It was the heyday of slot cars, 1965 or 1966. All I wanted for Christmas was the proverbial race car set. I probably would have thrown my coming birthday in the pot as well. Bless her heart, granny sent me the deluxe Marklin sprint set from Germany (wish I still had it?, duh!). At the time I was crushed. Everybody and their dog had t-jets except me. I'd have given my right arm for a crappy hand-me-down vibe set. Once the wheels had been run off the Marklin set, as grade school boys will do; the reality of replacement parts tolled the death bell for the cars. My Dad was a slide rule type engineer and couldn't hang a picture straight let alone fix a slot car. Go figure! Having acquired some rattly "junkerjets " through trade, graft and extortion; as grade school boys will do, my rep in the neighborhood as a builder of fast cars and fixer of things grew. At some point the light came on and I quickly slipped a piece of insulation from a savaged (not salvaged!) electrical cord over the t-jet guide pin and viola ! T-jets on the huge Marklin track! Even cooler than the aurora wide track you could really brodie a t-jet on the Marklin track with very few consequences.

Of course there was the Saturday morning get up early and trek to the hobby store track. It was 2 miles round-trip, No, really! You had to get there early to get the good spot and lane choice. Like one-on-one basketball the rules were simple: make it take it and suckers walk. Winner keeps his seat and choice of lane. Cry babies and cheaters were persecuted mercilessly. Proper marshalling was taken seriously as well. Track time was 50 cents an hour in those days and most of the expensive repair parts weren't much more. I was one of those poor kids who actually had a cigar box for a pit kit The smell of Dutchmasters and toasted armatures still makes me misty and nostalgic. Rain or shine darn near every Saturday for years.

My neighbors had a huge track that changed configurations occasionally, which was relegated to the basement. They even had some of the dreaded Thunderbikes and a pair of aurora O scale Indy racer or midget looking cars that I've never seen since. They were definitely Aurora, said so right on'em! Any clues? anybody?

Deep in the basement, unsupervised boys, "What could happen?" Things that would make a t-jet designer cry and your dads homeowners agent cringe.. My four favorites were: 1. " The flaming burnout " - twist a cotton ball in half to create two wicks. Tuck em' between the rear bumper and chassis and trailem' out the back right behind the tires. Just soak the wicks in alcohol and add fire. Very realistic! Note: don't forget to go or your car will melt! 2. "The too much boost supercharger explosion " - a lady finger scotch taped to the hood with the fuse angled to the trackside. A short candle jammed in a blob of modeling clay for quick ignition allowed proper staging and no burnt fingers. After all safety was a primary concern! LOL. 3. "The always exciting but unpredictable rocket car " - substitute a bottle rocket with no stick in place of the lady finger and mount to roof. remove excess weight, ie: gear plate, mags and shoes. Use same ignition source as #2 and use the discarded bottle rocket stick to stage your car. Note: Apply tinfoil to trunk for multiple uses. 4. "The ring of fire jump " (with apologies to Evil Knevil) - when explosives were scarce (anytime after the fourth of July) a properly bent coat hanger wrapped with a suitable wick material soaked in alcohol and the appropriate jump. Got a match? Not as spectacular as our explosive displays but it did combine two of our favorite things, t-jets and fire! Note: Many of these shenanigans were inspired by a trip to the drags at Seattle International Raceway, SIR . It wasn't really our fault. Chalk it up to monkey see monkey do. I am ashamed to say many t-jets were harmed irreparably!

When the Tuffies came out they were pretty well creamin' everything. We never saw a lot of Wild Ones cars. You see, in the backwoods of the Pacific NW you're not exactly in t-jet alley; tech support, speed parts, and intel weren't just scarce, they were nonexistent. We were grateful to have comm brushes and pickup springs. Naturally we were agog and bought up the few we ever saw. Naturally most tuffies died a horrible death due to poor service and subsequent overheating. They didn't seem to hold up like our old tried and true t-jets and they were unfairly dubbed POS. But the new colors were cool.

When I saw my first AFX it had just come out of the hobby display case. At the time, the one and only example. It's new owner subsequently sent it flying across the hump track and launched her into a beautiful square rigged model ship in the front display window, never completing it's first lap. Coincidentally it was a "Too Much" body and that pretty well said it all. I was no longer king. The hobby store owner turned the whole layout 90 degrees so any UFO's would hit the wall. Like dogs at a fire hydrant the crazies would launch their AFX cars to attain a high water mark on the wall and the accompanying bragging rights. The rules were beginning to change and the do your own thing mentality was running amok at the track. That p#ssed the store owner off even more. The wall was repainted and the crazies were banished. I remember thinking that I would never treat an AFX like that. After all they were $3.25! Yet in a heartbeat I would happily attach a solid fuel rocket to a "beaterjet".

