Miami Memories: The Muntz

1951 Muntz Jet.  Johnie Stapp's pride and joy.  

Most people knew my dad as the golf pro, but as his oldest daughter I also knew him as a race car driver; jokester; builder of cars and furniture; a man who loved to tinker with things.  Dad brought color and adventure to our lives through the people he met, the trips we made, and the stories he told.  

When I look back I most often cherish the memories my sister and I created through Dad's love of cars. The 1951 Muntz Jet was the epitome of race cars, adventure, and color. The true story of that car may never be known, but my memory says that Dad bought this car from Lou Newell, in Miami, Oklahoma.  It was rumored to have been the lead car in the 1952 Indianapolis 500, but when I wrote the letter of inquiry I found it to be a rumor only. They showed no record of this car.

The picture above shows it painted white, but when purchased it was a shiny sparkling Mustard color, consequently it was lovingly nicknamed "Mustard" by my little sister.  The car sat low to the ground with a wide wheel base, allowing it to travel up to speeds of 160 mph+ and offering a back seat in an original race car. The rolled and pleated leather seats and interior were a striking mustard color. 

"Mad Man Muntz, produced the first American sports car--the Muntz Jet.  A beautiful, well-crafted, speedy car that was a precursor of Chevrolet's Corvette, the Muntz Jet was an aesthetic and mechanical success, but Muntz's first financial disappointment.  The Jets sold for $5,500, but they cost $6,500 to produce, and this at a time, the early 50's, when a new Cadillac could be had for $3,200.  He installed Cadillac V-8 engines, added padded dashboards and seat belts, painted the cars in bright Easter egg colors, and even installed liquor and ice cabinets." The movie poster of Mad Man Muntz says, "7 wives, 3 fortunes...one of a kind."  His biography shows his entrepreneurial abilities and flamboyant lifestyle.
Mad Man Muntz info
Mad Man Muntz

The mustard car lived with us through our teenage years when Jonya and I were allowed to drive it, because the seat belts were required.  Dad painted it several times:  a sleek black, then white, and in its final years baby blue.  If our car had a liquor cabinet I don't remember, but I do remember that in the 50's, when Oklahoma was dry, dad and mom made a regular beer and liquor run to Seneca, Missouri and the state line liquor stores to purchase alcohol for the MGCC. We always buckled up, as dad drove the black asphalt Highway 10 in speeds up to 100 mph.  Our drives back were most miserable as my sister and I sat on a scratchy old wool army green blanket that covered the hidden beer and liquor in the back seat.  On the drive home Dad obeyed the speed limit.

The Muntz also came with a convertible top hard top.  In the summer months the padded hard top could be removed and hung in our garage.  Minnie's and Milts was a well-known dance and dinner club in Joplin, Missouri.  We often made the trip in the summer with the top down and mother complaining all the way that her hair would be ruined by the wind, but we never complained even when the wind whipped our hair into our eyes and stung.  We loved the old drive through pneumonia gulch somewhere between Miami and Joplin on the backroads, and before there was a turnpike. Pneumonia gulch was cold, no matter how hot the day had been when the car sped down the hill and took the turn up the hill and to the right, we screamed in pure joy and thrill of feeling the car hold the ground and climb the hill. Every breath was filled with fresh air, moisture from the nearby streams and rivers, and the dampness of the wooded areas. 

I was twelve years old, the night Dad ditched the Muntz in the embankment nearing Twin Bridges.  Dad was traveling way to fast to take the final curve on Hwy 137  and down to the right to Hwy 60.  He somehow applied the brakes with enough force that the car spun then skidded into the ditch on the right.  A slide to the left would have left us airborne, and no one to tell this story.  I wasn't scared until I heard my father's voice ask, "Tizzie are you alright?"  I might have cried, but like a trooper I rallied, and we backed out and drove down to Twin Bridges and fished that night.  

Still, my father, zany and flamboyant, like Mad Man Muntz, didn't slow down. Incredibly, I was with him when he hit the top speed of 160 heading up the newly opened Will Rogers Turnpike to Joplin. He taught me to drive in a white Ford station wagon with a "mud flap" on the back, mom's car, but he also let me drive the Muntz on the turnpike with him.  I drove with the understanding that if "ticketed" that I would pay the cost!  The engine changed over the years, like the color, but speed was always it's strength.

There are other stories in heaven now with Dad, Doc Jackson, Dr. Baron, Mickey Mantle, Ray and Roy Mantle plus other Yankee ball players and club members from the Miami Golf and Country Club.  I only wish I knew them.  

