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Back in the GLORY DAYS of TRANS AM racing, supposedly stock Mustangs and Camaros were turning lap times that could put them on the front row with serious race cars like Cobras, GT-40s and Corvettes. The econo-box tin cans were pushing 150 mph on the straights and pulling over 1G in the turns. Seat belts substituted for a 6-point harness.  On-board fire extinguishers, dual master cylinders, fuel cells, fire suits, full-face helmets and HANS restraints were still years away. Full roll cages weren’t in use yet (except in the “light weight” Camaros, as described in this article: 

https://www.caranddriver.com/reviews/a15141796/the-lightweight-camaro-1967-donohue-trans-am-camaro-archived-test-review/

My friend Pete Feistmann did very well in the Trans Am series driving a ’66 Mustang with a little help from Shelby. One week after the tragic death of Ken Miles, Shelby’s aide-de-camp Lew Spencer offered to continue to help Pete as a privateer racing his own car in the upcoming season. 

Pete was from North Carolina, as was our mutual friend Sylvia Wilkinson. Pete, Sylvia, John Morton and Peter Brock were, quite literally, writing the book on sedan-based racing in the 60’s.  Sylvia’s history of those days is captured in her book Stainless Steel Carrot, much of it written on scene. It was reprinted in 2012 and is well worth the read. Sylvia has a few left at johnmortonracing.net. John’s book Inside Shelby American was written “In pencil on a legal pad with a pile of eraser dust under his chair,” then retyped by Sylvia.  It is full of insights and humor, and now in its second printing … buy it as a present to yourself.  

Pete strongly considered trying for a spot with Team Shelby as a mechanic, hoping to someday  land a job as a team driver, which is how John Morton was promoted from janitor to team driver in 1964. 

TERLINGUA RACING (SHELBY) 1967 MUSTANG, PROBABLY DRIVEN BY JERRY TITUS 

In the pre-SMOG law era in L.A., if there was no wind, a ground fog could come in off the ocean and trap tail pipe emissions and industrial pollution into a deadly haze that could (really!) eat the paint off your car. What it was doing to your lungs…well…you tried not to think about that. When Peter considered living and breathing in that environment, he decided to forgo the try at a spot on Team Shelby.  

“That is what ultimately made the decision,” says Pete. “Maybe if I had been a cigarette smoker, and it seems like everyone at the time was, it would have been different.  I couldn’t see exposing myself to that toxic air, and along with the hazards of those shit box race cars, it just seemed like a sure way to an early grave. The decision to not drive for Shelby probably saved my life.” Subsequent events proved him tragically correct.  

Years later, Pete learned that the Camaros were underweight.  When he told our mutual friend Bob Lazier (Indy Car Series Rookie of The Year, 1981), Bob said that since there was no way anyone was going to beat them, failing to do so might also have saved his life. 

For more racing adventures with Peter, Duane and Bob Lazier, read this.

Until next time, thanks for listening. 

Duane

If you’ve ever watched the Trailer Park Boys TV show on Netflix, the wild antics and wacko characters portrayed could very well have been based on a trailer park I was quite familiar with in my high school days.

I’m not sure if it was an official “park.” In a dry creek bed north of Livermore, CA, it had little grass and a few desperate trees, but it was “home” to about a dozen families. Or something like families. The well-used, single-wide trailers were not lined up in neat rows like on the TV show. Some were oriented east/west, some were north/south, and some were just…there. Were they ever hooked up to water & sewer? Who knows? Electric power was, I think, by generator. A small overgrown burial ground nearby gave it the nickname “Boot Hill trailer park.”

My pal Bob and I– see our earlier post, Learning Life’s Lessons Playing Pool–had befriended two of the park’s residents. Dave and Ray were southern boys who came to the Golden State with their parents after fleeing the dust bowl. Such folks were often referred to as California Improved Okies. Now in their mid 30’s, and not used to having much, the Boot Hill park suited them just fine. We’ll talk about how culturally insensitive the 60’s were in a moment.

When the characters on the TV show saw the roof off a car with a Sawzall, or start a fire by siphoning gas while smoking, that seems just like my buddies Dave and Ray.

Now before you go thinking these were a couple of no-class losers that college-bound honor students shouldn’t be hanging around, you need to know that Dave and Ray were absolute experts on 1952 to ‘55 Lincolns! They always had 2 or 3 in various stages of (dis)assembly lying around their trailer. Generator went junk on the 2-door? No problem. “I think the one on the four door is good.”

Introduced in response to the 1949 Cadillac and Oldsmobile, the “ALL  NEW” 1952 Lincoln featured an overhead valve ( OHV) V-8 motor. A  big-ish motor in a small-ish body, they were the Original Hot Rod Lincolns.  

In 1954, a Southern Cal grocer named Ray Crawford entered a bone stock 1954 Lincoln in La Carrera Pan Americana. The “Mexican Road Race” was a 2,100 mile race run the length of Mexico on the Pan American Highway, which, theoretically, ran from the southern tip of Argentina to Prudhoe Bay Alaska (theoretically). Some of it was paved, some was dirt, but all of it was open public road. Run from 1950 to 1954, it ended in 1955 due to the high number of driver, spectator, and animal casualties. Duh!

Ray was an Ace P-38 Lightning fighter pilot in The War, and soundly trounced a team of “specially prepared” Lincoln factory cars, plus a handful of Ferraris and other exotics, several driven by big name drivers.

The factory cars were scheduled to make a triumphant tour of Lincoln Mercury dealers to celebrate their victory. “No problem. Just paint ‘em to look like the Crawford car and send ‘em all out as Race Winners. No one will know the difference.” Apparently, it worked.

