A COMPREHENSIVE ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF DRAG RACING

Odd as it may seem, there are occasional visitors to this site with no interest or knowledge of hot rodding or motorsports. Besides the usual FBI, IRS, FCC and CIA agents, some of my non-car friends like to drop in and browse, too. They claim to enjoy the SGE experience in general, but are baffled at some of the references and terminology bandied about, whether in proper nomenclature or street jive. Since drag racing is a common thread running through this blog and the hobby in general, here's a quick-start guide for the newcomer. It doubles as a humbler to you know-it-alls out there. 

AS ALWAYS, CLICK ON IMAGES TO VIEW FULL SIZE.

BILATERAL TIMELINE STUDY:

RACE: First one to the finish line wins. Just before the U.S. entered World War II, Pete Henderson competed against a race horse in Pasadena, California for a $300 purse in the first documented example of drag racing (technically a street race) that I know of. Henderson's '32 Ford V-8 roadster took a wicked hole shot from the horse, but caught it (just barely) at the finish, "two telephone poles" away, according to hot rod pioneer Ak Miller. From this car versus horse pairing, drag racing evolved in two parallel lanes...

A. Production cars (or "door slammers") appealed to budget minded racers like California's Benders car club. Fans easily related to them, as most drove similar cars to the races.

2. Dick Kraft stripped his Model T (and himself) down to the rails and helped introduce the "dragster" classes (also known as "rail jobs" for obvious reasons). Fans found them exotic and exciting.

In both disciplines, power-to-weight ratio dictated quickness and speed. Each camp naturally scattered into various sub-niches, but production-based door slammers and dedicated dragsters generally defined the opposing ends of drag racing's class structure and appeal. Fans could drive their commuter cars to glory in entry level classes, partner up with friends to enter a dragster in the sport's top class, or find their comfort zone in a vast middle ground. The fun, at every level, was accessible to all. The original intent of taking deadly street racing to a safe, legal, and controlled environment was beautifully realized and even produced a supporting culture that swept the nation. Uninterested citizens, passionate racers and race fans alike were well served, and the legalization of drag racing was deemed a successful experiment by all parties. America's prominent sanctioning body, then and now, was the National Hot Rod Association (NHRA), founded and operated by Wallace Parks as a non-profit organisation.

Ten short years later, both door slammers and dragsters had evolved to a high level of sophistication. Few realized it at this stage, but we were enjoying what would be known as drag racing's Golden Era. For a brief but glorious moment (now known as The Climax Of The Golden Era), drag racing's purity of intent reached its zenith. No one complained about The Clean Up After The Climax of the Golden Era. But behind closed doors, the NHRA was indulging in an orgy of incestual decadence with Detroit's auto manufacturing magnates. The ensuing pregnancy produced an evil bastard child that defied repeated exorcism attempts by racers, fans and media.

That Golden Era enticed a deluge of paying customers through the gates, and profiteers smelled the money from high up in the towers of commerce. When it came to money, sanctioning bodies and most event promoters took a "The More The Merrier" stance. This historical image captured the first ever Miss Winston: Gonzo announcer and innovative track manager, Berserko Bob Doerrer. The backlash to corporate involvement in drag racing was immediate and universal - except for a few well-positioned racers and some "non-profit" sanctioning body executives who stood to profit handily from the profiteers. 

The spectacle was morbidly fascinating, the implications, ominous. This is how it all ended. When door slammers and dragsters morphed into the Funny Car, corporate signage took priority over innovation, accessibility, and all else. In the remaining lower classes, "indexes", "dial-ins" and "breakouts" replaced heads-up racing as stop-gap measures, leaving the remaining fans baffled and frustrated. Within 18 months, drag racing was extinct, but for the corporate players and a handful of hardcore independent holdouts who soon paid for their loyalty with bankruptcy and divorce. From this moment forward, street racing became a more widespread epidemic than ever, with an ever-escalating body count littering America's roadways with human hamburger and clogging her jails with aspiring young mechanics, engineers and designers. But an apathetic public can't see any difference between organized drag racing and free-form street racing. They're also wary of sanctioning body executives known only via mugshots above scandalous headlines. They just want all of this noise to go away. And so it shall be.  (Photos found Online)

                                                                       THE END

                                                                              *


Mind you, the above was written by a person perceived as a naive Pollyanna with an Opie Taylor enthusiasm for Forrest Gump providence. At least that's how I feel around my fellow motorsports journalists - cynics, one and all. I'm a sitting duck in that murky little pond. But even I can't help but feel anguish at what my beloved sport turned into, considering where it came from, the promise it held, and the glory it realized for a fleeting moment before it choked on its own greed and became a national embarrassment on par with philandering politicians and crooked investment bankers.

