Bean Bandits The Life and Times of Land Speed Racing p 4

Drag racing constantly glides between science and magic and never more so than during its beginning when young geniuses tested their knowledge of physics against their boundless desire for more performance. At a time when anything could happen, Joaquin Arnett fashioned unimagined speed out of a smattering of junk pieces showered with innovation. What he got for his trouble were equal doses of winning accolades and heartbreak.
Sure, Joaquin Arnett and his Bean Bandits have been around since the first drag strip. If people can recite the names of the first crazies to trek to Muroc and run their Model A's across the barren expanse of the dry lake bed, surely there exist complete dates and speeds acknowledging the accomplishments of a free thinking group of racers from the '50s. But, retracing the achievements of this 76-year-old man's extensive history is like a sightless cartographer building a relief map. The path is carved in half remembered stories built on emotion, traced by stacks of curling photographs with forgotten names, littered with inaccurate newspaper articles and flagged by metal dash plate markers. In the early days, hot rodders often sold their trophies back to the promoter. Cash was more useful to them than an electroplated dust collector. Cash was good for new spark plugs or another barrel of nitro. Cash bought another go at a know-it-all motor mouth pretty boy with his brand new, clean, hopped up whatever. Cash sent you down the track to live a story you'll remember for the rest of your life and keep you company when the only roar you hear is of the family sedan quietly pulling down the freeway.
	Early track records are commonly disputed. Outlaw tracks didn't even bother to keep records. Stopwatches and early timing clocks were often unreliable. Observers' memories are filtered by personal loyalties. Arnett acknowledges a degree of underreporting where the accomplishments of a group of Mexican-Americans from San Diego was concerned. But that's okay, they have a barn full of trophies and their memories. Records, we don't need no stinking records.
Verifiable dates and numbers exist, such as on January 18, 1953 the Bean Bandits' Class C roadster won at Santa Ana with a speed of 135.13 mph. In April of that year, the Bean Bandit Mark II - a streamlined, modified roadster/dragster -- won the first Southern California Championships at Pomona Raceway with a top speed of 132.35. Also in April, the Bandits' D/Competition rear-engine flathead roadster ran a record 142.98. Peggy Hart, promoter C.J. "Pappy" Hart's wife, won the top time of the day, 112.95, in the Bean Bandits' Cadillac powered roadster on May 10, 1953. Arnett set a speed of 142.98 on October 5, 1953 at Santa Ana breaking the prior record of 140.08. In August of 1957 at the Colton Anniversary race, the yellow slingshot took the Top Eliminator title doing 154.63 mph with a time of 9.78. These numbers don't tell the complete story. Bench racing these days lets Arnett know the battles he won without even trying. A racer from Sacramento recalled his first experience with Arnett's crew. "I'd heard of the Bean Bandits. When they came up here, I just kept my car in the trailer. After they made one run, I didn't take it out." Arnett hears lots of stories like this, "We knew we were heavy duty at that time."
Bean Bandit, Carlos Ramirez, grew up with Arnett and watched his car madness start. "He studied a lot. He knew the motor. When we were kids, we'd walk up Market Street and Joaquin would pick up an old coil or something that was laying in the road. He'd take it home and take it apart and see what made it work." Ramirez started driving with Arnett years before they were allowed. "We learned how to drive when we were quite young, probably 8 or 9 years old. We used to sneak the cars out of our yard when our dads at work." Along with Andrew Ortega and Arnett, Ramirez piloted the club's entries. "I drove every car he ever built. I drove dragsters and I drove the midgets for a few years. I went to Bonneville, went to the lakes -I went all over." And went as fast as he could. Club member, Harold Miller, recalls Ramirez's driving: "He didn't know how to stop. He wanted to do good, so he'd push it past the envelope."