Here are the rules –

The field was seeded by reader vote. The participants are paired on the standard NHRA professional eliminations ladder. Each story represents an elimination run for the participant. The readers will judge each war story on the merits of (A) believability and (B) entertainment value. Please do not vote based on popularity. You are the judge and jury, so vote accordingly. Multiple votes from the same computer IP address will not be counted.

First round oting lasts for two days per elimination match. Once a driver advances to the next round, they must submit a new war story.

This is an event based on fun and entertainment value, and the rules are simple. The stories cannot describe any felonious acts (unprosecuted, that is) and you can't use a story about your opponent, against them. There is a one event win rule.

This is drag racing with no red-lights, disqualifications and plenty of oil downs minus the clean-ups. Please enjoy as each of our competitors tell their stories.

Here are the rules –

The field was seeded by reader vote. The participants are paired on the standard NHRA professional eliminations ladder. Each story represents an elimination run for the participant. The readers will judge each war story on the merits of (A) believability and (B) entertainment value. Please do not vote based on popularity. You are the judge and jury, so vote accordingly. Multiple votes from the same computer IP address will not be counted.

First round oting lasts for two days per elimination match. Once a driver advances to the next round, they must submit a new war story.

This is an event based on fun and entertainment value, and the rules are simple. The stories cannot describe any felonious acts (unprosecuted, that is) and you can't use a story about your opponent, against them. There is a one event win rule.

This is drag racing with no red-lights, disqualifications and plenty of oil downs minus the clean-ups. Please enjoy as each of our competitors tell their stories.

EVENT HOME PAGE

Event Completed - Nicky Bonifante 58.3 def. Jim Nicoll 41.7



NO. 1 QUALIFIER – NICKY BONINFANTE ************************************ WINNER *******************************************************
WAR STORIES CLAIM TO FAME – ALWAYS AT THE WRONG PLACE AT THE RIGHT TIME

FIRST RD - DEF. ROGER GUSTIN
SEMIS - DEF. FRANK HAWLEY

TELLING THE STORY OF: BLACKMAIL, FRANK BRADLEY AND THE 10 AM MOONERS

Do I need to say any more when I say this story is about my experience with my dear friend Scott Kalitta and Frank Bradley?

This was in 1992 and Connie was busy and wanted to hire someone to come in and tune the car. He felt Bradley was the man for the job. The rest of us merely took bets, “Wonder how long this will last?”

Bradley and his son Jimmy meet us at JT Stewart’s shop and then we go out and test at Firebird Raceway. Well Bradley draws the conclusion Scott’s dragster is a piece of crap. Bradley was determined we needed it to flex more, so we went over to Johnny West’s shop and Johnny and Frank cut the front half of this dragster off, right before the foot box at the lower tubes. The cut the car up, not in half, the top rail was still in it.

They put in all kinds of slip joints to make the dragster flex more.

Scott was mad at the sight of his dragster cut apart with a hacksaw and found a way to channel his anger by offering, “Who wants to go out?”

A few of us decided visit a local strip club.

We were having a good time when this dancer comes over and plops down on our laps and asks if we want a picture? We said unanimously, “Yes!” the rest of the night was uneventful.

The next morning I make my way into the shop and Bradley asks, “What did you guys do last night?” I told him and proudly showed him the Polaroid.

Bradley took the picture and looked it over.

In the distance Scott saw this transpire and ran over, “You didn’t just give him the picture did you?”

“Get it back,” Scott exclaimed.
I walk over to Bradley, “Can I have the picture back?”

“No way,” Bradley responded. “I might need this someday.”

Scott was really pissed off at me.

“I can’t believe you gave him that picture,” Scott screamed. “You’re an idiot.”

Scott fumed.

“What’s going to happen is at some race, I will go to stage and this picture will be on a banner flying behind an airplane,” Kalitta said. “Mark my word. It will cause all kinds of turmoil.”

I’m already in trouble and we haven’t even made our first race yet.

We got the car finished and headed for Bakersfield and Frank was happy with the car. Back in those days, we had the two cars in the rig and while Scott didn’t stay on the road with us a lot, he did stay on the road with us during testing. He had a tendency to get bored at times.  

