Memories
Gary loaned me his copy of Leon Mandel's “The Jaundiced Eye” about his life with cars. For those who have never read “Autoweek,” Leon was the resident curmudgeon of that publication, on and off, over much of his life.
An article about his thoughts prior to addressing an SCCA chapter triggered my own about similar memories over the course of 35 years playing with race tracks (and one very small, very beautiful “Baby Barchetta”). I guess, like Leon, it is perhaps that time of my life to be relating experiences made sweeter by time. Despite being a mediocre racer in a very slow car I've got some great ones.
Kenny Epsman...almost leaping through the crowd on the steps of the old amphitheater at Laguna after another successful Monterey Historic with a blender full of margaritas powered by a weed whacker motor. The beast was refilled via a scruffy five gallon white fuel jug emblazoned with a “Union 76” label on the side...but Kenny told us not to worry, he had swished out most of the 110 octane fuel before filling it.
I remember Al Moss, the real originator of the “Great Monterey Hat Swap” which became first a legend, then a ritual at the awards ceremony for the event. The first time I met Al was after finishing my first of the 20+ times I ran that event, before Steve Earle was forced out. No comments about that now.
I had actually and legitimately passed Al, going uphill between what is now turn 6 and 7, though back then, before the track built the go-kart infield section to try and attract F1, it was 4 and 5. This, mind you, with an engine I had built for the Siata, before I realized how much I didn't know about developing horsepower.
Al was driving the famous ex-Von Neuman MG TD special, old #11. The car later went to Don Martine, after which it became a whole different deal, with power Johnnie no doubt would have wished he had in the 1950s, and tires that didn't achieve that kind of width or grip until well into the 1970s.
Al later ripped around in one of those strange three wheeled Morgans, having great fun trying to figure out where it would jump next. Following him and trying to figure out how to get by was not quite the same joy...it meant just sort of holding your breath and going for it.
Oh, back to the hat caper. It was the second year when Ferrari was the featured marque (1984). Ernie was resplendent in a heavyweight hardware store chain painted gold, baiting the Ferrari crowd. Of course he was wearing a felt cowboy hat. When Al was called up by Steve for some sort of award, on a whim as he passed by Al grabbed the hat off Ernie's head, then snatched Steve's cap and slammed Ernie's down in its place. Well, that was it and from then oneveryone did it and, no, Ernie never got his back and no, Steve never remembered later who had started it all.
There was Pete Lovely, the guy whose real racing career included winning the first ever event held at Laguna (in a Ferrari) and who was a vintage racer long before pro ex-shoes decided this was a new place to extend their career and their retirement funds, doing pirouettes in front of Lee Osborn in his beautiful Shannon/Crosley special between turns 3 and 4. He finally came shooting across the track backwards and clipped Lee non-too gently. The only untoward move I ever saw Pete make in 35 years around him.
Then there was Sir Stirling Moss and one of the dumbest moves I ever sawhim make. Stirling was almost a regular around Monterey...he seemed to be there every year. But this was a special year, 1989 being the 40thanniversary of Aston Martin's world championship victory at LeMans. The paddock had the most amazing display done by Ford, which owned Aston at the time (see “1989 Monterey Historic” for details), and there was a brace of spectacular Aston racers to fill the display and the track.
I guess Stirling thought he needed to be as spectacular in his drive, but diving inside everyone on turn 2 on the first lap with a very rare DBR he did not own was, in my opinion as I watched him from our perch outside the old Media Center above the Start/Finish straight, a move highly unlikely to succeed, though I had pulled it off a few times myself in the Siata, a car I can stick anyplace on the track.
Sir Stirling then dirt tracked a bit when he was surprised to find the space occupied by Vic Edelbrock in a Lister, though I don't recall if it was Jag or Chevy powered. Poink and Punt went the Aston into the side of Vic. End of race for both of them.
An hour or so later I saw Barbara Schooley walking towards me in the paddock, looking decidedly glum. This was so unusual, Barbara being always, in my experience, of an appearance that can only be called “sunny,” that I stopped her and asked what was wrong.
