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Manzanita Closing Feels Like A 'Kick In The Gut'

by Dave Argabrigh- last modified 2009-03-17 05:50

Pain, Shock And A Bad Case Of The Blues

The news was like a kick in the gut, delivering pain and shock and a bad case of the blues. Manzanita Speedway is closing after nearly 60 years of memorable racing action, with the final race to be held on April 11.

What a rotten, stinking piece of news.

Manzy wasn't just another race track. It was the stuff of legends, delivering powerful memories and experiences to generations of racers and fans. It was unique, with the junkyard just beyond the third and fourth turn, and the clear, arid night air. No doubt about it; Manzanita was unlike any other track in the world.

If you wrote a book about the most important venues in American short-track racing - particularly open-wheel racing - Manzanita would be one of the premier chapters. It holds an indispensable position of importance, particularly with the advent of the inaugural Western World Championship in 1968.

That race put "outlaw" sprint-car racing on the map, and created a national event that helped launch the World of Outlaws. Without the Western World, there might not be a World of Outlaws; without Manzy, there is no Western World.

So this is progress, with money wiping away an irreplaceable landmark in order to park semi-trucks. What a world we live in. I understand business, and I understand finances. I realize that sometimes the value of a piece of property is simply worth more than that which can be generated by a race track. I get it. But I don't have to like it.

Ultimately, I'm glad it wasn't my decision to make; I'm glad I'm not the man who signed the death warrant. Rich or not, I would hate to lay my head down each night knowing I killed something as wonderful and meaningful as Manzanita.

I feel badly for three different groups. First, for the older folks who forged fantastic memories in the '50s and '60s and '70s, memories that will never dim. However, their great memories were especially sweet because they could always return to the scene and bask in the reflected glory. Secondly, I feel badly for contemporary fans and racers, who today look to Manzy as an important place to race. Never mind all the history; these folks depended on Manzanita a few dozen times a year for competition, excitement and simply a place where they wanted to be. And perhaps most of all, I feel badly for future generations, who will never know the exciting thrill of hearing a race car coming off that fourth corner, hearing Windy McDonald giving us an unforgettable call on the microphone, all under a jet-black night sky with distant lights silhouetting the mountains to the south.

My memories of Manzanita? I could write a book, and I'm only a Manzy lightweight. I merely visited a few dozen times; far less than our Western friends who lived - and died - at that great oval. As I sit here with a hollow feeling in my heart, I wonder if another area track can rise to somewhat fill the void. Even though we are losing a tremendous institution, at the very least I hope the Arizona racing scene can move on and continue to be strong and vibrant. It's tempting to hop on an airplane and get to Manzy for the last race. I won't, though, because I'm not quite up to saying goodbye. Too much sadness, too much resentment, too many moments wondering why.

Instead, I'll remember the great things. Parking across from the track as the evening sun faded, and as I crossed the street wondering exactly where Dick Sutcliffe landed along 35th Avenue. Looking at the irrigation canal along the pit entrance, knowing that we're certainly not in Indiana any more. Walking across the backstretch, marveling at the wonderful history that has happened here. Hearing Evelyn Pratt barking over the pit speakers, "And you'd better get that first heat lined up right NOW, gentlemen!" The aroma of barbecue ribs. The nip of the desert air at night.

Entering the little officials' box, getting a chill up my back from Windy's wonderful dialogue on the PA. Wandering through the crowded concourse behind the grandstand during intermission, with happy race fans chattering and creating as happy a scene as you'll ever find at a race track.

Gone. All gone.

You know, I'm suddenly not interested in listening to people nit-pick about their local race track, complaining about everything but the hot dog relish. To have a sturdy, healthy local race track is a great luxury, yet it's fleeting. No guarantees. One minute you think it will be there forever, and the next minute.

All I know for sure is this: After April 11, 35th and Broadway becomes just another crummy, run-down corner in a city that is infinitely less interesting. You had a great run, Manzanita. The promoters who believed in you and kept you alive; the racers who tried their best to tame you; and the fans who were loyal through years and years and years; all of them, today they weep.

Me, too.

Half the lies they tell about me aren't true. 

Manzys last dance