We then pulled out in the morning and headed down Hwy 99 towards Pomona.

Scott said, “Nicky, you ride with me in the van.”

Dave “Rughead” Landau was with us too. In the other van was Randy Green, John Stewart and Jon Oberhofer as well as a few others with the Bradleys. Jim Oberhofer was driving the truck.

Scott said, “I’m pulling over, I have to take a leak.”

Scott went in the store and came out with a 12-pack of beer. Keep in mind, this is 10 AM. He was driving but now he’s riding shotgun and let me know I am driving. He’s still pissed about the picture.

Scott cracks open the beer and shotguns it. In no time he’s on third one. He grabbed a fourth and handed it to me.

“You drink it,” Scott said.

“Scott, I’m driving,” I responded.

“Who’s your boss?” Scott asked. “Drink a beer.”

The stop caused us to get behind the other vehicles and we raced down the highway, reaching speeds of 90 mph at times in a mad dash to catch up.

Scott then determined the best payback for Bradley stealing the picture was a triple mooning directed at him. Keep in mind we had planned to pull off this feat while driving the typical California mountain highway.

“We’re going to moon those guys!” Scott proclaimed, to which I immediately approved of.

“You’re going to moon them,” I said.

“No, we’re going to moon them,” Scott clarified. “I am and you are too.”

“How? I’m driving,” I responded.

“I’ll show you,” Scott offered. Bear in mind, we are driving down the highway.

Scott drops his pants while he’s sitting in the passenger seat and orders Rughead to drop his pants. This van had the sliding doors.

“Open the door,” Scott exclaimed.

“Open the door?” Rughead questioned. “We’re going 100 miles an hour.”

I’m still driving and holding my ground, “I’m driving, not going to moon anyone.”

“Drop your pants and I will hold the wheel,” Scott proclaimed.

The van was on cruise control at 90 mph with no one actually sitting in the driver’s seat

“Get in the back!” Scott instructed.

I complied.

“Hang you’re a** out the door,” Scott said.

What a sight we had. A car with no one in the driver’s seat, two guys with their a** hanging out the side door, and one mooning coordinator driving the car from the passenger seat and he too had his a** hanging out the window at 90 miles per hour.

We blast right by Bradley and the guys at 90 with our rears bared in the wind. Everyone saw it and were astonished there was no driver.

Scott was happy and we all had a great laugh once we got to Pomona. We had mooned Beard and the guys.

We get to Pomona and we beam in excitement at the upcoming year, but aren’t so naïve that we don’t keep in mind our betting pool as to how long Bradley and the Old Man [Kalitta] will last.

Connie flew in on Thursday and immediately began telling Bradley how he needed the car tuned.

Bradley didn’t take it kindly, “Kalitta you have your own car and side of the pit area over there. You go over and tune your car. I’m tuning Scott’s car.”

We are all looking in amazement as Bradley gets one of the banner ropes and ties it on the trailer door and divides the pit area.

Bradley’s already mad because Scott mooned him and now Connie is telling him how to tune Scott’s car. Then Connie and Bradley get into it and started to yell at one another in the pits. Bradley got mad and proclaimed, “I quit” and together with Jimmy walked out.   

He quit and never tuned Scott’s car in competition that season. Not one pass, other than testing.

Oh, the photo. In 2010, I finally saw Bradley, and in 2010 I finally saw the picture again.

Bradley still keeps in touch with us. We still text and he’s often giving pep talks.

So Bradley comes out to the races, “I have a gift I will bring you tomorrow,” he offered.

I never thought about the picture. He had made a copy of the pic on photo paper and gave it to me.

The original? He’s still not giving it up.

“Scott’s gone and you’re still here. I may need ammunition against you in case you piss me off one day,” Bradley said.

NO. 3 QUALIFIER – JIM "SUPERMAN" NICOLL
WAR STORIES CLAIM TO FAME – YOU DON'T THINK I GOT THIS NAME FOR MY SURVIVAL INSTINCTS DO YOU?
(Graphic courtesy of Phil Burgess)

FIRST RD - DEF. SID WATERMAN
SEMIS - DEF. CHIP WOODALL

TELLING THE STORY OF: TALK TO ME GEORGE ...

