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BLUES FOR
MIKE MITCHELL
Every year in late July or early August, it's Sears Point time. The
NHRA Autolite Nationals or whatever name they call it now. From my perspective,
an opportunity for some of Southern California's crazier social elements
to eat, drink, party, and watch the races with their Northern California
counterparts. It's going to happen again this year. The Northern California
"host" for these barn burnings over the years has been a wonderful one-of-a-kind
pal of mine,  "the
world's fastest hippie," former A/Gas Supercharged and Funny Car racer,
Mike Mitchell.
At these gatherings of the clan, "Mitch" always had some strategic
site lined up overlooking the pit area of Sears Point Int'l Raceway,
also a golf cart, someone's mobile home stuffed to the gills with everything
you could possibly want to ingest, and enough people to provide a weekend's
worth of reckless entertainment.
On either Friday or Saturday night, "Mitch" always held a big feed
and roast at the La Toscana Italian restaurant in San Rafael with a
different guest of honor every year. In 1998, I got to be that guest
as a month earlier I had been laid off at NHRA and "Mitch" was trying
to pick up my spirits and get me motivated. The party room was filled
with anywhere from 50 to 75 people and, as he has done before, "Mitch"
picked up the tab, or most of it, for his pals. Hell, he not only bought
my drinks and dinner, but also flew me up and back from L.A. You bet
I'd stop a bullet for a guy like that.
I just wish to hell I could've stopped what happened late at night
on July 25. That following morning, some friends stopped by his San
Rafael shop on Hamilton Way and found the front door unlocked. After
calling out to him and getting no answer, they went through his tiny
office, up the stairs to his one-room kitchenette above the shop floor
and found him in his pajamas, eyes wide open, face up on the bed, with
the television on and him tragically off. Cause? Probable heart attack.
He was 58.
I am so thankful I didn't discover the body; I am not real strong in
areas like that. I don't like seeing my pals in that kind of shape and
I'd have come apart. Actually, I didn't find out about his death until
the afternoon of the 27th when I returned from lunch at the Living Room
Lounge, the staff watering hole in O'Fallon. As I walked into my office,
Burk called out, "Bud, I got some bad news for you." (A pause.)
"Oh yeah. And what would that be?" I could tell from the tone of his
voice that this was not going to be a joke.
"I'm serious. Are you sitting down?"
Oh Jesus, I thought.
"Uh…Mike Mitchell is dead."
The news hit like a crunching sucker punch, a hard blast of air to
the upper torso and I almost immediately started blowing cheekfuls of
wind through my mouth, biting my upper lip, my eyes beginning to water
and my head going light. This can't be happening, something is wrong,
this is all terribly wrong. No, not this. I remember, almost at that
moment, being amazed at what a powerful irresistible force genuine grief
is. Forgive the metaphor, but it's like being really drunk and trying
to fight off throwing up, and then all of a sudden you gotta go…now.
I went home alone to a blue afternoon of bleary-eyed, sniffling memory.
Mike was one of those types that people tell stories about, a guy that
easily falls under the heading of larger than life. Mike never said
anything; he shouted everything. (It turned out he was deaf in his right
ear.) Mike was constantly in motion. You could hear him think. Always
on the cell phone, always had to go and see somebody, always had people
over at his shop, always had people around him, always asking questions
and giving answers, always having some iron in the fire. The long brown
ponytail acting as a rudder to this big ship that bounced from destination
to destination.
"Hey, wanna go get something to eat? C'mon, let's go. Get in the car.
All right, hurry up, take your piss and let's go, Chris. Jesus Christ,
this isn't a cab company. Oh hold it. Wait, you can slow down. Call
coming in on the cell phone here. Where is that son of a bitch? Okay,
here it is. Just don't keep me waiting, huh? All right. Who's this?
Hey, [fill in the name], what the *&%$, what the hell you doin'? Me
and Martin are going over to [fill in restaurant, bar, etc.) and get
somethin' to eat. Why don't you meet us there?"
And on the subject of restaurants, Mike was an unbelievably demanding
customer. He rated right up there with my pal Mickey Winters in this
regard. If Mike got shitty service or an attitude or lousy food, clear
the field. It's going to get loud and hot.
We leave to go to the cash register.
"Was everything all right, sir?"
"No, it wasn't. That was the worst f*ckin' breakfast I ever had my
life. What did you do, pour the sh*t out of a can?"
"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it. You come back."
"Yeah, I'll be back…with the f*ckin' board of health."
And on he'd go to new adventures.
In drag racing, most know that Mitchell was the first racer to bring
hookah water pipes, beads and long hair to racing. After a stint with
the Hamberis & Mitchell A/GS '33 Willys in 1963 through 1965, Mike repainted
the Willys in wild psychedelic day-glo colors and drove it in A/GS.
From 1969 through early 1972, Mitchell ran the controversial and fast
"Revolution" Corvette roadster, a winner at the Oakland Roadster show
and an NHRA and AHRA record holder and match-race winner. In 1974 with
"Impeach Nixon" (The 'x' had been reshaped into a swastika) on the front
spoiler, Mitchell unveiled his first Funny Car, his "World's Fastest
Hippie" Plymouth Barracuda. He raced in Funny Car through 1980 and then
retired from racing, secure in the knowledge that he had enjoyed one
of drag racing's most colorful careers, especially in A/GS.
He was friends in high school with Jefferson Starship lead singer Marty
Balin and beginning in 1981 he headed stage security for the band for
six years. During all this time, he also held a post at the San Francisco
Water Company. A whirling dervish kind of guy that unbelievably now
has stopped spinning and gone silent.
From what fellow Mitchell pals Terry Lee Minks, Johnny Brown, and "Honda
Doug" Woiwood told me, the Sears Point weekend will go as planned. We,
Mike's two kids Laura and Curtis, probably ex-wife Candace, and all
the crew are gonna see Mike off in some fashion, a memorial service
and a couple of restaurant scorchings.
And I imagine we'll go to the drags.
What I can't imagine, though, is doing that, or any of this, without
our buddy "Mitch."
photos from the Drag Racing Online
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