STEVE McQUEEN GOES FOR BROKE IN THE ROUGH LIFE, 1963 | "IF YOU CAN'T CUT IT, YOU GOTTA BACK OUT."

Wincing, Steve McQueen gets his blistered hands treated in Pearblossom, Calif. Steve says of his dangerous sport, "If you can't cut it, you gotta back out."

Rounding a bend in a cross-country motorcycle race, Steve McQueen (right) a long-time racer, keeps up a torrid pace. He was one of 300 entrants. The race took 2 days, went across the Mojave Desert.

The race over, Steve McQueen wearily puts on his jacket after a brief cooling-off. He led the amateur class until his motorcycle broke down three miles from the finish.

Looking like a helmeted James Cagney, Steve McQueen talks with his buddies during a respite. A crack auto racer, he even raced with Stirling Moss-- but he gave up the sport to please his wife.

On a camping trip in the Sierra Madre, Steve McQueen is rudely awakened by his dog Mike, a Malamute. He often takes his whole family along on camping trips, but this time went with old buddies. "This is it, man" says Steve. "I'd rather wake up in the middle of nowhere than in any city on earth."

In their Palm Springs bungalow, Steve McQueen and his wife Neile chat affectionately.

"Man, if I hadn't made my own scene," says Steve McQueen, "I could have wound up a hood instead of an actor." He talks the lingo of the rough world that spawned him-- a world of hipsters, race car drivers, beach boys, drifters, and carnival barkers. Steve has been al of these. He has also tended bar, sold encyclopedias, made sandals, and even been a runner in a Port Arthur, TX brothel-- going from one job to the next, trying to run from his dreary, dreadful past.

Steve has been running that way ever since he was a kid. His father began it by running out on the family while Steve was still a baby. Mrs. McQueen farmed Steve out to an Uncle in Missouri. At 12 Steve fled to New York. He later lived with his mother and new stepfather in California, but that was no improvement. He spent so much time on the streets, and so little time in school, that his mother sent him away for rehabilitation. He promptly ran away and wound up in jail. Even in the Marines, Steve McQueen wouldn't stay put-- he spent 41 days in the brig for going AWOL.

At Big Sur, Steve McQueen and Neile take a sulphur bath together, a bottle of wine propped nearby.

He was in New York in 1951, working as a bartender, when a friend took him along with her to an acting school. Willing to try anything, he auditioned there, and to his astonishment was accepted.

"I took up acting," he explains, "because it let e burn off energy. Besides, I wanted to beat the 40-hour-a-week rap. But, Man, I didn't escape. Now I'm working 72 hours a week, so there you go."

While waiting in the kitchen for Neile to serve up a snack, Steve gives her a fond tweak.

Steve McQueen works at acting with the same urgency that he races motorcycles. "I'm the greatest scammer in the business," says Steve. "But acting's a hard scene for me. Every script I get is an enemy I have to conquer."

But he shuns the duties that go with being a movie star. He seldom attends parties or nightclubs, and sulks at movie premieres. "When I get in a room with five strangers, that's my nut," he says, "I feel like I can't breathe, O.K.?"

Steve McQueen cozies up with his wife Neile, who is of English, German, Spanish and Chinese descent. They met when she was on Broadway in Pajama Game. Says he, "My old lady is the heart of my home."

When he is with his wife and children, Steve McQueen quickly gets his breath back. Though married seven years, the McQueens are still as lovey-dovey as newlyweds. "When I come home nights," says Steve, "I dig my old lady, not the maid, serving me dinner."

Others he digs are hard-luck characters who, like him, drew a raw deal, and he tries to help them. "When you take a little out," Steve explains, "you gotta put a little back in." He and Dr. Herman Salk, a Palm Springs veterinarian who is Jonas Salk's brother, raise money to buy vaccines and antibiotics for Navajo Indians. Periodically they drive to the reservation to deliver the drugs. "I really dig those Navajos," says Steve. "They have a saying they live by: A land where there is time enough and room enough. I want that too."

Steve McQueen, who delights in giving his son the love he lacked while growing up, romps with Chad, 2.

Last week Steve McQueen bought a three-acre, quarter-million-dollar mansion overlooking the Pacific. "It's got trees for the kids to swing on," he says, voice all aquiver, "and the biggest, strongest front gate you ever saw. Man, I don't wanna be bugged by anyone, O.K.?"