Everytime I hear someone talk about how lightning never strikes twice in the same place, I just want to punch them. I know better.

This story goes back to the 1960s when I was running a successful tire store [Jim's Tire Store] in San Diego. There was one void in the success. I wanted to also be known as a great race car driver. My most famous employee was Leroy Goldstein, who would go on to become one of the best racers ever.

Leroy was instrumental in helping me build my first dragster, and while it was built on trial and thumb, it was efficient. The front-engine rail helped me get noticed around the California drag strips. I even landed a few rides, some good and others not so good.

One day, out of the blue, I get this call from a gentleman named George Adrian, a successful appliance store owner in town. Adrian had a hot rod, a blown gas dragster, which had been driven by others ... one of whom was Dave Crower from Crower Cams. Ernie Henderson was another of the "names" who drove this dragster.

I quickly drew the conclusion why these drivers were no longer there. The rail had only a 92-inch wheelbase and he had since added a nitro burning engine. George had watched me manhandle other lesser rides and quickly drew the conclusion I was the man who could get the job done.

My debut was at the old Romona Drag Strip in San Diego and the moment was one to remember.

On the very first run, the wheels went skyward and I held on for dear life. I had made my mind up after hearing how my counterparts had failed that I was going to make it to the finish line or crash in doing so. The car, in all of its glory, had never made it to the finish line under power. In my one and only run in the car, not only did I make it to the finish line, I crashed just after the lights. I had never intended to run it this far but when the throttle hangs up, you are just along for the ride.

Now George was a bad man and rightfully gained a reputation of being able to land a solid punch. I figured after the run there would be a fight but there never was. George never spoke to me as we loaded up the car. He went his way and I went mine. He never fielded a race car again.

I went on with my life, and took driving jobs here and there while running my tire shop. As unexpected as the first phone call was, George called again. I was in shock as I asked what I could do for him.

"Just restored a 1940 Cadillac and all it needs to be complete is the addition of tires," George said.

I was in shock but let him know I'd be more than happy to help him complete the project. I went over to his store to pick up the prized vehicle.

"I love this car more than my wife," George said with a serious look on his face.

I knew there was a message in there but I didn't pick up on it immediately. I guess he wanted a set of tires to make up for my crashing of his car.

I arrived at the shop and picked out a great set of tires, the perfect set of tires for this car. I told Dave and Leroy which ones to put on while I went out to pick up some parts.

I returned to the shop and by the look on their faces, could tell something was terribly wrong. Leroy and Dave, another employee, were over behind the alignment rack and the expressions on their faces signaled something was wrong. I asked if the Caddy was done and immediately they looked at one another with a strange look.

"We have a slight problem," Leroy said hesitantly.

As it turned out, they had jacked the car up with the big hydraulic jack but neglected to chock the front wheel. The car rolled forward, hanging the top of the jack on the bumper and caving in the trunk. With the past history I knew silence wasn't an option, George would punch my lights out this time.

As I drove the dented beauty out of the parking lot, I began to craft ideas of how to explain how we had "dinged" his prize possession. "It will buff out" would not work out in this situation.

I was just about to settle on how a freak accident had transpired excuse and I'd happily pay for the repair when the hood flew up as I drove down the road. Besides nearly pooping my pants, I realized the hood had cracked the windshield and ripped a hole in a fender. A frigging hole in the fender, I say. Needless to say the hood was junk.

I managed to get the hood pushed down to where I tied it down just enough to see over.

I parked the Caddy down the street from George's store and walked in like he was my best friend.

"How do the tires look?" George asked.

"Just fine," I responded. "But we had a little problem."

"Let's go look," George said.

The closer I got, the more I wondered how I could escape with my life.

The closer we got, the more he saw the truck and began PUNCHING, yes PUNCHING, parking meters and parking signs.

Not wanting to become the next sign or meter, I immediately walked across the street to my truck.

"We'll talk about the bill later," George advised.

"Check the front end and call me later," I offered as I arrived safely at my truck.

He never called back and we haven't spoken since.

In fact, some years later, I was astonished to read in an issue of Drag News when George made a comment about me.

"He was the best driver I ever had," George told the newspaper.

So, you tell me, can lightning strike the same place twice?