Bitter? You bet your ass I'm bitter - scorned by the one I loved and defended in the face of my own peer group. Worst of all, I still support her! I continue to worship at the altar of acceleration in person, read and write about it, even watch it on TV - desperately hoping to glimpse some promise that the NHRA might somehow redeem itself, or some surprise savior might step forward with a revolutionary new greed-proof approach to drag racing. The nostalgia drag racing movement got me excited and hopeful, until the first millionaire showed up - about five minutes after the concept was implemented. Alas, the only solution seems to be digital electronics: A strictly computer controlled organization, managing pairs of over-amped robots flashing down the track. With no human involvement whatsoever, there just might be a chance of true parity in drag racing. As long as human passions, egos, intellects, and spirits are involved, I'm afraid it's hopeless.

Drag race figurehead Big Daddy Don Garlits is looking to electrons to power the sport through the stench of stagnancy. Note that this design provides a space for the driver though. Uh oh... (Photo courtesy of Garlits.com)

                                                                                    *

THE ESTRUS FACTOR:

In the environment I was hatched in, roosters strutted around huffing and puffing, while the hens took care of business. Raising children, paying bills and putting out fires in the wake of said roosters was deemed women's work, as the men were way too busy with ego gratification and fearfully protecting their hardass images at all costs. It didn't seem fair to my childish sensibilities, until I hit my first drag race and realized this posturing was considered "normal behavior". Imagine my relief. Still, I could barely stifle my jubilance when I heard of the occasional female putting a rooster on the trailer. I kept my celebrations to myself in those days (Survival Skills 101), but now it's safe to admit my respect and outright adoration of...

Peggy Hart. She produced newsletters and sent them to GIs during the war to keep racers up-to-date on dry lakes developments. When she and husband/business partner "Pappy" Hart later opened Santa Ana Drag Strip, Peggy drove her rail job to the track, whipped the big dogs, and drove it back home, regularly (note radiator hose at far right - for street duty). This shot is from 1952.

Barbara Hamilton. Gassers were my favorites, right off the bat. And Hamilton's accomplishments were big news to me when I discovered her (sadly, not until the mid '70s. She was a well kept secret). Barb and partner Nancy Leonello did their own wrenching, toured the match race circuit, and also did very well in NHRA national event competition. 

Shirley Shahan. A regular at Winner's Circles with her "Drag-on-Lady" doorslammers, tuned by husband H.L. His Detroit connections garnered Shirley more ink than most female racers, which may have ruffled some feathers. The Shahans won in everything from Studebakers to Chevys, Mopars and AMCs.

Carol "Bunny" Burkett. She took the "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em" route to stardom in the sexist age. She played up the Blondshell imagery to snag ink and the ensuing bookings, but delivered hardballs at the track. She even acquiesced to the "Cotton Pony" nickname on her cars. Burkett paid extra for her attractiveness with an unending stream of lame come-ons.

Della Woods. The Funny Car pioneer  partnered with brother Bernie to campaign their "Bernella" brand entries, exemplified by the "Funny Honey" Charger. When Roger Lindamood, Don Garlits and Don Kohler signed-off on her competition license, the NHRA revoked it, claiming, "It's too dangerous for a woman to drive in that class." Woods countered by demanding NHRA rescind all female licenses (there were many female racers, just not many famous ones). The resulting uproar quickly called NHRA's bluff, and Woods hit the circuit within a week. (Photos found Online)


These examples spotlight only a few highly successful female racers, who found fame in the most popular classes, where the media could easily find them. There were (and continue to be) many more unsung overachieving women competitors who's impact sadly remains local, or regional at best. I like to believe all of these pioneering women (famous and obscure alike) laid the groundwork for the female stars of the moment, such as Melanie Troxel, Erica Enders-Stevens, Karen Stoffer, Leah Pruett, Alexis DeJoria, Katie Sullivan, and the Force sisters. If a single example of this phenomenon must be chosen to represent all of the above, you couldn't do better than the woman dubbed "Cha Cha" by her competitors, who ultimately jammed that moniker up the ass of every arrogant male who ever uttered it, from anonymous street racers to Don Garlits himself.