The original Henry Ford did the same thing when publicizing the 10 MILLIONTH MODEL T. He had several painted in 10 MILLIONTH livery and sent them out to dealers as The Car to promote show room traffic.

If there’s a Trailer Park Hall of Fame somewhere, I’m sure Dave & Ray occupy a special spot. Dave was working on the steering column of one of his beloved Lincolns when he felt the need to go into town (probably out of beer).  Rather than waste time reinstalling the steering wheel, he just clamped a pair of Vise Grips onto the splined shaft and trundled off to town.  When a passing cop noticed Dave steering with Vice Grips(!) he lit up his roof mounted Gum Ball and took off after him.

Livermore in them days was a farm town surrounded by vineyards and fields, with a patchwork of public and private roads, some paved and some not. Some went thru and some were dead ends.  When Dave got into that warren of back roads, he easily outran John Law, Vice Grips and all, thus enshrining himself into teenage hearts as Our Hero!

Back in the day, if you were the wrong color, the wrong class, or just looked funny, and you didn’t have 10 or 20 dollars cash on you (it varied) you could be arrested for VAGRANCY. Our boys were frequently brought up on charges of “VAG” and given 10 days, probably to pay for past, present, and future sins. Everyone knew everyone, everyone knew the game, and somehow it all worked.

The Lincoln romance wasn’t all roses, however.  After several days of trying, and several cases of brew, one of our heroes couldn’t get his Lincoln to start, so in a fury took a hammer and busted off all the spark plugs. “Thet’ll teach ya!”   

Like I said, the script for Trailer Park Boys was written long ago.

After I’d been in college a couple of years, I stopped by the Park to admire the current selection of Lincolns. Or maybe it was just for old time’s sake.  I found Ray had married a gal who could have been Aunt Jemima’s sister, and moved her into the trailer. In many places, interracial marriage, miscegenation, was against the law. Ray introduced her as Hawaiian, which I guess was a little more acceptable.

Thus, Dave and Ray, the Trailer Park Boys, without a hint of advanced education or sensitivity training, turned out to understand Diversity, Equity and Inclusion better than most of today’s “Progressives.” And they were good guys too.

To be continued …

You can order a nice color DVD produced by Mobil Oil of the 1954 race at this site.

Until next time, thanks for listening.

Duane  

Today, we’ll take another trip in the Wayback Machine. This is a story I wrote for UTAH magazine in May of 1993.  Wow, how time flies.

“Know Thine Enemy”
— Sun Tzu “The Art of War”
China, circa 300 BCE.

Knowing as much as possible about the products and problems of your competition may save your company time, money and effort solving problems on your own. Welcome to the world of espionage, think and counter think.

The Society of Computer Intelligence Professionals (SCIP) based in Washington D. C. makes a science of finding out everything about the competition. “Every business has a spy.” Says a P. I. (private investigator) who is a member of SCIP. They don’t use the word ‘spy.’ They prefer to be called Business Librarians, Strategic Planners, or some other euphemism, but what they really do is spy on the competition. They know where the C.E.O. of your company went to school, what he/she likes and what direction he will take given a particular set of circumstances.

Competitive intelligence is the underbelly of an otherwise legitimate business discipline. “Let’s say a client hires me to find out all I can about a new disc drive being developed in Silicon Valley,” says the SCIP guy. “Do I get hired as a janitor or place someone as a receptionist? No, I spend a week or two going to every bar within 5 miles of the plant. Get to know the bartenders. Find out who drinks there. Every company has a hangout. People like to be with people they know and talk about things they have in common. When I find out where the company or department drinks, I start going there. I join the softball team. I guarantee within 30 days they will tell me anything, because they are excited about what they’re doing. Of course they’ll say it’s confidential, but engineers have inquiring minds, and they’re not capable of not talking about their work. The European idea of putting a woman in bed is passe’. Just buy him a drink and ask what he’s working on.”

LOOSE LIPS

It seems Americans are much more open with information than their European or Asian counterparts. Kellogg in Battle Creek, Michigan used to give plant tours to school children and serve Froot Loops on ice cream at the end of the tour. Before long kids were being crowded out by heavily accented European and Asian men taking notes. Kellogg tried to ban note taking, but the men started coming on every tour memorizing model numbers of machines and plant layouts. Finally, the company stopped all tours.

“In other countries, it’s part of the culture that no one talks,” says the P.I.
“If you go to a party at the Bulgarian embassy, it’s taken for granted that everything is bugged. Once you leave Foggy Bottom though, no one believes it’s done here. A company in Silicon Valley used to throw lavish parties for the hottest engineers and software writers in the industry. It was an honor to be invited. You get 150 hot shots drinking in a room, and of course they’re going to impress each other with what they’re working on. The morning after the party the host is happily editing the tapes of every conversation. The human voice operates in a very narrow range, and it’s very easy to eliminate carpet scrub, glasses clinking, and the sound of the band. Whatever the parties cost (and it was a lot!) it was paid back easily in information. The ‘Embassy Party’ is the oldest trick in the book, and it worked like a charm!”

The Europeans aren’t immune to competitive thrusts however (don’t ya love that phrase!). A classic case is a placement firm that specializes in putting high level executive spies in the board rooms of their client’s competition. If firm A wanted to bug firm B, it would arrange to have the placement firm find a job for one of A’s “unhappy executives” extolling the value of all the knowledge of A he would bring with him. B would pay a high price for the “turncoat” who would then siphon information from B and deliver it in exchange for a second salary to firm A.

Neat deal.

If you think this sounds like something the C.I.A. would be interested in, you would be right. Atlanta based Business Risk International is a worldwide organization peopled with ex-CIA, FBI and Secret Service agents. They are tasked with finding leaks in firms doing business with the US Government, particularly the Defense Department. “Almost anything is available if you know where to look,” says an agent who prefers to remain anonymous.

