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Rating: 
Summary: in the mid fifties 'Fireball Roberts' used to come next door
Review: and hang out and drink beer, go fishing, and talk uh.. stuff, with my Godfather who was the head mechanic of the best company at the tiny Daytona airport.. At one point on a cigarette run they put me in the car with Fireball and I got to hold the smokes and beer on my lap on the way back from the country store.. I saw a couple of the last beach races from WAY too close, just before the track opened too.
I worked that track many a time later, in the infield, on the apron, doing whatever.. This book has it about right. Oh there are a few things glossed over, France fanaticism and 'tax free status', and such but over all it's a decent retelling of a odd time in American history that when the cars finally go, will never come again. This whole series, Images in America is a wonderful frozen moment in time, usually written by some crotchety old local type or matron. The prose is sometimes a little uneven, the pacing often slow, but the WEALTH of data in there is so rich that it's worth enduring.. (btw, later I used to be on a first name basis with female serial killer Eileen Wournos, pick her up thumbing and lived to tell about it!... Makes me the only man alive to ride with Fireball and Eileen.. and they wonder why I moved to the panhandle!) L.McD.
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