SHIRLEY!:

Today, we consider John Force to be drag racing's greatest superstar. With fifteen World Championships to his credit, the charismatic former log truck driver is indisputably the most successful. But chronologically, he's a Johnny-come-lately. (Photo by Cole Coonce)

The first quarter miler to be awarded true superstar status was "Big Daddy" Don Garlits, AKA "Swamp Rat" (seen here on tour in England in the mid-'60s). The Seffner, Florida upstart was claiming speeds and times doubted by California's ruling clique. They challenged him to tow west and prove himself. He did, and became a never-say-die sensation of competition and innovation. Sixty-plus years later, he's still the face of drag racing. (Photo courtesy of Garlits.com)

Then there's Shirley. The scrappy street racer from upstate New York had to muscle her way onto the drag strip (see the biographical Heart Like a Wheel film for a Cliff Notes version), but when she finally elbowed enough blowhards out of her way, the whole world seemed to be waiting for Shirley Muldowney. Her outspoken No Bullshit persona struck a major chord with the public, and her winning ways eventually earned the respect of fellow racers, no matter what genitalia they packed. This '63 Corvette is the one that some poor loser lettered "Cha Cha" with white shoe polish. That's all the motivation she needed to rule the world.

Much to the delight of Shirley's fans and the media, no one despised losing to Shirley more than "Donald". Their over-hyped animosity instantly vaulted Shirley to equal status with Big Daddy, to his utter dismay ("Doh!"). Sworn enemies on the track, they shared a mutual off-track respect that endures today, along with the backhanded compliments and outright put downs. They've both always been well aware of the benefits offered by such rivalry and neither are above capitalizing on it.

Like with Garlits (who once rode his name recognition to a congressional bid), Shirley's fame has delivered her to places otherwise inaccessible. Rubbing elbows with fellow reclusive celebs is one nice fringe benefit of sacrificing your own privacy (to bloggers like me).

To this day, when Shirley talks, people listen. Her announcement of a return to (Nostalgia) Funny Car in 2014 sent tremors, followed by this aftershock: Shirley will also shoe a streamliner at Bonneville, shooting at a 500 MPH target. 2014 can't get here fast enough for a lot of people.

Shirley's advice to aspiring female drag racers, circa 1965. She may not have followed it all herself, but it's still sound advice. (Photos courtesy of Muldowney.com)



                                                                                      *




As for that Garlits guy, at least half of his legend is due to mechanical innovation, and he isn't done yet.

The artwork shown above on this post is for real. Swamp Rat 37 will employ electric power. Garlits has already made test runs, captured here for your consideration. 

As of this writing, the latest news on the project is this carbon fiber body. I, for one, am thrilled at the prospect of wheel pants coming back into style. Really. (photos courtesy of Garlits.com)




                                                                                    *




Obviously, what's left of drag racing will continue to evolve for the best or worst, with or without my smeared stamp of approval. And though I may seem sour on this particular post, rest assured - as long as there are drag strips, I'll continue to seek them out. You'll still find me loitering in the pits, investing in hot dog stands, and lugging photography equipment up and down the quarter mile with a notebook in my back pocket. As for you, your assignment is to support your local drag strip and report on what inspires and repels you about the experience. Final exams will commence at season's end. Until then, class is dismissed.



