Her presence left men speechless, and she became an unforgettable icon for America’s car enthusiasts.
But who was Jungle Pam Hardy, and why is her legend still alive today?
Even though her time in drag racing lasted only four years, Jungle Pam’s name has stayed famous for almost four decades.
Jungle Pam Hardy was more than just a pretty face in 1970s drag racing. Known for her beauty and charm, Pam brought a special style to the track that fans loved just as much as the roaring engines.
In a time when drag racing was about real skill and thrilling excitement, she captured the spirit of the era. She was part of the golden age of drag racing—when drivers controlled their cars, not computers. Many believe she added a level of beauty to drag racing that no one else has matched.
Backing up the famous Jungle Jim’s race car in her signature shorts and tank top, Pam excited fans as much as the cars did back then.
**Road to Stardom**
You can’t talk about Jungle Pam without mentioning her legendary partner, Jim Liberman, the daring drag racer known as “Jungle Jim.”
Liberman, who started driving at age 12, was famous for his showmanship and was a big name in U.S. drag racing. Many still say he was the best showman on the drag strip.
Pam’s story begins in May 1972—just two weeks before she was set to graduate high school.
Liberman saw the beautiful young woman hitchhiking while driving his yellow Corvette, and that’s where it all started. Pam had plans to attend West Chester University of Pennsylvania to study business. But instead, she fell for Jim and joined him on the road.
“I ditched the college that had accepted me, and it drove my mother nuts,” she later recalled.
Touring the country together, Jim and Pam became a powerful team in the drag racing world, with his bold showmanship and her magnetic presence. Jim Liberman originally wanted Pam to position his funny car at the starting line, knowing it would grab the audience’s attention — and it certainly did.
“Well, sex sells,” Pam told *Competition Plus*. “You see it on TV all the time, but back in the ’70s, Jungle and I thought it would be worth trying, so we did. It didn’t hurt his reputation at all. In fact, more pictures were taken of his car as long as I was standing next to it.”
Pam was not only stunning but often braless, usually wearing a tank top or skimpy halter with extremely short jean shorts.
**Most Famous Figure on the Drag Strip**
Before long, she went from being unknown to becoming the most famous woman on the drag strip. Her rise was so impressive that she even appeared on the cover of *Hot Rod Magazine*, the first woman ever to do so. The cheers when Pam walked onto the track often surpassed the applause for the top drivers.
“I’m kind of amazed by all the attention,” she said in 1974.
But Pam was more than just a pretty face, as some might think. She staged the car, checked it for fluid leaks before each run, filled the block with water and eight quarts of 70W oil, packed the parachutes after every race, and helped Jim position his car after burnouts.
Her presence left men speechless, and she became an unforgettable icon for America’s motor enthusiasts.
But who was Jungle Pam Hardy, and why does her legend continue today?
Even though her time in drag racing lasted only four years, Jungle Pam’s name has remained iconic for nearly four decades.
Jungle Pam Hardy was more than just a pretty face in 1970s drag racing. Known for her charisma and beauty, she brought a unique flair to the track that captivated fans as much as the roaring engines.
In an era when drag racing was all about raw talent and excitement, Pam embodied that spirit. She was there during the golden age of drag racing—when drivers controlled their cars instead of computers. Many say she brought a kind of beauty to the sport that has never been matched.
Backing up the legendary Jungle Jim’s race car in her signature shorts and tank top, Pam thrilled fans as much as the cars did.
**Road to Stardom**
You can’t talk about Jungle Pam without mentioning her famous partner, Jim Liberman, the flamboyant drag racer known as “Jungle Jim.”
Liberman, who started driving at 12, was a huge name in U.S. drag racing. Many still believe he was the greatest showman the drag strip has ever seen.
Pam’s story began in May 1972—just two weeks before she graduated high school. Liberman spotted her hitchhiking while driving his yellow Corvette, and fate took over. Pam had plans to attend West Chester University to major in business, but instead, she fell for Jim and joined him on the road.
“I ditched the college that had accepted me, and it drove my mother nuts,” she recalled.
**A Dynamic Duo**
Touring the country together, Jim and Pam became a dynamic duo in the drag racing world, with his showmanship and her magnetic presence. Jim had Pam stage his funny car at the starting line, knowing it would grab the audience’s attention — and it did.