Some tips for the first-time spy / counter spy.

Knowledge is power. The more you know about your target and the person in the company likely to help you the easier your job will be. If he/she is an engineer, be an engineer. If he’s ex-military, be ex-military. Americans really do like to be helpful, and you are about to play on that admirable trait. Be prepared to explain how you got their name, and make your contact the solution to your problem.

You need him!

VERY IMPORTANT…You must be able to distill your quest into one pivotal question. Once you have that pivotal question, and the lowest person on the organizational chart who is likely to have your answer, you are ready for the kill shot.

My first job out of college was with a chemical company that made ABS plastic. Management wanted to know about how much ABS plastic our chief competitor was selling … VERY closely guarded information. In an extended coffee drinking session one morning, myself and a couple of other no goods came up with a plan to find out.

One of our female cohorts called the rail yard supervisor of our target company, pretending to be the editor of a material handling magazine, and asked him how he safely handled the highly flammable, explosive and carcinogenic rail cars of butadiene in his rail yard. He couldn’t wait to tell her what a great job he was doing, including how many cars a week he unloaded and how he stored and handled the material. Since we made the same A.B.S. (acrylonitrile, butadiene, styrene) compound, we easily deduced their monthly volume in finished product, and also picked up some valuable manufacturing tips.

Well, good luck in your new role as an industrial spy… but to paraphrase Sun Tzu, “When you bend over to look up your enemies’ skirt, be aware of your own skirt.”

Until next time, thanks for listening.
Duane

As the world gets more homogenous, so does the car business.

Once mighty Chrysler is now a part of Italian based Stellantis Corporation, an amalgam of 14 international companies.

What used to be considered American motorsports, ¼ mile dirt tracks, ¼ mile drag strips, etc. has faded to irrelevance in our connected world, and car companies are looking for promotional venues that can reach a world-wide audience. Happily, Formula One (F-1) is tailor made to fit their needs, and is enjoying a surge of popularity in the United States. The Austin TX USGP race drew over 400,000 fans last year, the most of any F-1 race.

In the TV world, ESPN claims a record 1.2 million US viewers watched their live race coverage in 2022, up 28 percent over ’21. F-1 claims 49.1 million followers worldwide on all digital platforms, up by 23 percent.  40 percent of them are female, up from just 8 percent in 2017.

According to Nielsen ratings, the typical F-1 fan is 32 years old, has at least some college, and can afford $300 for a weekend race ticket, plus food, lodging, and transportation. Just the type marketers are searching for. These same surveys indicate video games and TV series are big influencers on whether to follow F-1.

Part of the reason for the popularity surge may be the Netflix series Drive to Survive, which has, through social media and astute marketing, hit the demographic bull’s eye that all car companies hope to capture. Drive uses a reality show format that features celeb-filled episodes, buckets of cash, and jet set glamour both on and off track. Each episode is filmed during an actual race, and mixes behind the scenes “real life” F-1 personalities with race action to create a cocktail that’s irresistible to fans and marketers.

Don’t be put off by the Reality Show label. There is no sex, no drugs, or emotional meltdowns.  I did see Caitlyn Jenner walk through the pits in one episode, but thankfully no one wanted to interview her. Missed the Miami GP? You can dial up any one of 5 seasons, with 10 episodes per season, each edited into a 35 to 45 minute format, and watch it on Drive. Pretty handy. It keeps all the action, pit drama and faces you’ll recognize, and is available 24 / 7.

Britisher Jenson Button, who won the 2009 F-I Championship and now competes in NASCAR, said, “In America, we love behind the scenes. We like seeing the individuals that are actually competing and a bit of controversy. You definitely got that on the (Netflix) TV show (on Formula 1). That’s a big part of it. Racing is one thing. I think understanding the personalities that are in the sport is something the European fans would want to know.”

Porsche and Red Bull have been talking for a year now about co-sponsoring the Red Bull race car when the Oracle Red Bull contract expires in 2026.  They went from RED BULL / PORSCHE to PORSCHE / RED BULL and back again but could never reach an agreement.  When Jim Farley, CEO at Ford and a successful vintage racer, heard the negotiations were stalled, he pulled out his phone and wrapped up a deal in less than 10 minutes. There should be plenty of meat on the table for both of them.

It’s all about exposure. Each “brand impression,” which is defined as your product or logo on screen for ½ second or more, is worth real money. Farley can use that to justify whatever he spent to reach the worldwide F-1 audience. Ford enjoyed a huge bump in brand awareness after the Ford v Ferrari movie.

Pretty impressive, considering Andretti Racing and Cadillac have been on their knees for the past year trying to convince F-1 CEO Stefano Domenicali to expand the franchise from 10 to 11 teams so they can join the party … especially considering Red Bull is the current champion and has won every race so far this season.

The first car of the new partnership will roll onto the track in 2026 under a new formula where Ford will supply the internal combustion engine backed up by new electric “mild hybrid” components.  

For more adventures in brand exposure see this episode from the Nov 2019 BLOG archives (http://mustangirs.com/blog/index.php/2019/11/). 

Seven-time World Driver’s Champion Lewis Hamilton, now SIR Lewis Hamilton, is currently producing an as-yet-unnamed Hollywood movie that stars Brad Pitt.  Sir Lewis hopes to equal or exceed the excitement generated by the Ford v Ferrari blockbuster (4 Oscar nominations and 2 wins including Best Film). Do you think RED BULL / FORD is aware of all this?  Do you think there is much jockeying for “product placement” shots in the new movie? Yea probably.

