Cars

Posted 2/1/10. The world’s greatest car and plane bookstore is located at 3524 West Magnolia Boulevard in Burbank in the heart of San Fernando Valley car country, not far from Warner Bros. studios and the Big Dog Garage, where Jay Leno houses his spectacular private collection of classic cars and motorcycles. Leno, who frequently shows up at car shows in the valley and who can be seen driving an antique steamer or some other rare and expensive vehicle of his around town, often drops in at Autobooks-Aerobooks to pick up a technical manual for an Olds Toronado with 1,000 horsepower or a Mercedes SLR McClaren or some other car that he and his staff of mechanics are working on.

Autobooks-Aerobooks, owned by the husband and wife team of Tina Van Curen and Chuck Forward, is the biggest and oldest (founded in 1951) car bookstore in the United States, and it draws car buffs from around the state, country and world. As such I felt a little sheepish driving up to my signing on Saturday, seeing a bunch of guys standing outside the store talking and showing off their rides in the rear parking lot. Feeling that my road-weary 11-year-old Toyota Camry might not be the most impressive set of wheels for a car author to roll up in, I discretely parked out of view on a side street and walked in the front door. 

Not that anyone would have cared; nobody really showed up to see me except for my longtime friend and former UCLA roustabout Gary Grillo and his daughters Maddy and Kate (pictured between Chuck Forward, left, and Gary on the right). Also making the scene was another ex-Bruin, Al Stamler, whom I had not seen in decades. Here’s a story of how the Internet can make connections: One day last month Al, wondering whatever happened to a mutual friend of ours, Randy Breckenridge, googled his name. Up popped a blog I had written about Randy, recalling our adventures on the Colorado River and the fact that he had died.

Randy was another UCLA pal; that was where we met. He lived on the same dorm floor as Gary, Al and me. After (and during) college Randy and I rafted rivers and climbed mountains and kicked around Yosemite together, and I dedicated Wheels of Change to his memory. The book, sadly, is filled with the stories of daring young men who, like Randy, died too young. (Though he did not die in a car accident, but other circumstances.) Al, who lives in the San Fernando Valley (and is pictured here), had lost touch with Randy over the years and was shocked to read what happened to him in my blog. He dropped me an email, I told him about my signing at Autobooks-Aerobooks, and he swung by the store a few minutes before noon. After concluding my authorial duties we stepped down the block to Porto’s for lunch, catching up with each other and agreeing that yes, life can be a tough proposition at times, and—to borrow the line of playwright and raconteur Wilson Mizner—"the first hundred years are the hardest.”

Posted 12-8-09. Elmer Botts saved my life on Sunday—or more precisely, Elmer Botts's invention saved my life. Who was Elmer Botts, and what was his invention? And how can an author who cannot talk give a book talk? For the answer to these questions and more, please read on:

     Thursday I spoke at the South Pasadena Public Library, in the city of South Pasadena, as part of a special presentation that began with the rock and country stylings of Cottage Industry, an acoustic four-piece band. Cottage Industry played a swinging half-hour set of car and driving songs that included "Route 66," "Take It Easy," "King of the Road," "Baby, You Can Drive My Car," "Pink Cadillac," and on my request, a rockabilly version of "Li'l Deuce Coupe." It was good clean fun. After the band finished, Steve Fjeldsted, the incredibly thoughtful and diligent librarian who organized all this, showed a clip from "Bullitt"—you know the one, where Steve McQueen in a green Shelby Mustang races after a Dodge Challenger over the hills of San Francisco in the greatest movie chase scene ever filmed. Afterward I did my thing for about an hour, talking cars to an audience of about 40 people, and when I was done I could barely talk.

     This was not, unfortunately, all that uncommon for me. At several of my talks in the past weeks my voice has gone hoarse by the end, although Thursday was the worst by far. By Friday morning, I could not speak above a whisper. With another speaking gig looming that night in Riverside, I sucked on throat lozenges, gargled with warm salt water, drank warm water with honey, tried Chloraseptic (apparently this is not always a good idea for those with laryngitis), ate oranges for the Vitamin C, and tried not to talk. (I have since learned, from my daughter, that a drink called "Throat Coat Tea" might have helped me.) But nothing much worked, and when I showed up at the Glen Avon Library in Riverside I sounded a little like Vito Corleone in "The Godfather," only not nearly as good.

