THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, March 26, 1995 TAG: 9503250114
SECTION: CHESAPEAKE CLIPPER PAGE: 02 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: Random Rambles
SOURCE: Tony Stein
LENGTH: Medium: 83 lines
Mark and Sharon Carey were high school sweethearts who got married and had a son named Brandon. Mark had a flourishing career as an artist, and Sharon was a much-loved worker in Chesapeake's Juvenile Court office.
If life was a fairy tale, the next line would be ``. . . and they lived happily ever after.'' But they didn't. Sharon died of leukemia in 1993. That's the story behind the Hot Rod Jamoree that will be held April 8 from noon to 6 p.m. at Chesapeake City Park.
Mark, with a big assist from Sheriff John R. Newhart, is staging the event to raise money for the Sharon Carey Medical Scholarship. It will help medical students become researchers in the field of terminal illness.
And though the background of the Jamoree is sad, the event itself will be a big, bright and cheerful celebration of America's legendary love affair with automobiles. Just ask Dana Byrum. He's the confirmed car enthusiast helping put details together. There will be music, food, a petting zoo, a couple of carnival rides for the kids, fire department demonstrations, a hot air balloon and a photo tent. Rain or shine, they roll.
It's called a Hot Rod Jamoree, but actually they're welcoming classy wheels of any vintage and description. People admission is free, but the fee is $12 to register your car in advance of the show or $15 on the 8th. There will be $6,000 worth of donated prizes, Byrum says, plus a monster trophy for the all-around crowd favorite. That will be the car that draws the highest amount of donations. For details on registration, call 543-5373.
Byrum, 42, got hooked on cars when he was 14 and worked at a gas station owned by a man who operated a drag strip. Byrum got passes to the strip, passes that became tickets to a lifelong hobby.
``There were two crowds at my school,'' Byrum says, ``the marijuana crowd and the car crowd. I hung out with the car crowd.''
It was the raucous days of the 1960s when a hot rod was defined by loud exhaust pipes, chrome wheels, a jacked-up rear end and an ``I own the road'' attitude. There was late-night street racing, too. Challenge matches with a rumble and roar and one eye out for the cops.
If you've seen the movie ``American Graffiti,'' you know what it was like. In fact, Byrum calls ``American Graffiti'' his favorite movie. One of the scenes he loves is when they blast shaving cream all over a rival car. Maybe he loves it because he did it himself.
``But I've grown up,'' he says with a grin. Now he's a businessman who calls himself a dirt farmer because he sells topsoil. ``Dirt farmer'' may be a questionable definition. Car buff is not. Byrum glows like a proud pappy when he shows off the two beauties in his garage.
One is a 1923 Model-T roadster, sassier now than anything Henry Ford ever dreamed of. Byrum's T, appropriately tagged ``Wild Thang,'' is a drop-dead tomato red sprouting gleaming chrome pipes from an engine cleaner than most kitchens.
Next to the T is a 1968 Barracuda built for the drag strip. Byrum revs the engine a bit, and the garage fills with the sound of gutty power. He used to drag race in alcohol-fueled cars, crossing the finish line at speeds as high as 220 miles an hour. Among his memories is the time he ran on a track too short to stop. There was a cornfield at the end of the strip and he turned the crop into semi-succotash by the time he was able to brake.
No more racing, at least for now. ``I've settled down,'' he says. ``Life's too short, and I want to enjoy it.'' One of the ways he enjoys it is driving the T and the 'Cuda to shows like the Jamoree with his wife Cheryl at his side. She's no automobile widow, sitting home while hubby's head is under the hood. No ma'am. No sir. On show days, she's out there waxing and polishing and working as early as 5 a.m. to put the Byrum ``babies'' in Class A condition.
Driving down the road in a car like the T is a trip to Pleasure City, Byrum says. On a nice day, the top comes down and the Byrums roll along, listening to that engine playing a silky mechanical symphony. ``You should see the look on people's faces,'' Byrum says. ``Sometimes they follow us for miles to ask us about the car.''
I confessed to Byrum that I am a standard-issue car driver who loves his vehicle because it is dependable and paid for. Nevertheless, even Station Wagon Stein can deeply appreciate the sight and sound of a car with a jewel-like paint job and an engine tuned to perfection. And I might even fantasize a little about slamming the gas pedal for that VAROOOM! down the track.
Obviously, it's unforgettable. ``Maybe in five years or so, I might get back to the drag strip,'' Byrum says. ``I've got to. It's in my blood.'' by CNB