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The photo in the magazine showed a smiling young man with a wreath of roses around his neck. His arm draped over the shoulder of a pretty girl holding a shining trophy. The crowd surrounding him frozen in the frivolity that was a celebration of victory. A close look at his face glistened of perspiration. His eyes outlined where the goggles now hanging around his neck were worn. To me this is real racing. Exotic cars running full bore over real roads. Races and places with hard to pronounce names like Mille Miglia and Monaco. I would repeat them over and over until they sounded like I thought they should.
My friends could'nt understand why I didn't have any respect for American racing drivers. Especially the local guys. Driving cars built at home in small garages or shops by a few buddies using any parts that were available, and driven on dirt no less ! Round and round in circles in front of a hooting and howling crowd. Almost embarrassing.
Sure, there was Indy. A grand paved track full of history and hosting the very best the United States had to offer.
Still going around in circles, only bigger.
Hypocritical as it may seem. I would find myself at the local dirt track nearly every Saturday night. Being a 17 year old boy in 1948 Arkansas there was'nt much else to do. I mostly enjoyed walking the pits to see the cars and maybe a pretty girl or two. Sometimes one would give me a smile if I was lucky.
There was a wide variety of cars to be seen. Most were beat up jalopies but open wheel sprinters were as good as it got around here. The cars that led the pack sounded more powerful. Had better parts and well, just looked faster than the rest. Some teams would try something new and be successful. Others failed miserably. I also realized that some cars that looked fast weren't necessarily so. That's when I saw it. A crew of guys unloading a car the likes I've never seen before. I studied it's shape. It took me a while to take it all in. The cockpit was set back and off to one side, the engine sticking out the other. From what I could tell all the tires were'nt the same height or width. What crazy man built this thing?
Other drivers and mechanics came by to look at it. Pointing and whispering in the ear of their teammates. Most seemed to dismiss this contraption as a sure loser. Word got out that the guy who built and owns the car was looking for a driver. At first there were no takers. The evenings racing activities started and not a single driver volunteered. Soon it was clear. This car would not see any track time this night.
Sure enough the next week the owner of the car showed and made it clear he was still seeking a driver. Qualifying was about to begin and again it seemed the car would remain idle. Suddenly the P.A. system crackled. The announcement declared that a driver has come foward to drive the car. I raced to the pits to see who it might be. I was excited to see it was one of the top local guys suiting up to take the car out for a few laps. As I weaved through the crowd hoping to get a closer look. It became apparent that the driver and the cars owner were having an argument as to whom was doing whom a favor. The driver who's name escapes me was cocky in his manner. He turned to the cars owner and growled " This jalopy better not make a fool of me out there"! "If you don't set a record, it's not the cars fault"! the owner snapped back.
The engine fired. It made a sound like no other engine I've ever heard. Just look at it. Yeah, it was a V-8 but the carbs went in the side the exhaust should be and the exhaust came out the top where the intake would normally be. And oh, how it would rev ! Suddenly the driver had a more serious look on his face.
The crowd was eerily silent as the car made it's way on to the track. All eyes upon the odd looking car. The driver took an easy first lap. Occasionally "goosing" the throttle. The second lap was faster. The driver decided it was time to see what this car can do. Hard on the throttle the tires broke loose and the car twitching nervously. He gave a nod as he passed the start/finish line and poured on the coals. That's when the fireworks begun. The car was all over the track. Seemingly everywhere but where the driver wanted it. Ooh's and gasps from the crowd as if they were watching a drunken tight rope walker. Two more harrowing laps and off to the pits.
It was obvious the driver was furious. Yelling and cussing at the cars owner. Pointing fingers, waving arms and a failed attempt to kick the car followed. It didn't take long for the rumor to spread that the car was undrivable. Week after week the owner would bring the car to the track but it would sit in the pits.
Secrets don't remain secrets for long at the track. Rumor had it that another driver has agreed to drive the car. This time it would be another local driver who although had some experience was not what the racers would call a veteran.
