The Ford Barn - Flemings Junk Yard Pumpkin Run Car Show

It is 2 am Saturday November 6, 2010 and I can’t sleep.
Maybe it is the wonderful dinner Lynn Heiss prepared for Frank and me?
Maybe it was the long drive to Thorofare, NJ from Virginia?
Maybe it was rising expectations for the day about to dawn when THE RUN opens? Dunno.

We rolled at 6:50 am, ahead of most of the traffic and regular folk. Mapquest told Frankie we could go via R55 and on to Scullville the quickest or, as Frankie hinted, he knew a back route through rural South Jersey. So on back roads we go, enjoying the beautiful foliage in the frosted morning. The morning mist was strong and the sun did not know whether it needed to get up for one more day of daylight saving or to wait for EST? The sun did know today was the day of THE RUN. The critters were still bedded down and even the stink bugs were still burrowed down into escape the frost. Even the trees and leaves seemed to lean our way and know today was the day of THE RUN. We skipped several inviting-looking Jersey dinners for eggs and sticky buns in order to arrive ASAP at THE RUN.

We hit R559/R40/R559/ and Zion Road and began to see the orange signs the promulgated THE RUN is this-a-way. The line was about 50 cars long as we entered, riding in Frankie’s ‘72 orphan-Pontiac breathing into 400 Cu. inches of cylinder chambers. We heard later that the 300 dash plaques had been given out before 8 am. We parked among the pines and scrub oaks in the “Sticks” and headed off at THE RUN. (In central and South Jersey some of the soil is poor, being mostly sand from beaches long ago. It is good growing soil for blue berries, etc. The trees that like it here are mainly scrub oak and pine. The soil only lets these trees grow to 40-50 feet height. In the Pine Barrens areas, the soil only lets the trees grow to 36-50 inches in height. It is a strange phenomenon, caused by something in the soil. If an acorn or pine burr falls from a tall tree into the adjacent pine barren area, the tree grows as a dwarf. If the seeds from that tree fall back in the better soil, the next generation grows to the higher height.)

This is the fifteenth annual version of the famous Pumpkin Run in Fleming’s junk Yard in Scullville, NJ. We estimate 1000+ vehicles and 12,000 plus attendees.
http://www.flemingshows.com/PUMPKINRUN.html gives the skinny on THE PUMPKIN RUN.

We were greeted with mega watts of power for the stage. Enough power to make some more leaves fall. The scene is in a 350 plus acre inactive junkyard. Many of the old cars have bulldozed into piles and the flat land covered with pine bark. Show cars park in rows on the open area and between the trees everywhere else. The flee market, containing about 200 dealers, is near the food rows and before the huge wrecked-trucks area. Port-a-potties are every where set out in groups of two: One Blue and one Pink. Great idea as no self respecting Jersey boy is gonna use a pink potty. When we started out to view the junk cars there was still morning frost on the cars.

There is a wondrous model of an N&W steam locomotive welded to a steel bridge. The engine body is a sealed acetylene tank! The thing is huge and must weight 8123742834928.4 tons.

I find a rubber chicken for my chicken collection. However the owner wants $18 for the yellow thing. No way am I investing that kind of cash in a rubber chicken. On the next isle that is another chicken. This fat fellow is beeeg time uuuugly carved outa of wood. One leg in the middle. I can describe it either as a chicken on a newel post or a newt post looking like a chicken. Do you have one? I brought it home and gave it to MS. Sandy for her birthday. For some unknown reason she would rather have pressed coal that a newel-chicken. I will never understand women... At least she is consistent as she said the same thing when I gave her a fireplug.

Frank introduced me to two other junk yard owners. Can you imagine the honor Mr. Fleming must feel that he put on a show that junk yard owners from the competing yards would want to attend. WOW. Impressive!

In the flea market we saw a photo of a steam train and her passenger consist. With the framed photo were two train tickets. One was from Tuckerton to Mayetta. Do you know where that station is? Later we saw a man with the photo. He was a railroad buff and delighted with the collage. He did not know where Mayetta was either.

Under a tree was a “tomato trailer.” These were traditionally a car frame and four wheels with working boards bolted on top and with or without sides. They were pulled by a tractor into the picking fields and bushels of tomat’s, ‘grass or ‘lopes were piled high on the flat surface. This model had wire wheels and the frame of a late twenty’s Lincoln.

Our buddy Mike showed up in a Model A coupe. He had driven it from Pitman. It was a “see mor car” You could see more thru the car than of it. Solid rust. The roof was tarred over. Fenders rusted thru and nothing straight. Mike was loving it and driving everywhere. To me that was a swell way to save a car. I loved it.

We nearly tripped over a car jack sticking out of the ground. Not laying flat, but standing vertical with about 6 inched of the shaft showing. No telling what was under that area.

We moseyed over the watch the tractor pulls. Up comes Bruce, a 6 year old with a cherub –cute face bulging out from his helmet. Scared but, with his Daddy beside him, he set up for a championship pull. He fires off his lawn tractor and the announcer bellows: 7 inches give Bruce a big hand... and we did. Ten minutes later Bruce is back with another ride. Again we all cheer loudly, 3 more rides occur and the announce sez our Bruce is the crowd favorite. We thought so and gave him thumbs up as we met him behind the strip. A very young boy grew up a bit on the dirt strip of Sculltown.

