A Stepfather’s Magic Industrial Elixir and Cheating at the Pinewood Derby.
My mom and dad split when I was only 5. A couple years later she married a guy named George. He wanted us to call him dad. My sister and I refused so we came up with the name Papa George. He was ok with that. Life was good in the beginning.
Papa George taught us to work hard, be respectful, eat food with a knife & fork and to never talk back. Never, ever talk back. All good things.
My stepfather went to work at 9 years old to not starve during the Dust Bowl. He taught hand to hand combat in the Army. He got master’s degrees in math, chemistry and English. He was tough, smart, intimidating and manipulative. And he thoroughly enjoyed being all those things.
Papa George had a horrible childhood and wanted to be a good stepfather to us. This we knew at a young age. But some things you can’t undo.
He insisted I join Cub Scouts to learn how to build stuff, tie knots, stand out in the rain, camp and such. I stunk at all those things. Still do. But you didn’t say no to Papa George.
We had one thing in common. We loved fast cars. He took me out in his V8 from time to time and hit the gas hard. The torque made my heart sing. But I didn’t share his love of science, classical music, guns or his fake charm or his cunning business tactics or his obsession with money & upward mobility. We really didn’t care for each other all that much.
Then came the magical Pinewood Derby. A Cub Scouts thing. You build a car out of a block of wood then race it. This I could do. This we could do together. I created a sweet, slick racer and painted it gold. The night before my first big race he called me and my car down to his work shop.
Papa George was an executive at a major paint company in the 1970's. He was an expert on viscosity & friction. He had a small bottle in his hand & dabbed a few drops of lubricant on each wheel, rubbing the oily substance into the wheels. He said the tires would spin faster thanks to this newly developed industrial elixir he got at work. You couldn’t find it at the hardware store.
The next day was among the greatest of my childhood. My little car beat every car in every round. Other dads, furious and bewildered, pulled my winner aside to weigh it. I must be cheating. The hall was in a huff. Papa George sat in a corner smiling. We went home with a big trophy. I was in heaven.
Papa George and I didn’t share a whole lot more moving forward. I quit Scouts a few years later to focus on sports he didn’t care about or understand. I asked him when I was a teenager if his magic industrial elixir was cheating. He said probably but it wasn’t cheating if we didn’t get caught.
In my mind my glorious Pinewood Derby victories were now forever tarnished. Like the asterisk beside the infamous cheaters of pro cycling and major league baseball. I felt horrible for being a clueless little kid who fell prey to this manipulator.
I found out in the coming years that Papa George wasn’t the titan of a man I thought he was that glorious day at the Pinewood Derby. His obsession with success drove him from job to job and state to state chasing more money & more responsibility resulting only in more stress.
He didn’t like the fact that as a teenager I talked back. I called him on his bull. I stood up to his bullying. I despised cheats and fakes. Maybe that’s why I became a journalist. Since I forgot the number one rule that you never talk back so began the abuse. I moved out soon after turning 16 to avoid his wrathful fists. I never looked back.
Then I got the call from my mom. I thought she rang to wish me a happy birthday. I had turned 23 that day. I was working as a TV reporter at my first job in Helena, Montana. I was struggling, cold and tired but improving. She said she had something awful to tell me and it couldn’t wait.
That morning Papa George found out his small business had gone under. He went into business for himself after failing in the corporate world. He was bankrupt. He then grabbed the gun he so eagerly tried to teach me how to use as a child and killed himself. On my birthday.
I had no idea as a young Cub Scout that Papa George’s magic industrial elixir that made my Pinewood Derby car unbeatable was cheating. But I’ve come to learn over the years that karma has a way of catching up with you no matter how fast or how far you run from it.