There are three F-1 races in the U.S. this year: Miami, Austin TX, and the new venue, Las Vegas. Vegas expects (hopes) that one million people will line their new course now under construction. It will be 3.8 miles long and speeds should top 200 MPH. Standing room only 3-day tickets started at $500.00 and are already sold out. Grandstand seats with a 4-night hotel stay range from 2 to 10K each and are “going fast.”

For something a little more glamorous, how about the SKYBOX PREMIUM / CLUB HOSPITALITY overlooking the start/finish line.  Your purchase includes admission to the Opening Party, and unlimited food / drink with a “top shelf” bar for 4 days. It is only $11,200 per person with tax and fees. It does not include gratuities, and a pit pass, if you want one, and your hotel must be purchased separately.

Ford knows an opportunity when it sees one. With demographics like this (demos in ad-speak), they’ll want to be front and center. 

Good work, Jim.

I was on various Indy Car teams doing various jobs from 1981, when my friend Bob Lazier was Series Rookie of The Year, until 2001 when I was turn three spotter for his son Jaques. I can tell you, standing on the roof of the turn three bleachers, looking out over the entire track, is easily the best seat in the house, and when Jim Nabors sings “Back Home Again-In Indiana,”

you feel like you could just spread your arms and fly back to heaven. Now in almost my 80^th year, I’m content to spread my arms while lying in my recliner and watch the new generation fly by.

A local clergyman offers a prayer of thanks and prays for driver safety. I don’t see any “Anti-Religion” protesters.  The marching bands and military parades and Gold Star mothers are honored, and I don’t see a single “Anti-Military” protester.  Although I’m sure there are some differing thoughts. The Purdue All-American Marching Band with the Purdue Golden Girl march by, without a single “Trans” protester.   The fighter jets fly by, and this year Roger Penske (The Captain) says “Gentlemen Start Your Engines” and I don’t see a single “Save The Planet” protester.

A new singer, Jim Cornelison, sings “Back Home” and does a nice job, as does Jewel, who sings the National Anthem accompanying herself on guitar. Never seen that done before, but it was touching. The “Older Generation” represented by Mario Andretti, A. J. Foyt, et al, is here, lending a sense of continuity and perspective to the festive atmosphere. These are some of the best drivers on the planet, and everyone knows what it takes to get here.

All of the barriers on the outside of the track got a fresh coat of paint over night, between the practice and qualifying sessions. Ugly black tire marks where cars got a little too close to the SAFER barriers are not acceptable to The Captain. Under the previous owners they were lucky to get a touch up once a year. 

This is hallowed ground and even though they are fierce competitors, everyone has to cooperate to live through this and make it happen. This younger generation of racers apparently doesn’t think they’ve invented Indy Cars and music, to paraphrase Andy Warhol.

In the month of May, in Speedway Indiana, a bunch of dedicated racers (33 to be exact), two engine suppliers (Chevy & Honda), and one chassis manufacturer (Dallara) all work together, indeed risk their lives together to advance the art of racing. When Graham Rahal, son of 1988 winner Bibby Rahal, was too slow to make the field, he was offered the car qualified by Stefan Wilson who was injured in a post qualifying crash.  Team Rahal is a Honda team, and Stefan’s team runs Chevys.  After a short (a few minutes) conference Graham became a Chevy guy for one race.  Compare that to the Bridgestone / Michelin F-! fiasco at Indy in 1988.  

https://www.caranddriver.com/features/a18202348/world-class-formula-1-fiasco-at-indianapolis-feature/

In these days of perpetual protest and “Look at me!” everyone seemed to get along. The place was sold out, with somewhere between 3 & 400,000 fans.  It’s hard to count the fans in the infield as they tend not to move around a lot.  I only saw one small “Pride” flag, but I’m sure there were many “same sex” couples.  So what?  Jim Nabors the singer, who also played Gomer Pyle, married his same sex partner in 2013 and no one batted an eye. “Best wishes Jim!”

It was a good race, won by Josef Newgarden who gave The Captain his 19^th Indy Car victory.

• 

There were an unprecedented three red flags, each caused by multi-car crashes. In one of the wrecks, a loose wheel/tire cleared the catch fence, threaded between two grandstands, and landed on someone’s new car. Shur cudda been worse!  Plus it was an exciting finish, with only a few 10ths separating the first two cars.

After the Victory Dinner on Monday, Roger will probably give his staff the day off. But the next morning will find them fixing, repairing and painting this hallowed place. After all, at age 86, Roger may not have too many chances left.

Until next time, thanks for listening.

Duane

UPDATE: Hello again friends. First, an update on last month’s pool hall story. An investor bought the Pastime–which was originally the town’s first movie theater back in the silent movie days–in 2013 for $965,000, and sold it for $9.3 million after demoing it and developing it into something more fitted to the value of the real estate. Hustlers come in many flavors. We needed another Starbucks!)

Now, this month’s story in a tale of love, devotion, suffering, blood, gold and final redemption. Not only did the participants change their own history, but the history of several states, the nation, and indeed the world.

For this month’s story, we have a readalong video. Many thanks to those who contributed, especially Mary Rhoades, ace narrator and loving wife of Scott, who puts this whole blog thing together for me.

Hope you enjoy another episode from the ancestral archives.

• 

Hello,

My name is Sara Ricks.  I have been known as Sara Beria Fiske, Sara Allen, and Sara Ricks in my lifetime.  I was born on the first of September 1819 in Potsdam New York.  I married Ezra Hela Allen in 1837.  We were both members of The Latter Day Saints (Mormon) Church.

After the members of our Church were expelled from their homes in Nauvoo, we were camped out in Missouri when some soldiers from the U. S. government arrived. They asked Brother Brigham to raise 500 of our best men to help them fight the Mexican War in far off California.  That was about 2,000 miles away, a long trip on foot.

