McCall

Ed Kretz at Daytona, 1940, photo by Armando Magri.jpg Ed Kretz at Daytona, 1940, photo by Armando Magri

[EricOlson]

Jim Davis, retired board track racer and official starter for the 1940 Daytona 200.jpg Jim Davis, retired board track racer and official starter for the 1940 Daytona 200

a spin out while racers coming out of a turn, Daytona, 1940. Photos by Armando..jpg a spin out while racers coming out of a turn, Daytona, 1940. Photos by Armando.

Here you go...#38 Ed Kretz Sr, #52 Frenchy Castonguay and #32 Jimmy Kelly. Full list enclosed.jpg
List of racers

Two men showed up at the race with baby shoes tied on their handlebars.jpg
Two men showed up at the race with baby shoes on their handlebars. Last year, while Babe Tancrede was riding at Daytona a child was born at home. During the year Jimmy Kelly became a proud dad. Both tied baby shoes on the bars as good omens.

[EricOlson]

William Harley, Frank Murray and Julius Kaminsky at Daytona, 1939.jpg
William Harley, Frank Murray and Julius Kaminsky

William Harley and Sacramento HD dealer Gladys Murray at Daytona, 1939, photo by Frank J. Murray.jpg
William Harley and Sacramento HD dealer Gladys Murray at Daytona, 1939, photo by Frank J. Murray

William Harley and Frank Murray at Daytona, 1939.jpg
William Harley and Frank Murray at Daytona

William Harley, Daytona, 1940. Photo by Frank Murray.jpg William Harley, Daytona, 1940. Photo by Frank Murray

[EricOlson]

Chapter 31, My second try at the Daytona 200, 1941
From the Autobiography of Armando Magri

In 1941, Walter Davidson Jr. offered me a factory Harley-Davidson racer and $150 in expense money, if I would try racing at Daytona again. I would have been a fool to refuse an offer like that, so I was on my way again. This time I took the train, as the motorcycle would be waiting for me there.

On the train, I got into a heavy dice game with some members of our fine armed forces. Much to my amazement, I won $60. I cleaned one guy out completely, then lent him $20 from my winnings. For collateral, he gave me his gold Waltham pocket watch, with a chain and a knife. I gave him my address and told him, if he would send me the money, I would send back his watch. He never did, so I still have that watch.

At Daytona, I practiced just as I had done the year before. Everything was going well. I was lucky enough to draw the #4 starting position, which put me in the front row. On my last practice before the race, the engine on my factory-issued WLDR began to seize up. But it was too late to do anything about it.

I decided to race the thing until it blew, and that’s pretty much what happened.

As the flag dropped, Billy Matthews from Canada shot out from the starting row on his Norton. I was right behind him in second place, and gaining. By the end of the first lap I passed Matthews and took the lead. The bikes got going pretty fast on beach, and again on the asphalt section of the track. But you had to be careful on the sand-packed turns. Wow, what a feeling! I was leading the Daytona 200!

But it didn’t last for long. On the sixth lap, just like the year before, the bike went kaput. As I suspected earlier, the engine did indeed seize up, and I had to pull off another spectacular get-out-of-the-way Magri slides, just to avoid the riders behind me.

That ended my second and final try at Daytona. Billy Matthews won the race on his Norton. I felt defeated, but was unhurt. Between the factory paying my expenses, and my winnings from that dice-shooting game on the train, I still came out a winner.

Matthews' 1941 victory at Daytona was totally unexpected. The Harley-Davidson and Indian factory efforts were at the race in full force. Harley was debuting its new WRTT model and was riding a three-race winning streak at Daytona.

Mathews took the early lead in the race on his Norton, but crashed in the early going and fell behind the leaders. Fortunately for Mathews, his motorcycle wasn’t damaged and he continued the race. He charged back through the field and worked his way back up to second behind Indian’s Jimmy Kelly.

Kelly looked to have a safe lead, but with just four laps to go his engine quit and Mathews moved ahead and cruised to victory. Despite crashing, Mathews set a new record speed for the 200 averaging 78.08 mph. His Norton Manx's 500cc engine was the smallest to win Daytona to that point.

The watch Armando won in the crap game on the train.jpg The watch Armando won in the crap game on the train

Armando Magri at Daytona, 1941 1.jpg Armando Magri at Daytona, 1941

Number 38 Ed Kretz going down the beach at Daytona.jpg Number 38 Ed Kretz going down the beach at Daytona

A racer crashes his bike at the 1941 Daytona 200. Photo by Armando Magri.jpg A racer crashes his bike at the 1941 Daytona 200. Photo by Armando Magri

Well dressed Daytona fans, 1941.jpg Well dressed Daytona fans, 1941