                                                                              *


UPDATE:

LORI BENTLEY LAW

At high noon on Sunday, hot rod novelist Lori Bentley Law faced the Motor Mouth Radio hosts, live on the air. She was downright sparkly, sharing insight into her writing, as well as her noted automotive and motorcycle hijinks. Recommended listening for anyone with an interest in nuts, bolts, and the human condition. A recording of the highly anticipated showdown can be found on the show's home page at www.motormouthradio.com. PARENTAL WARNING: The first half-hour of this one hour show is devoted to an in-depth discussion of the brake pedal ratio on Motormouth Ray's GTO. Fascinating information, if you happen to be pondering the correct pedal ratio of your mid '60s GM project. (Geek note to the Motormouths: Master cylinder bore diameter [not pedal ratio] dictates brake line pressure - especially on non-power brake applications. I tried dialing this info to the show, but the phone lines were jammed. Wonder why?).

Lori's post-show report: "I had a blast talking with those guys!" It was palpable. (Photo courtesy of Lori Bentley Law)


                                                                                *

UPDATE:

ELANA SCHERR

Hot Rod magazine Staff Editor Elana Scherr will be dropping by the Motor Mouth Radio studios this Thursday, October 24th. Tune into www.motormouthradio.com at Noon Eastern/9:00 AM Western to catch the action as the Motormouths meet Elana and her decidedly human interest slant on topics from 6-cylinder Mopars to that pizza joint in Europe. An overdramatic tip of the pith helmet to Motor Mouth Radio, for once again shining their K-Mart flashlight on the women of hot rodding and motorsports!
BE THEEERE!!!

(Photos stolen from Hot Rod.com)

                                                                                       *



UPDATE:

SCOTTY'S MODEL A PROJECT


Immediately following Sunday's radio show, I panicked out to Dr. Lockjaw's "Custom Metal" shop to resume work on the Model A (after a three week delay). The planned complete mock-up didn't happen, as a full day's work was required to straighten mangled 80 year-old tin before we could begin laying out attachment points for the sheetmetal. But we're ready now. Next week, for sure! Maybe.

Doc's place is a 30 mile drive, but they're 30 of the best laid out miles the Oregon Department Of Transportation ever paved. Perfect apexes, beautiful scenery, and deserted straight stretches...

The rusted firewall and front edge of the cowl were deemed a waste of our precious talents, so we deleted them, cleaned up the mess, and prepared for next week's full-on mock-up of body panels, inner tubing, drivetrain and suspension. Stay tuned to see if we actually check off anything on that list before Christmas.

Doc is so stoked about next week, he practically has sparks in his eyes already. Note shop repair on finger - it was one of those days. 


                                                                                   *




TOOLBOX OF THE WEEK:

Taking the leap of faith from hobbyist to pro wrencher required a more serious tool storage system than my dilapidated canvas bags, cardboard boxes, and plastic buckets overflowing with broken rusty tools. Such grassroots gear doesn't impress potential employers like you would think. This Craftsman rollaway has served me well and should outlive me by a bunch. I filled it one paycheck at a time with adequate Craftsman tools - the best I could afford. It mostly sits in the Saint Shellski Cathedral basement garage these days. It's dark and creepy down there. My camera was obviously spooked and the shaky photos prove it. I thought I saw a ghost over by the lawn mower!

But let's face it - the only thing that defines one box from another is the artwork and grime it collects over time. Amazingly, this unit is mostly dent and scratch-free, after years of service in extremely adverse conditions. 

A few close-ups, including some very rare early Gosson Bros. decals that my brothers and I had a blast designing. Consider this sad example of toolbox neglect to be your reality slap of the day. They're admittedly rare, but they're out there, concealing drawers full of repair and fabrication adventures, successful and otherwise. My quest is to roll this one back into plenty more action before my expiration date arrives. (Scotty shots)

WRITERS BLOCK PARTY!

When inspiration hits, nothing can stop the creative process. When inspiration withers, nothing can start the creative process.

Staring down multiple deadlines has taken a toll lately. I'm toast. At vulnerable moments like this, writing somehow morphs from a gift to a chore. Luckily, I love irony: The stories gone comatose before me are exactly the kind I love to tell - ripe and juicy. Alas, they just lay there, giving me the fish eye. Sure, I work on them, for hours and hours. Still, they lay dormant, sprawled out across my monitor, silently begging me to pick them up, shake them awake, and give them direction and purpose - a waste of elusive time, so far, with one false start after another. Another process that must play itself out.

