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During that time out, track boss “Pappy” Hart
got on the track P.A. said (and I’m paraphrasing once
again),”Folks, we’re gonna be down for a little
while as the oil gets cleaned up, so now would be a good time
to get a coke or a hot dog. Also, I understand that Stone-Woods-Cook
and John Mazmanian are here and basically doing nothing more
than singles. How’d you like to see ‘em race each
other? Put an end to some of that talk. I’m gonna go
back into the pits and see if I can’t persuade ‘em
try each other out. I’ll let you know here in a little
while.”
You can guess how that announcement went over. The fans exploded
like fire in the dry hillside dry Southern California. Instant
heat.
My poor booze-addled memory shrouds the sharp features of
what preceded their first confrontation, but I do recall that
we were somewhere in the midst of something like Middle or
Little Eliminator when the action came to a halt.
In its place came a mass exodus out of the pits right under
the Lions timing tower bridge that divided the pits from behind
the starting line. In this group of what I would guess to
be at least 100 people were racers like Don Prudhomme, Kenny
Safford, Chris Karamesines, Bob Brooks, Paul Sutherland, Zane
Shubert, James Warren, and various mechanical types, photographers
and pit hounds. Surrounded by this minor mass of moving humanity
were a pair of cars, a light sky blue Willys coupe alongside
a candy apple red one. It didn’t take the 10,000 plus
fans long to see them and figure out who they were.
Hart got on the mike again and basically said here they are
and may the best man win. Most of his following words were
drowned out due to the crowd noise. In February of 1964, I
was 16, stood about 5’6 and weighed 110 pounds and I
remember stretching until it hurt to get the best vantage
point to witness an event that, for me, outclassed the Resurrection
or the Kennedy assassination.
There were no burnouts and I never even heard the cars fire
because of all of the hubbub. I knew the race was imminent
because the two cars parted the starting line spectators and
just kept moving towards the starting line until they got
into the electronic beams where they stopped.
Between a frame of six-foot shoulders, I got my window to
see the light blue Willys leap out on the red one. You almost
got numb from the noise; you were absolutely deaf to the P.A.
The Cook fans, the “Bones” Balough fans bellowed
for their chargers in a race compressed into a 10-second box
of chaos. The roar then amplified geometrically when the tiny
win light came on in Cook’s lane. Forget about the time.
The P.A. was squashed by the noise. For at least 2-3 minutes,
excited conversation prevailed, punctuated by yelps and whoops
in the stands. The dozens of racers on the starting line were
laughing it up, and animatedly conversing. All agreed, that
race was a superior confrontation. The show was a good one.
When things calmed down, the announcer said that both cars
had RED-LIGHTED, so Cook’s win wasn’t really a
win. As for times, I think both cars ran 10.04s, but what
the hell, the race didn’t count in that regard. A few
minutes later, Hart was back on the air and said he’d
see if he could get them to do it again. Which they did just
before the final rounds of Top Fuel and Top Gas. In that heat,
Balough got the jump and beat Cook convincingly.
That race proved a great appetizer for their Winternationals
and May 5 bashes. The first race, though, was THE ONE. A race
where the excitement of a great big money street race merged
into a water color of classic historic drag racing. To this
guy, it was one of those few meals where the appetizer completely
overpowered the main course. 
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