ANOTHER DITCH, ANOTHER CONFESSION

Before I got to borrow my stepdad's Cadillacs, he got me a 55 Chevy to drive. It went 102 mph in a quarter-mile, and carted around a record number of high-energy high-schoolers. My most frequent and reliable passenger was my sister-cousin Carol Dick [Jansen]; we would make endless rounds from her house to a private swimming lake, to the local pizza hangout, friends houses, up and down Douglas Ave in the parade of bored kids driving on cheap gas, out to the horses, and often back to my house in time for my12 o'clock curfew--which was in effect up to the night before my first wedding. Stone Age, don'cha know, decades before cell phones.

And then there were some stops not on the published map--such as the LoBar, where Carol was legally legal for 3.2 beer, and I was "legal" because I folded the left side of my paper driver's license to hide the one on my December birthdate, aging a quick 10 months. And then there was that fateful covert drive to see my boyfriend John Carmichael--from whom I'd been grounded. Heading back home in high spirits along a dark country road, I missed a stop sign and almost collided with the car that had the right-of way--a family with little kids in pjs returning from an ice cream run. They managed to swerve and get stopped on the road while Carol and I skidded 90 degrees into a ditch.

Remember in my last post when I put Dad's Cadillac into the ditch the hubcaps popped off, leaving us frantically searching for a missing fourth? In this new ditch, I'm still gripping the steering wheel but have slid nearly into Carol's lap, and I say, "Quick, get out and check the hubcaps. If they're all there, we're good."

They were in fact all accounted for. Oh, and by the way, nobody was injured. Brief happy dance. What I hadn't accounted for, however, was the smashed in right rear fender that kept the wheel--hubcap and all--from turning. 

Back home, sitting at the kitchen table with my parents, I explained how I'd ended up in a ditch because the stop sign was so hard to see at night and I'd ended up with a bit of a bunged up rear fender that had to be pulled back out before we could drive home. But everyone was fine and the car was sorta fine--so all's well that ends well, ta da! Boom. Mic drop. Deep breath.

"So tell me again," Dad says, with the beginning of that Cheshire Cat grin forming, "about when you got to the nearest house to phone for help." 

I knew that expression well--an invitation to tell the whole truth and nothing but. I was pretty sure there was no way he could have known, but I decided to admit I'd been on the road home from Johnny's house and had phoned him to come rescue us with a chain and crowbar.

Dad nodded and said, "That's pretty much what we figured," and then pointed at the huge mirror hanging on the wall behind me. "You've got oily fingerprints on the back of your white shirt. I didn't think they were from Triple A."

I'm not sure what the moral to this story should be. Any suggestions? Remember to make a nice day.

Marlis

Cadillac Convertibles & Hubcap Havoc

  

   

The Mysterious Misplaced Hubcap My mom once said that my step-father Frank Lies would have made a good con man. He was extremely curious about and genuinely interested in people--how they thought, what they were interested in, and in my case, how to handle me when I was less than forthcoming when I believed it could keep me out of trouble.    Picture it: Graduation Day! After the ceremonies, I jump into Dad's latest Cadillac, put the top down, pick up my bestie, Alfie, and we circle by friends' homes and other favorite haunts yelling and singing at the top of our lungs. I'm so damn cool I drive with my arms through the steering wheel. Until one arm gets caught on the column and we careen into a ditch midway between the farm our horses are on and Derby, KS, where our boyfriends are.  The dust cloud! The hubcaps flung far and wide! We can find only three of them. At the Sweat twins' dad's filling station, we get dusted off and the three hubcaps put on.  When I get home, Dad asks, in his disarming way--"So how was the ride?"  "Great."  "The car give you any trouble?" "Nope." "You sure?" [Long pause as I realize I'm somehow busted} I admit I did have a little trouble, everso briefly ending up in a ditch and losing a hubcap. He gave me that Cheshire Cat grin and said he was glad I told him about it. And by the way, I didn't lose a hubcap. One was already missing. Unfortunately, they weren't on the same three tires as when I left that afternoon. Speaking of ditches, you might ask Sister-Cousin Carol Dick Jansen why it's a bad idea to lie about sneaking out to see the boyfriend you're grounded from wearing a white blouse if you miss the last stop sign on the way home.  [Stay tuned for more Cat and Mouse Memories with Dad.] BONUS: If you'd like a copy of my short story "Trophies" on which the novel TROPHY GIRL is based, just email me at marlis.broadhead@gmail.com and put "Trophies" in the message line.  And while you're at it, make a nice day, why don'cha. Marlis

