I’ve long been fascinated by the concept of ‘six degrees of separation’ – the seemingly random connections and crossovers you can experience as you go through life. You know the feeling: you’re at a party and introduce one of your workmates to the bloke who sold you some car parts and discover they’ve known each other since high school – that kind of thing.

First published in the April 2026 issue of Street Machine

Growing up in the great big country town that was Brisbane in the 1970s and 80s, I’d experience these sorts of serendipitous links and associations fairly often, and one of my most enduring and respectful friendships came about through a series of random occurrences stretching all the way back to 1983.

Takeaway food was a rarity in our household; like many other families, my parents struggled to make ends meet during those torrid years that saw interest rates climb into the high teens. But every few Friday nights, my dad would throw financial caution to the wind and splurge on a table full of burgers, chips and hot dogs for the family from his favourite fast-food shop, Joe’s Takeaway, on Samford Road in Gaythorne.

I was nine or 10 at the time, and I would always ride along with Dad to grab our Joe’s order. After all, waiting outside the shop for the food to be ready gave you a front-row seat to enjoy a hot six-cylinder or healthy V8 ripping past.

Sometimes, Joe’s eldest son would rock up in his cranky XB GT hardtop, and would always flash us a genuine smile as he’d stride past with his generous, bouncing boof of black curly hair. My dad would always comment on his love for that XB’s Vermilion Fire duco, while I’d ogle the mammoth rear rubber and wind-back sunroof. It sounded tough, too, and if we were lucky, we’d see the bloke take off again, rowing through the gears of that Top Loader.

Some years later, I was thumbing through what would become one of my all-time favourite issues of Street Machine, the monster June 1987 edition. Splashed across its pages was the arresting image of Louis Spelta’s ‘Helter Skelter’ XB hardtop torching the rear tyres. A lightbulb turned on in my head. This XB was a Brissie car, and although it was Monza Red rather than Vermilion Fire, the luxuriant black curls of the bloke pulling the great burnout seemed like more than a coincidence. Could this be the same car I’d loved outside Joe’s Takeaway?

In the ensuing years, I got to see that XB feature car in the metal on a few occasions, whether on display at the Brisbane Hot Rod Show alongside fellow cars from the Super Street Machines car club, or just random spottos on the street. Each time I saw it, I’d ponder its possible connection to my Joe’s Takeaway memories.

Towards the end of the 90s, as the car action at Harry’s Diner in Newmarket heated up, I’d see this guy rock up in a tidy Mustang convertible.

His hair might have been greying, but it had an unmistakeable ‘boof’ to it, and my curiosity was again piqued.

By chance, some mutual friends introduced us, and when I was told that his name was Lou, I just had to ask: “Mate, you didn’t used to own Helter Skelter, did you?”

The floodgates opened. We soon connected the dots back to Joe’s Takeaway, and I can proudly say that Lou and I have been great mates ever since.

Nowadays, Lou is recently retired, enjoying life as nonno to his grandkids, and tinkering on a big-block 1969 Corvette. The XB may be long gone, but I’m happy to report that the Mustang still shares pride of place in Lou’s garage alongside an abundance of KISS memorabilia, and that boof of hair is still front and centre. Oh, and I still toast my hot dog buns just like Lou’s dad, Joe, showed me all those years ago.

But it got me thinking: there would be hundreds of kids right now from all over Australia who’ve had their imaginations fired by their own Helter Skelters; indelible memories that are often reinforced by grown-ups who take the time to acknowledge and encourage their interest. So, the next time some random kid gives your car the thumbs-up, flare the converter, give them a smile, or a wave – just do something! You never know what positive, lifelong memories you’ll chisel into their brains, and it just might make your day, too.