Wayne Baldwin's Amazing Story: Baldy's Eual Eldred Baldwin

[Master Oil Racing Team]

We had everything loaded and ready to go by the end of the week, and we left on a Saturday or Sunday. It would take us several days to get there and we planned to leave at different times by two different routes.

Jack Chance was hauling his stuff up to Forest Lake, but Baldy thought his pickup was too old to be going that far, so he gave him the white Chrysler 440 New Yorker that Mark had blown the engine in during the summer. Everything was fixed up, and as we had been hauling boats all over with it, the car had the trailer hitch and wiring, so it was just a matter of getting it up to Jack's house to hook it to his trailer. Clayton and Doris Elmer were going to ride with Jack.

We had the full crew going, so Velma Mynier Followed Baldy to Jack's with the girls in her Cadillac. With Velma were Susan Turcotte, Jean Marie "Jeanie" Huff, Mary Jean "Sanford" Sanford. My sister Jan rode with Baldy. They left ahead of the rest of us to get to Jack's house and get everything there ready. Riding with me in Baldy's Suburban were my brother Mark, Bud Turcotte and Bob Burnham. We were headed north back up IH 35 just like Brenda, Bud and I had done a few weeks earlier. No cell phones or anyway to communicate, so Baldy had worked out a plan before we all left, to meet at a designated time on IH 35 South of Dallas. I cannot remember exactly where, but it was anywhere from the North side of Waco to Hillsboro where 35 splits left to Fort Worth or right to Dallas. That was the plan.

[Master Oil Racing Team]

I have tried to look up the route we traveled. I know most of it, but there are some sections I don't recall and think that maybe IH 35 was not complete through Kansas in 1968. I could be wrong, but I just remember on being in Kansas City, Kansas briefly on the way back as we detoured west out of Kansas City, Missouri. Maybe some of you out there might get me straight about Interstate 35 as it ran north and south in 1968.

[Master Oil Racing Team]

Baldy and Jack knew we would be stopping for lunch, as they had planned also. So it was just a matter of timing to estimate the driving time, gassing up, and eating. Baldy had more distance to cover, plus all the women, so he should have more down time than us.

We planned to see what lunch opportunities there were on the north side of Austin, Texas. In those days, there were not a host of fast food chains lining the highway. No McDonalds, Burger Chef, KFC, etc., but there were a few hamburger joints. Pig Stands were in San Antonio, but not on IH 35. We were looking for a café that "looked like" it served up a good chicken fried steak. In 1968 all Texas cafes and restaurants had chicken fried steak on the menu, but you could look over at the parking lot at lunchtime to tell which place most likely had the best chicken fried steak.

As we were getting our thoughts together and planning to scope out restaurants left and right, we started across Town Lake, a part of the Colorado River. I was driving and Bud Turcotte was riding shotgun. I don't remember if anyone saw it first, or if we all saw it at once, but we all were together on one thing. As we crossed the IH35 bridge over Town Lake and the Colorado River we saw to the northeast on the north bank or Town Lake at least a hundred and fifty yards of race boats, cars and pit support. All the oohs and ahhs turned into slow down and turn down when we saw the full race cigarette boat several hundred feet down below in the pits. We didn't know what was going on, but there were too many race boats altogether for us to pass up. We figured Baldy would have done the same. Except we didn't have a way to tell him. And we were just dumb kids not being able to keep track of time.

All I can remember for sure is that the pits were to the right. I was driving and watching traffic, having just gotten into where it would be heavy, then probably Bud or Mark shouted "Look". I looked right where everyone pointed. As we exited the overpass crossing Town Lake there was a big sign with an arrow pointing right "BOAT RACING". It was an easy access. We had to drive less than a quarter mile. We could see a hundred race boats already from the view from the overpass. With that many people there already there must be some good food to eat. We could go down the ramp to the right... tell them our race boats were there for the event... get in free.. park..get something to eat...and walk around looking at all the raceboats.

It was so cool. There might have been drag boat idols that I read about in Boating News. I recalled Popular Mechanics with articles about "Citation" and ads in magazines about "Climax" running their oil. There were drivers and teams from all across the United States here to race on The premier drag boat race course. We were mesmerized walking among the boats. Blown Fuel hydros, Blown Gas Hydros, Blown Fuel Flatbottoms,...I can't remember all the categories, but all the top guys were there. I don't know why the Offshore boat was there, but it was a racing boat with a number pure and simple.

