Ab Jenkins - Our Father, who art of the salt . . .
Written by: Louise Ann Noeth

Without a doubt, David Abbot Jenkins (1883-1956) was the father of salt racing. It was his dogged determination that put the Bonneville Salt Flats on the international racing map, not to mention the hundreds of speed marks he set there proving the salt's worth.

Considering his limited resources, Jenkins enjoyed remarkable achievements. What distinguished him from his contemporaries was his precise use of local, "tribal" salt knowledge and unlimited guts. He was a deeply religious man who put his faith in God, and by God, he went far.

Born January 25, in Spanish Forks, Utah, Jenkins was often oxymoronically called "The World's Safest Speedster." As holder and breaker of more world records than any other driver, past or present, he was prouder of his million-mile "no accident" street driving record than all his speed and endurance records combined. His watchwords were simple: Safety First. Still good advice today.

His circle of friends was a testament to his congenial, outgoing nature. Harvey Firestone was an avid admirer. He became pals with Metropolitan Opera Singer Richard Bonelli when they were working as mechanics before Bonelli discovered he could sing. Bonelli would attend many of Jenkins speed runs and invariably, a song fest would ensue with everyone joining Bonelli in song. Imagine that, a salt opera.

Jenkins saw his races mainly as a test of his strength and fortitude, which he attributed to his dedication to restrained, modest Mormon living. "I owe the maintenance of my endurance ability to the observance of the Word of Wisdom of the Mormon Church," said Jenkins, "which my good mother taught me as a boy. It proscribes the use of all forms of tobacco and liquor."

His racing got the attention of the Pierce-Arrow automobile company, who invited him to come to their factory in Buffalo. Pierce-Arrow had developed a 12-cylinder engine, but couldn't get it to out-perform their 8-cylinder. Jenkins was asked to see what he could do to improve its performance. After a few weeks of tinkering, he raised the output of the engine from 130 horsepower to 175 horsepower.

In 1932, Jenkins got the idea that running the powerful new 12-cylinder on the salt flats for a 24-hour endurance run would be perfect opportunity to show what both Bonneville and the engine were capable of. He told Pierce-Arrow officials that he would run the car 2,400 miles in the 24 hours. They laughed at him. Undaunted, he set off to test the 12-cylinder Pierce-Arrow in Utah with the car and six new tires as his only equipment.

The whole set-up very rough and simple, but it would do the trick. With the help of friends, a 10-mile circular course at Bonneville was marked off with stakes. The run was timed with stopwatches. There were no facilities or tents set up on the flats. A sheep wagon was towed onto the course to provide some shelter for the timers and crew. Pulling the fenders and windshield off the Pierce-Arrow, Jenkins simply smeared his face with grease to protect his skin from the sun, put on a pair of goggles, hopped into the car and raced onto the track.

As he raced, the timers signaled his speed to him with large signs. For amusement, Jenkins wrote notes back to his crew on a notepad anchored in the middle of his steering wheel and then threw the missives to them as he thundered by at over 100 mph.

He stopped to refuel every two hours, but he never left the driver's seat of the car for 24 hours straight. When he finally got out of the car at the end of the run, he was stone deaf from the roar of the engine. Rather than running the 2,400 miles he had promised the Pierce-Arrow people, Jenkins had run 2,710! His average speed for the 24-hour period was 112.916 mph; very close to a new world's record.

In 1933, Jenkins arranged for his second endurance run on the salt, the first one that would officially go on the record. With a somewhat expanded base camp, Jenkins set out on another endurance race with the same Pierce-Arrow. Shortly after the race started, a violent storm erupted with winds gusting up to 60 miles an hour. Tents were folded to prevent them from blowing away and officials ran to their cars for shelter, but Jenkins kept racing. The torrents of wind and rain did little to slow his speed.

After the last gas stop of the run, Jenkins took out a safety razor and shaved while circling the track at over 125 mph and with no windshield. When the race ended, he hopped out of the car, clean-shaven and presentable.

In 1939, Jenkins brought a new car to the flats. It was the mammoth Mormon Meteor III. Built on a 142-inch wheelbase with specially-made 22-inch Firestone tires, it used the same Curtis 12-cylinder airplane engine from the Mormon Meteor II. The car was nearly 21 feet long and was once again engineered by Augie Dusenberg. It was designed to run with two airplane engines, although only one was ever installed. It generated 750 hp at 2,000 rpm and its top speed was 275 mph. It was estimated that it could run at 400 mph with front and rear supercharged engines installed. It had a 112 gallon gas tank and got three and a half miles to the gallon at 200 mph.

Shortly afterwards, a movement was begun to elect Jenkins as the mayor of Salt Lake City. Although he entered the mayoral race late, never spent a cent of his own money and never made a single speech, he won the election. He served until 1944.

In 1940, the "Racing Mayor" made one of his most amazing runs at Bonneville. He had made many 24-hour runs solo, but Jenkins now opted to use a relief driver. (He was, after all, 57 years old!) His relief driver was Cliff Bergere, who had raced at Indy and was also a motion picture stunt driver.

On one lap of his run that year, Jenkins ran 189.086 mph. Over the 24-hour run, Jenkins drove 14 hours and Bergere drove for 10. When Bergere got out of the car after his shift, his hands were blistered from hanging on the steering wheel to keep the car on course. He told the Salt Lake Tribune, "I'll take my hat off to Jenkins. Any man who can drive a car for six solid hours on this course at the speed that Ab got out of the machine is a marvel. I have never seen anything like it."

The Mormon Meteor III broke 21 records that year. His average of 161.180 mph for a 24-hour run would not be broken for decades to come.

Jenkins was a breed of consummate sportsman-gentleman whose polite and honorable conduct today seems as rare and quaint as the open-cockpit Pierce-Arrow that he first raced at Bonneville.

He was extremely proud of having only been injured once during his many record runs. His endurance races at Bonneville put cars through exhaustive testing that helped to make production cars and tires safer for the everyday driver.

Decades later, no one has toppled Jenkins exhausting, 48-hour endurance record. As for the marks that have fallen, it required the efforts of several drivers compared to Jenkins single-man driving shows.

Ab Jenkins was the certainly the first person catch "salt fever" and luckily he passed it on to succeeding generations with a need for speed. When Jenkins died at age 76, on August 9, 1956, the world was a little slower for him having done so.