 Mad Man Muntz and his incredible car was a part of our lives till my parents died in 1989.  The steering wheel still showed the caricature and logo of Mad Man Muntz wearing a black Napoleon hat and red BVD's. The caricature that  could be found on the steering wheel is shown on this site:  
caricature of Mad Man Muntz



For a picture of the sleek car go to:  The Muntz.

Letty Stapp Watt
Johnie Stapp's daughter and historian
 

Miami Memories: The Pro

On Father's day I sat down to find a picture of my dad to put on facebook. Due to lack of patience with technology on my part, the task did not go as planned. In the moment of frustration I realized it was not the photo that was so important, it was the memories of the man who was my father, Johnie Stapp, PGA Professional at Miami (Oklahoma) Country Club, 1953-1977.

People might recall what a dynamic teacher he was when it came to the game of golf. He loved this sport and believed that it was a metaphor for life. It was his competitive spirit and tenacity to learn that significantly shaped the lives of his two daughters, Letty and Jonya, who would go on to become lifelong teachers themselves.

The Old Pro, Johnie Stapp

So much of the man he became was a result of a childhood accident that could have left him crippled for life. He was fourteen years old the first time the matches lit more than his cigarette. He was a curly dark haired boy with crystal blue eyes, who loved to keep his hands busy smoking or working on automobiles, one of his lifetime fascinations. He was working under a care when a dog came along and teased him. While working and playing tug with the dog his matches fell out of fa pocket and somehow were scratched, causing a fire to ignite on the garage floor. In his attempt to extinguish the fire his arms were burned from the finger tips to his shoulders.

The treatment for burned skin in the 1920's was nearly as painful as the burns themselves. Dad spent fourteen months in st. Francis Hospital, in Wichita, KS with his arms bandaged. However, being a good looking young man he charmed the nuns and nurses, and so as grandmother often chuckled, "they spoiled him rotten,"

The bandaged burns and several surgeries left both of his forearms drawn at forty-five degree angles, and his finger tightly curled inwards. It left him unable to hold a pencil, handle tools in the garage, or do much more than rake leaves. One of his doctors was a golfer and took an interest in his young patient. In the beginning, the golf was prescribed for therapy. The doctor taught him how to grip the club properly, which meant painful gripping and twisting to his hands and wrists. While still in the hospital dad practiced how to grip a club, giving his hands and arms the muscles needed to once again become useful. When he was released from the hospital he would meet his doctor on weekends at a nearby golf course. Eventually, he learned to swing the club. While the recovery was painful, it also proved a new playground for the then sixteen year old. The pro at Sims Parks suggested that Johnie become a caddy, which would give him an opportunity to make money, and play golf one day a week.

Through perseverance and the guiding hand of a loving mother, my father's young arms and hands responded to the golf swing treatment. He became fascinated with a game that would provide a lifelong source of income, enjoyment, and success.

Like so many fathers of my generation, he was a World War II veteran, who rarely spoke of the battles in the Pacific, but he did share stories of the peoples he met throughout the war. He spent time in Japan after the war. Thanks to his friendly nature and genuine smile, he met and stayed in touch with several Japanese families for the next twenty years. This friendship provided the opportunity for me to share unique items, such as cards and handwriting in Japanese, during Show and Tell. During my childhood there were many adventures with my father: we drove and raced the mustard colored Muntz; dug a hole for a bomb shelter to protect our family; spent Monday's at Grand Lake fishing, swimming, skiing; traveled extensively to play in golf tournaments and take vacations. We met many of the great LPGA golfers (Marilynn Smith, Patty Berg, Mickey Wright) and the PGA pros (Arnold Palmer, Jack Nicklaus, Gary Player). Thanks to those experiences of my father, my sister and I learned to stand in front of an audience and tell stories.

My fondest memories are of the summer evenings we spent together shagging golf balls on the driving range. To make it simpler for us to pick up the balls he would place a half-dozen metal baskets around the range. My job was to go out and chip balls to the baskets. Over and over we would chip balls to the designated areas until they were close enough to shag, or pick up by hand. It was a special time for me, as I rarely got in trouble, and I learned how to share a job making it easier for everyone. I also learned to keep my head down and finish the job. I observed the forces of nature in the winds, clouds, the life cycle of animals, and I learned to whistle a tune, sing a song, and relax as the day ends. Wherever I went with Dad, there was always a lesson to learn or a story to tell. Thank you Dad.

Letty Stapp Watt
Johnie Stapp's daughter and historian