Somewhere around walking toward the staging area which was under the IH35 overpass we figured out we had stopped for much longer than we planned for a lunch break. We hurried back to the Suburban and after getting backed up, forth and around, hustled up the ramp and back on the road. I don't remember about the others in our pit crew, but I was worried about the extra time we spent wandering through the pits and looking at all the cool drag boats and the offshore racer.

The rest of the trip to the point where we met up with Baldy, Jack, Clayton, Velma and the girls went well. After that, I cannot remember anything except Baldy and Jack extremely mad. They had been waiting for us at our rendezvous point for several hours. Since we had no communications and no way to check progress, it was just an estimated time to meet that Baldy had come up with in the first place. We knew that and kept our mouths shut about what we knew. As soon as we pulled up to meet them, everyone knew that it wasn't cool.

I was the one Baldy would hold responsible. He asked me what took so long. I told him we stopped for lunch, but there was something else regarding Baldy, Velma and Jack Chance's trip up that put them on easy street and they were geared for an easy transition and cruise on.


Because of that, Baldy chewed us out...Jack said something...and Clayton didn't say anything but was glad to go north.

[Master Oil Racing Team]

Couldn't find an old map, but I know we didn't go through Kansas except for a brief drive by on the eastern side of Kansas City, Kansas. Best I can figure is that we shut down somewhere around Norman, or even in Oklahoma City like Brenda, Bud and I did just a couple of weeks earlier. We almost always stayed in Holiday Inn's so we either found one of those or maybe a Ramada Inn.

The next morning I believe we headed up IH35 and caught the Will Rogers Tollway toward Tulsa the same as when Brenda, Bud and I went to DePue. Before Tulsa, U.S. Highway 71 was northbound directly to Kansas City and tied back in to IH35. Interstate highways in 1968 aren't like they are today, and U.S. Highways were two lane, but a reliable choice. I am sure Baldy chose this route, because I remember only being in Kansas coming and going for just the time we were on IH 35 going through Kansas City, Kansas.

We were a three car plus two race boat trailer caravan, and our goal was to make time to St Paul, Minnesota. None of us had been up there before, but Jack Chance and Clayton Elmer had raced in Midland, Michigan at the N.O.A. World Championships in 1961. The Texans from Houston and San Antonio did very well. It was their first trip back that far north and I am sure Jack told Baldy a lot about that trip. I don't remember much about stopping along the way either for gas, restroom stops, or for eating except that the hamburgers were very small, no lettuce, tomatoes, onion, mustard or mayonnaise. Only the bun, meat and ketchup. And not very tasty at that. Us kids figured they didn't really know how to make hamburgers. At that time we had heard of Burger Chef, but not McDonalds down in South Texas. We were fascinated by the new skinny fast fry French fries, but the only good thing about the burgers were that they were cheap. They were also small like the ones we encountered as we went north.

Somewhere near, but south of Mason City, Iowa we had to exit Interstate Highway 35 North. The interstate just ended. It didn't end like a normal highway. It just stopped. Double lane northbound, new and fresh. Double lane southbound brand new pavement. Hardly used. Maybe a hundred yards ahead, but seems like less, there was a small barricade across the interstate and just beyond that was one of those Caterpillar yellow packers filled over the top with dirt. Only the packer...no other machines to be seen left, right, in front or on the side. The one packer that had multiple tires for fine packing after numerous trips from water trucks, sheepsfoot rollers, maintainers, more watering, rollers, maintainers and final compacting with these dirt weighted multitired packers. That was all. The barricade and the packer and a detour sign guiding us to a narrow two lane road just to the west, and no shoulder.

It was dusk when we exited IH35 for the narrow, crowned two lane roadway. Thankfully, traffic was almost nonexistent. Baldy was in the lead, and I was riding shotgun. We had barely gotten down that road when we came upon a small wooden bridge with resemblances of guardrails. Just before crossing over the first bridge, there was a big sign on the right that said the next twenty miles were dangerous. I don't recall the exact wording, but it was black letters on a white background and I think "Dangerous" and "Deaths" and a number were painted in red. It told of how many people had died so far in that year. I don't recall how many, but the figure was double digit. It might have been 28. Sure footed pack mules would as soon walk next to a steep drop off as they they would those wooden sticks. Tall trees abounded on both sides and shallow creeks seemed to be a part of a tributary. We were in and out of the sun and shadows as we crossed one bridge, hit the asphalt and were just again entering another wooden bridge. Or maybe not wooden, but just small and not much to it. There was not a whole lot of oncoming traffic, but there was some. It was all rural. Pickup trucks and old cars. A few pickups had trailers I think hauling hogs. Luckily we did not come up on a slower vehicle. Baldy will always find a place or way to pass, and I wasn't much liking how me might try it.