Ezra was recruited to join the soldiers, and my two daughters and I agreed to stay in a log cabin on the banks of the Missouri river to await his return, possibly years in the future.  Brother Brigham promised the soldiers that none of them would be killed (which turned out to be true) and promised to care for all of us who remained in what became known as Winter Quarters.

• 

The Mormon Battalion, as it was called, left Missouri in 1846 and marched (walked) all the way to San Diego, arriving just in time to witness the end of the War.  The men hired out to local citizens to dig wells and construct other buildings, earning money to finance their trip to reunite with their families in Salt Lake City, where they had arrived in 1847. Or in our case, all the way back to Winter Quarters where most of the “Saints” remained waiting for the means to travel west.  The money paid to the Battalion was paid in advance to Brother Brigham and used to finance the first 1847 “Pioneers” trip to the Salt Lake valley.

• 

Ezra was a good worker, and when he had sufficient funds, he and a group of other discharged soldiers traveled north up California’s central valley to Sacramento where they found work at Sutter’s Mill.  There, they spent the winter of 1847/8 building a mill and other buildings to earn money for the trip across the Sierras, and the long return east to see their families.

As you all know, gold was discovered in January of 1848 by members of the Battalion working for John Marshall at Sutter’s Mill.  “Mormon Island” as it was called, was the richest find of the entire gold rush.  Brother Brigham sent word that the men should stay in California and earn money, as he didn’t want any more mouths to feed in the salt desert, which became Salt Lake City.

Ezra and the other men stayed and worked the gold fields until July of 1848, when they finally left for the trip east.  By now the group of about 44 men had several good wagons, a herd of livestock, and a substantial amount of gold which they intended to tithe to the Church at 10% upon arrival in Salt Lake.  Ezra had two leather bags to hold his gold, which he wore around his neck for safe keeping.

The trip over the Sierras on what was known as Carson Pass (modern day State Route 88) was more difficult than anticipated. It was well traveled by horse and mule, but no one had tried it with wagons.  Trees and boulders had to be removed to make way for 4 wheels.  Near the top Ezra and 2 other men went ahead to scout a path, and unfortunately were killed one night by Indians, and buried in shallow graves. 

The following party found the graves, reburied the men, and marked the site as Tragedy Spring.  The site is well marked and easily accessible from the highway, along with the trail known as Mormon Trail wh,ich parallels the highway for about five miles. The tree section is now in a museum and has been replaced by a more durable brass plaque.

By some miracle, the two bags of gold were lying on the ground by the shallow graves when Ezra’s friends found them. They vowed to bring them to me, still waiting at Winter Quarters.  The bags contained $120 in gold dust and nuggets, about $ 4,300 dollars in modern money.  I used the gold to outfit myself and my two daughters for the trip west, reserving just enough to make me a ring, which I still wear. 

When I arrived in the Salt Lake valley in 1850, one of the brethren had just completed a new stable.  It had never been used and I moved my family and belongings into that, my first home in Utah. 

Many days, I went into the hills to dig segos to help provide food for myself and my family.

In 1854, Joel Ricks, whom my husband had known in Nauvoo, built a large comfortable home nearby and asked me to come and share it with him and his family.  We were married some time afterward.         

My new husband engaged in farming and was one of the early settlers of the Cache Valley in 1859.  At first we all lived in a bush bowery, sleeping in a wagon box.

After some while, Brother Ricks commissioned a large eight room home be built of stone on the north west corner of Center and Main Streets, and I lived there the rest of my days.  I had six more children, two of whom died at a young age.

Business buildings have since replaced our house, but the hand laid rock foundation is part of one of them.

I rejoined my heavenly family in 1891 at age 71.  A large stone monument marks where my earthly family has laid me to rest in the Logan cemetery.

Many thanks to all those who helped with this story.  Special thanks to Sharon Johnson and the Cache Valley D.U.P.

W.C. wouldn’t have said that if he’d been with me and my friend, Bob, in the sleepy 1960s towns around Livermore, California. “Wasting” our youth haunting area pool halls, Bob and I learned a lot about pool, and about life. My job was a supporting cast member, while Bob become a master of the pool cue, and a master of psychology as well. He was in a league by himself when he wanted to be, and I still smile when I think of the maestro at work.

The Pastime Pool hall in Pleasanton was one of our favorite hangouts. Rounding up enough cash for a betting stake and some gas for Bob’s 1954 Corvette or my ’52 Ford Victoria, we’d head out for P-town!

Pleasanton was then an agricultural town with a decided Spanish flavor, and the Pastime was on the old main street across from the tracks. The windows were filthy from years of smoke and neglect, and some had plywood as replacements for broken panes. Stepping inside, you could see the original stamped tin metal ceiling had once housed gas lights. They had been replaced by electric wires suspending a single bulb with a green metal shade over each pool table. The only other light was a bare bulb hanging over the cash register.

A long bar with a back mirror ran down one wall, and a smattering of beer signs reminded us we were too young to drink.  From a card room in back came the pungent odor of cigars, with an occasional “eau de toilette de overflow” to complete the ambiance. The place was usually quiet except for the earnest click of pool balls and the occasional expletive signaling a missed shot.

Bob and I would usually start off by playing some 8-ball against each other (8-ball is considered a kid’s game, and not suitable for would-be hustlers).  

After a few games a voice would inevitably come out of the murk, “You guys wanna play some doubles?” There was always a local guy who thought he was pretty good, and a buddy who had come along for moral support. After a few games of 8-ball, it was usually suggested that Bob–who was obviously a much better player than me–and the wanna-be hustler have a friendly game of 9-ball. 