This is new to me. A first. But I believe we only grow when we're off balance - out of our comfort zones. When we cling to comfort, we become stagnant - a deadly condition. So I should be celebrating this growth opportunity. I know I will, soon enough. At this moment, I don't have to like it, I just have to walk through it: Accept it, find my role in it, learn from it, and move on. And so I trudge.

Unfortunately, this process has left scant time to construct a lucid blog. So this week, I'm concocting a word salad of leftovers, topped with bits of found data. Not every post can be a delicious feast. Actually, I didn't make any of this from scratch - Motormouth Ray contributed nearly all of the content on this post, and I'm just relaying it to you. Thanks, Ray! And thank you, SGE reader, for pressing on regardless. I hope you find some message in here that serves you. Now if you'll excuse me, I must return to work and open myself to the spark that awaits me, somewhere out there in the cosmic alphabet soup.


                                                                                *


THE FALL OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA:

Coast to coast, the clink of racetrack gates closing for winter announces the arrival of fall. The news echoes through every time zone of every latitude. Ramshackle one-car garages and corporate-funded monoliths alike begin vibrating with anticipation - the opening day of fabrication season is just around the corner! In between race season and fab season lies a sliver of time I call "The Downshift". Less than a week of days, where we recharge our internal batteries, breathe deeply, and contemplate past and future, while savoring the present.

SGE received two Downshift reports this week, from opposite ends of the 45th parallel. They illustrate the similarities shared by everyone in between. HAPPY DOWNSHIFT TO ONE AND ALL!!!

Motormouth Ray played hooky on Monday, kidnapped his family, and hightailed it to the Barton Orchard in upstate New York: "How could it NOT be a great day, when you're spending time with your family, out in the country? The nicest part for me is that my kids are 23 and 16, and still want to spend time with their parents! I'll take that with a side of slaw, any day. These apples agreed to pose for me since I swore not to make cider out of them."

"A 210 year-old oak tree on the orchard site."

An appropriate soundtrack is crucial for a successful visit to the hills, and Ray struck gold: "This bluegrass band is called Oxford Depot and they were great! I told them all about you, Scotty. You're gonna hear more about them, soon..." Thanks, Ray.

"The dining room of The Daily Planet, where we ate lunch. One of my favorite haunts when I go upstate."

"How could I not shoot an overpass called the Goat Walk?"

Speaking of Goats, shortly before leaving for the country, Ray had spotted this '67 GTO fixer-upper on Craigslist. An omen. All the signs seem to portend GTO sparks in Ray's immediate future. (Photos by Motormouth Ray)



A very similar scene was playing out simultaneously, about 3,000 miles west. CC dragged the family to a pumpkin patch outside of Portland, Oregon where they were all consumed by the Downshift spirit.

He's back! Secret Agent CC survived an out-of-control German Octoberfest (among other Euroadventures) to return to wife Sia and daughter Celina at Olsen Farms. Welcome home, cub reporter!

God only knows where Celina wandered off to while CC courted a coy Sia in the pumpkin patch. Someone call Child Protective Services!

Fearing a social worker visit, the neglectful parents hid out in this handy corn field until the coast was clear. Celina was discovered pedaling her tricycle down Hwy 30 at a high rate of speed, but was unharmed. Sia went CC's bail and the idyllic fall day went unblemished. A Downshift miracle! (Photos by Julie Cha)




EBAY RAY AND JESSE JAMES PRESENT:

YOUR NEW CAR!!!

Motormouth Ray cruises eBay occasionally and spotted this dandy Mopar street race special last week. Owner Jesse James was asking $7,000 for this '69 Roadrunner, purportedly campaigned previously by an outlaw biker gang. 10 second times were claimed. A "built" 440 supposedly "was running about a year ago" and was once backed by a 727 Torqueflight trans, which now "is gone". Still, in this day and age, it's probably a good price for a celebrity-owned car. Jesse lists the rear suspension as a "4-bar", but it's actually a ladder bar set-up, with panhard bar and coilovers. There's a full 'cage (that has been hacked on a lot over the years) and 2" X 4" rear subframe, supporting a Dana 60 (no gear ratio given). Fiberglass doors, fenders and hood are installed and gennie originals come in the deal. Rolling stock is referred to as "OG Centerlines", but only the fronts are legit Centerlines, while rears appear to be copies. All in all, a cool example of Mother Mopar's approach to street supremacy. Perfect for my skewered tastes. Your mileage may vary. Thanks for the heads-up, Ray!