In all it was twenty one bridges in twenty miles, or vice versa. I can't remember. A few bridges were only twenty or thirty feet long. Most were between sixty to a hundred feet. Several were more than that and maybe two were the length of a football field. It was very nerve wracking to drive unknown into such a highway at dusk. It was dark by the time we got out and back on to IH35. No one in our Suburban was talking much during that passage, and I doubt they were hardly more talkative behind us in Jack's Chrysler and Velma's Cadillac.

We probably got three or so hours down the road before shutting down for supper and rooms. I don't remember where we stopped, but early the next day we would get to Forest Lake, and check into our rooms at the Holiday Inn in St Paul.

[Master Oil Racing Team]

From the last issue of The Roostertail prior to the race.

[Master Oil Racing Team]

After Baldy and Jack picked a good pit spot, they got backed in and unhitched from the vehicles. It was a beautiful grassy pit area with a gentle slope to the water. Trouble was the pits under the water were too gentle of a slope to the race course. The stands had to be thirty feet or more beyond land.

Baldy, Jack and Clayton made the rounds finding friends from other parts of the country...many of whom we had just seen only a month earlier at Alexandria. Bud and I also ran into many we saw just a couple of weeks prior at DePue. We were proud of our brand new Marchetti's and the Konigs were all in tip top shape along with a bunch of new Hopkins propellers.

We checked in at the Holiday Inn in the early afternoon. It was right off an interstate. It could have been IH35, but it seems like it was an east west highway and just due west was Minneapolis. In any event, IH 35 was right there also. I remember Minneapolis because Susan Turcotte, Mary Jean Sanford, and Jeanie Huff walked over to the Holiday Inn Marquis and asked the young boy changing out the message if he could put up a message for them. He looked at the three cute girls looking up at him on a platform, and couldn't deny them their wish. To their surprise, he did indeed put up "Welcome CB Racing Team" on the west bound side for vechicles headed toward Minneapolis to see. They ran excitedly into the lobby or where ever the rest of us were and told us while Jeanie got her camera. I wish I had a copy of the photo that Jeanie took, but it was destroyed in a house fire in the 70's. It was up on the Marquis for a couple of hours before the kid had to take it down.

[Master Oil Racing Team]

We headed toward Forest Lake by going North or IH-35 and exited on Broadway at a Forest Lake exit. It was one of the easiest routes to a race course we ever took. Their was a main street then that was the last main road paralleling a park and the pits. Baldy went with Jack, Clayton and Doris to the pits. Velma I think stayed behind that first day and brought Jan later. The rest of us pulled walked from the pits to a café in town to eat some breakfast. It was no more than a quarter mile walk. We found an open corner booth by a window facing west toward the opposite side of the street. The booth wrapped more than 180 degrees around and with an extra chair, more than accommodated us seven kids. What happened next is the beginning of one of the most bizarre racing stories that happened to us.

A cute girl with short brown hair and about the same age as the girls with us came to take our order. Bud Turcotte was always flirting and and talking to young girls and he hit upon this girl right from the start. He began joking with her and went round and round at the same time she was going around the table taking our orders. By the time she finished taking our orders down, we knew her name was Daria. Every time she came to the table to check on us, Bud had something to say, or to ask her. By the time we left, Darius had been given all our names, and Bud had asked her for a date. She more or less politely didn't say much. She was very shy, but did like to serve at a table with a bunch of goofy Texans. And I believe we left a very generous tip.

It was a beautiful fall morning when we walked back to the pits. Then we got to work unloading all the boats and rigging them up. Between both trailers, we would have had eight or nine, maybe ten boats to rig up.

