From Bootlegging to Nascar

Bootlegging, the illegal activity of getting outlawed moonshine (distilled high octane liquor) through the backwoods of the south without being stopped by the Revenuers (federal tax collectors) was a tough and dangerous job. The shiner’s wanted to sell their hooch without paying taxes and the government wanted their money – the two did not see eye to eye on the arrangement. Started in the Prohibition days but continued afterwards because people wanted their ‘shine’ and the feds wanted the tax for that wanting.

That'd be Hooch in the trunk - Officer

It was also exciting fun to be driving stripped down muscle cars along dark lonely roads at all hours wondering where the feds would be waiting. Here and there suddenly a police cruiser would pick up chase and it was up to the guts and skills of the moonshiner to make their daring escape. With large uncorked engines (horsepower maxed to the limit), gutted auto bodies (all non-essential parts taken out to lessen the weight) and with the skill of race car drivers the moonshiners raced away from the pursuer leaving them in the proverbial dust. Even to this day the war between the revenuers and the moonshiners continues in the south east portion of the United States – doubt it – check out ‘Moonshiners’ on the Discovery Channel. The past is the present with these folks wanting to make their ‘shine’ while the federal government tries weekly to close down the stills. Who will win – watch the reality television show and learn on your own.

The damn blog - now I remember.

But back to the blog.

Eluding the authorities was way too much fun and after a couple of decades someone decided to try having this sort of excitement on permanent tracks. No one could watch the routine chase scenes taking place in the hinterlands so why not bring the drivers and spectators together in one venue.

Catch me if you can, Coppers!

There were already race tracks throughout the south but each had their own rules and regulations which was confusing and also often times didn’t account for the real money being taken in by the races with winners earning nothing. It was a very corrupt way to run any contest.

Races but not fair purses for the drivers.

There needed to be a hero to get this all right. A person who would stand up for the bootleggers who wanted to go straight and earn lots of cash.

And that's where Billy France comes into the scene.

William (Bill) France Sr. moved to Daytona Beach in 1935 and realized the potential for a racing phenomena. In December of 1947 he met with well-known racers who would run their stripped down street vehicles with supped up engines around tracks trying to earn enough to rebuild their vehicles. Prize money wasn’t much to write home about in the early days of car racing. 

But on February 21, 1948 NASCAR was born with clear regulations, rules and static prize money for winners and losers. The National Association for Stock Car Racing (NASCAR) proved to be a boon for Bill France Sr. and the other investors starting so small in 1948 and expanding into the mega-business it is today.

NASCAR is broadcast in over 150 countries worldwide and Fortune 500 companies sponsor NASCAR more than any other motor sport on the planet. Compared to other sports NASCAR has the record of holding the top 17 out of 20 single-day sporting events internationally by spectator. The sport is still growing competing in more and more countries each year and soon will be racing in Japan as it is Canada and Mexico.

Large and loud crowds!

From the days of ‘shiners’ outrunning law enforcement to a guy coming up with a good idea in Dayton Beach, Florida – world headquarters for NASCAR – to a multi-billion dollar enterprise has been the history of this sport from down south.

Danika Patrick - a woman with a dream - she crashed though.

A dreamer had a dream and that dream turned into pure enjoyment for fans who love to do nothing but watch race cars speeding around an oval track at over two hundred miles per hour, eat greasy and fried food, drink beer, and be with their friends.

Sometimes there is a little smoke.

Today, as stated, NASCAR is a huge sport that includes people from all walks of life from around the world. Interesting when one looks into the history of something that started so small, but profitable, on the wrong side of the law turns out to be such a huge success.

People like chances, they like speed, they like fancy painted cars, and they really love those that sit cramped behind break-away steering wheels with their foot to the metal. The drivers give it all for the audience who give it their all - it is truly a synergistic relationship.

Sounds pretty thrilling to J and L and the between 40 to 50 million fans of the sport from around the globe.

NASCAR is nothing but Patriotic!

And sometimes a goofy hat is just right.

Does a Sidewalk End in Reality?

 Does a Sidewalk End in Reality?