Looks pretty mean, just sitting in front of the shop. In my eyes, the color mismatch of the 'glass parts actually adds to the attitude.

When's the last time you saw a non Stock-class Mopar big block sporting a Q-jet on an iron manifold? More street cred. I helped my pal Hippy Mike run low 12's with a nearly identical RR for a while. Won the track championship one year.

This could be the interior of any car I've ever owned. Other than the H-D floor mats (C'mon, Jesse), there's no cute stuff here. Just the facts, Maam.

The brightest red flag here is the cobbled fuel pump mount. But hey, we all have some skeletons in our closets. (Photos courtesy of eBay)

Bottom line: Hit the wrecking yard for a Torqueflight, cruise the swap meet for a converter, carb and manifold, and you're set to give the rearview mirror a workout, scanning for cops. Buy the car, make those changes, and get back to us with some ET slips: Instant glory!


                                                                                    *
RAY SPINS OUT:

We never know what's going to animate some long repressed emotion. No matter how tight the lid is screwed down, it can only contain the pressure for so long - then, one day - Ka Blooey! It happened to Motormouth Ray, just recently. He was strolling through a car show, minding his own business, not hurting anyone - when suddenly, without warning...

" I was digging this salty roadster. The tri-power drew me in..."

"Here's a really well built Chevy with no expense spared, where the body, paint and interior are concerned..." (I'm impressed with the integration of the Merc grille - SG)

"... but the poseur who owns it is trying to skimp out on the roots of hot roddery with a tri-power set-up that's really only a single two barrel (nicely bent fuel lines though)!"

"Add to that, the old trick we've all used at one time or another of stacking up washers to act as a spacer (in this case, for his fan shroud mount) and I have to wonder if all that custom leather and color left him too broke to buy or have a real spacer made from aluminum (or he could've just built a custom shroud that actually fits - SG). Or maybe it was the chrome button-head Allen screws he paid way too much for? I know the answer to that one: Since he most likely had the car built, he probably doesn't even know the washers are there in the first place! I deemed this car the farce of the show. I personally find cars that are built to such a high degree of finish, then have faux speed parts bolted to them just to look cool, an abomination and insult to every greasy kid and man alike who ever slung a wrench! Wow! That felt good! I'll take every bullet that flies my way on this. Unless one catches me in the side by surprise, like poor Walter White." (Photos courtesy of Motormouth Ray)

Thank you, Ray. This illustration of how little it takes to set off an otherwise peaceful and reasonable person has been quite enlightening. Perhaps car shows should employ metal detectors at the gate - you know, just in case...



                                                                                 *

UPDATE:

LORI BENTLEY LAW

Motor Mouth Radio has confirmed Sunday, October 20th as the date of Motor Doll Lori Bentley Law's live interview. Tune in to www.motormouthradio.com at Noon (EST) for insight into what makes this unsung hot rod hero tick (Spoiler: It's more serious than a sloppy valvetrain adjustment). Lori's star has been steadily rising among the underground, but her true persona has remained a mystery - until now. Mark this on your calendar, then write yourself a note to actually look at your calendar. Motormouth Ray and I have been presenting Producer Chris Switzer with a case for hailing women in hot rodding/motorsports. Circumstances are looking good now for a future slate of dynamic estrogen-powered wrench twirlers with amazing stories to tell. Isn't this what communications systems were intended for in the first place? It's about time.

This gal isn't some scenester, seeking shallow glory. She's an action figure who makes good things happen to ferrous metals. There's been much speculation regarding what's under the helmet. We're about to find out.

A bona fide literary scholar, Lori is a serious collector of the classics.

No stranger to the Mohave floor...

