Howza Bruthas- In honour of Memorial Day, here is a story I wrote a few years back, inspired by the amazing art done by Gary Campesi ONE MILE IN Even before the sun had tickled the clouds pink, he stood there. The campfire had been waning since about 4, but Jack had risen, stoked it with some dead wood and had a pot of coffee percolating before any of his buddies had even split an eye. Around him more fires were stoked. Be it the same campfire he had woken or what waited between the frame rails of the hop up the crew had brought. Since being discharged and relocating to his new home, Jack had embraced the culture that his armed forces buddies had spoke of. California. It never rains! It was May of 1947. 2 months in but still, in the early morning in the high desert, Winter still breathed a chill across the dry lake. Minutes and the sunrise chased each other the sunrise gave light to El Mirage. Jack sipped from his tin cup, his team was soon awake and Cappy had a skillet over the coals, frying up some bacon and eggs for the team. As enticing as the pork belly smelled, Jack fired up the roadster then sat down on a stoop. He leaned in and with a flat blade screw driver set about his work on the trio of 97’s. There were 9 members of the team. All were survivors from the B-17 bomber West Coast Doll. As Jack sipped his coffee and listened as the heavily modified ’42 Merc mill sing her song, he thought of his lost tail gunner, Daryl. “We should have 10 of us here.” He whispered out loud. As much as he tried to bury the memory, to this day he can still feel the shudder as their plane took the hit at the tail section erasing Daryl’s life. They were 1 mile out and headed in, but a renegade Focke-Wulf FW-190 came out of nowhere and riddled the tail section. Daryl never had a chance. If it were not for a pair of P-51’s that had been in the area, the loss of crew would have been deadlier. West Coast Doll came in and landed. Out of 39 missions she had survived and had returned home safely. The surviving crew decided then they would remember their fallen crew member by living out his dream of a hot rod racing wide open on the dry lakes. A pact was made. When the war was over, the remaining crew would converge on Daryl’s garage and finish his roadster and compete in his memory. The team of 9 worked hard on the Model A Roadster. Daryl had her about 70% done, but not enough to be race ready. With all hands on deck, the car was race ready and ready for her debut in a month’s time. From faded black to bright red, Chipper even painted a near perfect match to the nose art on their bomber on the cowl sides. West Coast Doll was ready for her debut. Jack would drive her. From Golden, Co he had experience. Be it racing on dirt tracks, sprint cars, jalopies or hill climbs. Jack could drive anything, especially fast. Cappy was an engine savant. He and Jack took their time and made the Merc engine singing like The Andrews sisters. As the deadline drew nearer, the former bomber crew worked day and night on the roadster. Drong and Jose’ along with Von and Crow made it their job to weld and fab the frame and other chassis details. Gilbert was the extra hand and filled in to help bleed brakes, grab some grub or be an extra set of eyes and volunteered his ’40 Ford pick up to be the tow vehicle and push truck. “Time is interesting isn’t it?” Jack mused to his buddies one evening. The sun had started to drop beneath the horizon and the finishing touches were being dealt with on the roadster. “As a kid, you lay around on, say, a June afternoon, bored, completely out of your mind. Nothing to do as the sun just strolls across the sky. As the grandfather clock in the foyer marks off seconds of the day, of your life.” Jack paused and took a pull off of the ice cold Acme beer in his calloused hands. “Summer break drives into school days then into winter break. Then school, then spring break. We do not notice Mom and her hair as it greys. Or Pop and as his hair falls out and he starts to get weaker.” About this time his buddies had paused and turned their undivided attention to Jack. They noticed he had wet eyes and wiped an arm across his face. “Time is a gift and it is also a curse. I look back and wonder when it became so damned fast. How memories became a blur. My friends, all we have is now. Let’s make this trip one for the books and also, I have an idea.” Jack climbed into The West Coast Doll. He hunkered down into the bomber seat. Von and Crow made sure his belts were tight as Drong checked the fluids. Cappy stood by and signaled Jack to fire the roadster up. Jose’ made one last walk around and checked tire pressures. Gilbert, Drong and Chipper climbed into the ’40 and eased up to the back of the roadster. The crew climbed into the bed of the pickup pushed Jack toward the starting line. The starter nodded and jack hit the go pedal. Gilbert nailed the throttle and gave The West Coast Doll a helluva a push. And just like time, Jack watched as the landscape raced by. He poured coals to the fire, feathering the throttle and kept steady on the wheel. A marker was set to locate 1 mile in and when Jack roared past he floored it. But, as he did so, he pulled a hidden lever inside the roadster and a secret valve opened up and at 130 MPH, the ashes of Daryl were released upon the race course. The West Coast Doll did not set any records that day, but she did well in her class. And for the crew of that wounded B-17 bomber, they lay their friend to rest the best way they thought possible. Inspired by the work of Gary Campesi Written by Mark Karol-Chik 3/4/2019
Thanks for the story. You know there are quite a few old racers laid to rest on that lakebed. B-Ville too.
I was in the Navy stationed in China Lake California in the 60s. Yes, all 4 years in the desert of all places for a Navy guy. Anyway, one day me and a Continental engine rep were out at a aircraft junkyard, to appropriate a set of seatbelts from an old B24. I climbed down from the cockpit and he was looking at the tail numbers with teary eyes when i asked whats going on? He replied "I flew in this plane during WW2". That was kinda spooky.
If any of you remember Gray Baskerville when he passed away, his wish to have his ashes scattered at Bonneville. Of course it is illegal to dump human ashes on the salt. But, it did get done. It seems that there is enough extra room in a packed drag chute for the ashes to fit conveniently in. Very quietly, Gray's ashes were packed in a chute in a certain black streamline that could exceed 400 mph. The deed done, the car pushed off and after reaching 400 mph, the chute was deployed along with Gray. Only a few of us knew what was done until now. And, since this was in 1992 the statute of limitations has long since passed,, and "ol Dad" got his wish, everyone involved felt good about helping Gray getting his wish, and now you too know the rest of the story. Let's just keep it to ourselves!
I just got a moment to read your story as I did not want to be rushed while doing so. One of your better Spooky. Thank you.
Great story appreciate your posting. The movie Memphis Belle shows the closeness of the crews on these war birds. Something that most people never experience in life. The getting old and seeing life slipping away is something we all can relate too.
Well done Spooky. Beautiful piece. My buddy's dad served in the Army Air Corps 460th Bomber Group stationed in Spinnazola, Italy during World War II. He was small of stature and became a B-24 belly gunner. On just his 3rd mission his plane was shot down over Hungary on July 16, 1944. He told me the story about 20 years ago after dinner. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It is a truly terrifying story, made worse in a first person account. I don't think he told his own son the story, but he decided that one evening to tell me. Some of the little details include how he couldn't hear anything on the headset; by the time he climbed out of the belly turret the plane was in a steep dive. So steep he had trouble getting his parachute on, his frostbite foot covers on and getting to the door to bail out. How by the time he hit the ground a mob of angry civilians were waiting and beat him and took him hostage. Ned spent nine months as a German prisoner of war at Stalag Luft IV in the town of Gross Tychow, Pomerania. It was located in a sector of Northern Germany, which is now part of Poland.
Guess that part of reason I do not like “happy” Memorial Day. Some friends did not come back from nam with me..
My buddy Lee Griffin who was in the Confederate Air Force and we flew this around Denton Texas after we replaced the turbo charger on #2 engine. The turbo was new old stock built by Maytag, and the engines were built by Studebaker.
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