My Summer As Suicide Saunders, Auto Daredevil

One summer during my student years at UCLA I signed up at the school’s employment office hoping to find a paying job. Maybe as a waiter, or dishwasher, or something menial to help me financially survive the next semester.

What I got instead was a job with an automobile thrill show that billed itself as the “Motor Olympics.” The show was one of many that traveled the country, performing at venues large and small, with daredevils who sent cars flying off ramps, drove through fire on motorcycles, circled tracks on two wheels, and crashed and smashed cars to the delight of crowds that thrilled to the action.

In this photo, the car is “shot” from a make-believe cannon, goes airborne for 80 feet, and lands on a wooden ramp.

The ”Motor Olympics” supposedly was a competition among the champion daredevils from many countries for the title “Daredevil of the Year.”

---

---

My job was to travel a week ahead of the show, setting up publicity and talking the local Ford dealer out of used cars we could smash up. I also would try to sell a tire or fuel distributor into providing freebies for the show cars in return for on-site promotion. My car was a new Ford sedan, painted just like the show cars. Wherever I stopped I drew a lot of attention.

Every week or so I would circle back to the show to get resupplied with cash, posters and such. The first time this happened, the boss told me to park the car in the infield, where the drivers were lining up for the pre-show parade. When I got there, Dutch, the pit manager, handed me a crash helmet and driver’s jacket.

“Whoa,” I said to Dutch, “not me. I’m advance, not a daredevil.”

“I know,” said Dutch, “just pull your car behind the last one in line and do what the guy in front of you does.”

I did it, not knowing what to expect, trying hard to think of a Plan B in case the driver in front of me did something I preferred not to try.

And then, one by one, the announcer introduced the drivers to the crowd. The champion of Canada, or Mexico, or Italy, or somewhere. Each driver in turn would speed down the track in front of the grandstand, wheel his car to a stop, jump out and wave his crash helmet to the crowd.

When it was my turn, I just did the same thing. I jumped out of my car and waved my helmet. I was introduced as “New Zealand’s champion daredevil, Suicide Saunders!”

The crowd cheered.

I drove off, parked my car, bought a hot dog and climbed up to the announcer’s booth. “Who’s Suicide Saunders?” I asked the boss, who also did the announcing.

“Whoever drives the extra car in the show,” he said.

That was what I did on my summer vacation. Going coast to coast. Cheyenne’s Frontier Days and New York’s Erie County Fair, and other venues where the show played to thousands. And dozens of small towns where our show was one of the year’s highlight attractions. I was Suicide Saunders, immersed in a world of daredevil drivers, show clowns and corners of life I otherwise never would have known. And earning enough for my next school year.

Now I’m deep into writing my next novel about that summer. Part reality. Part fiction. And for me, a thrill ride down memory lane. I hope to have the book ready for publication by early next year. I hope I like it. I hope you do, too.