07/27/2025
Living Legend Steve Woodyard 🙌🏻
It was June 11, 1961 and the newly minted Portland International Raceway Park was hosting its inaugural Rose Cup Race, which at that time was part of the Rose Festival. While in high school, Steve Woodyard raced through the streets of Vanport at night with his friends — top down, wind in his hair, not a care in the world. Fast forward just over a dozen years later, Woodyard had returned, only this time he was married with a young son, preparing to race through those same streets. Only now, instead of a quiet Portland suburb, they’d become the twists and turns of a purpose-built race track. And this time he had a race license in his pocket and experience under his belt.
When asked how he prepared for the race, Woodyard chuckled. Preparation? What preparation?
When race control called the cars to grid for qualifying, he said he slipped on a pair of racing shoes; strapped on his teal-green helmet, the same color as his car; and clad in a T-shirt and street trousers, Woodyard jumped into his 1960 MGA Sebring Twin-Cam and strapped on his lap belt. That was it. No fire suit. No radio. No padding or face shield to protect his head. And that’s not all. To make his car lighter and therefore faster, he’d removed everything he could – including the heater and windscreen. He added a flimsy roll bar – not safe enough to protect him in a rollover, Woodyard said, head shaking, but good enough to make tech, and he was ready to go.
Volunteers worked directly on the corners with no barriers between themselves and the racecars – not in towers. Their only protection was one another – one looking down the track and the other looking up. Communication was done exclusively through flags and hand signals, he said. No comms were available at the time. “It wasn’t safe like it is now.”
On his first lap around the familiar, if barren streets, Woodyard was surprised at the mounds of concrete piled up every few feet around the track. In May 1948, a levee broke and within moments thousands of gallons of water from the Columbia River flooded the neighborhood under 10 to 20 feet of water. Twenty-one people died and thousands were left homeless. The debris – with the curbs and sidewalks still ringing the track – was all that remained of the community of Vanport. A haunting reminder of the homes that had once stood there.
Woodyard caught the race bug in Tillamook when he was still in high school. After that race – and to the dismay of his parents – he cashed in his college savings and bought a 1956 MG. After two years of street racing and ticket after ticket, he earned his competition license. That’s when the street racing ended and competition racing began. “I had a competition license, I was too sophisticated to race on the streets.”
By his second qualifying lap, he’d decided to sit the race out and watch from the sidelines – he had too much to lose. He was glad he did. During the race a white Corvette, one that he’d qualified with, came flying around a corner and pitched nose first into one of the piles of concrete. The driver survived but broke both his wrists and his back in four places. It was not a safe sport, he said.
Woodyard volunteered for a time working F&C, eventually passing down his love for racing to his granddaughter, Siena Woodyard. Sienna has taken up her grandfather’s flag and began volunteering at PIR this year. Steve took a two-year break from racing to begin dentistry school, and when he returned, had to get his novice license once again. Then – a fresh license in hand, he and a friend took the friend’s Volkswagen out to PIR for an enduro. His friend agreed to share the car, his only request: Don’t roll it.
His own race car had a white line on the steering wheel which made it easier to correct a spin – he knew where the center was supposed to be to ensure his car was going in the right direction, but the VW did not have that feature. When Woodyard came around a corner at 80 miles per hour, the rear swung one way, then the other with Steve grappling with the wheel trying to keep it from spinning. As he tried to correct the car, his eyes searching for the missing white line on the steering wheel, the car rolled and landed on its top. “I remember that conversation like it was yesterday,” he said. The volunteer workers asked him if he was ok. Woodyard replied, “I don’t remember, I’ll have to look it up.” That was the last time Steve drove at PIR.
These days, Steve no longer races. He moved on—became a dentist, raised a family, and eventually sold his MGA. But the roar of engines still draws him back. “I was last there two years ago,” he said. And now, his granddaughter Siena Woodyard volunteers at PIR, helping flag corners just like he once did—only now with towers, radios, barriers and fire suits.
Thank you Schellene Clendenin for sharing this great story with us!
