Remembering the times

[Fat Cat]

From Toledobill,

I don't know if this rates as "All-Time" story, but it's for sure one I won't forget.  It concerns a youthful disregard for logic, but first you have to understand what drag strips were like back in pre-historic 1959.
We had Eliminator run-offs for the class winners, but this was before indexing and Christmas trees, so the way we handled it was to give a car length advantage for each class break.  If an A/ Stocker was racing a C/ Stocker in Stock Eliminator for instance, it would get two car lengths.  I'd line up the A/ Stocker at the starting line, and then put my red flag down at his front bumper.  I d signal the C/ Stocker to pull ahead until his REAR bumper was even with my flag.  Then I would go up to his front bumper and put my flag down again and signal him to pull forward again until his rear bumper was once more at my flag.  Now he had his two-car-length lead and I could begin the standard flag start of 1959.
To accomplish a flag start, I held a green flag in my right hand and a red flag in my left.  I would touch the green flag to the ground signifying that both cars were lined up properly and then point the red flag in my left hand at the driver in the left-hand lane.  When he nodded that he was ready, I would point the red flag at the other driver for his okay.  When he nodded too, I'd curl the red flag behind my back (where it stayed unless there was a bad start).  The tricky part was coming up now.  I had to vary my timing and my twitches so that neither driver could guess when I was bringing the green flag up to signal the start of the race.  Lifting the flag also meant I'd jump while waving the green flag so everyone could see the race was on and at the same time do a half-spin so I came down looking at the cars as they passed me.  That way I could point the red flag at the lane of anyone who jumped the start or wandered out of their lane.  As I watched the race, I'd be facing the finish line.


So here comes my story.


Back then, Toledo was the home town of an absolute KILLER of a 1951/1952 Studebaker four-door sedan.  It had been blueprinted and maxed out by two local mechanics that carefully chose it because that car, with its advertised horsepower and its published shipping weight, sat at the absolute top HP/Weight of the lowest NHRA Stock class.  Back then, it may have been M/Stock or N/Stock, but whatever it was, it was the absolute bottom stock class for the NHRA, and this car was about 5 pounds from being one class higher.  The car was raced for years and held the national NHRA record for a number of those years.
So there am I flag starting Stock Eliminator between the Studebaker and an early-production A/Super Stock 1960 Plymouth Sport Fury with the Golden Commando engine sporting a cross-ram with two four barrels.  I set the Fury at the line and begin pacing off car lengths.  It should have dawned on me after the car lengths were well into the double digits that this was going to be more than mildly interesting, but the crowd was going wild as I kept marking off car lengths and the Studebaker kept inching down the strip.  When I had finally accounted for the class difference, I walked out another twenty feet so that the Studebaker driver could see me, and began the ritual.  Green flag down, point the red flag at the Studebaker.  He nods, point the flag at the Fury.  
Oops, I can see the Fury way back at the starting line, but I can't tell if the driver is nodding or not.  
Well, wait another five seconds and if he is still in his car, assume he nodded.  Red flag behind me, do my crouch, wait a few seconds, and do my jump-wave-twist.  As I watched the Studebaker launch its way down the strip, I heard from somewhere far off the sound of massive amounts of air being sucked into two healthy four-barrels.  The sound kept getting louder as I watched the Studebaker putter off on its way to the finish line.  The sucking sound was getting deafening when it dawned on me that I WAS STANDING IN THE CENTER OF THE DRAG STRIP HALFWAY TO THE FINISH LINE WITH MY BACK TO A COMPLETE STRANGER WHO WAS COMING AT ME AS FAST AS HE COULD.
I think only a kid my age would not have connected those dots before it was too late.  Was this guy competent?  Or was he just some rich kid whose daddy had bought him a new car?  Was there time to move at all before the Fury was on me?

I m told the Fury caught the Studebaker in the last twenty yards, but my eyes were still clenched shut, so I have to rely on hearsay.  I CAN tell you that an A/Super Stocker passing inches from you halfway down a strip will just about suck the flags out of your hands and reacquaint you with the prayers of your youth.  I m just proud to this day that I didn't need a change of underwear.

[enjenjo]

That Stude belongs to Bill Ersham, he still has it. I think he held the national record for 7 years, and finally lost it to another Stude.

[truck]

The first part was a good read in itself.

[1800guy]

Excellent story - excellent story-telling.  Thanks.

[oj]

Great story!  Thanks for posting.  oj