But once there, Steve is likely to want out. It is too near Hollywood. "You won't find me hanging by my toes in a manhole," he promises. "Man, after I've gotten my sugar out of this business, I'm gonna take off-- and run like a thief."

-Peter Bunzel, photos by John Dominis, 1963.

In a rented tuxedo (he does not own one), Steve McQueen gives a goodnight kiss to Terry, 4, before making one of his rare appearances at at Hollywood opening. "My family is very, very tight." says McQueen. "But the world is full of phonies, so you gotta build a wall to keep them out."

VINTAGE SPORTS ILLUSTRATED ca. 1966 | STEVE McQUEEN REVIEWS THE HOTTEST NEW GT's

I STILL GET GOOSE PIMPLES

BY STEVE McQUEEN WITH KEN RUDEEN

A STAR AMONG FAST FRIENDS

STEVE McQUEEN IS SOMEWHAT BETTER KNOWN AS A MOVIE ACTOR ("THE GREAT ESCAPE," "NEVADA SMITH") THAN AS A DRIVER OF FAST CARS. BUT AS HE DEMONSTRATES BELOW, CORNERING SMARTLY IN THE NEW JAGUAR 2+2, AND AS HE SAYS IN THE STORY BEGINNING ON PAGE 39, HE "AIN'T A BAD DRIVER, EITHER." FORMERLY A SPORTS CAR RACER OF PROMISE, McQUEEN WAS ORDERED OFF THE TRACKS BY HIS STUDIO, ON THE THEORY HIS BEAUTIFULLY BATTERED FACE NEEDS NO FURTHER CORRUGATIONS. HE HAS NOT LOST HIS ENTHUSIASM FOR SWIFT MOTORING, HOWEVER, AND WHEN SPORTS ILLUSTRATED ASKED HIM TO DRIVE EIGHT OF THE WORLD'S MOST DISTINGUISHED GRAND TOURING CARS ON THE RACE COURSE AT RIVERSIDE, CALIF., HE WAS, AS THEY SAY, FLAT OUT. KEEP READING FOR PICTURES OF STEVE IN A REAL-LIFE ROLE, AND FOR HIS ANALYSIS OF THE STATE OF THE GRAND TOURING ART IN THIS MIDSUMMER 1966.

SIZING UP THE NEW JAGUAR 2+2, DRIVER McQUEEN FOUND IT "VERY SMOOTH DOWN THE BACK STRAIGHT AT 110 MPH," YET STILL SUITABLE FOR TRIPS WITH THE FAMILY. MRS. McQUEEN, HE REPORTED, WAS "KIND OF KEEN ON IT."

THE CORVETTE STING RAY (ABOVE) IMPRESSED McQUEEN -- AND SURPRISED HIM A LITTLE -- WITH ITS POWER, FINE HANDLING AND ACCURATE STEERING. TOP MODEL ($5,538) HAS A BIG 427-INCH V-8 ENGINE AND HEAVY DUTY SUSPENSION.

THE FERRARI 275 GTS WITH A 3.3-LITER V-12 ENGINE, REAR-MOUNTED FIVE SPEED GEARBOX AND PININFARINA COACHWORK DREW A WORSHIPFUL "WOW!" FROM STEVE, WHO REGARDS FERRARI AS A SUPREME ENGINEER. PRICE: $14,500.

THE ALFA ROMEO SPIDER (ABOVE), THE LATEST MODEL FROM SMALL, DISTINGUISHED MILAN WORKS, CORNERED BRILLIANTLY, AND HAD SUPERIOR BRAKES. McQUEEN ALSO ADMIRED ITS LOOKS, BUT WOULD HAVE LIKED MORE POWER IN A $4,000 CAR.

THE PORSCHE 911 DELIGHTED McQUEEN WITH PREDICTABLE HANDLING IN FURIOUS CORNERING, PROVING THAT PORSCHE HAS SOLVED THE OVERSTEER PROBLEMS STEVE REMEMBERED FROM HIS RACING DAYS. THIS REAR-ENGINED 6 COSTS: $6,450.

THE ASTON MARTIN DB6 (ABOVE), THE MOST EXPENSIVE MODEL TESTED ($15,400), STRUCK McQUEEN AS A "GENTLEMAN'S CAR" IN ITS CLEAN DESIGN, LUXURIOUS APPOINTMENTS, AND VIRILE PERFORMANCE, BUT FIFTH GEAR WAS DISAPPOINTING.

