Bolus

Ball of the Day

Day 3 of the 3 day Riemann sphere series:

Riemann sphere, now with delicious Loxodromes!

Ball of the Day

Second straight day of Riemann spheres: Do the Riemann Twist!

Big Willie, Tomiko, and the Brotherhood

Big Willie and Chris "The Golden
Greek" Karamasines from Chicago

A while back I posted a primer on the history of Black drag racing, in which I mentioned the great SoCal street racer Big Willie Robinson.  A Native of New Orleans,  LA, Willie served a stint in Vietnam with the U.S. Army Special Forces. Once back stateside in the late 60's he decided to make his home in that other LA, Los Angeles. Before long he acquired two items that who prove life changing -- a Dodge Daytona Charger and a beautiful wife named Tomiko. The three -- Willie, Tomiko and the Charger -- ruled the city's wild street racing scene in the late 1960s. They founded  the Brotherhood of Street Racers, a society of gearheads of every color, where the only race that mattered was 3 am on San Gabriel Boulevard. Willie was officially the Brotherhood's president, but was more of a benign monarch -- a regal King Daytona, holding court in his bowler crown, his  queen by his side.

After the Watts riots left the streets of South Central in flames, the LA police approached him for advice on how to quell unrest. His solution: a drag strip, because he reasoned that the best way to keep kids off the street is to put them on the asphalt. The city donated an abandoned strip of land on Terminal Island, and Brotherhood Raceway Park was established. From the 70's to the late 90's BRP welcomed a generation of home grow racers from every walk of life, with the credo  "Run What Ya Brung." An every night, Willie was stripside to keep the peace and keep kids on the right path. Mind you, "Big" is no idle adjective for Willie Robinson, an intimidating 6'6" man-mountain with arms like Dana truck axles. But Willie swayed far  more kids with his smile than his biceps.   Though BRP is currently closed, Willie is still active as president of the Brotherhood. Sadly, Tomiko passed away in 2007.

After writing that first post, I came in contact with Flickr user "bmacsac1" who has compiled a great album of vintage Big Willie images, some of which are posted below with permission. Make sure you check out the whole set.

Another find -- "Eyewitness LA" segment from 1977 featuring an interview with Big Willie.

And a poignant photo album of Tomiko's funeral last year.

Big Willie sends Tomiko to her rest. May 2007

Ball of the Day

Riemann Sphere

Ball of the Day

Hat tip to Cal Spitzer for nominating the Union 76 ball.

Sadly this classic in brand identification is threatened by corporate stupidity.

You can help.

Slots of Doom

During the winter, it takes copious doses of stupidity to keep me from going batshit insane.  That's why I and my youthful companion Hawkspawn headed north Sunday to join a group of like-minded individuals at Lucky Bob's Slot Car shop in Milwaukee, for the 3rd Annual Slots of Doom sponsored by the Primates Car Club. Believe me, nothing calms a Stage 4 case of cabin fever like high speed, 1/24 scale road rage.  Skoal!

Strangers In a Strange Land - Part V

Sunday February 17

9:45 AM: Tammi Jo and I check out of the hotel and head out for flapjacks. It's our last day in Palm Springs, and we want to get a few activities squeezed in before the 3:00 flight back to the Midwestern permafrost.  After breakfast,  first order of business is the Palm Springs Modernism Show at the Convention Center, which is the semi-official annual kickoff to Palm Springs Modernism Week. In the parking lot, we spot an elderly couple in a Porsche Boxter.

Now, when I say "elderly," I mean "old." Shockingly old. Mr. & Mrs. Methuselah. 117, 118 minimum.  Quite possibly the oldest people I have ever seen in my life. In a friggin' Porsche. Wisps of straggly white hairs rising above doortops. I didn't know whether to be charmed or scared shitless.

While my mind was still boggling over the Porsche geezers, we spotted this swell Saab:

We met the owner later, a Hungarian guy who had a booth at the show. It's used to advertise his shop MiMo, but is also his daily driver. Speaking of the show, there was an incredible array of awesome junk from the 1920's to the 1970's  - furniture, movie posters, art, you name it.

But what really flipped my lid was this - one of those old aluminum playground rides meant to be mounted on truck coil springs, back in the halcyon days before personal injury lawyers.  The show vendor has a large collection which she sandblasts and polishes and sells as decorative pieces.  These were manufactured in California from the late 60s to the late 70s, and the line included several named models.  The one in the foreground here ("Schnozz Buddy") is the rarest. Apparently based on a mandrill, it is unique in that the user, well... sits on his face.  Charmingly creepy.

After the Modernism show we headed over to a bookstore where our friends the Gands told us Sven Kirsten was having a book signing. What Jacques Cousteau is to fish, Kirsten is to Tiki culture. His latest book Tiki Modern is his sixth on the subject.  We picked up a copy, and during the signing table chit chat discovered that Sven and his wife Naomi are friends and close neighbors of Coop & Ruth in Los Angeles.  Small world, ain't it?