She reminded me that she was the SCCA “Operating Steward” of the event, a fact of which I was aware. By that point in my racing experience I had developed a deep appreciation for the work, paid or not, of the various workers who made our events both pleasant, and safe.
Barbara then told me she was on her way, at the order of Steve Earle, to tell Sir Stirling to put anything he was to drive “on the trailer;” that his weekend was over for the little stunt (and shunt) at turn 2.
The only time I saw Steve waive the “13/13 Rule” (13 month or 13 event suspension for causing damage to your own or someone else's car) was when Phil Hill had an off moment and clipped someone.
“World Champions get One Pass” said Steve.
Hard as it is to believe, in the early days of Vintage Racing we were allvolunteers. I was a Driver Observer (DO) at CSRG events, watching and reporting on the behavior of other drivers once my own stint in the car was done. I have worked pre-grid, herding cats into slots before the start of a race, as well as corners with headset and flags, ready to do battle with the herd in emergencies. I have even worked “pre-Start” at the “Virginia City Hillclimb” Ferrari Owners Club event.
The Starter was Memory Hughes and she would tolerate no one trying a rolling start from behind the chalk line across the highway. That was one of my first interactions with Steve Earle and it was a testy one. He was shepherding Lou Sellei's (I've likely butchered that spelling) 250LM, a lovely ride. Which same he had stopped about 50 feet behind the line.
Memory told me to make him move up. I conveyed the message. He snapped at me about the car's “on/off” racing clutch. I told him to take it up with her and either move forward or get out of line. End of discussion. Fortunately he seemed not to hold it against me.
There was the delightful vision of the Edelbrock girls, Cammie and Christy, dueling with father Vic in what was largely a grid of GT350s, though unsuccessfully. Cammie was more adept than her sister, and was a serious “hot shoe” in a “big boy's” group, but her dad (perversely in his Washburn Chevrolet Stingray) was un-catchable.
Speaking of perverse...there was Epsman in his shockingly lime green Dodge Charger, way up with the front runners. Kenny always seemed to march to another drummer, also running a very fast Dekon Chevy Monza.
As noted previously, Kenny remains one of the funniest people I've ever run across, second only in my experience to Brian Redman. Years ago in Cris Vandagriff's motorhome, Kenny, whose daughter was about 17 at the time, had sworn an oath to keep her pure and innocent forever...very likely already a lost cause then, and most certainly now, all these years later. His approach was hysterical, though I can't remember a thing about it other than being in tears from laughing so hard.
Another tale of tears and Redman, though later told tale elsewhere and in print, at the time I heard it, it was in Cris's motorhome. It was the story of his first foray in a Porsche 917, at the time a good candidate for most evil race car in the world.
Another driver was killed on the track in one that day and Brian, who had not before raced the 917 he was about to mount, was in tears. When asked if he knew the driver and was that why he was crying Brian said “no” and “no.” Well, he was asked, why washe in tears if he was not crying for the dead pilot.
“I'm crying for me,” Brian replied, “because I've got to get in and drive that thing and I think it's going to kill me!”
My memories certainly include those of the crews who worked the track and kept all of us as safe as possible in what was, after all, a dangerous hobby.
There was Darelene, the constant presence on the grid, always with a smile or, if you were not in a car, a hug. There were also those you only saw from a distance; splitters and corner workers, and the fire crew lined up in full fire suits, giving you a “thumbs up” at turn 5 on the parade lap.
There was also the Rescue Crew and the stewards in their tower, who you hoped never to interact with in their official capacities. But “thanks,” Marylou, for watching over us. I never forgot to wave and acknowledge the corners after every event I have been in, taking the hear the “No Wave, No Tow” shirts of the workers on the grid.
Oh, and I also know who wound up with Caroll Shelby's hat, complete with British Racing Driver's Club patch, at the “Great Monterey Hat Swap.” And I was instrumental in said person NOT returning it to Shelby, even though the latter was very vocally unhappy about the loss.
You play, you pay. That's just the way it was.
