Drag racing is peopled with characters.  Without them the sport would be just another form of motorsports.  It’s the individuality of those who drive, spin wrenches, regale us with humor over the PA system and even shoot photos that keeps the quarter mile a refreshing place to be.  Bill Crites, gone at a too-young 68, was one of those.

A long time employee of the National Hot Rod Association as a graphic artist and part-time photographer, Crites – and few knew him by his first name – was known by his fellow employees and friends more for his personality than for his visible contributions to the sport.  This isn’t to downplay those contributions, but when it came to behind-the-scenes contributors, they didn’t come any further behind those scenes than Bill.


Drag racing is peopled with characters.  Without them the sport would be just another form of motorsports.  It’s the individuality of those who drive, spin wrenches, regale us with humor over the PA system and even shoot photos that keeps the quarter mile a refreshing place to be.  Bill Crites, gone at a too-young 68, was one of those.

A long time employee of the National Hot Rod Association as a graphic artist and part-time photographer, Crites – and few knew him by his first name – was known by his fellow employees and friends more for his personality than for his visible contributions to the sport.  This isn’t to downplay those contributions, but when it came to behind-the-scenes contributors, they didn’t come any further behind those scenes than Bill.

National Dragster editor Phil Burgess has penned a marvelous tribute to Crites (http://www.nhra.com/insidedragster.asp ), which I urge you to peruse, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t add my own personal reminisces of this irascible, obstinate, outrageous character.

For 20 years Carol Johnson and I hosted the annual Kagel Canyon Fallnationals, an erstwhile softball game and who-can-consume-the-most-margaritas-and-still-drive party in Southern California, a bash with a life all its own.  Winning the softball game – in which cheating was not only encouraged, but was mandatory for survival – could result in bragging rights lasting only as long as one could convince others that you were telling the truth about your exploits.  Crites was always an invitee, for numerous reasons, but in all honesty he didn’t always appear.  I chalked that up to the fact that for as outrageous as Crites was, underneath it all he was actually somewhat shy in social gatherings.

As a softball player, however, he was in high demand.  While the rest of us slumped over the plate like the buffoons we were, Crites stood straight, bat upraised and ready to send the ball deep into the outfield.  Since everyone who appeared at the game played, that often meant there’d be 25 or 30 defensive players standing idly around the outfield, discussing world events or merely scanning skies for aliens.  Crites’s blasts would usually leave them convinced that they had, indeed, spotted a UFO ascending overhead.

Sadly for us, it was Crites’s professional approach to softball that often kept him from attending the Fallnationals, because the rest of us certainly didn’t take the game as seriously as he did.

Seeing Crites at races other than the Pomona events was a treat, because the company rarely let him escape the confines of the Golden State.  For me, personally, spotting him along the guardrail resulted in mixed emotions, for as happy as I was to see him, he insisted upon greeting me with a wet, sloppy kiss on the cheek, a greeting impossible to avoid or ignore.

As Phil Burgess points out, Crites loved nothing more than setting the late Leslie Lovett off, and I admit that the few times I did it myself it was because I’d seen how successful Bill was in doing the same.  Whenever Crites would say to me, “Watch this,” and head towards Lovett, I always followed closely behind, knowing that in mere seconds the sport’s leading photographer would be heading into emotional orbit.  The fact that Lovett should have known better than to rise to the bait Crites dangled so enticingly in front of him mattered not, for he seemed incapable of ignoring Crites’s foolishness.  As Lovett fumed over some comment it was usually all Crites could do to avoid bursting into open laughter.

But, there was a serious side to Crites that he often hid from others.  He bore emotional scars from a broken relationship with a woman he loved.  I don’t think he ever got over that.  And he also cared deeply about drag racing.  Although he rarely participated in discussions about the sport, when there’d be downtime or a break in the action it wasn’t uncommon for him to raise interesting topics with others.  He had a deep abiding, affection for NHRA Founder Wally Parks, and wasn’t afraid to express it.  Leaving NHRA for K&N Filters was a trying experience for Crites, but like most of the other problems he faced in his life, he got over it and moved on.

I’m feeling as guilty as hell right now, because Bill called and left a message for me a couple of days before he died, asking me to give him a call when I had a chance.  With family visiting for the Holidays I put it off, planning on calling him back after they left.  Now that call will never be made, and it’s bothering me because I didn’t get the chance to have a 10-minute conversation with a friend before he left.  I know we all hear these “warnings,” but take it from me, and don’t ignore them.  Keep in touch with your family and friends, and don’t put off those visits and phone calls, because they could be gone in the blink of an eye.

For me, and the others who knew him, Bill Crites isn’t gone.  He’s standing tall over the plate up above, waiting to hit the next pitch out of the park.