THE BIG RACE

    The sap was running…birds back and on the wing…forsythia blooms abound – it was May again and that always takes me back to memories of Boy’s Week in Millville.  I remember how we looked forward to reading the schedule of events in the Daily Republican.  And this year I was intent on winning the big race.  The Buck Street version of the Akron American Soapbox Derby. 

    Pop Pop Herb and I started in April, when the weather broke, to build my car.  He found four wheels from a baby carriage he spied out on a curb for the garbage truck – this predates the yard sale of later years – in my day junk got tossed, not sold for a buck.  The wheels had wire spokes like a bicycle wheel – and we started with them literally from the ground up to fashion my entry in the race.  Several weeks of toil ensued and as it took shape almost like my drawing of it - I knew it would be a winner.  

    It wasn't very aerodynamic - it looked like a small dog house on a slab of wood.  I had to squeeze my legs into it.  Pop designed the steering mechanism that involved some clothes line, pulleys and a broom stick which we “borrowed” to the chagrin of my grandmother.  As a devotee of the Vineland Stock Car races which I got to visit at least a couple times a summer – I knew what I had to have to be a “real” race driver – I needed a crash helmet.  But where would one find a crash helmet in Millville? – that was affordable to boot.  My mom demanded that I was going to have to wear my football helmet if I wanted to race that thing adding, "I don’t know why you do want to race it down that hill"?  I had no answer except I needed to race because the hill was there!  We tried Garton’s Sport Center to no avail.  And next Jim Bolton’s Sport Spot – another no, but he suggested - "Margaret did you try the Sears Catalogue?"  Slim chance but - why not - we both chimed in unison!  

    To my surprise, after we dug out the mighty tome of dreams which had been relegated to the garage since the week after Christmas – I found on page 459 in the sporting goods section a small photo of a “kids soapbox safety helmet @ $6.95 plus S&H.  I was beside myself – but did we have the time for it to come parcel post?  That was the key question.

    Every day for two weeks I looked for the big brown truck to drive up – somehow thinking it would only come when I was home after school.  But it did not come – gads.  A week before the big event we painted my car silver and but a big black 8 on each side which was to memorialize my age in the annuals of our snapshot history. Pop drove me up town and I filled out the entry form at the American Legion which was the headquarters for the many events that would take place during the week.  I started to sweat just thinking of the rush of flying down the raceway at perhaps the breakneck speed of 10 miles an hour – if only my crash helmet would come in time.  

Mom said, “If it doesn’t come in time it's going back – there’s no hills to ride in South Millville after the big race.”

    Boy’s Week arrived with the “Church of Your Choice” Sunday on the schedule.  Monday was the Pet Parade on High Street and the decorated bike races in the city park.  Tuesday was the big race day.  And then as chance would have it – at 4:26 PM on race day as I sat in my car practicing my “driver wave”, which I would salute the crowd with after winning my “heat”  – IT CAME!  The big brown truck pulled up and I had my crash helmet – timing is everything and little did I know how this great white plastic hat would come in so handy in just an hour.

    Pop loaded “The Stratton Avenue Flash” in his truck.  Mom rode in the cab and I in the back holding down my car.   When we arrived the excitement on the street was electric – as boys from all over town oiled their axles and polished the hubcap that many had nailed to the front of their entry.  I sauntered around the “pits”, a vacant lot next to Kane’s Scrap metal business – trying to look cool and competitive.

    After several heats of older boys that were accompanied by whoops and groans the announcer called – All eight year old's report to the starting line.  I squeezed into my car and donned my white helmet – I was the only one to have an official Sears American Soapbox Derby Model.  It was too tight and made my head hurt – but I imagined I looked like a debonair Daytona driver, ready to do the 500.  I had two other opponents and I had to admit my car looked great alongside of the others – my grandpa was indeed an improvising craftsman.  

    We all waited for the whistle.  And then I was off – albeit at a very slow start as Buck Street hill wasn't much of a hill.   In seconds, I was in the lead by five car lengths – but then I started to drift to the right.  Against the rule that one must stay in the marked lane.  -  Yikes something was very wrong.  I turned the steering wheel left, than right and nothing happened.  I was gaining speed every second – but I wasn’t heading to the finish line I was zooming directly toward the curb.   As it does many times in moments of disaster, everything seemed to slow down as I literally flew up a driveway and became airborne.  My Stratton Flash landed on it's side as I slid on the sidewalk chin first and finally came to rest.  Good grief I had just crashed – this never happened.  And to make matters worse - I was stuck in the car and my chin was bleeding as the “officials” and Pop raced up to make sure I was OK!
    My chin was just a scrape but my pride was seriously wounded as I heard the snickering of the older boys at the top of the hill.   Pop pried me from the vehicle which was no worse for its slide of death.   The race "official" said, “Not his fault, look Herb there's much too much play in the steering!  Let’s give it another try.”  I said, “NO WAY – I AM NEVER RIDING THAT THING AGAIN!”  But after pop brushed me off he tighten the and the Legion First Aid Squad applied a giant Band-Aid to my chin – with assurances that the car was alright now, I raced again.  

    By the end of the night I came in with the second best time and got a ribbon which entitled me to the Boy's Week Winner's Bus Trip to see a Phillies game and a free hotdog

But most of all, more than winning I learned two lessons that night as we bought the Flash home to be buried in our garage never to race again.  
    First - even crash helmets don’t keep you from crashing and more important - no matter what, always check your steering before each race – lessons that lasted a life time.