GOODBYE JOHN HOGAN

By Chris Martin
4/8/05

y late father used to have an opinion on getting old. He said that when you fill out a form and have to put down your age somewhere in the blanks, don't let it get to you. Whether it's 27 or 57, it doesn't really matter that much. You know you're getting old where your friends start checking out of hotel happiness. When they start dying.

"Died" is what happened to John "the Colonel" Hogan this past early March. At the time of his death, the 61-year-old was at his California home preparing a protein shake (he didn't drink), got a phone call, and received it in his usual "glad-to-hear-from-you-pal" style. His wife, knowing that the call might take an hour of listening to her good-natured husband's racing conversations, suggested he go into the den and continue it there. As you can guess, he never came out.

In a bitter taste of reality, the caller reportedly told friends that he and John were on the line when Hogan made a gurgling sound and just plain stopped. After trying to get his attention, the caller (whose name I don't know) called 911 and told them what he had heard, and it was the paramedics arriving at the house that had to reveal to the wife what had happened in the den.

Newer fans may not know Hogan's name, but he had quite a drag racing résumé. From 1969 through 1972, he was the crew chief on Don Schumacher's "Stardust" Plymouth Funny Cars. These were not just any Funny Cars. In addition to being one of the top half-dozen most requested match race cars, Hogan's tuning talents guided Schumacher to the Funny Car titles at the 1970 NHRA Nationals and Springnationals.

More important, though, was the social Hogan. In recent years, he almost always dressed in Hawaiian shirts, stately pressed Dockers, and slick looking loafers. He was a tremendous storyteller, possessed of a quick wit and a great sense of humor. He also was one of the great clearing houses for racing rumors in the Midwest, and in countless hours at Bob Stange's Team Stange Lounge with host John Mazzarella, he'd separate the wheat from the chaff, the truth from the fiction, and in some cases, the silliness of it all.

He was the kind of a guy that whether you were at the NHRA World Finals banquet or the California Hot Rod Reunion and saw him about grinning and shaking hands, you knew, that if nothing else, you were going to have at least one encounter that was pleasant, informative, and uplifting. He was always a great addition at any social gathering.

At the recent Good Guys March Meet at Famoso Raceway, myself and the Vipers, a club that professionally spectates and parties, got together in the pits for a goodbye to the "Colonel from Chicago." To heighten the occasion, fellow Viper Phil Cox, told me that Mike Demarest and Terry Lee Minks were bringing their restored "15 oz. Fuel Coupe" Fuel Altered and were going to fire it up Friday and Saturday nights in our compound. Those nights, sitting on one of the canvas chairs ringing the flaming fuel coupe, we all talked and looked at the lights from the header fire that lit us up like Republic Pictures' natives around a jungle fire. And there were moments in that fire, where I saw, as the old labor song "Joe Hill" went, "[John Hogan] as alive as you or me."

Somehow, someway, I hope that's true.