By 1969 Carmen Sr. was finally able to haul a car to the track. He fell into a pattern of competing at Bedford on Friday, Saturday was reserved for Jennerstown, and on Sunday he competed at Latrobe at a track then known as Smuckers Speedway. When the whim hit he would occasionally travel to places like Lernerville and Port Royal. His personal assessment of his performance is undoubtedly too harsh. “My racing career was terrible,” he says. “I raced on a shoestring, and I even got used tires from people. I really didn‘t have any money to get the race car going at the time. I was living in a trailer and had a little garage. One winter I told my wife I was going to do something to make money to go racing, so I built and sold five open race car trailers.”
What he did do was stick with it, and soon his sons were coming along, and loved it. Thinking back to those days Carmen Perigo Jr. says, “My dad did everything local. I don‘t know why we ran where we ran. Sometimes we drove by Jennerstown to go to another track. I didn‘t ask why or care. I was just glad we were going to the race track somewhere.”
When it came to the next generation Carmen Perigo Jr.‘s racing story was consistent with many of his peers a generation ago. He didn‘t start out before elementary school or traverse the country racing karts and quarter-midgets. In fact, he largely took things into his own hands to get the ball rolling, and he wouldn‘t turn his first competitive lap until the age of 18. At that time Carmen was working in a gas station, and his mode of transportation was a 1976 Ford Torino. Then he hit on a plan. “I went out to our race shop and was looking at my car,” he says. “And I thought that would be a good street stock. So, I started knocking the windows out and tearing the interior out of it. I had to call my mom at about 11 o‘clock to come get me and she said what‘s wrong with your car? I said well, I‘m making a race car out of it. She reminded me that the car was how I got to work but the gas station was less than a mile away, so I walked.”
With his car in some form of readiness his destination was the now shuttered Windber Speedway, a unique track that was built around a high school football field. His start to the 1989 season began well. By plucking the number one pill in the draw he was eligible to start on the pole for the first heat. What to do? “I asked my dad if I should start there,” Carmen says, “and he said what the heck, give it a shot. I didn‘t know how to pitch the car in the corner, so I went down the front stretch locked up the brakes and went straight into the fence. I didn‘t hit hard, but I did it the fence.”
Then a funny thing happened. The help he thought he might get from his dad was not forthcoming. He wondered why. “I don‘t know if he didn‘t care,” he says, “Maybe he was too busy with his racing or just life, or maybe he wanted me to learn the hard way. He didn‘t even go into the pits; he just went into the stands.” Decades later. Carmen Sr. isn‘t afraid to say what was on his mind. “He enjoyed races,” Carmen Sr. says, “but he still had some wildness in him. He and his buddies said they were going to build a street stock and race it at Windber. I said I would help, but their idea on how to build a car was different than mine. I mean they painted it with house paint and a brush. The car was sticky for three weeks. One night when he was racing the transmission just fell out. They were kids. They just wanted to go fast.”
Perhaps the wildness of which dad speaks are times that still produce the happiest of memories for his son. Carmen Jr. and his pals had carved a makeshift race track in an open field and delighted in racing junk cars in a manner that now causes him to pause. Later when the family began to clean up the property, they discovered it was littered with any number of parts and pieces.
Then almost unwittingly dad was pulled further into his son‘s racing world. Windber needed a flagman, and everyone knew the family history. With a bit of arm-twisting Carmen Sr. was twirling his dad‘s old flags. Predictably he couldn‘t possibly cut his own son a break. It was a reality that Carmen Jr. can laugh about today. “If anything at all was questionable, I got the black flag,” he says, “or I got sent to the back. I got the raw end of the stick several times.”
While this may have been true, Carmen Jr. was steadily improving and in 1991 his father was able to walk into victory lane and unfurl the checkered flag behind his son. In an odd way, Perigo Jr. also got another glimpse of the sport, and it isn‘t a stretch to suggest that it impacts his entire outlook to this day. After a night of racing, Carmen might spend a moment replaying what had transpired on track, while his father had another set of problems. “This is before cell phones,” Carmen says, “but before we got home from the races that night dad‘s answering machine was already filled up with people bitching. It would actually run out of tape. Why did you do this? Why did you let that start go? He just shrugged it off, but it would drive my mom nuts.”
After Carmen Jr. put a few more seasons under his belt things were very different. No one doubted that he was dead serious about racing, and now his father was ready to throw his full weight behind his son‘s program. The next step in his progression was the powerful east coast-style modifieds. It was a rational decision given the popularity of this class of cars, but it was a particularly easy choice for Perigo. “I wish the modifieds would have taken off nationwide more than dirt late models,” he says, “because I hate dirt late models. It blows my mind that they put the bumpers on the wrong side of the body. You paint your car and get it lettered up, and then it is covered with wheel marks, and the body is all tore up. With modifieds you beat and bang all night and they look pristine at the end of the night because the bumpers are on the outside.
When Perigo began his modified career, he had a small block in his car but went to war against big blocks. He does add one point of clarification, “When I say small block it was 400 plus cubic inches,‘ he says, “They were still plenty big and powerful.” He would race some at Lernerville, but it was a long tow on a Friday night. Instead, he spent a great deal of time at Challenger Speedway in Kent, Pennsylvania. In the modified he had the chance to race against legends like Lou Blaney, and perhaps his biggest rival was Mark Flick, whose son A.J. races sprint cars today. He had success and captured the big block modified championship at Challenger in 1994 and 1995. Then in the cruelest of ironies, the late models were gaining steam in his area, and the modifieds were being pushed to the side. It was time to make a change.