Howdy Pardner!

Old Town Scottsdale is a pleasant adventure for anyone – no matter your age. Restaurants, gift shops, pubs, and just a meandering sidewalk beckon the traveler to take a moment, step out of the automobile and let the feet lead the way.

No hurry while putting one foot in front of the other but simply pure enjoyment while sightseeing.

Sightseeing – hmmm, “n, the visiting of places of interest” per Webster and doesn’t that say a lot of what researchers and explorers do on a daily routine? To research this or that and then go out and physically explore to learn if that research was valid or not. To take a walk-about as the Aussie’s like to remind us is a way to reinvent ourselves – to learn about others as well.

Reinvent yourself - that's not our Happy Hour idea

While treading about the curved sidewalks of Scottsdale the visitor can’t help but notice interesting (there’s Webster) historical notices etched into the very cement below one’s feet. It is as though the sidewalk of Old Town is leading the visitor through some very important episodes of this city which was incorporated back in 1951 with a population of 2,000 but now boasts over 230,000. The cities own slogan is, “The West’s Most Western Town”. Of course, many towns and cities would probably argue that like Tucson, Tombstone, and even Los Angeles (thought we’d throw that in) but the history of Scottsdale is rich.

The Most Western of Western Towns?

The town was named after Winfield Scott – not the famous General of the Civil War but the other Winfield Scott of the Civil War (confused yet?) who served as a Chaplain but did lead Company C of the 126^th New York Volunteers. Even being a fire and brimstone Baptist minister Scott knew his country – the North – needed his skills and so with the rank of Captain he led his men into many dangerous fights with the Confederate States Army. Being wounded at the Battle of Harpers Ferry, Gettysburg and finally Spotsylvania Court House Captain Scott was released from duty due to his wounds toward the end of 1864. He and his family moved a bit after the war and ended up in the west in the Salt River Valley, east of Phoenix. Winfield was so impressed he settled and started promoting the area as a wonderful place to embrace – thus the reason in in 1894 the area become known as Scottsdale.

Winfield and Helen Scott in 1900

It should be noted that in 1888 Winfield bought 640 acres in the Salt River Valley for the price of just over three dollars - that is the whopping amount of ninety-two dollars in 2016. A square mile of land for less than a foo-foo coffee at Starbucks. A good investment for the Civil War Vet and to have the town named after you too - such a deal! 

Now, the sidewalks visitors will find themselves walking atop of don’t have much in the way of describing Captain Winfield Scott or the ‘Fighting Pastor’ as the founder of Scottsdale but it does lead the curious on who actually did have something to make Scottsdale the most western of western towns.

Billy the Kid, Bat Masterson, Wyatt Earp and many others are etched right there in the cement reminding those staring down that very famous western characters once roamed through these parts. Fascinating bit of history but that is not all there is to Old Town.

Zane Grey -  Western Writer

Doc Holiday -  Western Dentist

General Powell - Western Explorer

Kit Carson - Western Scout

A river runs through the western edge allowing the traveler a chance to feel cool and refreshed – that’s what water does for a person. Restaurants line the river-walk and along the long stretches of sidewalk stores tease the shoppers to enter and purchase everything from tourist gizmos to hand made furniture in the thousands of dollars and to some of the most marvelous jewelry available.

Time for an evening stroll along the riverfront

In 1974 Shel Silverstein’s poem, ‘Where the sidewalk ends’ was published to international acclaim and one line in particular meant something special to J and L – “Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow.”

Don't want to miss anything along the way you may regret

That is how one should take walking down a sidewalk – measure steps to ensure nothing is missed and slow enough to enjoy those things not missed.

These two fellas are taking it real easy and slow

Where Did They All Go?

J and L enjoy traveling together at all times but there are those instances when one or the other have to kiss the other goodbye for various reasons. Once in a while exploring with Paul (the 3rd leg of J and L) J will take off but business is the general culprit when L or J separate for various conferences around the country.