... nor the Saturday night dancehall floor, Lori and her faithful F-1 Bondorella seem to constantly be in the eye of the action, while somehow holding a low profile.

But it's what's under the hood that counts. Lori and Bondorella deliver the goods. (Photos courtesy of Lori Bentley Law)




UPDATE:

BILLY LYNCH

Previously on SGE, we presented a peek at Billy Lynch's old AA/FD entry and Pat Foster's incredible recreation of it. Upon further review, Motormouth Ray has come across yet another image of the car. This is pretty special.

"Billy told me that Pete Millar had drawn his car on the cover of his Drag Cartoons magazine back in July of '64, and that after Pete's death, his  family was selling reprints of the original art to offset funeral costs. Of course, I bought one (and had Billy autograph it). This is it. Pretty damn cool, if I do say so myself." Agreed, Ray. And a rare peek back at the long defunct Island Dragway, where so much history was made in New York. Long live Pete Millar (wife Orah Mae and daughter Robin, too) and Island Dragway!

Billy Lynch fans will be happy to know that at least one piece of the original car remains. While scrounging through his attic, Ray also discovered a piston and rod assembly nicked in the explosion that caused the crash that caused the demise of Lynch's dual purpose (nitro and gas class) dragster, with Jack Ostrander at the butterfly in 1990. (Photos courtesy of Motormouth Ray)



                                                                                *


UPDATE:

BOB LIDELL

This is Bob Lidell, finally enjoying some time with his GTO at Champion Raceway in Medford, Oregon. He waited a long time for this moment. Bob earned it with a long year of hard work and a pocketful of good Karma. (Photo courtesy of Dennis Vollmar)

There's more to Bob's Goat than just the driver's window. Here's the whole car, jumping for joy at historical Redding Drag Strip, with Bob at the reins. I believe he got it into the sevens more than once. (Photo courtesy of Redding Drag Strip)

I've never worked for any boss as straight forward, direct, and just plain honest as Bob Lidell. He brought me in to announce a couple of the events he put on at Champion Raceway during his tenure as Track Manager. We were both too busy to really get to know each other. But his genuine concern for the welfare of the entire Champion crew was obvious. Bob knew we'd all do a better job if we clearly understood our roles and his expectations. And he ensured that we had dependable tools and skills to handle any surprises (well, except for Champion's infamous computer system, "Old Faithful", which still surprises, hourly).

Most amazing was that Bob simultaneously managed Champion Raceway and Redding Drag Strip (and oh yeah, he also had a family and owned a swimming pool business). He'd bounce back and forth between Redding and Medford at least once a week, knowing that if he didn't put those miles on, Champion would have to close. For that alone, Bob will forever have the respect and admiration of the southern Oregon racing community. But everyone who ever met him respects and admires him for more than that. Our unique little track has had a lot of managers over the last thirty-plus years, but all agree that this guy was special.

That's right - the above was written in past tense. Bob Lidell passed away in his sleep last week in Redding. My heart goes out to his family and others who were close to him. I'm just happy that he finally got to put some laps on his beloved Pontiac before he had to go. And that he showed me what a real straight shooter looks like in action. Bob Lidell inspired me to try a little harder at that. Thanks, Bob.




                                                                                     *





TOOLBOX OF THE WEEK:

First, a tip of the helmet to fans of our old Squirrel of the Week feature. Please join us in observing this salute...

Thank you. And now, on with the show! (Image courtesy of Motormouth Ray)

We have a triple feature for you this week!

Top: Motormouth Ray's bench box offers an inviting "lived-in" presentation, as does his entire garage.

Middle: More honest patina on this vintage cabinet under the bench. Cool decals earn bonus points and the cabinet door boasts some excellent examples. More bonus points for the clean layout, enhanced with understated pinstriping.

Bottom: Tell 'em, Ray: "When I helped him move a few years ago, Billy Lynch gave me some side panels off one of the Top Fuel rails he campaigned in the early '90s. He told me to never throw them away, because they're made of magnesium and I should look to sell them for their scrap value. I have one in the garage and one in the basement, plus some blanks stashed away for use if I ever build a rail!" (For the record, race car parts earn double bonus points - SG) (Photos courtesy of Motormouth Ray)