Sport: The Dragsters

Once they were standard American autos—the friendly coupes and roadsters of the '30s, or hefty contemporary sedans. Now they were barely recognizable. The hot-rods, crowding the runways of the airport at Lawrenceville, Ill. for the "World Series of Drag Racing" last week, had come a long way from the Detroit production lines where they were born. Some had been entirely rebuilt. Some were stock cars with souped-up engines. Some consisted merely of a stripped-down frame and cockpit. All had that something extra: they could get up and go.

The 340 drivers, too, were something special, a far cry from the hopped-up youngsters who made hot-rodding a dirty word on the nation's highways after World War II. There was not a "squirrel" among them—no juvenile delinquent with wheels to zoom through traffic and terrorize the workaday motorist. These were youngsters who get their kicks by improving their cars and then testing them in a relatively safe and sane manner. They do their racing on "drag strips"—abandoned airport runways, four-lane roads specifically set aside for their use, or some other isolated and guarded track. Competing two at a time, the cars start from a standstill and make a straight quarter-mile run. They test both acceleration and speed as they are clocked in the same sort of electronic speed traps with which traffic cops nab speeders.

Broke & Proud. For good acceleration hot-rodders try to move their engines back on the frame to give their cars the best traction possible. They cut away every encumbrance, often dispensing with fenders, starters, fans and fan belts. They change gear ratios, add carburetors to improve combustion, grind down cylinder heads to boost power, "channel" bodies (i.e., lower the center of gravity) for safer riding. Thanks to the Automobile Timing Association of America (which sponsors the series) and other friendly organizations, there are specific safety requirements for competition: safety belts, crash helmets, carburetor covers, fire walls back of engines, handy fuel shut-off valves.

This kind of hobby costs money, so hot-rodders are generally broke and proud of it. When they parked their beasts at Lawrenceville last week, most of the drivers had spent their last dollars on tools and parts. They spread out blankets or pitched tents to sleep right at the airfield. One driver and crew emptied their pockets to buy five watermelons, on which they hope to live until they get home.