Riley Writes

Meet the Rileys

By Riley

December 11, 2024

Welcome to the new Riley Plays Cars!

This new site is dedicated to Riley; Lt. Col Perry N. Riley Sr.

For most of my life I’ve been known as Greg or Scotty as I’m officially Gregory Scott Riley. Recently I was asked how my interest in cars developed. First and foremost was my dad Lt. Col. Perry Riley Sr. who most everyone called “Riley,” but I called Pops.

Pops was a retired career infantry officer who lied about his age to enlist in 1926 at the age of 15. His tombstone at Fort Sam Houston National cemetery says 1909 was his birth year, but it was actually 1911. He claimed he enlisted after wrecking the family Dodge after sneaking off to the South Texas State Fair.

Pops served in WWII and Korea as part of the famous 42nd Infantry Rainbow Division, he fought in the Battle of the Bulge was at the liberation of Dachau and was eventually awarded two Purple Hearts, and once he served on General Patton’s staff. I forgot to mention that he was also a crack marksman. At 8 years old in 1970 he took me to see the movie Patton at the old Liberty Theater in downtown Beaumont.

Soon after he retired in 1956, he opened his first Texaco station in the South End of Beaumont, Texas near an area now known as “the Aves.”

You know those fancy 1950’s all-aluminum trailers? My parents were living in one of the fanciest behind the station. My mom always said, “had to special order it from the factory and took months to arrive.”

Soon one gas station became two, and a few years later two became none. By late 1961 Mom was pregnant with me, and I surmise she was tired of living at a gas station.

My dad went to work for the Port of Beaumont as a security guard. Eventually he was elected President of their union local. Pops was always chasing an extra buck, he had numerous paper racks all over the city and had a multiple morning and afternoon residential paper routes for the Beaumont Surprise and Urinal…errr I mean Enterprise and Journal 😉 On the weekends he worked first at Baison’s Mobil on I-10 and Gulf, and a bit latter for about five years at Harrington’s West End Mobil.

My Dad and I used to sit out front of the Mobil Station in at the end of swanky Thomas Road and play “name that car.” At first, I only get the makes right, but by the time Pops passed in 1973 I could name the year, make, and model for almost anything on the road. Particularly luxury and muscle cars as that was what mostly came into the outpost of the wing ed-horse for full-service gas, wash, and lube.

Since 1978 the little Mobil station has been owned by the Cokinos family who have used it for various functions but now use it as a sort of party barn. I can’t imagine a better use.

Pops took me numerous times to Leo Kettl’s junkyard on old Highway 90, about where Sutherland’s is now. In the waaaay back Leo had the really old cool stuff. I even remember seeing a verrrrry rusty Cord 810 sedan. Once I even conned him to take me to Speedwell Motors to see the new Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow. He and the salesman were both good sports. I still have the stacks of post cards the salesman gave me of MG’s, Triumphs, and even a weird truck thing called a Steyer-Puch Haflinger. Pops later said, “Never look unless you’re ready to buy.” Advice I’ve never forgotten.

Dad had some pretty interesting cars himself. When he and Mom met in 1941 he had a 39 Ford coupe, next a ’42 Olds, and immediately after the war a woody station wagon, and just before they were transferred to Germany, he bought a new ’53 Olds 98 which the army kindly shipped over.

After retirement it was a ’56 Dodge, ’58 Roadmaster, ’60 Impala, and the car I remember most a 1964 Chrysler New Yorker. Once Pops even took me in the New Yorker to the time trials at Golden Triangle drag strip and we took a quick trip down the old 1320. That same day they had a jet car exhibition. 50 years later I still remember that thrilling day.

For several months starting in early 1973 my mom would ferry him back and forth to Fort Polk for his cancer treatments. Sometimes I would go, and Pops would buy me a car magazine to read on the trip and while he took his treatments. Toward the end he went alone with my mom and the last time they went they came back with the Speedo on the old New Yorker stuck at 117 where it remained stuck forever more. I don’t know what happened that day, but two weeks later Pops was gone. I only had him for about ten years, but that ten years taught me what it meant to be a stand-up guy, and I’ve always tried to do things in such a way I thought would make him proud.

During the 1960’s and 1970’s my Uncle Claude was a Mopar master tech. In fact, his son (my older cousin Dale) gave me my first dog-eared issue of Hot Rod magazine which I still have somewhere. Their driveway was an endless rotation of Mopar’s best. My male cousin’s drove big-block Barracuda’s, Road Runners and Coronets their sister drove a 318 V8 Dart.

After my dad passed, my older sister took a particular interest in connecting me with the car community. I have had several mentors over the years, and each taught me something invaluable about the universe of interesting cars. Early on there were muscle cars and sports cars, and later antiques and classics and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of Corvairs. Those are stories I’ll be sharing soon.

Why Corvairs? In the mid-1970’s they were sporty, interesting, and most importantly dirt cheap! My mom had never worked and did the best she could after Pops was gone, but there was never much money. My Dad collected Western Flyer, and Marklin model trains. In 1977 I sold all of it for $200 toward my first Corvair. The irony being that some of those individual 1950’s Marklin trains are now worth more than most Corvairs. Since then, I’ve owned countless Corvairs and worked on an endless parade of others.

Over the last several decades I’ve bought, sold, restored, toured, raced, appraised, tested, and yes occasionally wrecked or otherwise trashed some amazing cars, written three books, a couple of award-winning blogs, been an automotive photographer, radio presenter and producer of my own radio show, DJ, magazine writer, engine builder, Concours announcer, car show judge, appraiser, insurance consultant, world traveler, and most importantly father of seven…you get the point.

Over the last three years my real life has had some dramatic changes. At 62 years old I am almost exactly the same age as Pops when he passed. I again became a new father for the sixth and seventh time. Yes, we did it the old-fashioned way…adoption. What a rollercoaster ride that has been! When I finally had a moment to breathe years had passed and I realized it was time for something new. For a time, I’d sit down to write, and the words just didn’t come until I realized I was trying to write about the wrong things.

Everyone at the Mobil station called my father Riley, now I’m Riley too. At the most basic level what I do is play with cars, so now introducing RileyPlaysCars.com. The site has a way to go to realize my vision, but I’ll keep plugging away.

Most weekends I’m in my garage working, and a few times a year I get to go play with the Texas Auto Writers Association and drive the latest cars and trucks, and I have lots of friends with waaay interesting wheels, and other friends with mad fabrication and restoration skills. Jump in as we share the ride on my automotive misadventures. Watch the video at the end for a dizzying look at some of my past adventures.