DODGING DEATH

Evening Star, Issue 19841, 14 April 1928, Page 5

DODGING DEATH

SPLIT-SECOND DECISIONS Tho high, singing whine brought every man at the Caroiinas Speedway at Charlotte to attention, it meant a perfectly functioning motor turning over at a rate of 5,000 revolutions a minute. Ernie Ansterberg, in his Duesenberg, tuning up for a race at Altoona, flashed past tho timer twice (says Myron 11. Huff, in tho Philadelphia ‘Public Ledger’). Then—- “ Every cyo was following tho tiny steel projectile, which clung along tho upper rail as it swept into the backstretch. in tho excitement of tho moment scarcely anyone noted tho mild gust of brco/.c which l:«pncd tho great oval as Aiiiycrberg’s mount swept past Grand Stand li and hurtled into the last curve. “Tho Ducsenhorg whizzed past tho timer’s box a maroon-tinted shaft of light. Then Ansterberg cut off and began tho task of halting, a matter rcouiring an entire additional lap to complete. “ Starter Wagner’s lace brightened ns ho studied his stopwatch dial. “A new world’s record I” in- ejaculated. “Thirty-ffvo and two-tilths seconds—--127.1 miles per hour!” Mechanicians swarmed about, tho tiny racing car as it wheeled in and halted at tho pits. Someone reached forth a brawny band and delivered a mighty slap of felicitation upon Anstcrherg’s bumped while shoulders, lie came to life it ltd crawled out. The group was amazed at the paleness of his chocks* “ What’s the matter. Ernie? Sick?,’- 1 canto an anxious query. Ansterberg licked 1 1 is lips and swallowed. Someone stuck an opened bottle of pop into his hand. Lie gulped down half its contents bcloro attempting a reply. “ No —not sick —just scared. You know what happened over there when that little gust of wind struck as I wheeled into tho last turn? Not a thing, except that 1 thought 1 was in a Martin bomber instead of a race car.; Believe mo or not, but I’m telling you 1 flew through tho air a hundred foot!. That gust acted with my car on tho same principle an airplane’s wings lift/ it into tho air. “ 1 couldn’t have been an inch off 1 the boards, for 1 felt no jar when I canto down, but 1 was in the air all right. As tho wind struck, my steering wheel loosened in my hands. I twirled it a quarter turn, and it camo round so easily I felt a shiver travel up my spine. “Then my eyes fell to my front wheels, and 1 could see tho tyres moyo when I twisted the wheel. In a split second I realised I’d lost control, because tho treads had left the boards, and at tho same instant I understood. 1 must have them pointed straight ahead when wo came down or thcre’d bo a somersault.” A fifth of a second is only tbs "wink of an eyelid to the ordinary mortal,”' Mr Half philosophises tho vital importance which sometimes lies in. infinitesimal particles of time, of which. Ansterhcrg’s adventure serves as amexample. But, ho continues: “For tho racing driver long eimagE: to have his entire life pass in review before his mental eye ere he makes tho decision that means life or death; long enough to establish a now world’s speed record; long enough to win a race—and after all victory is the thing that counts.” Harry Hart/., on Thanksgiving Bay,- j T92T. wo Team, had to make a quick decision. Continuing; “Tho pilots wore doing their final j inning up preparatory to the start of:; tho 250-mile event at Beverley Hills,' California, Most of the drivers had, completed this work, and wore taking 1 their places, in tiers of two, for tho' blare of band music and tho drop of tho starter’s red hag which would, j pond them whirling away. “Only two cars continued to warm j up—that of a California recruit driven I and Harry Hartz. Hi the home stretch j the novice’s mount back fired and’ caught ablaze. Ho wheeled past tho lierod-up machines, came to a halt—in front, of tho pits but far out on tho racing deck, and vaulted out to escape, being blistered. “For an instant all thought was for tho blazing car. No one remembered Unit Hartz, ignorant of what was transpiring, was tearing along tho back stretch at more than 120 miles an hour* George Wade, a Kansas city manufacturer of racing automobiles, whoso' entry was being piloted that day by tho youthful Harlan Fongler, grabbed a firn extinguisher and ran out on tho planking to tho blazing machine. Behind him came a photographer from a. Los Angeles newspaper, intent on getting a ‘ shot.! “ A low limn grew to a thunderous roar. Horror-stricken eyes turned as one to glimpse Hartz’s grey machine tearing out of Uio last turn into the homo stretch. Hartz lived a lifetime in the fleeting moment ho was granted to decide his course of ncion. If ho veered to the right lie would crash into tho stands and Press box, crammed with humanity. A turn to tho ‘eft would hurl liis mount inin the dozen racing ears grouped for tho start, each with its driver in his scat. Directly ahead stood IHo burning machine, George Wade, and tho photographer. “ Hi a split second Harry made his decision. He loro straight ahead, crashing into tho burning car at a speed double that of a. crack express train.Wado and the photographer wore-killed instantly. Hartz’s ear was wrecked* and Harry himself was tossed into the air and over tho pit parapet, escaping with liis life hy the merest chance. Death had presented itself from three dirctions. Hartz had chosen tho path! ending the lives of the fewest mimber.’Aj