     Luckily, Tracie Carignan, the librarian for the Glen Avon Library, and Kathryn Morton, the cultural events coordinator for the Riverside public library system, were there to reassure me. They, too, did a splendid job of organizing and promoting the event, and about a half dozen cool cats who lived in the area drove their custom cars and parked them outside the library before my talk, such as the smoking hot beast pictured here.

     We had another nice gathering of about 40 people—all of whom listened graciously to the speaker who made brilliant, incisive points while sounding disturbingly like a frog. I made it through, however, although I had no idea how I was going to handle my next set of appearances the next morning.

     At 8 a.m. Saturday, I was supposed to be at the Petersen Automotive Museum in Los Angeles to chat for a half hour with Josh Hancock, host of the Josh Car Radio Show. Then, at 9:45 a.m., I was scheduled to do a phone interview with Art Gould of The Car Show radio program, after which I was to do a signing at Autobooks-Aerobooks, a Burbank bookstore that is famous among car and plane fanciers for its vast treasury of auto and air books. Wanting to be close to the Petersen so I could get there quickly in the morning, I drove from Riverside and checked into the Motel Six in beautiful downtown Hollywood.

     Who knew that the Hollywood Motel Six was a major party hotel? Many twenty-somethings were there, roaming the halls, and they all seemed to be having a much better time than me. The loudest group occupied the room next to mine, and after efforts to get them to quiet down proved fruitless, I moved up to the fifth floor into a different room and became ill.      

     Well, actually, I knew I was sick as soon as I checked into the motel. Not sick as in the H1N1 virus or anything like that, but clearly, not good. I did not realize it at the time, but my sore throat was apparently an early warning sign that something was amiss. I took some Nyquil in the hopes of a magic turnaround the next morning. No such luck. When I woke up my nasal passageways felt like someone had packed them with Elmer's Glue, and I still could not talk. Being without a voice on the radio is generally not considered good form, so I made some quick calls to cancel my appearances, tossed all my gear into my car, and lit out for home.

     That was when Elmer Botts saved my life.

     It was on Interstate 5 in Kern County in the great San Joaquin Valley. I had left Hollywood about 8 in the morning, stopped for a muffin and some hot tea to get me going, picked up the 101, then switched over to the I-5 heading north. I passed through the San Fernando Valley and Santa Clarita, crossed over the Grapevine and then down it, and I was rocketing along the interstate at about 75 miles per hour when my eyes closed.

     I remember the moment precisely: the lids of my eyes fell shut. I was sick, I was tired and groggy, and I was probably suffering from a Nyquil hangover as well. When my eyes closed my car drifted from the right lane toward the center of the road where suddenly, gratefully, it hit some Botts Dots.

     Botts Dots, as they are called, are those hard, plastic bumps placed in the middle and along the sides of roads and highways. They're ubiquitous in California. I know about Botts Dots because I wrote about their originator, Elmer Botts, in Wheels of Change—on page 324, in a footnote. (A footnote!) In the 1950s Botts, a chemist with the California Department of Transportation, developed what he thought would be a pavement marker to help drivers see the lane stripes better at night and in bad weather. But when these raised and brightly painted markers were placed on the road, something unexpected happened: drivers ran over them and the jolt made them more alert behind the wheel. Botts Dots have since become a staple of transportation safety around the country and world, jolting sleepy-eyed drivers awake. 

     This is what happened to me: my tires rolled over the Botts dots and my eyes opened. I was falling asleep behind the wheel. Quickly I pulled off at the Harris Ranch exit, found a quiet parking lot behind a gas station, and took a nap in my car. Revived and feeling alert again, I drove safely the rest of the way home, where the loving arms of my wife and two sons greeted me. Thank you, Elmer.

     Next stop on the Wheels of Change road trip: Sunday signing, 1 to 2 p.m., California Automotive Museum (formerly the Towe Auto Museum), 2200 Front Street, Sacramento, 916-442-6802. It promises to be a capital event!



Posted 11-23-09. First and last thought: Happy Thanksgiving to one and all! More thoughts about cars, people, forgery, and other subjects:

Tomorrow I am going to San Francisco to be interviewed on The California Report on National Public Radio. It's a taped interview, so it will air in the Bay Area on Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, on KQED-FM 88.5 FM at 4:30 p.m./6:30 p.m./11 p.m. It airs on different channels and times around central and northern California. Consult the listings for your area here.

