Day 2986 Ezio Selva Last Race MOSCHETTIERE V

Waterdrome of Milano 1957

This is the Ezio Selva's MOSCHETTIERE V which was the boat that he drove to his fatal accident at Miami in 1957. 
Timossi hull, 800 kg. class, Alfa Romeo 159 engine, double supercharged, 8 cylinder in-line. 

When the boat was returned back to Italy, the engine was returned to Alfa Romeo and the boat, at the wishes of the Ezio Selva widow, was destroyed.


"I'm a lucky driver," he used to say.
"I've never been in the water."

With luck riding in the cockpit, Italy's Ezio Selva became a world champion hydroplane driver, a little, effusive man with a light touch on the skidding turns and a heavy foot on the straightaways. A onetime high-diving champion of Italy, Selva seemed ideally suited for the sport he took up in 1948 at the advanced age of 46. Cockily, he used the 400-h.p. Alfa-Romeo engine from the boat that had killed his good friend, Mario Verga, in 1954.

"One engine won't kill two men," said Selva.

But in the U.S., Selva had more than his share of bad breaks. Three times he was knocked out of the Orange Bowl's International Grand Prix in Miami, twice on disqualifications and once when an underwater object ripped a hole in his hurtling hull.

Last week when he climbed into his bright red Moschettiere (Musketeer) for a fourth try at the event. Selva had good reason to think this time his luck might be good. He knew the course, and his engine was tuned to a blatting, bellowing roar of controlled fury.

But win or lose, Selva, 55, had decided to quit the sport after the race.
Said he: "I'm too old."

Against standard racing strategy, Selva let himself be beaten to the starting line in the first heat, was trapped back in the pack and could not break loose until the last lap when he nearly caught the winner, George Byers Jr. of Columbus, Ohio.

Between heats he explained to newsmen: "I no like to start first bad luck."

In the second heat, Selva again was beaten to the start by two boats, but the judges immediately disqualified them both for jumping the gun. Out on the water, without knowledge of the judges' decision, Selva knew only that he was behind again. While his 20-year-old son Luciano made movies of the race from the shore, Selva roared after the leaders. The arching rooster tail of water thrown up by his prop hissed behind as Selva whipped past the second boat. And skipping down the straightaway at 100 m.p.h., he shot into the lead right in front of his son's camera. An instant later, a wave slightly lifted the hydroplane's flat nose. Ponderously, the 364-lb. boat started into a slow-motion backward somersault.

Luciano hurled away his camera and screamed: "It's turning over! Father, father!"

The red Musketeer landed full on its bow, dashing Selva against the windshield. His son half-jumped, half-fell 30 ft. to the ground from the judges' stand and leaped into the bay. A patrol boat raced to pick up Selva's floating body. The windshield had ripped into Selva's chest, and he was already dead. His first spill into the water was his last.

December 23, 1957
My point of view.

 

The boat lifted from shore into the air , red and unique, an engine that sounded different and was different, he had something to tell me. There was something about him even at 8 years old, that he was to carry on, past this day.  Because I was there, that he is to go on.  Did he race this boat on Lake Como in Italy, is that why I’ve got a connection in St. Paul?  Did he test his new hydroplane design on the waters there.  Would winning the big race in the United States, one last time, prove he was the greatest of the world?  But instead, rather on top, he just ended.

There was a point of no return, when the fraction of an inch was pushed a little too much.  A gust of wind lifted the front before the tip of his foot could relinquish a little power, churning within the spinning engine.  He had a new experience, the leaving of the water, the view of the bow moving up over the horizon into the sky where all you see is blue before the flight touches down on to water, made hard by tremendous speed.  His last view before the curtain went down on a great career. 

From the distant shore I saw my favorite boat take flight.  A sense of the finality was experienced even at my age.  The redness of his sleek boat destroyed, left with a smashed deck of mangled metal, returned to the shore.  Many attempts were made to lift the hull from the water, each time it returned to its grave.    Ezio stepped over the edge, trying to go a little farther. For me it was the first tragic death I watched.

Before Christmas 2012

Jingle bells on the radio
As the grandfather clock chimes
Final running to get all things Just right
A couple more presents being wrapped
Stockings are hanging stuffed full with little items to tantalize
Lights on the trees outside on the deck are lit
Pasta for dinner is ready
I've snuck a few bites of treats before all arrive
Mom says I can't wait to have all the decoration clutter removed
But I see the completeness rather than to much, just right
Dad can't find his glove thats lost, hiding until the search is ended.
Luminaries are lit on the sidewalk
All the kids arrive soon!
Another family Christmas full of cheer and gifts, brings us to the end of 12.
Merry Christmas

Meeting Diana Krall

Saint Paul Hotel Concierge, 2004

She approached my desk, asking if I could do anything to help her with a problem. On her flight to the Twin Cities, she had left the book she was reading on the plane.

“Is there any book stores near to purchase another?” She said.

After getting the title I told her I would get a replacement for her.

With in a few hours our hotel driver picked up another edition of her book. When she returned that evening I gave her the book.

The next morning she delivered a package to my desk with a copy of her first CD and a t-shirt with the logo of the CD cover on it.

At the time I had not heard of her, but within months she began moving up the charts, to become one of the premier Jazz female vocalists. I now am one of her biggest fans. I’ve met Diana Krall

Day 21725 Matt Kenneth Airport Pick up

April 13, 2009
Today was a busy psychic day for me. I had a Herron fly over my head, and then driving from the airport to Edina a plane flew 50 feet directly overhead.