READY FOR WHAT CLOSE UP?

I don't want to beat 

"the miracle of a late bloomer finally getting her novel published" 

to death...however (don't you love having one word for every 180-degree turn you'll ever want to make?!?), I recently bought one of those magnifying mirrors with the bright lights around it--very movie-star dressing-roomy--forcause, you know, somebody may want me to give a reading in person or autograph Trophy Girl up close and personal.

Let me tell you, I think anyone over 50 who turns on those lights and sticks his or her actual face in that funhouse-of-a-magnifying mirror and doesn't go screaming from the room deserves a medal for bravery. 

Ye gods, that's a lot to take in, and it's not a fun inventory. For example, when did the boundaries of my lips become debatable? Hard to say whether I should hire a make up wizard or go all out and get a stand-in. 

Rant over. Mirror available at Bed, Bath & Beyond. 😁
  
If you already have Trophy Girl or plan to order it from Amazon or another book site, may I send you a signed bookmark? And if you haven't read it, may I send you a sample chapter? You can reach me at marlis.broadhead@gmail.com with your snail-mail address (I never share these) and put "Bookmark" or "Chapter" in the subject line. 

For more Musings and Mirth, sign up at https://marlisbroadhead.com.

If you enjoyed this bit of brain candy, it would be lovely if you shared it with others you think might like to see it. And I'd LOVE to know what you're reading now and how good you think it is on a scale of "love, love, love," "okay, so gonna finish it," or "not making it to the end of this trail." 

Make a nice day!

Marlis Manley (Broadhead)

#trophygirlnovel #author #aging #fadingbeauty #carracing #supermodifieds #NCRA #literary fiction #comingofage #fathersanddaughters #romance

The Franks and My New York Minutes

When I was a teenager, I visited New York City in a convertible with my Mom and step-father Frank Lies--a champion race car driver--and got a long, leisurely look at downtown Manhattan because big trucks kept pulling into intersections on yellow lights. Eventually Dad got out to "go check out what the trouble was," telling Mom to get behind the wheel if the traffic began to move. It did. 

We looked around for him, and as we approached the intersection, there he was, in his short-sleeve print shirt, one hand up blocking the cross traffic, the other guiding our two lanes forward. As we rolled up to him he yelled, "Keep going," and jumped into the back seat. We laughed all the way across Times Square to our hotel. My second favorite memory was seeing the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall. Big city, big kicks, pure glamour.

As a college student, when I returned to the East Coast just after Christmas to visit my first father, Frank Manley--also a champion race car driver--and my stepmother Joan, I found the city far less intimidating, but no slower paced (when I got back home, I was pushing past people on elevators until I recalibrated to the more relaxed midwestern pace.) We took a train in from Long Island [lon-gi'-land], and I was old enough to appreciate trekking through museums and art galleries, winding through the amazing Hallmark display of Christmas trees donated/decorated by famous people, and taking a spin through the winter wonderland of Steuben Glass Company's intricate treasures born of sand and fire. I realized a few years later I'd unknowingly been earmarking what was to be my wedding gift. 