[Master Oil Racing Team]

We got busy unloading all the boats from the two CB Racing Team trailers and started rigging up. Like many of you know, when you get there early, have plenty of time, and the pits are smooth, grassy and very nice weather, it is a pleasant experience to rig up. You have time to chat with the pit crew, spectators wandering by and some stopping to ask questions. All in all a fine morning to remember.

We were one of the teams to fly a flag back then. I can't remember for sure whether we had the Texas flag up, but we did fly the Stars and Bars of the Confederate flag, and the girls on our pit crew all wore gray confederate caps. They, nor any of us were disrespectful of black people and in no way intended any insult like the way the insufferable leftists peg people today. It was the first time any of us had ever gotten this far north, and the girls liked the idea of wearing the gray confederate caps.

Our high flying Texas flag attracted one of the many spectators coming to the pits early. He walked up just as Bud and I were getting one of our motors out of our trailer. He didn't even ask if we were from Texas. His first words were "Do ya'll have any Dr. Peppers?" Bud said "Yeah....we have a whole cooler full." The drooling spectator asked almost in the tone of a guy on a desert who just found water, "Would you be able to give me one?" I said yeah as Bud was already walking to the ice chest to pull one out for him. Bud and I both watched as he took a long draft, then lowered the bottle with a very satisfied face. He introduced himself and we did back. He wanted to know where in Texas we came from. I had always told Bud "Tell people where you are from" when he always said "Corpus". As mentioned earlier he lived just outside of Sarita, Texas about 10 miles south of Riviera (pronounced Re veer uh), and south of Kingsville about twenty five miles. I told him I was from Alice, Texas he knew where that was. When Bud said he was from "Corpus" I said "Tell him where you're really from". Bud then said Riveria. The guy became excited and said "I'm a Riviera Seahawk". Then I told Bud to tell him where he really was from. Bud then proudly said "Sarita". The guy knew who Bud's Dad was.

We couldn't believe it. Bud started throwing out names and catching names the other guy was throwing out, and it turned out I knew a lot of them myself having hung around with Bud and his friends long enough. This guy was around four years older than us and had moved out of Riviera after graduating. His family was not one that worked in agriculture, oil and gas, or ranching so Bud didn't know his family. Then he told us his story. I don't remember any of what he told us except the little he told us about his short lived boat racing career.

He was living in or around the Corpus Christi area. He somehow got the boat racing bug and had ended up with a flatbottom inboard. I only ever knew of one other inboard racer from Corpus Christi, and that was the long time official Medical Doctor of APBA..Doc Triplett. I do not remember the class he raced, but I did remember what caused him to quit racing and move to Minnesota. There was a race downtown Corpus Christi at the marina within the protected area behind a wall of rocks seaward of the docks. The seawall built after the deadly 1919 hurricane was stepped like bleachers at a football stadium. Spectators sat all along the seawall with a great view of what was probably a mile or a mile and a quarter course. We did not go to the race, but we read the news and saw it on TV for days afterward.

I don't know how long into the race it happened, but this guy's rudder broke off and the boat veered toward the crowd on the seawall. I can't remember if there were more injuries, but I just remember a five year old girl was killed. It happened so fast the guy had no way to do anything. The boat sheared right into the wall. He was totally devastated. He got the bug and loved boat racing, but the tragedy took him out of it just when he was getting started. He left Texas just to get away from the memories. He was sitting in the seat, heading toward the crowd and nothing he could do could stop the boat in time. I think the only reason he told us was because Bud graduated from his old high school, he had a Dr. Pepper for the first time since leaving Texas and he found some people to talk to that could understand and he could unload without being treated like a stupid racing bum. We talked to him for probably a half hour. We gave him another Dr. Pepper as he left. That was the national soft drink of Texas back then. In those days it was not available everywhere as it is now. Maybe some parts of Louisiana, and Oklahoma, but possibly not even in El Paso.

When it was time for lunch, we all walked back to the restaurant. We got the same booth, and we got the same waitress....Daria.

ADD: Clayton Elmer reminded me of something I had forgotten. It was probably after the first day we returned from the pits, although it could have been the second day. Baldy had booked four or five rooms and he was paying for all of them. There were thirteen of us, and someone noticed that all but Velma, Doris, and Jan were returning wet almost up to our waists and with wet tennis and socks. This was not normal for the Holiday Inn, so they called Baldy down to the front desk. We were going to run up a pretty good tab, and they weren't sure what to make of this group from Texas. They told Baldy he would not be allowed to charge the rooms on a credit card like he originally planned. He had to pay cash up front. Seems like with everything it was around $1,600.00. Baldy always carried cash, but not that much. He arranged to have it wired in so they wouldn't kick us out.