Last week I did an interview with Jeff Figler of the Sports Byline Radio Network, which broadcasts to 700 stations and 178 countries around the world through the Armed Forces Network. This was about Operation Bullpen, my book on forgery which continues to draw attention. (To the right is one of the gang's forgeries; all four sigs of John, Paul, George and Ringo are bogus.) I think the interview aired last Friday but I'm not quite sure. As soon as I find out I'll update this post.

I'm looking forward to my next round of book talks in southern California. Wherever I've gone, everyone has been very generous and welcoming, but I've got to give a special shout-out to Steve Fjeldsted, director of the South Pasadena Library where I will speak Dec. 3. Before my talk, Cottage Industry, a rock band, will play car and road songs for a half hour. Steve asked me for my favorites in this genre, so I chose three from the Beach Boys: "Fun, Fun, Fun," "Li'l Deuce Coupe," and "409." After the band's set, Steve will show a movie clip from "Bullitt," the famous chase scene with Steve McQueen burning rubber in a Mustang over the hills of San Francisco. Then comes my slide show and talk. For details on this show and my two other appearances next week in Riverside and Burbank, see the box to the left.

When you write a book, it's a little like hibernating in a cave. In the case of Wheels of Change, I hibernated for close to three years, mainly writing and reading and researching inside the walls of my office with occasional forays out into the world to see historic car spots, visit car shows, and drive the roads of the state. So it's especially nice to get out of my cave and see and talk to people. At the Pasadena Museum of History last week, I signed a book for a fellow who lived in the house in Pasadena where Walter Murphy had lived. Murphy was one of the great automobile coach builders of the 1920s, designing, among many other cars, the luxurious Doble Series E, one of the most beautiful steam automobiles ever made. I wrote about Murphy in Wheels of Change, and it was a thrill for me to meet someone with that close of a connection to him.

The next night, at the monthly meeting of the Mustang Owners Club of California Club at Du-Par's Restaurant in Granada Hills, a movie camera operator, now retired, introduced himself. He had worked on "The Godfather," explaining how he helped shoot the scene in which Sonny (James Caan) gets murdered, riddled by bullets in his car at the toll booth. A number of vintage cars are used in that scene, and one of them nearly ran over the operator (whose name, unfortunately, slipped past me) as it made its getaway.

At the San Diego Automotive Museum on Saturday, I spoke in the main showroom surrounded on all sides by gleaming old machines that once roamed the roads. Among the friendly faces I met there: Kenn Colclasure and Dee House of the museum, and Bernadine Bogdanovs, event coordinator for the Wheels on Reels film festival, which is devoted to the ongoing love affair between movies and cars. The films were shown at the Mary Pickford Theatre in Cathedral City next to Palm Springs. Mary Pickford and her husband Douglas Fairbanks both loved cars (especially Doug), and here is a picture of Mary with her Pierce Arrow, one of their many deluxe rides. Riding in back, Mary spoke to her chauffeur through a speaking tube that ran from the back seat to the front.

Posted 11-13-09. In the sales race between Sarah Palin’s Going Rogue and my Wheels of Change: From Zero to 600 MPH, The Amazing Story of California and the Automobile, the former vice presidential candidate is inching ahead. Her book is No.1 on Amazon, while mine is ranked 196,963. Nevertheless! Wheels of Change continues to motor along quite nicely, and last night close to 30 people in my old hometown of Hayward turned out for a scintillating talk and discussion about cars and car history at the Hayward Area Historical Society on Main Street. Here are some candids of people who attended, and remember to click the jump button to see all the pictures, particularly the last one:     

From left, Carl Steward, Mark Croghan, Joe Joseph, Kevin Nelson (some guys never grow up), and Max Lateiner

Diane Curry, archivist at the Hayward Area Historical Society who helped me with some of the research on Wheels of Change for the old, now long-gone racetracks, the Oakland Raceway and Oakland Stadium

Carl Blincoe

Hank Nelson tweaks the nose of Abe Lincoln, who sat stone-faced through my entire talk and never said a word, so he deserves what he gets.