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"Say, uh, John, got a second, bud?"
"Martin, what the f*** have you been up to?"
We talked. He had recently had double bypass surgery, but apparently had lost none of the old fire. I don't know if he's still the oldest bouncer in California, but I would not be even a little bit surprised if he was. On my end, I reported that nothing too big was happening with me and then I got to the point.
"Hey, if it wouldn't be too much of a hassle, I was wondering if I could get you to sign this book?"
He looked me over for a second, and shrugged and said, "Sure, considering who's asking, why not?" And what you see at the top of this was what he wrote.
Hey, this isn't so hard. Let's find someone else in this place.
About fifteen minutes later, I ran into one of the great Top Fuel racers of all-time, Jerry Ruth, out in the hotel parking lot. I didn't know him as well as I did Austin, but the result was the same, gladly signed, and also in miniature, a good example of why I have this thing with autographs. Prior to the book signing, Ruth and I spent a good half-hour talking drag racing. Yakety-yak, all subjects open, have another beer, so glad we're here.
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I am a very lucky guy. Just horsing around
with these people, I gradually put autographs
into the wallpaper. Unconsciously, that little
foray into fan-dom dissolved like a presidential
candidate's credibility. I was too much into
my element. Ah, the dizzy dancing way you feel
as Joni Mitchell would put it. Friends, booze,
noise, racecars, no limits on your time, let
the good times play on. At some point in that
deliriously delicious fog, it sunk in that,
I probably will get a few autographs some time,
some where in the future, but not now.
Maybe when I'm in a rest home sunning myself in a wheelchair, I'm gonna regret that move. Kind of like a race driver in their prime years so caught up in chasing points and winning races that he or she never even gives a thought to what the needs and sustenance of a past career will have when they no longer can do it.
Steve Carbone, the 1971 U.S. Nationals Top Fuel champ, once confided to me that he would give anything to locate his Don Long dragster that he burned down Don Garlits with to win his biggest race and he's not the only one to feel this way. He just wanted the car that made him really famous in his garage, someplace where he could visit it, so to speak.
Obviously, my involvement in the sport was and is not as intense as a pro racer's, but I too think of the years where hassling a big crowd at the drags may be too much. Gray hair and a potbelly, too many visits to the doctor. One of the things that will carry me through those years as with most fans will be the memorabilia. Like photographs of old girlfriends, items such as programs, photos and autographs will flicker and startle like lightning in gray clouds as William S. Burroughs would put it.
Next year I'm gonna try and get three more. I'm going to jumpstart my interest in this wild exercise we call drag racing. I'm going to be a fan again. You don't know what you've got until you lose it … that's going to be my motto. Take advantage of my still decent situation.
You fans are smarter than I am. Phil Burgess, the National Dragster editor, recently wrote about his T-shirt collection and the good times that it evoked. I'm going to follow that lead … I hope. To my racers/pals, when you see me come over, go ahead and offer me a beer, and if it moves you, a tiny moment of your life that I can tuck away … for life as it were.
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