Now here was where one of LIFE’S LESSONS could be learned, if you were so inclined and if you were paying attention. “Know your opponent and know what’s at stake.” If you don’t know either of those, you are just meat on the table.

9-ball is played with just 9 balls, obviously, and the goal is to put balls 1 thru 9 in the pockets in numerical order. Whoever puts the 5 in gets paid, and whoever puts the 9 in gets paid. Typically it was $5 on the 5 ball and $10 on the 9.  Big money in them days of 30 cent gasoline. Money in our 16-year-old hands was a shiny new key that would unlock many rooms with many lessons to teach us.

After losing a few games, Bob would ask for a chance to make up his losses by playing for all he owed. “Double or nuthin’.” Since the big winner had nothing to lose and twice as much to gain, how could he refuse? With high drama, Bob would just barely manage to win.

About this time, I would protest to Bob that we should leave now “While we are even.” Seeing his big purse refunded, and worse, his big “fish” about to walk out the door, the hot shot would usually offer to sweeten the pot. A crowd of loungers had by now gathered to watch the local hottie and help him be brave and not back down. LESSON: “Don’t let your friends make decisions for you.”

After suitabley close games and increasing bets, it was time to set the hook.  For one last game, Bob would ask if he could get his other cue from the car. Retrieving a tooled leather case, he would lay it carefully on the green felt table. Inside was a “take down” cue made of beautiful inlaid rose wood in

two parts, with a brass thread to screw it together, and real ivory between the joints. After seeing that stick, the hunter now realized he was actually the hunted, and just what a fix he was in. Watching his expression turn from arrogance … to doubt … to fear was more entertaining than any movie, and more instructive than any MBA class. His opening stroke was usually shaky, off the mark, and the money was quickly in our hands.  LESSON: “Self -doubt will defeat you more surely than anything your opponent can do to you.”

Once in awhile, as we were walking out with a wad of cash, our defeated quarry would ask for some of it back, “Just to buy some gas to get me home.” Here is where a quote from our mentor and hero W.C. Fields would come into play, “Never give a sucker an even break.”  Thanks W.C.!

What did we learn from those forays into our own and our opponent’s psyches, “wasting” our precious youth in those smoke-filled dens of iniquity?  Hard to say. We’d probably have to go back to those sun-filled days, and compare what we know now to what we knew then. 

If you can arrange that trip, Bob my old friend, I’m packed and ready to go.

Thanks for listening.

Duane

This story first appeared in the April 20, 2001 edition of the Pleasanton Weekly.

We all remember Bob Lutz, “MAXIMUM BOB” from back in the day.  Marine fighter pilot, senior executive at Ford (Explorer), Chrysler (Viper), BMW, GM (where he was Vice Chairman) and a few others … guy’s been around.  For a great interview read this one in Car and Driver.

When I heard GM’s Cadillac Division was thinking of sponsoring an Andretti Racing team in F-1, MAXIMUM BOB, now in his 90s came immediately to mind.

Take it, Bob: “If it wasn’t for Escalade, Cadillac as a brand would cease to exist.”  Hmm, anything else Bob?  “F-1 in the U.S. is a total waste of time.” Certainly no sugar coating here.

In 2022, Cadillac sold 130,000 vehicles, of which 40,250 were Escalades. The remaining 90,000 were split among Caddy’s 22(!) other nameplates, sub nameplates, and variants.  Almost all sales were in the U.S.,  where Escalade commands 55% of the “Luxury SUV” market. Jeep Grand Wagoneer and Lincoln Navigator are a distant second & third.

Investing a load of cash into F-1 to promote the Escalade, which is based on the Chevy Tahoe/ Suburban, which in turn share as many parts as possible with the Chevy pickup seems kinda dishonest.

The Escalade is a favorite of sexual entrepreneurs, freelance pharmacists, and gangsta rappers who ride around in bullet proof ‘Lades.  For a nice tour go to  https://inkasarmored.com/armored-cadillac-escalade/.

Let’s take a look to see why ‘Lades are such a hit with the aforementioned gangsta/pharm /entrepreneur set.  A fully loaded Escalade can sell for as much as $150,000. Add about 100K for the armor package and you have a quarter mil.  Options include tack dispensers, oil slick sprayers, and of course a smoke screen. Brembo brakes, superchargers, run flat tires, gun ports, whatever you want. Air freight of in-stock units is available for those who need their armored ‘Lade NOW! 

Rugged, flashy but not too flashy, lots of interior space, and kind of an aura of its own.  “I’m somebody!”  Bob Lutz would describe that as “Command Presence” … which apparently Bob’s Marine Corp drill instructor had in spades.

Unbeknownst to yours truly, until this very minute, most Escalade buyers follow the F-1 circus, and are likely to base their purchasing decisions on who is leading in championship points.  Whoda thunk?

But surely there must be a possibility of some technical transfer from the race cars to the passenger cars. How’s this for a plan? Let’s use the Honda F-1 engine as a power source. Chevy uses the Ilmore Engineering motor (rebranded as a Chevrolet) in Indy Car, where Ilmore and Honda are the only two engine suppliers. No reason why they couldn’t rebrand a Honda as a Chevy in F-1. Avoids all that technical development an’ stuff.

Meanwhile, Caddy is racing in the Hybrid series using the Dallara chassis and calling it their own, so that would be a natural choice for an F-1 car. Dallara has been providing the chassis for the American Haas F-1 team, which, in spite, of using a Ferrari “customer motor” has been a consistent back marker. 

Not much chance for “technology transfer” here, except in our exciting commercials.

To address Bob’s other point, “F-1 in the U.S. is a total waste of time.” There are still many who remember the 2005 F-1 race at Indy. Tony George spent big bucks to construct a road course that used the infield and part of turn 4 to create a road race inside the storied oval. At the entrance to the front straight, the cars pull a 4 G turn at over 200 MPH.  No other F-1 track even came close to those demands.

