Pinewood Dreams - Part 4

I was living in a new town and was part of a new scout pack when the Pinewood Derby rolled around in '85. Since no one knew of my disastrous showing the previous year, I felt like I was being given a fresh start. I’d be able to enter the derby with none of my competetitors being aware of my previous failure. For all they knew, I was a big threat. I liked that.

As eager as I was to return to the derby, I was also a bit nervous. My dad and I were out of design ideas that would give us a winning car. But just when the prospect of another embarrassing year at the derby seemed inevitable, new blood was added to the mix. Sam and Marlene were a couple that my parents had made friends with. Sam had innovative ideas, and the wood working tools and ability, to make my car the best at the derby.

Sam's first great idea was to drill a hole in the back of the racer. The hole was the diameter of a nickel and about four inches deep. This hole enabled us to fill the racer with BBs, and would allow us to modify the weight of the car at weigh in. A cork plugged the hole and displayed the racer's number.

Next, we streamlined the racer. We trimmed a majority of the wood off of the body, and the end result was a thin, sporty looking racer. Pop-up headlights, a spoiler, and a maroon paint job with black pinstripes rounded things out. The car looked great, and we all felt that we had a good chance of dominating at the derby.

The mood on race day ’85 was very similar to the previous year. The crowd was excited. People had made signs that showed support for their scout, and every one of them had a hopeful look in his eyes. At the start of the day, everyone had the potential to win. After the first several races, though, the hopes of many a scout had been crushed. I was not one of those boys. I had won a place in the finals and was receiving constant comments about how great my racer looked. Things were finally working out. I had the most dominant racer at the derby, and it felt good.

Before the final race, all of the cars were placed on a table out of view of the crowd. I wasn’t comfortable with leaving my racer unattended, but had no choice. I stopped worrying after the trophy for best looking car was presented. My car had won. I received a nice little trophy and instantly pictured it sitting next to the one for overall speed on the bookcase in our den. All I had to do to make that happen was win the final race.

But that final race would prove to be tragic. Shortly after the start, my racer lost its front right tire and jumped off of the track. Visions of the previous year’s catastrophe flew through my mind. Was I going to cause another pile up? Would I go down in scouting history as the only boy who ever caused major accidents at two separate derbies? The car crashed, but avoided contact with any of the other racers.

We instantly suspected foul play. It was the only logical explanation for the “blow out.” Our theory was that the thought of someone winning both the trophy for best looking and fastest car was considered frightening by the organizers, so my racer was sabotaged while the trophy for the former was being presented.

No one stepped forward to claim responsibility. In fact, most people in attendance just accepted the fact that it was a freak accident. The mystery was never solved, and it remains one of the biggest unexplained events of my life. The memories of that day in ‘85 still haunt me, and just knowing that some one robbed me, an eleven year old boy, of my glory is both heart wrenching and disappointing.

I am proud, however, of what I achieved at the Pinewood Derby that year. After my brother’s uneventful experience, and my first catastrophic display in ’84, it felt good to be a winner for a while. And although it wasn’t the derby’s biggest trophy, it did feel good to come home with the trophy for best looking car. In retrospect, it's ironic that in my adult life I am known less for my looks and more for my speed.

The End