Friends at the dirt track pavilion: In the dirt track racing grotto (read a double wide with linoleum floor and tire tracks in it), there were a few trophies, some model cars, some flags and banners but primarily there were photos of drivers/winners and with cars in the background From the Vineland Speedway. Therein there were no kids in the shrine, no one with Ipods or ears cooked with loud music. There was reverence everywhere. A very old guy was holding court from his power cart. He had gathered a crowd and they were in awe... HE was a dirt track racer. Folks spoke in low tomes as they looked at the b/w photos. There’s Jonnie...Billy; ain’t’ that your uncle George...what ever happen to Harry? Ah, remember in forty 8 he got runned over by a Buick? Is that Charlie was asked and from the back of that group: “Yep, that’s me.!!!! We were amongst ‘em: DIRT TRACK RACERS and families from an era so long ago but not forgotten.

Frankie seemed to know everybody and they were glad to see him and asked about his 80 year dad. In a junk yard we are all friends, thus friendly chat went on everywhere (And as you know by now, I don’t know any strangers.) We both talked and laughed all day long and never tole one lie or possible falsehood.

We were back to the rear area looking at a Tempest convertible: you know the version with the rear mounted tranny and the flexible drive shaft. We hear a sisss, boom-whooompf. I hit the dirt as I know what incoming mortars sound like. Over near the sad ‘42 Buick, it comes again. So we leave the Lincoln Mark 4 and go see where the war is. They are doing Pumpkin chucking. The machine looks like a 155 Howitzer. Wheel mounted with a 500 gallon air tank aboard. The gun is 25 feet long with the barrel diameters suitable for a regular pumpkin. The target, 100 yards away is a RV trailer and a Chevy van. (These are real vehicles, not fakes and each shot on the trailer goes completely through the trailer’s living area. We are loving this. We chat with the leadership and learn that two more slots are planned: One with a pumpkin and one with a bowling ball. We watch the pumpkin nearly rip the roof of the RV and then move on before the bowling ball goes. We know what that is gonna do and we don’t want to be near by. The gunner was told to lower the elevation so as not to shoot the bb to the ocean. Frankie saw a ‘69 vet exactly like the one he had so we hadda go study it and chat with the owner.

Of the many characters at THE PUMPKIN RUN, the Grim Reaper was there in full regalia including a black cape and scythe. Super scary. I am amazed at the get-ups some women wear to these kinds of events. 3 inch spiked heels and jeans in a bark-covered sandy junkyard seemed out of place. Of course there were several motorcycle gangs there with interesting jewelry and metals as well. I’m guessing the lady with frog skin tattoos on her neck and face was either ET or a frog in disguise...

As we departed the wonderful scene Frankie asked if I wanted to use R55 straight home or tour the “sticks” some more. We did Lake Iona, Mays landing, Richland, Buena, on and on. It was a sunny afternoon with still plenty of color to the trees. I wished the ride would never end. We had spoken about the County House so we went by there as well. Mother and I used to go into the wetland just west of the farm and look for snow drops flowering in the early spring. These plants are the first indication of spring and bloom ahead of the skunk cabbage. We also looked at the pauper’s grave yard. This ground gives up baseball size chucks of sand stone. Our family always worried that we would have no money and be sent to the poor house on the County farm. It had been 60 years since any tires of mine had hustled down those roads. Truly a special trip the two of us dear friends took together down memory lane. Don’t miss a chance to do a memory land trip on your own.

We stopped to visit the Patcong model Railroaders layout, which as you know, is in the Richland NJ Railroad Station. I had a nice chat with John Napoleon. He was taking out some of his tank cars in preparation for a big run coming up. Frankie Heiss and I got a few minutes to look about the huge HO layout. Of course all layouts are amazing and wonderful, but one feature of this one stunned me. I don't think I have ever seen a forest fire modeled. South Jersey, particularly down in the "sticks", has the constant fear of those viscous events. White cotton modeled smoke from the several hot areas and the hill side was charred. I suspect that red lights depicted fire when the layout was in operation. The entire layout was very spectacular. http://www.patcongvalley.com/

We passed had a Model A doodlebug posing as yard art. In South Jersey many Model Ts, Model As and early v-8 Fords had their frames shortened and bodies removed and were called “Doodlebugs.” They were used in the blueberry fields. Another yard had a 40 Ford wrecker out front. Many properties had old cars in back in the weeds. Several had hot rods rusting next to their homes in the pines. “My briar patch” for sure. So sweet looking with still some of the colorful leaves on the trees, the cover crops in and things tightening down for the long wet winter ahead.

Years ago, Frank and his kids and buds had fished all over South Jersey and Penna. At every lake he had a story of what he had caught and who was there. Being a nomad of the military, I did not get to stay in one place too long. I surely missed this kind of growings- up. (On the trip up, I stopped at the Quaker Meetinghouse in Mickleton to visit my family plots in the grave yard. I try and do this on my yearly travels and to report in on how we are doing. I seem to recognize most of the names in that little yard and am related to most as well. The smell of ancient box bushes and freshly wetted leaves is so comforting: I am home.)

The old station at Malaga was looking good. (Or maybe it was Landisville.)They also had a restored control tower nearby. There is significant effort around South Jersey to restore some of the railroad properties and help improve the small towns. This is one of those towns that grew up around the railroad. There is a huge main street with the tracks in the middle. Better houses faced the tracks. I think it was to be the park and open area to gather as the trains from Phila came to town. I like it. There are some restored RDC cars that tour some of these small towns. It might seem that life was simpler back then in the sticks, but I bet not.

For me to again ride through the flats and sticks of south Jersey did so much for my psychic. I had dreams of retiring in those sticks and playing with my trains and old cars.
Not to be, but today it was to be.

Clem Clement