For Christmas that year I got the bitchin' blue and white number three Camaro with the complete hop up kit. My uncle had special ordered it in Seattle and sat on it till the holidays. It was probably the closest a young boy could come to eternal bliss. A little shoe and brush tweaking and a rear tire and profile change, with the hop up magnets and once again I had the fastest car in town. Unbeknownst to me at the time, that particular armature was one of the holy grail arms. Well balanced, spun up fast and no overheating. Unbeaten in my small corner of the world. I wish I could find a few now! I'm still lookin'.

Magna-traction came and leveled the playing field. Even a Gomer could run competitively and that hardly seemed right at the time. You could race, watch TV and eat a sandwich all at the same time! Might as well be running a fast electric train. We dubbed it "girly traction" yet curiously the girlies were starting to get more interesting than the cars. Looking back I'd have to say that Magna-traction, sports, and girls were the death of slot cars for me. The track was scrapped for valuable floor space and other more precious inventory. The store dried up and blew away shortly there-after and I consciously remember thinking, "Serves 'em right".

Then poof! Like a pickup spring on a bad hop off your workbench, it was all gone. Work, school, 1:1 cars, bills, women, kids and life in general we tumbled into the vortex. My only attachment to that period was a substantial Marklin train collection that miraculously escaped mom's rummage sale purges. That of course is another story. Thirty odd nice t-jets, AFX , and the remnants of our " pyrotech " cars weren't so lucky! I had a small private ceremony for them last spring. I cant help but wonder if some are still in service today. Some where..........

Now it's thirty five years later. My father had passed. Moved back to my home town. Grandkids poppin up like shrooms in the grass. Y'all know the drill. So my wife, with me begrudgingly in tow; are standing in the checkout at the local antique/thrift store (one mans junk is the fodder for your next garage sale) and there she sat. Up high and goofy on her guide pin sat a mint white tjet Corvette amidst a sea of dime a dozen later hot wheels, matchbox, and crusty Tootsie Toys. Only a true slothead would have noticed. A silk purse amongst the sows ears. The price tag was a whopping 49 cents! I had no cash and had to mooch change from the bowels of my wife's purse too complete the transaction. " How low have you gone for a t-jet? " Well I can honestly say, " To the nether regions of a woman's purse ". The five minute ride home seemed like an eternity. A quick scrub and buff brought back the showroom shine. A quick peak and a poke with the ohm-meter revealed that a routine service was the only requirement for this box stocker. My hands were shaking like a dope fiend. I'm a Career 1:1 mechanic with a fairly extensive home shop and quickly whipped out a power supply from an old AC bell transformer, a rectifier bridge and some gator clips out of the "better save this crap box". In hindsight I could've just plugged in the battery charger, Duh! In my defense I was caught up in the moment. In twenty minutes the 'Vette was singing that pleasant little song that only a gearhead could love. In a moment from Young Frankenstein I thought " It's alive!" Unwittingly I was transported to a long forgotten and simpler time.

Again poof ! A year has passed by. An education in the lessons of E-bay. I've been fairly lucky cuz as we know one mans interpretation of near mint could also be described as a steaming pile. Of course I'm a confessed Sniper and E-bay pirate of the worst sort, but I'm currently seeking treatment. I've amassed about a hundred and twenty five C-7 thru C-9 cars and leave the " Bo Derek " (10) cars for the collectors with more disposable income than me. Along side are 41 complete chassis waiting for suitable bodies to dribble in. If you give me a car I'm gonna run it, and it better run good or it will get torn down and sorted out. Nothing frustrates me more than a beautiful body on a hack chassis. All the beaters are used in the "corrupt your grandson program" and accordingly you'll re-corrupt your son in law by osmosis. He's a Tyco boy, but Jimmy and I are tolerant and let him play with us in spite of his affiliations. He just needs an "edjoomucashun". All of my cars are all reworked to some degree from mild to wild and I have yet to receive a properly tuned and balanced car from E-bay yet. Some might say to consider the source, but I'm still optimistic. Pitkit refugees are one of my greatest joys, the diamond in the rough or the golden nugget in the parts compartment. That missing part to complete an obscure back burner project. It's my contention that your just as likely to find the " golden arm " in a shoebox jumble from granny's attic as you would in a factory 100 chassis box lot built on Friday, and there's no prizes! Each to his own I reckon.

My greatest satisfaction comes from custom builds and hot rods from the " I cant just throw this old girl away department", and the disclaimer that " no good t-jet parts were harmed in the making of this rod". Perhaps it's a guilty conscience (see: What happened in the neighbors basement, paragraph 2) but we all know that t-jet bodies and chassis are a finite resource and should be treated as such. So many recent posts have expressed the fond remembrances, of families, places and events that touched their lives and the little cars that took them there. It's our obligation to the hobby and ensuing generations to keep the brushes changed, the shoes cleaned, pet hair off the axles, with a dab of " red goo " for good measure. It's the least we can do for the hobby/sport that's given so much!