“Well, sex sells,” Pam told *Competition Plus*. “Back in the ’70s, Jungle and I decided together that it was worth a shot. It didn’t hurt his reputation at all, and he got more pictures of his car as long as I was standing next to it.”
Pam was not only stunning but often braless, usually wearing a tank top or skimpy halter and tiny jean shorts.
**Most Famous Figure on the Drag Strip**
Pam quickly transformed from unknown to the most famous woman on the drag strip. She even appeared on the cover of *Hot Rod Magazine*, the first woman to do so. The cheers Pam received when she stepped onto the track often outdid those for the drivers.
“I’m amazed by all the attention,” she said in 1974.
But Pam wasn’t just a pretty face. She staged the car, checked it for leaks before every run, filled it with water and oil, packed parachutes after each race, and helped Jim position the car after burnouts.
“We put on a good show,” Pam said. “It wasn’t about me. It was about us.”
Pam was described as “a stroke of genius,” and many were impressed that Jim had turned her into a true racing enthusiast, helping raise the profile of the sport and Jim’s team.
In the world of drag racing, Jim and Pam stood out. While Jim won several championships, he was best known for his vibrant personality and, of course, his stunning girlfriend.
“Our relationship was a flash in the pan, a bolt of lightning. It just worked,” Pam told *Fox Sports*.
But everything changed on September 9, 1977.
**Jim Dies**
Three days before his 32nd birthday, Jim was racing his 1972 yellow Corvette at 250 mph when he crashed into a bus.
He died instantly, and it took rescuers 45 minutes to remove his body from the wreck.
“It was my mother who called me because she didn’t want me to hear it on the news,” Pam told *CompetitionPlusTV*.
The tragic accident shook the motorsports community. Afterward, Pam made the hard decision to leave drag racing, vowing never to work with another driver again
Yet, Pam quietly dedicated herself to keeping Jim Liberman’s memory alive. She often participated in memorial events honoring her late boyfriend.
“All that showmanship was his real personality,” Pam said. “He didn’t just turn it on at the track and become normal at home. He had that flair even when we were just at the house or out somewhere. You could always feel his presence wherever he was.”
On a personal level, Pam moved on. Being a racing lover, she later married Funny Car owner Fred Frey. After their divorce, she married Bill Hodgson, who tunes George Reidnauer’s Excalibur Corvette Nostalgia Funny Car.
**The Truth Behind the Photos**
Looking through old drag racing photos from the 1970s is like stepping back in time. These pictures capture not just the loud engines and bright colors of the era but also the spirit of a community united by a passion for speed and excitement.
Jungle Pam broke new ground, showing that women could earn respect in a male-dominated sport while bringing smiles and joy to many. She had a life that just doesn’t happen anymore—a woman of undeniable class, living life on her own terms. What more could anyone ask for?
My neighbor kept hanging out her panties in front of my son’s window, so I taught her a real lesson
For weeks, my neighbor’s underpants stole the spotlight outside my 8-year-old son’s window. When he naively questioned if her thongs were slingshots, I decided it was time to put an end to this panty parade and teach her a valuable lesson in laundry etiquette.
Ah, suburbia! The grass is usually greener on the other side, mostly because your neighbor’s sprinkler system is superior to yours. That’s where I, Thompson’s wife Kristie, opted to establish roots with my 8-year-old son Jake. Life was as smooth as a freshly botoxed forehead until Lisa, our new neighbor, came in next door.
It began on Tuesday. I remember because it was wash day, and I was folding a mountain of tiny superhero underwear, courtesy of Jake’s recent obsession.
Looking out his bedroom window, I almost choked on my coffee. A pair of hot pink, lace underwear flew in the breeze like the world’s most indecent flag.
And they were not alone. Oh no, they were not alone — a full rainbow of underpants was dancing in the breeze in front of my son’s window.
“Holy guacamole,” I muttered, dropping a pair of Batman briefs. “Is this a laundry line or Victoria’s Secret runway?”
Jake’s voice piped up behind me, “Mom, why does Mrs. Lisa have her underwear outside?”
My face burned hotter than my malfunctioning dryer. “Uh, sweetie. Mrs. Lisa just… really likes fresh air. Why don’t we close these curtains, huh? Give the laundry some privacy.”
