Groovin’ on a Sunday Afternoon: Pondering the Present Crisis

Sunday afternoon. Things here in the hills of east Tennessee are pretty quiet, a couple of mowers in the distance, but that’s about it. Up on the big screen, I am getting an eyeful of Butch Leal’s ’65 altered-wheelbase car making a pass at a race in Maryland back in the day, thanks to Jim Amos’ great DVD ‘Cecil County – Run Whatcha Brung.’ Leal’s orange-and-white machine was destroyed on the street thanks to the foolishness of one of Mr. Norm Krause’s line mechanics, but lives on here in pixelated form, some shot through the barbed-wire barriers of the ‘Traction Capitol of the East,’ others shot right on the line.

Cecil County. Oh, yes. I remember that place well because, on any given Friday when I wasn't doing something stupid, we’d take a ride (only about an hour from Wilmington, Del.), to see what was happening on their test n’ tune nights. It was a rough n’ tumble place back then, the old tower and trees around the pits, lots of other kids hanging out watching their buddies make passes and tossing back beer. We did most of our exhibitions on the street back then (yeah, doing something more stupid), so I must admit I never did take my Charger, (or later my Demon, Newport, or Satellite) down the hallowed tarmac. However, thanks to Amos and amateur film makers George Cureton, Al DeLillo, and Jim Amole, I’m watching the Flash, and Dyno’s first fliptop Comet racing Sox & Martin’s Baccaruda, lots of Junior Stocks, and more.

Like I’ve said here in the past, Bobby Harrop’s wreck from two angles is worth Bee-On Video’s price of admission on this one. Great stuff, and scaarry close to the spectators as the Flying Carpet vaulted over the single rail to come to rest against the chainlink fence, just inches from parked cars where I used to sit myself. Still, witnessing this on my couch is easy…

If you spend much time following modern politics, I think the one word that sums all it up right now is ‘chaos,’ just like that acid-dipped ball of crushed steel. That doesn’t mean there wasn’t chaos back in the day. Vietnam. Civil rights. The Cold War. Charlie Manson murdering in LA the same month as Woodstock. That was then and this is now. Afghanistan. Gay or religious rights (depending on your point of reference). The ‘Joker’ shooting up a Colorado movie theatre in real life...

…hey, there goes Jenkins’ little red ’66 Chevy II on the screen, followed by Tom Sneden in the Banning Dodge. A young Don Prudhomme vs Big Daddy Don Garlits’ front-engined diggers in a best of three in ‘66…

The reason I bring this up is that we are about 30 days or so from electoral critical mass, and there is a lot of noise out there. Bad noise. I’ve got to be honest, Burk has told me to keep it toned down politically in the past, and frankly I’ve had to for my own sanity. The stakes are high, but so is the anger all around us – in the media, on the street, especially in the well-meaning email blasts that say literally anything to twist the knife about the other side a little harder, a little deeper. The reality is that there is no savior that is going to rise from these streets, just as Springsteen told my generation in that song ‘Thunder Road’ 37 years ago. In many ways, we ourselves are our only hope, how we handle our personal actions and words…