THE SHELBY COBRA 427 WAS "A REAL STOPLIGHT BANDIT" ON ACCELERATION, ATTESTING TO THE STRENGTH OF ITS 7-LITER PUSHROD V-8. McQUEEN WAS LESS PLEASED WITH ITS HANDLING, AND FELT THE SEAT BELT POSITIONING SHOULD BE IMPROVED. PRICE: $7,495.

THE MERCEDES 230SL WAS HANDSOME AND HANDLED WELL. "I DROVE IT HARD AND GOT IT OUT OF SHAPE A BIT," McQUEEN NOTED, "AND IT BEHAVED VERY NICELY, NEVER TRIED TO BITE ME." THE MERCEDES AUTOMATIC TRANSMISSION WAS THE BEST FROM EUROPE HE HAD SEEN, "VERY SUITABLE FOR PEOPLE WHO DO NOT LIKE TO SHIFT."

VIA STEVE McQUEEN ONLINE

THE SNAKE & THE STALLION | HOW TEXAN CARROLL SHELBY KICKED FERRARI'S...

When Carroll Shelby decided to leave auto racing in 1960 due to a hereditary and life-threatening heart condition– he never looked back. Shelby dominated the racing circuit in the 50s, and wasn’t done yet. Knowing that racing was longer an option, he fixed his squinty gaze at becoming a legend under the hood, as well as behind the wheel. Shelby was going to build his own cars, and made it his personal mission to knock Enzo Ferrari off his high horse– who’s imperious, dictator style flat-out rubbed the tough Texan the wrong way. Ford knew they would also benefit greatly from an alliance with Shelby, as they were regularly getting their clock cleaned on the racetrack, and had no answer for Chevrolet’s Corvette in the showroom wars either. Ford soon became part of the rivalry with Enzo, as two unsuccessful buyout attempts of Ferrari during the 60s dealt a humiliating blow to Henry Ford II, and the only place left to settle it was on the racetrack.

Carroll Shelby is shown below with the three Cobra roadsters that would win the 1963 USRRC Manufacturer’s Championship. Venice, California, 1963.

Carroll Shelby poses with his new 1964 production Cobra and his new Cobra race car-- Venice, California. "It's a massive motor in a tiny, lightweight car." --Shelby explaining in a nutshell, the secret to the Cobra's performance.

The AC Cobra started out as a Ford small block 260 cubic inch V-8 (later 289) wrapped in a tight & light handbuilt British sportscar. It quickly morphed into a beast with a 7.0L 427 aluminum block under the hood, creating an incredible power-to-weight ratio that was just plain sick. Some silly fans actually prefer the earlier, more dainty Cobras-- feeling that the flared bodies, fat tires and aggressive stance of the later 427's comes across visually as too brutish and crass. Well sorry folks, I'm all about the 427 Cobra. An AC Cobra coupe's top speed was clocked at 185 mph on the M1 raceway back in 1964-- an impressive feat for sure, and years before the super-exotics.

Carroll Shelby (left) with Steve McQueen (right) standing behind the AC Cobra Shelby lent to the car nut and racing enthusiast McQueen.

The original Shelby Cobra was far from perfect– lets just say there were issues with stuffing an engine that massive in a chassis so small. So four Santa Monica hot-rodders tore the cars apart and rebuilt them to withstand the strain and demands from the ground up– all under the watchful eye of Shelby in his own workshop. Ford, Shelby and his team of craftsmen succeeded in creating a car that became all at once– the most loved, feared and copied sportscar in all of American auto history.

Steve McQueen behind the wheel of Shelby's AC Cobra.

Shelby looks on as his crack squad of hot-rodders obsess over every detail as one of the first Cobras is prepped at the first Dean Moon Shop-- Santa Fe Springs, California in February of 1962.

First Shelby Cobra being built at Dean Moon's shop in Santa Fe Springs, California.

A fleet of Shelby Cobra coupes being assembled and prepped for racing duty.

"I'm not going to take this defeatist attitude and listen to all this crap any more from all these people who have nothing except doomsday to predict." --Carroll Shelby

"Next year, Ferrari's ass is mine!" --Carroll Shelby after losing to Ferrari in '64, and in '65 it would be just as Shelby predicted. Don't mess with Texas, baby.

Carroll Shelby at the wheel of a new Cobra production car-- Venice, California, 1963. He loved to stick $100 bills to the inside of the windscreen and challenge the potential customer, sitting in the passenger seat, to grab the bill before the Cobra hit 100 mph.