The testing was to be done during the week when the track was empty. I had made a plan to have an excuse to leave work early so I could make it to the track. Oddly enough my boss never came back from lunch. Expecting to arrive at an empty track. I saw a parking lot full of cars. I entered the stands to see a crowd as large as any I've seen at any race night...ever. You could imagine the shock of coming face to face with my boss. We both stood stunned for a moment then laughed aloud as we went our separate ways.
Settling into my usual seat. I could hear the cars engine warming in the pits. The car appeared on the track and picked up the pace rather quickly. This new young driver was anxious to "let it out". Two warm up laps and hard down the front stretch. Sideways into turn one. Powering out of the turn raising the inside wheel. Then both front wheels as he throttled onto the back stretch. This guy was wringing it out. 3 more hard laps and the P.A. announced the car was only 2 tenths shy of the track record ! Two more laps and the record fell to a tenth under. The crowd was cheering wildly. Another lap and another two tenths under.
The buzz around town was all about the fallen record and the upcoming race on Staurday. Would the driver have the mettle to face the so called experts? Would the car hold up? The answer was yes to both. The car and driver made short work of all the competition. Slicing through traffic smooth and quick. Darting by on the high side or going low. The crowd was amazed by the complete domination by the so called rookie and a car the other jockeys deemed undrivable.
When the right combination comes together the spectacle witnessed leaves a lasting impression. The racing season of 1948 was centered around this one car and driver. You would think and hope the ending would be glorious. But racing is a cruel sport. A season of victories and broken records. Drivers whe were never considered competitive rising to personal bests in effort to catch the car and driver that appeared out of nowhere to take center stage.
Machines have no feelings. No heart. Lifeless objects. Machines have time on their side. Like a loaded gun. Completely safe, but turn deadly if one lapses in judgement for only an instant.
The faded black and white photos showed a tangled wreck. The front wheels dangling over a twisted guard rail. A spectacular season with a tragic ending. One car, one driver credited with the improved skill and performance of 20 plus competitors. And a new found respect for the brave men who drive home made racers around in circles. . . . . . .on dirt.
Thanks for reading. Please feel free to comment or critigue my story. If you liked this story, you may also like another I have on B.S. Titled "The Last Burnout" . Although I wrote this story in 2010 I only got around to posting it on B.S. on 10/27/11. I dedicate this story to Dan Wheldon who tragically lost his life on the last race of the 2010 Indy season
My friends could'nt understand why I didn't have any respect for American racing drivers. Especially the local guys. Driving cars built at home in small garages or shops by a few buddies using any parts that were available, and driven on dirt no less ! Round and round in circles in front of a hooting and howling crowd. Almost embarrassing.
Sure, there was Indy. A grand paved track full of history and hosting the very best the United States had to offer.
Still going around in circles, only bigger.
Hypocritical as it may seem. I would find myself at the local dirt track nearly every Saturday night. Being a 17 year old boy in 1948 Arkansas there was'nt much else to do. I mostly enjoyed walking the pits to see the cars and maybe a pretty girl or two. Sometimes one would give me a smile if I was lucky.
There was a wide variety of cars to be seen. Most were beat up jalopies but open wheel sprinters were as good as it got around here. The cars that led the pack sounded more powerful. Had better parts and well, just looked faster than the rest. Some teams would try something new and be successful. Others failed miserably. I also realized that some cars that looked fast weren't necessarily so. That's when I saw it. A crew of guys unloading a car the likes I've never seen before. I studied it's shape. It took me a while to take it all in. The cockpit was set back and off to one side, the engine sticking out the other. From what I could tell all the tires were'nt the same height or width. What crazy man built this thing?
Other drivers and mechanics came by to look at it. Pointing and whispering in the ear of their teammates. Most seemed to dismiss this contraption as a sure loser. Word got out that the guy who built and owns the car was looking for a driver. At first there were no takers. The evenings racing activities started and not a single driver volunteered. Soon it was clear. This car would not see any track time this night.