Happy feet traveling together

One such situation occurred recently when J glided into the blue skies of Southern California heading east toward Phoenix for an educational conference being held in Scottsdale. Arizona is a favorite haunt for researching and exploring and this time it would be researching to learn how truly effective schools and districts work most effectively.

Students should always come first when it comes to education and the chance to improve the educational benefits of those students is always key.

But this blog has nothing to do with education – it has to do with missing people.

J arrived an hour and half early to Ontario International Airport for the short flight to Phoenix when he was taken aback by the displays that lined the north side of Terminal 4 where Southwest Airlines hub is located.

By Gates 400’s, his was 403, there were glass enclosures with five quart sized milk bottles in each of the seven displays with photographs of missing people on them. Surprising the majority were adults who had disappeared throughout the years from personal relationships ending, self-exile, running from debtors, or perhaps more of a nefarious nature.

Have you see me?

 To bring attention to the fact that millions of people each year make it to the list of those people who just end up missing with no idea of what happened to them was the reason for the displays.

Milk cartons with photographs of faces of those missing was the brainchild of the dairy industry in 1984 who believed since milk was a staple in the home perhaps people may recognize those identified on the cartons as missing. Maybe it was Anderson Erickson Dairy or Wisconsin’s Hawthorn Melody Farm Dairy but whoever was given credit it carried on for many years until the late 1980’s when Dr. Benjamin Spock (yeah, the one who later apologized to parents about raising their children since he didn’t have a clue) and others said the milk cartons may frighten children unnecessarily. 

Where is this woman?

Maybe it would have frightened those who wanted to steal children from their parents also – but that’s just conjecture at this point.  It was all started, per research, when the high profile case of Etan Patz who was abducted in 1979 on his way to school and later by John Walsh, father of Adam Walsh who was kidnapped in 1981. Whoever or whatever was the cause the point was made nationwide that people, not only children, go missing in unheard of numbers every year.

Artist Brandy Eve Allen created the plaster casts of the milk cartons from the early 1980’s recently as an art exhibit in Los Angeles and other locations such as Ontario International Airport. A stark reminder of what lurks behind the darkness of abduction.

Everybody needs milk and what a clever innovation but then again it was from an artist who grabbed that decades old idea and brought it again to the forefront of society.

 Then again most artists are pretty creative – that is what separates them from the rest of humanity in just one way.

 J is an artist, if being a professional writer counts – he says it does so we’ll leave it there.

Of course, those milk cartons aren’t as popular any longer in the 21^st Century and perhaps it’s because they didn’t find all the missing people or perhaps the missing people really didn’t want to be found or perhaps no one cares any longer. Or perhaps Dr. Spock was right and a child kidnapped from his loving family and saw their face on a milk carton would be too frightened to turn themselves in – NOT!

 Who knows?

Whatever the case it was rather eerie for J to arrive at his gate to find it deserted with faces staring out from plaster milk cartons from behind locked glass cases.

That's J in the hat - not a missing person

Looking around the seating areas contained none of the usual waiting passengers, the white tiled halls void of the sound of footsteps, no annoying announcements bellowing indistinguishable comments from the ceilings, and no planes standing majestically at the end of the flexible tethers.

No planes

No passengers - zero

He certainly could not have been the only passenger on Southwest flight 182 bound for Phoenix on this unusually warm winter day in February – it couldn’t be. But where were all the people? Gate after gate was devoid of human activity – dead silence filled the air.

Had he gone missing? Would he end up on a milk carton in some aairport lobby some day?

Being a fictional writer J immediately began to conjure up images of him being the only passenger at Ontario that day. Of course, he had been cattle called through TSA with dozens of other customers and as he walked to his gate there were people gathered around the various restaurants, bars, and sundry shops but where had they all gone?

Where was everyone?

Fifteen minutes later life was back to normal – screeching over the intercom systems about not leaving bags attended, suitcases making click-clack sounds across the tiled floors, and the munch- munch of people chewing whatever items they had purchased in the various food stores they had passed on the way to their individual gates.

Life again took center stage on the tarmac

There are all the people!

He wasn’t missing after all but simply early to the wing of the airport where his gate was located.

Though, there could be a story in all of this anyway.