Afterwards we noshed on the free book signing cookies and wine, and took in the final rays of California sun before heading for the airport and back to the Midwest icebox.

3:00 PM: After dropping off the rental car, we stuck the credit card into the e-ticket kiosk at the airport.

SEE AGENT

"I'm sorry, O'Hare is socked in due to the weather. The best I can do is get you on a flight out of LAX on Tuesday."

Tammi Jo and I high-fived, and headed back to retrieve the rental car. I think we can live with two more days in Palm Springs.

Unfortunately Palm Springs can't live with two more days us. Because of Modernism Week, we discover that every hotel room in town is booked up. Perplexed, we headed to Hawaiian Bill's Tiki bar at the Caliente Tropics motel for Mai Tais, and to beseech the Tiki gods for help.

After slurping down the remainder of her Mai Tai, Tammi Jo has a brain fart. "Hey," she remembers, "don't I have a sister who lives in San Diego?"

"I think so," I pondered. A cell call verifies the existence of the sister, and that she is currently at home, and that we have a crash pad for the night. We point the Hyundai to San Diego.

10:20 PM: We reach sister's home, a lovely nest 20 stories up overlooking San Diego Harbor and Coronado Island. We enjoy the view for 3 minutes and crash.

Monday February 18

Morning breaks, and we have corn flakes overlooking the bay and the cruise ships. Tammi Jo and her sis catch up on family news while I drop water balloons on unsuspecting passers-by.

1:00 PM: Tammi Jo and I pack into the car and head back north on the 5. Appointments await in L.A. You stay classy, San Diego!

On the way North, we pass a couple of my favorite places: Camp Pendleton, training camp for my favorite team, the Fightin' Leathernecks...

... and San Onofre nuclear reactor, home of the giant radioactive titties.

Feeling a might peckish, we pull off the 5 at Laguna and have root beer float at Rudy's Diner on PCH. Two straws. There's a nifty Shoebox Ford in front. I ask Tammi Jo to the prom.

5:00 PM: We settle into our Pasadena hotel and call our pal Gale Banks, whom I last saw in  January in Indianapolis shopping for a dragster chassis.  Gale was in Savannah, GA over the weekend helping his daughter in-law move into an apartment; Gale's son Andrew is an Army combat medic currently serving in Iraq, and is expected home shortly where he will be stationed at Ft. Stewart. Gale's back in SoCal, and with our unexpected extended stay we'll have a chance to say hi.

7:00 PM: We meet Gale and Ruth at the Fedora Club, Gale's ginchy clubhouse in Monrovia that was originally built in 1920 to house a Cadillac dealership. Coop can't make it because his studio is being used tonight to film a TV interview with Johnny Knoxville. We have a round of beverages, and decide to see if Eric Vaughn is in.  Remember "The World's Fastest Indian"? Eric has the World's Third Fastest Indian. He is also an expert machinist and wheel maker, whose shop is conveniently located right behind Gale's club in what once was the Cadillac dealer's service garage.

Vaughn is in, and, unsurprisingly, working on a set of wheels. These are for a 1914 Rolls-Royce currently being restored back East. They look like wood spokes, but are actually CNC billet aluminum (tho the hubs are originals). Coulda fooled me.

Laying around the shop, a couple of nice sickles - an ancient Indian(?) and a Honda cafe racer.

Turns out Vaughn is also into Tiki, and has a loft above the garage where he keeps a stash of vintage coolness like red blowfish lamps. The old radio was the same one he listened to as a kid. That red head isn't the devil - it's Mr. Bosch of fuel injection fame.

11:30 PM: After a late dinner with Banks and Ruth, Tammi Jo and I head back to the hotel to crash.  Despite our prayers to the contrary, O'Hare air traffic is finally cleared up and we're doomed to flying back home on a 9:00 AM flight tomorrow.

"Do you think we might luck out and get an earthquake?" she asks.

"Say goodnight, Tammi Jo."

"Goodnight Tammi Jo."

Ball of the Day

Hooray for Hollywood! Volleyball accompanied by the lovely Miss Scarlett Johansson.

(Submitted by Larry G.)

Crazy econobox show down Video

While this certainly is not a hot rod related post, it does involve cars but they are turning around a track, as opposed to purely going for the 1/4 mile gusto. Still, I think that it is amusing.

There are two Honda Fits as well as a Yaris, a Mazda and a Suzuki of some sort. Based on iowahawk's recent party escapade detailed below, maybe these lil hatches will be more of a motor sport staple here in the USA. (He mentioned that there were many Priuses on display at a soireee at the former casa de Wilt Chamberlain.)

I am sure that they is a lot more entertainment value here, based on the in car commentary and jokes, but my language skills are of no help here.

Econobox Showdown

Ball of the Day

Classic brand identifier, or omen of a bloody wordwide apocalypse? 

Sherwin-Williams paint logo