Rod Fellows

Fifties sensibilities and styles fuel the passions of latter-day gearheads

Eric Robbins is a 25-year-old programmer/student whose apparent obsession with personal grooming sees him turned out in style. His fire-trimmed, black '64 Galaxie runs a close cosmetic second.

"I've always been DIY," he says, gazing at the burgeoning underground hot rod scene.

"I am actually starting my own car club to go hand in hand with my Web page. I would like to build it up and get more camaraderie around here. It's kinda cool to bring back the underground. I'm more into the old underground kinda thing. I was looking at Howard's [hot rod] and the mere fact that you could see plumbing pipe on his exhaust is so cool."

Squad plaque.
Paolo Vescia
Squad plaque.
Antiquated gauges.
Paolo Vescia
Antiquated gauges.
A reflection of style.
Paolo Vescia
A reflection of style.
Tipple, tarts and tats: Greenfield flanked by Rik Grouth (left) and Lisa Marie.
Paolo Vescia
Tipple, tarts and tats: Greenfield flanked by Rik Grouth (left) and Lisa Marie.

Outside the crowded Emerald Lounge, clusters of hot rod buffs stand around old Chevy pickups, polished wagons and roadsters, spilling laughter, teasing and insults into the dusty twilight.

Greenfield's Manchester caw rises above the noise. In one hand he's holding a half-full bottle of Miller High Life, and under either arm two rockabilly nymphets are poised: Rik Grouth, a lovely brunette with cushy Mansfield curves, and Lisa Marie, resembling Doris Day's naughty twin in yellow crinoline and smeared lips. Using Greenfield's hot rod as backdrop, the trio poses for a photo. Smiles all around.

There's a photo that would make a Christmas card fit for Greenfield's old mates back in Manchester.

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