But the best moments of that visit came while dining in candle light next to a plate-glass window at Rockefeller Square and watching New York glide by on the famous ice rink. It was like those evenings in Kansas when the wind winds down and the world feels wider and closer for the moments you are content to just be. I'd return to the big city in a New-York minute to relive that experience. And I've heard that the Rockets have been known to perform on ice. What a kick that would be.

I'd love to hear about your New-York-minute experiences as well as favorite Christmas-season memories. Here's hoping this year's holidays are filled with both joy and contentment. <>

#TrophyGirlNovel #Newyork #Christmasmemories #author #Kansascityauthor #

#novel #fiction #author #mustread #summerreading #bestnewbooks #booksoutin2021 #authorstowatch #debutnovel #racecar #racing #dirttrackracing #readinglist #bookclub #bookaddict #goodreads #booklovers #midwesterner #nostalgia #carracing #racetrack #comingofage #WichitaRacing #81Speedway #HutchinsonFairgrounds #TaftStadium #Kansas #Oklahoma #racinglegend #racingnovels #trophygirls #romance #candidchildhood #comingofage

Dad Number One and His Deutsche-Bonnet Racing Car

A brilliant engineer, my father once tried to explain aerodynamics to me on a cocktail napkin. I wish I’d saved the napkin, because to me every liftoff still seems more magical than mechanical. I feel that way about the amazing life he lived, as well—racing with Sports Car Club of America (SCCA) and investigating plane accidents for the Boeing Company both in the states and overseas. 

The limited time we had together between planes was enriched by his sharing his passions. He took me for a couple of racing laps around Seattle International Raceway in his red Dino Ferrari, flew me to visit him in Japan, and got me a guest passage on a delivery EL AL flight with stop-overs in Europe on our way to experiencing the incomparable energy and history of Israel. On the way over, I got to sit in the co-pilot’s seat of the new 747 and switch on lights while cresting the top of the world. And after celebrating our last night in Tel Aviv dancing to a Welsh band until five in the morning, he managed to find me a bed to catch a nap in on the flip-down seats behind the pilot as we flew to London.

Whether piloting his Deutsche-Bonnet to yet another victory or restoring one of only five Abarth Zagatas ever built, his considerable skills earned him the respect of a multitude of like-minded car enthusiasts and drivers and made him friends all over the world. Dad lived a huge life with such enthusiasm and intensity he was a hard act to follow.

THINGS MY RACING FATHERS NEVER TAUGHT ME ABOUT CARS

These guys (Frank Manley, below, and Frank Lies, right) raised me, and yes I spent A LOT of time in garages and at tracks. But they didn't teach me much about cars--forcause I'm a girl, I'm guessing. 

But I managed pretty well on my own.

For instance, if your battery cables are loose on a '55 chevy that goes 103 in a quarter-mile and you have a portable clothes iron in the backseat (no idea why, now, but there it was), you can use it to hammer nails in next to the cables and get the battery to work. Probably not recommended.

And if the car still won't start, you can leave the hood up in a shopping center on 13th Street and Oliver in Wichita, Kansas, and eventually a sympathetic woman will stop by and pour her coke over the cables to get them cleaned up--and get the car started.

And if you wear a a yellow-lace two-piece bathing suit and sit with your legs in the engine compartment while holding a big screwdriver and can of Gunk, guys will pull over and offer to help you clean that sucker right up.

Lies did quiz me one day about my red Corvair convertible with the 8-track player and Muntz speakers in the doors:

Lies: Have you noticed anything funny about your car lately?

Me: Yeah. It's pulling to the left a little.

Lies: What do you think might be causing that?

Me: Well, the guy at the gas station said I need an oil change.

Pause

Lies: I'm sure you do. You also have a tire going flat.

Luckily, I amused him more than I irritated him. Of course, the bar was pretty low--forcause, you know, a girl in a garage.