“But Mom,” Jake persisted, his eyes wide with innocent curiosity, “if Mrs. Lisa’s underwear likes fresh air, shouldn’t mine go outside too? Maybe my Hulk undies could make friends with her pink ones!”
I held back a laugh that threatened to blossom into a wild sob. “Honey, your underwear is… shy. It prefers to stay inside where it’s cozy.”
As I ushered Jake out, I couldn’t resist thinking, “Welcome to the neighborhood, Kristie. Hope you brought your sense of humor and a sturdy pair of curtains.”
Days stretched into weeks, and Lisa’s laundry service became as routine as my daily coffee, and as welcoming as a cold cup of coffee with a splash of curdled milk.
Every day, a new set of panties appeared outside my son’s window, and I found myself playing the awkward game of “shield the child’s eyes.”
One afternoon, while I was cooking a snack in the kitchen, Jake burst in, his face etched with bewilderment and eagerness, making my mom-sense prickle with fear.
“Mom,” he started, in that tone that always preceded a question I wasn’t prepared for, “why does Mrs. Lisa have so many different colored underwear? And why are some of them so small? With strings? Are they for her pet hamster?”
I almost dropped the knife I was using to spread peanut butter, picturing Lisa’s response at being told her delicates were rodent-sized.
“Well, honey,” I stammered, buying time, “everyone has different preferences for their clothes. Even the ones we don’t usually see.”
Jake nodded sagely as if I’d imparted some great wisdom. “So, it’s like how I like my superhero underwear, but grown-up? Does Mrs. Lisa fight crime at night? Is that why her underwear is so small? For aerodynamics?”
I choked on air, caught between laughter and horror. “Uh, not exactly, sweetie. Mrs. Lisa isn’t a superhero. She’s just very confident.”
“Oh,” Jake replied, little disappointed. Then his face brightened up again.
“But Mom, if Mrs. Lisa can hang her underwear outside, can I hang mine too? I bet my Captain America boxers would look super cool flapping in the wind!”
“Sorry, buddy,” I said, ruffling his hair. “Your underwear is special. It needs to stay hidden to, uh, protect your secret identity.”
As Jake nodded and munched on his lunch, I looked out the window at Lisa’s colorful underwear display.
This could not continue on. It was time to talk with our exhibitionist neighbor. ?.
The following day, I marched over to Lisa’s place.
I rang the doorbell, flashing my best “concerned neighbor” smile, the same one I use to assure the HOA that “no, my garden gnomes are not offensive, they’re whimsical.”
Lisa responded, appearing as if she had just come out of a shampoo advertisement.
“Oh, hi there! Kristie, right?” she frowned.
“That’s right! Listen, Lisa, I hoped we could chat about something.”
She leaned against the doorframe, eyebrow raised. “Oh? What’s on your mind? Need to borrow a cup of sugar? Or maybe a cup of confidence?” She glanced pointedly at my mom jeans and oversized t-shirt.
I took a deep breath and reminded myself that jail orange is not my color. “It’s about your laundry. Specifically, where you hang it.”
Lisa’s flawlessly groomed brows furrowed. “My laundry? What about it? Is it too fashion-forward for the neighborhood?”
“Well, it’s just that it’s right in front of my son’s window. The, um, underwear especially. It’s a bit exposing. Jake’s starting to ask questions. Yesterday, he asked if your thongs were slingshots.”
“Oh, honey. They’re just clothes! It’s not like I’m hanging up nuclear launch codes. Although, between you and me, my leopard print bikini bottoms are pretty explosive!”
I felt my eye twitch. “I understand, but Jake is only eight. He’s curious. This morning, he asked if he could hang his Superman undies next to your, uh, ‘crime-fighting gear’.”
“Well, then, sounds like a perfect opportunity for some education. You’re welcome! I’m practically running a public service here. And why should I care about your son? It’s my yard. Toughen up!”
“Excuse me?”
Lisa waved her hand dismissively. “Listen, if you’re that bothered by a few pairs of panties, maybe you need to loosen up. It’s my yard, my rules. Deal with it. Or better yet, buy some cuter underwear. I could give you some tips if you’d like.”
And with that, she slammed the door in my face, leaving me standing there with my mouth open, likely gathering flies.
