C. GRAY BASKERVILLE
In Memoriam

Words and photos by Jeff Burk

Gray Baskerville, Senior Editor of Hot Rod Magazine, died February 1, 2002. He was the very epitome of a hot rodder and automotive journalist. He influenced and informed a couple of generations of hot rodders and probably never fully understood the magnitude of his influence.

"Dad" was one of those lucky few who spent most of his lifetime doing exactly what he loved to do. Whether it was writing, racing, hanging, or drinking, Gray did it with an unabashed and almost child-like enthusiasm. You just couldn't have a bad time hanging around "Dad," he wouldn't allow it.

I first met Gray at Darlington, South Carolina at the 1986 IHRA Winter Nationals. He was there because he had figured out that a bunch of doorslammers racers were trying to break the 200-mph barrier and he naturally wanted to be there. He was about the only guy from the West Coast magazine cabal who had figured it out. I remember going over and introducing myself and we started talking about Randy Hagerty, Bob Glidden, Scott Shafiroff, and an unknown by the name of Bill Kuhlmann. Gray started dancing a little jig and rubbing his hands together gleefully while we talked about the chance of a 200-mph lap. He always did that when he talked about cars or events he liked.

Over the years, whenever there was a significant event like the first four-second pass by Eddie Hill at the Texas Motorplex or the first real Pro Street races at Memphis, Gray would manage to figure out something cool was going to happen at that race and be there. And if he was there we photo-journalists would surely end up listening to him tell us some story about drag racing or the salt flats or a rod run over a couple of glasses of "brown water," as he would refer to his cocktails.

Back in 1988 when Dave Wallace talked Petersen Publishing into hiring me to work with him on Drag Racing Magazine, the first person I went to see when I got to the offices at 8490 Sunset was Gray. I found him down in the Petersen photo library looking through the files for a photo of a "bitchin'" roadster. Gray was the only guy I ever knew who could say the word "bitchin'" without it sounding contrived. I never really understood the word until he used it.

The first drag racing magazine I ever read was Hot Rod and Gray's stories were the ones I liked the best because I felt like he was writing just for me. He referred to himself in print and conversation as "yer old Dad" and many of us truly looked on him as our surrogate hot-rodding dad. A dad who approved whole-heartedly of fast cars, pretty girls, and adult beverages but also assumed you would do the right thing without being told, because he did.

Now, after one final ride in his cherished roadster courtesy of his buds and, I suspect, a final glass of "brown water" and a couple of tunes from his favorite jazz violin player, Django Reinhardt, Old Dad took his leave. By his request there was no memorial service.

I'm sure the family didn't hold a memorial because he didn't want his friends bumming out at a funeral. He always wanted people to enjoy themselves, as he did. So, I won't be shedding any tears for old Dad. He had as much fun as any hot rodder could have in 66 years on this planet. In keeping with his spirit, there will be no head shot with this obit. Instead we will run this photo I took of his best side and of him driving his beloved roadster and let you guys write a caption. Later I'll mix a stiff drink, put on a Django Reinhardt piece of vinyl and remember all of the good times I've had courtesy of "Yer Old Dad."