Sure enough the next week the owner of the car showed and made it clear he was still seeking a driver. Qualifying was about to begin and again it seemed the car would remain idle. Suddenly the P.A. system crackled. The announcement declared that a driver has come foward to drive the car. I raced to the pits to see who it might be. I was excited to see it was one of the top local guys suiting up to take the car out for a few laps. As I weaved through the crowd hoping to get a closer look. It became apparent that the driver and the cars owner were having an argument as to whom was doing whom a favor. The driver who's name escapes me was cocky in his manner. He turned to the cars owner and growled " This jalopy better not make a fool of me out there"! "If you don't set a record, it's not the cars fault"! the owner snapped back.
The engine fired. It made a sound like no other engine I've ever heard. Just look at it. Yeah, it was a V-8 but the carbs went in the side the exhaust should be and the exhaust came out the top where the intake would normally be. And oh, how it would rev ! Suddenly the driver had a more serious look on his face.
The crowd was eerily silent as the car made it's way on to the track. All eyes upon the odd looking car. The driver took an easy first lap. Occasionally "goosing" the throttle. The second lap was faster. The driver decided it was time to see what this car can do. Hard on the throttle the tires broke loose and the car twitching nervously. He gave a nod as he passed the start/finish line and poured on the coals. That's when the fireworks begun. The car was all over the track. Seemingly everywhere but where the driver wanted it. Ooh's and gasps from the crowd as if they were watching a drunken tight rope walker. Two more harrowing laps and off to the pits.
It was obvious the driver was furious. Yelling and cussing at the cars owner. Pointing fingers, waving arms and a failed attempt to kick the car followed. It didn't take long for the rumor to spread that the car was undrivable. Week after week the owner would bring the car to the track but it would sit in the pits.
Secrets don't remain secrets for long at the track. Rumor had it that another driver has agreed to drive the car. This time it would be another local driver who although had some experience was not what the racers would call a veteran.
The testing was to be done during the week when the track was empty. I had made a plan to have an excuse to leave work early so I could make it to the track. Oddly enough my boss never came back from lunch. Expecting to arrive at an empty track. I saw a parking lot full of cars. I entered the stands to see a crowd as large as any I've seen at any race night...ever. You could imagine the shock of coming face to face with my boss. We both stood stunned for a moment then laughed aloud as we went our separate ways.
Settling into my usual seat. I could hear the cars engine warming in the pits. The car appeared on the track and picked up the pace rather quickly. This new young driver was anxious to "let it out". Two warm up laps and hard down the front stretch. Sideways into turn one. Powering out of the turn raising the inside wheel. Then both front wheels as he throttled onto the back stretch. This guy was wringing it out. 3 more hard laps and the P.A. announced the car was only 2 tenths shy of the track record ! Two more laps and the record fell to a tenth under. The crowd was cheering wildly. Another lap and another two tenths under.
The buzz around town was all about the fallen record and the upcoming race on Staurday. Would the driver have the mettle to face the so called experts? Would the car hold up? The answer was yes to both. The car and driver made short work of all the competition. Slicing through traffic smooth and quick. Darting by on the high side or going low. The crowd was amazed by the complete domination by the so called rookie and a car the other jockeys deemed undrivable.
When the right combination comes together the spectacle witnessed leaves a lasting impression. The racing season of 1948 was centered around this one car and driver. You would think and hope the ending would be glorious. But racing is a cruel sport. A season of victories and broken records. Drivers whe were never considered competitive rising to personal bests in effort to catch the car and driver that appeared out of nowhere to take center stage.
Machines have no feelings. No heart. Lifeless objects. Machines have time on their side. Like a loaded gun. Completely safe, but turn deadly if one lapses in judgement for only an instant.
The faded black and white photos showed a tangled wreck. The front wheels dangling over a twisted guard rail. A spectacular season with a tragic ending. One car, one driver credited with the improved skill and performance of 20 plus competitors. And a new found respect for the brave men who drive home made racers around in circles. . . . . . .on dirt.
Thanks for reading. Please feel free to comment or critigue my story. If you liked this story, you may also like another I have on B.S. Titled "The Last Burnout" . Although I wrote this story in 2010 I only got around to posting it on B.S. on 10/27/11. I dedicate this story to Dan Wheldon who tragically lost his life on the last race of the 2010 Indy season