I was stunned. “Oh, it is ON,” I muttered, turning on my heel. “You want to play dirty laundry? Game on, Lisa. Game. On.” ?
That night, I sat at my sewing machine.
Yards of the most gaudy, eye-searing cloth I could locate sat before me. It was the type of cloth that could be seen from space and perhaps even attract alien life forms!
“You think your little lacy numbers are something to see, Lisa?” I muttered, feeding the fabric through the machine. “Wait till you get a load of this. E.T. will phone home about these babies.”
After hours, I finished creating the world’s largest and most irritating pair of granny panties. ?
They were large enough to serve as a parachute, loud enough to be heard from space, and just insignificant enough to prove my argument.
If Lisa’s underwear was a whisper, mine was a fabric-covered foghorn.
That afternoon, as soon as I saw Lisa’s car leave her driveway, I sprung into action.
With my improvised clothesline and gigantic flamingo underpants ready, I dashed across our lawns, ducking between plants and lawn ornaments.
With the coast clear, I hung my handiwork just in front of Lisa’s living room window. Stepping back to examine my work, I couldn’t help but smile.
The enormous flamingo undies fluttered gloriously in the afternoon air. They were so enormous that a family of four could certainly use them as a tent while camping.
“Take that, Lisa,” I whispered, scurrying back home. “Let’s see how you like a taste of your own medicine. Hope you brought your sunglasses, because it’s about to get BRIGHT in the neighborhood.”
Back at home, I took up a position beside the window. I felt like a kid waiting for Santa, but instead of gifts, I was waiting for Lisa to uncover my small surprise.
The minutes passed like hours.
Just as I was wondering if Lisa had chosen to turn her errands into a surprise holiday, I heard the familiar sound of her car approaching the driveway.
It’s show time.
Lisa stepped outside, arms full of shopping bags, and froze. Her mouth dropped so quickly, I thought it could detach. The bags slid from her fingers, scattering their contents across the driveway.
I swear I spotted a pair of polka-dot panties rolling across the yard. Lisa, you are so classy.
“WHAT THE HELL…??” she screeched, loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. “Is that a parachute? Did the circus come to town?”
I burst into laughter. Tears flowed down my cheeks as I watched Lisa dash up to the enormous undies and grab at them futilely. It was like witnessing a chihuahua attempt to take down a Great Dane.
Composing myself, I strolled outside. “Oh, hi Lisa! Doing some redecorating? I love what you’ve done with the place. Very avant-garde.”
She whirled on me, face as pink as the undies of my creation. “You! You did this! What is wrong with you? Are you trying to signal aircraft?”
I shrugged. “Just hanging out some laundry. Isn’t that what neighbors do? I thought we were starting a trend.”
“This isn’t laundry!” Lisa shrieked, gesturing wildly at the undies. “This is… this is…”
“A learning opportunity?” I suggested sweetly. “You know, for the neighborhood kids. Jake was very curious about the aerodynamics of underwear. I thought a practical demonstration might help.”
Lisa’s mouth expanded and closed, like a fish out of water. Finally, she sputtered, “Take. It. Down.”
I tapped my chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, I don’t know. I kind of like the breeze it’s getting. Really airs things out, you know? Plus, I think it’s bringing the property values up. Nothing says ‘classy neighborhood’ like giant novelty underwear.”
For a moment, I thought Lisa might spontaneously combust. Then, to my surprise, her shoulders sagged. “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “You win. I’ll move my laundry. Just… please, take this monstrosity down. My retinas are burning.”
I chuckled, extending my hand. “Deal. But I have to say, I think flamingos are your color.”
As we shook on it, I couldn’t help but add, “By the way, Lisa? Welcome to the neighborhood. We’re all a little crazy here. Some of us just hide it better than others.”
Lisa’s laundry has been missing from the clothesline in front of Jake’s window since that day. She never addressed it again, and I never had to cope with her “life lessons” either.
And me? Let’s just say I now have a really unusual set of curtains made of flamingo fabric. Don’t waste, don’t want, right?
Jake was slightly bummed that the “underwear slingshots” were no longer available. But I informed him that sometimes being a superhero entails keeping your undergarments a secret. What if he ever sees huge flamingo undies flying through the sky? Mom is protecting the neighborhood with outrageous pranks! ?
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