KENNY HOWARD | THE PINSTRIPER AND CUSTOM FABRICATOR AKA VON DUTCH

A young Kenny Howard (Von Dutch) perfecting his pinstriping craft at Bud Ekins' shop, 1965.

Before the cheesy namesake clothing and accessories line that threatens to destroy his cred forever, there was the self-invented and slightly mad genius Kenny Howard– better known as Von Dutch. He was a real Renaissance man– legendary custom painter, artist, motorcycle mechanic, and a skilled metal worker who hand-crafted his own knives and guns. He had a strong aversion to money and felt it was detrimental to his art– which makes the clothing line even more of an ironic abomination.

“I make a point of staying right at the edge of poverty. I don’t have a pair of pants without a hole in them, and the only pair of boots I have are on my feet. I don’t mess around with unnecessary stuff, so I don’t need much money. I believe it’s meant to be that way. There’s a ‘struggle’ you have to go through, and if you make a lot of money it doesn’t make the ‘struggle’ go away. It just makes it more complicated. If you keep poor, the struggle is simple.“ –Von Dutch

An incredible example of vintage Von Dutch handiwork-- his XAVW, 1965.

From The Ad Nauseum of marketing Von Dutch–

Born in 1929 as Kenneth Howard, Von Dutch was the man who brought pin-striping as a high art from motorcycles to automobile bodies. He took his nickname from his stubbornness. “Stubborn as a Dutchman” is a by now quaint ethnic slur. But beyond stubborn, Von Dutch became insufferable. He was the quintessential cliché romantic artist, selfish inside his own vision, alienating family, friends and customers alike. Part romantic, part beatnik, part general pain in the ass, he was a racist and prima donna, he managed to irritate almost everyone who admired him—and in the best esthetic mode, somehow made them admire him more in the process.

He died in 1992, leaving two daughters. At the end, he was drinking heavily, holed up in an old Long Beach city bus. For years he lived at the museum called Movie World, Cars of the Stars and Planes of Fame in Buena Park, California. He had become paranoid and he spent time elaborately engraving and painting knives and guns as well as cars.

No wonder the daughters, Lisa and Lorna were happy to sell the rights to reproduce their father’s imagery in 1996 to Michael Cassel, a maker of surf clothing, who established a company called Von Dutch Originals in 1999 and opened the store on Melrose Avenue a year later. He brought in a man named Tonny Sorensen who in turn hired designer Christian Audigier. Audigier worked for Diesel and Fiorucci. Casel’s notion was to tap the hot rod set; but Sorensen and Audigier aimed at wider, fashion audience.

Kenny Howard, AKA Von Dutch in a great vintage shot.

The art world found its way to car culture through artists like Robert Williams, who worked with Ed “Big Daddy” Roth before turning his talents to oil and canvas. In 1993 a show called “Kustom Kulture” at the Laguna Museum of Art helped start off the process of Von Dutch’s discovery by the wider public. Still, it took insight, luck or both to see that Von Dutch could be, well, exploitable. Celebrities such as Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake and Ashton Kutcher showed up wearing the logo caps. The whole appeal of course was explaining who Von Dutch was.

Von Dutch’s posthumous fame has amazed veterans of the car culture. “I knew Von Dutch,” one hot rod buff said not long ago, shaking his head. “I saw him drunk every day.”

Incredible photos courtesy of Irishrichhomage

FAST WOMEN IN HISTORY PT. II | AUTO RACING'S TOUGH FEMALE PIONEERS

The Canadian-born, Kay Petre was an early motor racing star at the legendary Brooklands track. The exploits of this 4′10″ speedqueen made big news back in her day. Born Kathleen Coad Defries in 1903, she moved to England in 1930, following her marriage to Englishman Henry Petre. Henry was a keen flier who regularly took off from the Brooklands Airfield– it was here that Kay first became interested in motor racing. She had always been a skilled and competitive sportswoman back at home, especially in ice-skating. Henry bought Kay her first car for her birthday, a Wolseley Hornet Daytona Special. Soon after her racing career began, with a third and a second in her first two races. In 1933, Kay purchased her first “proper” racing car, a 2-litre Bugatti. She used it to good effect in the regular handicap races at Brooklands, quickly adjusting to the handling and the increased speed.