#TrophyGirlNovel

#novel #fiction #author #mustread #summerreading #bestnewbooks #booksoutin2021 #authorstowatch #debutnovel #racecar #racing #dirttrackracing #readinglist #bookclub #bookaddict #goodreads #booklovers #midwesterner #nostalgia #carracing #racetrack #comingofage #WichitaRacing #81Speedway #HutchinsonFairgrounds #TaftStadium #Kansas #Oklahoma #racinglegend #racingbooks #trophygirls #romance #candidchildhood

Years Beyond the Finish Line

The Hall family has owned Park City's 81 Speedway since 1963. This happened and I didn't even know it . . .and now two years after the fact, I find myself staring at the place I used to sit in those stands, halfway below the press box on the right aisle--watching my stepfather fly around the track in blue 55, my mother looking into her lap with fingers crossed on both hands until the checkered flag dropped--or some mishap sent cars spinning or flying and the crowd howling.  I'm wishing desperately for one more evening up there, Juicy Fruit gum in my clutch bag next to me, warming paper cup of Coke at my feet. Mom's friends would be gathered around--often including Happy Bottom [Gladys] Balzer, the sweetest Mennonite lady on the planet ("Come see us once!") all talking about deliciously and often hilariously grown-up things. The brightly painted, heavily branded cars wove onto and around and back off the track to the rhythm of the flagman's signals.  For most of my young life--up into high school--I was a captive audience, sometimes at three races a weekend. I never expected, at this late date, to miss it so much. 81 race track selling By Randy Fisher Last Updated: November 21, 2019 By Randy Fisher After more than 55 years of ownership by the Hall family, 81 Speedway in Park City is being sold. Owner-operator C. Ray Hall confirmed that the sale will be finalized Nov. 29. Until then, he is not able to reveal the buyer. Hall wasn't looking to sell the Speedway when opportunity came knocking a couple of years ago. He entertained two separate offers, but nothing happened. Unexpectedly, one of the parties resurfaced this July. Although he still wasn't interested in selling, Hall realized that in 50 years no one had ever offered to buy the track. Then the other party from two years ago came back to the table. "What greater scenario than having two wealthy companies/individuals wanting to purchase the place," he said. "The more I thought about it, what happens in a year or two if I need to sell for whatever reason and there's nobody there, then what happens." Hall was able to hammer out an agreement to sell the track. He understands the new owner has a lot of plans for the track. That will result in many changes Hall never had the extra capital to make. "They're going to invest a lot of money in the place. I always had to do it the hard way," he said. "They want the experience to be nicer for the fans. That tells me they're going to spend quite a bit of money." Originally built in 1954 as Robbins Speedway, the track was sold in 1958 to O.L. Douglas, who renamed it 81 Speedway. In 1961, C. Ray's parents ran the concessions at the track. He had a full-time job and worked there on weekends. Two years later, his parents purchased the track. C. Ray took over operations in 1971 and later became owner. "I was working for Phillip Morris USA and decided it wasn't enough of a challenge, so I tackled me a real challenge, not realizing what kind of a challenge it would be," he said with a laugh. Just because the 75-year-old Hall is selling the track doesn't mean he is retiring. Not by any stretch of the imagination. He will continue to operate the National Championship Racing Association (NCRA), a historic regional touring series of sprint car, late model, modified and modified lite racecars. Two longtime 81 Speedway employees, Mylisa Powers and Warren Hardy, will work with him. "When I signed the agreement, I … said to Hardy and Mylisa, it's not a fun day but it's a good day," Hall said. "I enjoy doing what I'm doing, and that's why I want to continue. I still feel as enthused today as I did five years ago; 10 years ago. It's a good day because now I know where I'm headed." Hall attributes much of 81 Speedway's success to the fans and sponsors. "Fans and sponsors is the only reason this place has survived," he said. "As everybody knows, every night doesn't have enough fans to do what we've done." The sale of 81 Speedway marks the end of one chapter in the track's history and the beginning of another. "It's coming to an end as far as my era is concerned," Hall said. "Hopefully racing will go another 50 years out here."