[Master Oil Racing Team]

The fun in the pits was still not over. We got there a day early and were just taking our time rigging up, and testing before tomorrow's qualifying heats began.

Bud and I had a thing we would do in the pits while rigging up before a race. I spoke Russian to him, having had two years of Russian in high school. Bud spoke Spanish to me. Having grown up on a ranch in South Texas, it is a given that he would be fluent in Spanish. I understood and spoke a little Spanish, but not enough to carry on a regular conversation. And while I taught Bud a few Russian words, we were for all practical purposes just mumbling words back and forth to each other. When we saw a spectator or two ambling up, we broke into our routine of Russian/Spanish and carried on as though we thoroughly understood each other. In those days it was illegal for nonresidents to be in America without a legitimate card authorizing them to be here. It was a serious matter and strictly enforced, so Spanish was not common in Minnesota except on Green Giant style farming operations. So the spectators would hear us speaking in a foreign tongue and after a minute or two of trying to figure out what language was being spoken, they would realize that there were two separate and totally distinct languages. We would pretend to be totally interested in what we were doing, and not paying attention to the spectators. In reality we were catching glimpses of them as they puzzled over what was going on. I might point at something and tell Bud in Russian what to do, and he would answer back in Spanish while he did it, because he knew every part and everything that needed to be done. It was really funny doing this. And generally the spectators moved away quickly, but some hung around a little longer trying to understand what was going on. In all the times we pulled that stunt while Bud pitted for us, not one time did a spectator try to ask us what we were speaking, or where we were from. I guess they were totally intimidated by not only our actions, but for the most part they had never seen such exotic looking motors, boats, propellers running model airplane fuel. So they just moved on. They could ask any questions they had to someone who spoke their language.

One other thing I remember from that day that was funny at the moment was an offhand comment I made when a spectator asked me a stupid question. I always liked to be friendly to spectators and take time to answer any question they had. This time though, a guy was looking at a two blade Hopkins prop on one of the motors and asked "Do those blades turn the same RPM?" And without even thinking my smart a$$ side kicked in and I pointed to one blade and said "No...this blade turns 200 more RPM's than the other one." He opened his mouth in surprise and asked "Why is that?" I told him "Because this one has and eleven inch pitch and the other one is twelve." "Oh wow!", he said. Stared at the prop a minute, then walked off. As soon as he walked away I felt bad about it. I had expected him to figure out that what I told him about the RPM's was impossible, then we would have a laugh together. Instead he walked off thinking about it and I knew when he finally realized it, or told a friend who straightened him up, he would think I was a jerk. I didn't like the fact that he might think all us boat racer's were wise a$$'s.

[Master Oil Racing Team]

Everything tested good and we were looking forward to the elimination heats the next day. We had all gotten back to the Holiday Inn in St. Paul and were taking turns cleaning up and getting ready to go out for some supper. For some reason, while waiting her turn for a shower Susan Turcotte decided to go down to the lobby for something. She was still wearing her light blue nylon CB Racing Team windbreaker and the confederate cap. She was the sole passenger in the elevator when after a couple of floors it stopped and a young guy stepped in after the doors opened. He couldn't have been much older than Susan if that. He took one look at that Confederate cap and was blind with rage to anything else to see. All he saw was what he thought was a very pretty young boy. Susan wore her hair very short then. Pixie style I think it might have been called. With no makeup, the cap and a billowing windbreaker he thought he was looking at a 98 pound sissy. He said something derogatory and pushed her hard in the chest up against the elevator wall. His jaw hit the floor at the same time his eyes popped wide, and after a second or two said "You're a girl." He turned bright red, stepped back and punched a button to get off at the next floor he could stop at. I can't remember what Susan said she might have said or done.

When Susan got back up to our rooms and told everyone what had happened, we all (us kids) went looking for that guy, but never found him. The adults thought it was very funny...especially Baldy and Susan's grandmother Velma. For the rest of our racing career Baldy and Jack told that story around Baldy's bar and at races. Baldy would bust out laughing and mock astonishment when he got to the punch line "You're a girl!"