One of the most famous images of Kay is her seated in the big 1924 Delage, a 10.5 litre V12-engined ex-John Cobb Land Speed Record car she had been racing. In order to reach the car’s pedals, she had them rigged with large wooden blocks. Petre threw down the gauntlet to her French rival on 26th October 1934, clocking 129.58 mph on a flying lap. The record stood until the August of 1935, when Gwenda challenged again, setting a new benchmark marginally faster. Not to be outdone, Kay jumped straight in the Delage and beat the record the same day, lapping at an average of 134.75 mph. This was the first time that a female driver had earned the Brooklands badge for a lap at 130 mph or over. Gwenda, driving her Derby-Miller special, joined that exclusive club three days later, hitting 135.95 mph. Kay admitted defeat graciously and went back to her own racing.

Sadly, in 1937 Kay’s circuit racing career came to a dramatic end. During practice for the Brooklands 500 Miles, she was involved in a horrible accident which she was lucky to survive. Reg Parnell stalled above her on the banking, slid down and hit her Austin Seven, rolling it down the banking and crushing Kay underneath it. She suffered severe head injuries and was lucky to survive. After being in a coma for a few days and undergoing surgery to her head and face, she eventually made a good recovery, the only permanent damage being some paralysis of one side of her face.

After her recovery, Kay made one final appearance at Brooklands in 1938, driving the White Riley. Whether it was an actual race, public practice or merely some parade laps is unclear. She was cheered enthusiastically by the crowds but had lost her nerve and did not race there again. At this time, she was campaigning for Reg Parnell to have his racing licence returned. The authorities blamed him for the accident and revoked it, although Kay herself never held him responsible and eventually he was allowed back behind the wheel. Her views were “If you race fast cars, one of the risks you take is that one day you might cop it!”

After retiring from circuit racing, she could not get the motorsport bug out of her system and took up rallying, first as a navigator for the Singer team but later driving for Austin again, sometimes in a Grasshopper. She competed at home and in Europe, with the Alpine Rally being her favorite. One of her co-drivers was the French race Anne-Cecile Rose-Itier, who partnered her for the Monte Carlo Rally. It was at this time she began her second career as a motoring journalist, which she continued after the war. Much later, she was employed by Austin as part of its design team, selecting colours for the interior of the Mini, amongst other models.

FAST WOMEN IN HISTORY | AUTO RACING'S TOUGH FEMALE PIONEERS

Hellé Nice, Born Mariette Helene Delangle, moved to Paris in her teens; there, she cast aside her name, her past and her clothes, posing for naughty postcards and dancing in risqué yet distingué revues at the Casino de Paris and other music halls in the era of Maurice Chevalier, Josephine Baker and Mistinguett.

In 1929, after suffering a dance-dooming knee injury while skiing away from an avalanche, Hellé Nice switched metiers, trading dance slippers for driving gloves. She soon won the Grand Prix Féminin and exulted to the press about the thrill of having a ”great roaring race car in your hands that wants only to go faster.” That early victory secured her a sleek Bugatti and the nickname ”The Queen of Speed.”

You have to take your hat off for these incredible women of motor racing history. It flat-out took a lot of balls for these ladies to step onto the track and match their skills, wits & strength against the male drivers of their day– who were macho as all h*ll, and would have rather left them for roadkill than share the racetrack with the females. I am truly in awe of them– and they definitely have my utmost respect. Especially when you consider the level of personal sacrifice, and the competitive extremes some of them went to-

Violette Morris has a story that you couldn’t make up if you tried. Simply stated, it’s just unbelievable. She was a dominating force on the racing scene who took to dressing like a man, smoked 3 packs of cigarettes a day and regularly cursed a blue streak.

Born the niece of French General Gouraud, Violette Morris was a naturally gifted and strong athlete who excelled at sports. She was an accomplished boxer who regularly competed against and beat men. Morris also went on to become a cycling champion, later graduating to riding motorcyles and racing cars. She was so committed to auto racing that she actually had an elective double mastectomy (yes, she had her breasts removed!) so she’d be more comfortable behind the wheeled of the tight-fitting cyclecars she raced back in the 1920s. Wow.

During WWII when France was occupied by the Nazis in the 40s, Morris joined the Parisian Gestapo and worked with the notoriously brutal “rue Lauriston” interrogation squad. In 1944, while she was traveling with military colleagues by car from Normandy back to Paris, the French Resistance bombed Morris’ vehicle, killing her along with everyone else. Yup, she definitely lived life to the full and died with her boots on.