There were 14 cars on Michelins (French), which at the time was the world’s largest tire manufacturer, and 6 cars–including Ferrari (Italian)–on Bridgestone.  The day before the race, it was discovered the Michelin tires were coming apart after about 10 laps.

The simple solution would have been to put everyone on Bridgestone. “You Michelin (French) guys just swallow your pride and do better next time.”  Instead, all the old jealousies, rivalries, and national hubris came flooding in. England vs France vs Italy vs Germany.  “I’m not giving an inch unless you do.  Well then neither will I.”

Much arm-waving and many transatlantic phone calls later, it was decided to let the Michelin cars make a parade lap on race day. Then, the drivers would pull onto pit lane, jump out of their cars into helicopters, and head for the airport and their private jets.

TO HELL WITH THE FANS who’d spent big bucks to see “The race of a lifetime” and their F-1 heroes. On race day, when the people realized what had been done to them, they stormed the ticket office and Indiana Troopers had to be called to prevent mayhem. Some fans went back and began throwing bottles and cans onto the track.  Boos drowned out the engine noise of the 6-car “race.”

Michelin did offer to reimburse the ticket purchases, but what about the air fare, hotel, food and other expenses for the whole family?  TOUGH SHIT, YOU COLONIALS!  WE’RE PAID IN ADVANCE.

Tony George’s attempt to bring European Style and Class to the Midwest fell flat, and none of those sophisticated EUROS could care less.  After a couple of days, Tony issued a statement that said it’d be a cold day in Hell before F-1 ever set foot in Indiana again (that’s not an exact transcription). 

GM’s attempt to bring F-1 Style and Class to Detroit, on the shoulders of their most stylish and classy nameplate, will probably prove MAXIMUM BOB’s prediction correct, “A waste of time”–and money.

Until next time, thanks for listening.

Duane

In the early 70’s, I was involved with designing and building The World’s Largest Dollar Volume Ski Area Restaurant in Vail Colorado. The main facility called MIDVAIL had huge potential, but until our team redid it (in 120 days) it was mostly an embarrassment. As part of the remodel we specified a waterproof carpet to cope with the volume of water (snow) brought in on skier’s boots.  

PowerBond carpet by Collins & Aikman, I’ll never forget it.  In order to keep the manufacture’s 10-year guarantee, the carpet had to be cleaned every 30 days with a Steam-Ex carpet cleaning machine.  

No one else wanted to do it, so I volunteered to buy a machine and clean Vail’s four restaurants once a month. They’d installed PowerBond in their three other restaurants when they saw how great it was.      

Getting me and the machine up or down the mountain was no problem. Either gondola or Snowcat worked great.  My buddies on the cats moved the machine from one restaurant to the next when needed.  But getting me down the mountain at 2 AM after working in a steam bath for 8 or 10 hours was another matter. I had assumed I could use a snowmobile, but riding in blizzard conditions with zero visibility was inviting disaster.

Necessity being the mother, etc., I decided to try walking down.  To my amazement, it was just about as fast, not chilly at all, and much safer.  Even the Snowcat drivers who worked all night grooming the slopes were amazed.  It was a 2 to 5 mile walk depending on which restaurant I was doing, and the walk down was actually kinda therapeutic.

I wouldn’t recommend getting soaking wet, boots and all, at 11,200 ft. elevation, then stepping out into the -20 degree F (OK, -40 with wind chill) blizzard for the several mile walk down the mountain.  As you might expect, I had ample time to contemplate why I warn’t dead yet.

The answer was something called ENTHALPY.

Calling on my limited knowledge of thermodynamic systems, I recalled that if you wanted to raise (or lower) 1 Gram of water 1 degree C, it requires that you gain (or lose )1 Calorie.

But to cross the threshold from liquid water to ice requires that 1 gram of water to lose 80 calories. There are almost 5 grams of water in a teaspoon. Those hidden calories are sometimes called latent heat, or its close relative ENTHALPY.

Those many grams of water in my clothes and boots were trying desperately to turn themselves to ice and throwing those 80 calories per gram my way. Added to the heat I generated by walking, I kept toasty and warm! 

There is a product on the market that illustrates that phenomenon, called WALL O WATER.

Legend has it some guy in Utah was anxious to get his tomato plants in the ground, but he knew there were some freezing nights ahead, so he cobbled together a plastic water enclosure. He was counting on the water releasing latent heat at night, while trying to turn into ice.  That kept his plants from freezing and he called it “Wall O Water.” He’s been in business ever since, and now has a few competitors, too.

You’ve probably experienced ENTHALPY going the other way, solid to liquid, with a home ice cream freezer.  When you dump salt onto the ice, you FORCE it to turn into water, and it pulls that 80 calories per gram from wherever it can, which happens to be your ice cream mix, to turn the ice into cold salt water and your liquid mix into solid ice cream.

I kept that carpet cleaning job for three winters and made more money, with less work and less financial risk, than I ever did as a general contractor. There’s that old cliché “Find the job no one else wants,” and it turned out to be true.

Walking down the mountain at night in the dead silence, I often heard animals, which I think were foxes, hunting snow weasels and other small animals.  The bears were all asleep, and the cougars were at much lower altitudes hunting mule deer. Or at least I hoped so.

I developed my favorite “runs” down from each restaurant.  It’s common in the climbing world to ski across snow fields using your boots as skis.  It’s called glissading.

 I got fairly adept at the technique, plus I had all the runs to myself.  If the snow was right, the slope, the moonlight and starlight were right, I could do S turns, slalom turns, even a crude “helicopter.” Jump into the air, rotate 360 degrees and come down going the same direction.

