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When one reaches his 65th year, he or she begins to lose certain fundamental functions including memory. Rodders call it CRAFT-can't remember a f---ing thing. I can't remember when I attended my first drag race, but I think it was in 1951. I was a sophomore in high school and hazily recall bombing down to the now-legendary Santa Ana (aka Santa Banana) drag strip to watch a classmate run his fuel-burning '36 coupe. Those were the days when employing nitro was strictly a guess and by golly proposition. Few realized that fuel volume (rich) was everything and you needed to start the fire early (advance) because nitro burns so slowly. I remember years later asking Vic Smaldino, one of the first 100-percenters, how he set the timing on his Fargo-equipped four-barrel. He answered "two inches before top dead center." He would use a steel ruler to measure from the deck to top of the piston and then lock in the Vertex. My high school pal wasn't nearly as cool. After watching him mix various ingredients such as alky, benzine and purple death-100 percent nitro laced with purple food dye-I experienced my first nitro high. He lit it off and my eyes began to water and my lungs began to sting. It was wonderful up until the moment he punched the throttle-instant leave, instant lean. He was one of those who guessed wrong and experienced what the engineers in those days called "catastrophic engine failure." Those who guessed right hauled ass. The ass hauler that day was Art Chrisman, son of a garage owner in Compton, California who was making a name for himself drag racing his and Leroy Neumayer's elongated lakes modified. Yet, I've been singularly lucky to have lived in Southern California during the birth of organized drag racing. I grew up with the likes of the Bean Bandits, Jazzy Nelson, Mickey Thompson, Emory Cook, Lyle Fisher, Gary Cagle, and Howard Johanson has they raced at Pomona, Saugus, San Fernando, Lions, Colton, Fontana, Riverside, San Gabe, and Bakersfield-the home of the famed March Meet. I was also deeply involved with two NHRA record holding roadsters, one being unbeaten in class. Still, the very sight of Chrisman's bronze, red, and chrome dragster and the sound it made hooked me for life and produced a career-precursive euphoria that has remained embedded in my soul since that very special Sunday 49 years ago. Gray Baskerville is Senior Editor of Hot Rod Magazine.
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