Occasionally I got to witness a phenomenon known as deposition, where a whole cloud of water vapor turns directly into ice crystals, skipping the liquid phase.  

A cubic centimeter (1 gram) of water in ice form requires 80 calories to melt, 100 calories to reach boiling point, and another 540 calories to vaporize, making a total of 720 calories.  For deposition to occur, that gram of water vapor has to lose the whole 720 calories, turning to ice in an instant. Diamonds form right before your eyes, and dance in the unstable air.… it’s a magic show you’ll never forget! 

Going the other way, ice into vapor in one step, is called sublimation. 

Obviously, the air temperature has to be very cold to make it work.  Ain’t ENTHALPY great!

Those were good times, but you could never do that today. Vail is now a giant corporation and their liability lawyers would go nuts. They’d probably say something like “You are lucky to be alive!”

Until next time, thanks for listening.

Duane

It was the winter of ’67-’68.  The country was at war and guys my age were being sent to the jungles of Viet Nam to defend against something called “The Domino Theory.”  No one could explain why it was worth dying for, but hundreds of Americans were returning home in body bags, or not returning at all. 

I was training to become an electronic spy (no kidding) at the “Country Club of Army Bases,” Fort Devens MA.  Since I had a whole month off from the Army, I convinced my lady friend Susan that we could find jobs working a couple of hours a day at one of the cute little ski lodges in Vermont, in exchange for food, lodging and a ski pass.  Not sure why she bought that, but on one of our weekend trips leading up to the Holidays we secured just such an arrangement at the newly opened Vern’s Ski Lodge in cute little (pop. 450) Wilmington, Vermont.

The Holidays arrived, Duane and Susan arrived, but the hoped for snow did not–replaced instead by a steady drizzle of freezing rain.

Fortunately, Susan had a backup plan, Funny how that works.  After a damp  phone call at a nearby pay phone (remember those?), Susan jumped back into my car announcing with a wide grin that we were spending Christmas with some lifelong friends at a place called Eastern Point on Cape Ann, Mass.

Considering the circumstances, that sounded like a helluva plan. 

After about a four hour drive, we were overlooking Gloucester Bay, and in the distance Cape Ann.  Wow, Christmas in New England! Cape Ann is the northeastern tip of the big C shaped coastline that forms Boston harbor, and Eastern Point is the rocky fist that sticks out from the Cape to challenge the wind and waves of the often angry Atlantic Ocean.

The road narrowed to one lane, marked by “Private Drive” and “No Public Access” signs.  Ahead, I could see a stone lighthouse, obviously very old, and a two-story residence nearby.

“That’s where we’re staying.” Susan announced.

Right out of a movie, and a few decades later the movie PERFECT STORM was filmed near there.

The afternoon was getting late, and the lighthouse was already casting its beam at the incoming fog. Susan told me the master of the house was Captain Curtis, a third or fourth generation sea captain, now retired. The lady of the house was a still-practicing M. D. , and Susan had been friends with their family since grade school.

When MGM filmed their adaptation of Rudyard Kipling’s CAPTAINS COURAGEOUS, there are two sailing ships in a race scene, and the one with the curved bow belonged to Captain Curtis’ grandfather.

Susan was a third or fourth generation Towny (depending on how you count such things) from nearby Marblehead, as well as being a multi-generational member of the Marblehead Yacht Club.

If I’d a known I’d a brushed up on me sea lore.

The Curtis family couldn’t have been more gracious. They gave me a room on the second floor, with a door that opened onto a “widow’s walk,” where I assume the grieving widow spent her days watching for the sails of her long overdue lover. 

The lighthouse was by now getting serious, and the foghorn had joined in warning ships away from the rocky shore. Funny how quickly you get used to the all night “Waa—Hoooo” of the horn.  Like living next to a railroad track I guess. After a while you don’t hear it.

Over the next week or so, we all became good friends. When I told one of the Curtis’ visitors (there were many) that I was studying art at BYU, he asked me, “Oh, what does your father do?”

When I said he was a painter, the visitor said, “Oh, is he a realist, an impressionist, or maybe a water colorist?” 

I said, “No, he’s a house painter.  Has a van with a ladder rack on the roof and everything.” 

Awkward silence.

Unfortunately, the war-time romance didn’t work out, but I stayed in touch with the Curtis family, and I guess my visit did serve a purpose.  Their eldest daughter, Liz, finished medical school in Boston and was offered a residency at LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City, Utah.  Desperate to get out of Boston after a shattered engagement (“He left me standing at the altar!”), she accepted the position and is fond of saying “The Mormons saved me.”

When her new friends found out she was a practicing Catholic, “No one even tried to convert me.”  Thanks folks. She still lives in the family home and practices medicine in the Gloucester area. Great lady.

Years later, when I became interested in genealogy, I found that I have a boatload (pun intended) of Curtis relatives starting about the colonial period, who lived in Boston and in the Maritime Provinces.  Apparently they were seafarers, too.

During the Revolutionary War era (about 1775 to 1816), if you were a Yankee merchant and got stopped by an English man-o-war, you were in big trouble. 

Conversely, if you were of English or Canadian registry and got stopped by a Yankee patrol boat, you were also in big trouble. 

But, if you were registered in the Maritime Provinces, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, etc., you could swing both ways. You rascals !!

My daughter, Michelle, who has heard this story many times, visited the Curtis home on several occasions when she lived in New York. She was always welcomed and even gets to stay in my old room.  The lighthouse is still there, but the foghorn and the searchlight are long gone, replaced by the ubiquitous GPS system. Boring!

Liz, if you are reading this, THANKS AGAIN!