Eating lunch at Chipotle with Randy, he got up to go to the bathroom. Gazing out of the large windows, I watched a semi truck drive by. Printed on the side was R & L Transport, a strange sight on a side street like Victoria. On the lower back side of the trailer a picture of Matt Kinseth’s NASCAR racing automobile, stating this company was a sponsor of his car was seen. For some reason it caught my eye. Not until hours later did I realize the significance. At 2 PM Julie, my limo dispatcher, called about my runs for tomorrow, telling me I will be picking up Matt Kinseth at an airport in Blaine.

What I saw on the side of that truck all came together.
Why did this strange occurrence happen?
I have no connection with him other than Archer Limo.
Do I have psychic power?
Do I have to become more in touch with these powers?
Do I allow them into my existence?
Is there anything else I can do to attract them to me?
Has everything happened for a reason?
Am I supposed to be in this place in time?

Letting that which is to occur, occur. Giving out good energy increases the possibility of occurences. Intuition allows that to be a bigger part of what I do. Look through the things that block you from the energy that will show you the way. On the upper levels of consciousness you just must let your skills move you to another level. Clear yourself of the smoke screens. Give the power to see the way to a higher universe. Pick up the vibrations from another sense. Read the signs that are ahead of you. Try to focus on nothing else that will take you away from your goal. Visualize draining out the color of a loss, then intensify the colors of a victory. Why am I here with you today? Is there something that I bring to you?

April 14, 2009
Arriving at the Blaine airport, (Key Air)to pick him up, the operators of the terminal had me go thru the security gate and wait to pull up to the plane once it landed. Within 20 minutes his Lear jet touched down. Sara from Ford told me the plans for his day, I was ready.

Walking off the plane with his sixteen year old son and another fellow from Rouch Racing, they got in and  I took them to the terminal for a pit stop. After, we headed for Plymouth, where a video crew waited with a new Ford Fusion automobile. Parked a couple blocks from the home of the Ford NASCAR contest winner, I dropped them off. They drove the Fusion into the winners driveway, got out, knocked on their door and presented the car to the winner. They went to lunch and then on to Raceway Park in Shakopee for some hot laps around the track.

I was free to go once I dropped them off. At 3 PM I nwr rThem at Raceway Park.  Instructed to drive into the infield, 

I waited as Matt drove the winners around the track. A half mile track prevented speeds much greater than 50 miles an hour. The tires squealed, pushed to there limit, as he took the curves. Returning to the infield after 3 or 4 laps, to pick up the next rider, you could smell the burning rubber. Inspecting the tires you could see half of the low profile sidewall was contacting the pavement, folding over from the force.

It was a long drive back to Blaine thru rush hour traffic. Listening to their conversation was interesting. In the morning it was about the NFL and their teams draft picks and in the afternoon it was about getting some coffee so they could get some nicotine. They made fun of that because it was to get caffeine. They wished the plane could have gone to an airport in the south, eliminate the long commute (about 40 min.) As the plane took off, back to North Carolina, the hot bed of NASCAR, I thought how special this day was. Not many people in these parts were fans and didnt know much about Matt Kinseth or could understand the significance of this visit. It's another of those strange occurences.

Angel food

You can't let her all the way in
She couldn't be there all the time
Only when the time is right.
Yearning makes you want her more
driving you crazy
Putting you in that spot
a crumbing heap
anytime she says words like
stop, enough,can't take it anymore,
that life you had,
Is gone, no turning back,
you're just too much for her,
Then the door opens,
You're thrown out
of the speeding car of a realationship,
Floating along side for a while
but it's inevitable
crashing to the ground
Left to pick up the pieces
of your torn body
finished with another dessert
of angel food cake
with whipped cream frosting
oh how it melts in your mouth

Up at the lake

Chunks of ice, floating yesterday afternoon, lay locked in the sidewalks after early morning cold returned them to slippery steps on the way to the coffee shop. Cardinals sing their song of this season blended with the chimes of the bell tower as he finally gets to the dry pavement. Lifting his head looking forward to see farther ahead than just the next step. In the neighborhood of the city, remnants of organic sounds try to hold on, interacting with the tires on the Saturn, or 100000 mile Volvo. The winter bicyclist passes, he’s ridden through the depths of the cold of January, clatters and clunks down the street, hat on but jacket open, as he heads toward 30 degrees.

Wonder if Andy will call today for lunch? No limo runs in the middle of the day means it could happen. They never meet more than a couple times per week otherwise, how could you answer the question, “What’s new?”

Last of the boxes are placed on the luggage rack fastened to the roof of the 55 Pontiac station wagon. His mom and her neighbor friend loaded up all the kids for a week up on Bluefish. Ellie, mother of a traditionally untraditional catholic family, was close friends with her priest; father Hibbs, who owned a family cabin on the lake. No room, except for the two families, fit into the seats inside. A tarp covered the carrier, protecting the luggage. Ropes crisscrossed the canvas securing it so rain and dirt stayed off its content. No one gave a second thought if it would still be there after the 150 mile trip.

Jesse and Willie stood alone as the males of the party of nine. You could hardly say the two of them had any influence being only 9 and 11. Blonde haired, blue eyed, Jesse was the cute little mamma’s boy of the group. Cuteness, a card he played many times around his older sister’s friends, made it comfortable for him to be around. Little did any of them know his innocence was melting away like ice on a warm sunny day.

“I want to sit in the back”
“No I don’t want to sit next to him”
“You sit up front with mom, your small enough to sit in the middle”

Jesse ended up having the adventure of the third seat, it faced back rather than forward, so you viewed where you’ve been, not where you’re going.
After an hour, a little over half way, the canvas tarp began flapping, 60 mile an hour wind began pulling it from its tie downs.

“Mom the tarp is flapping”

Each comment put little stress on the mothers in the front seat; they hoped it would make it the few miles to their destination.

Looking out, Jesse saw the corners of the cover, snapping from the wave of wind traveling down its length, each mile, more of it, crept down the back window.

Lifting himself out of his seat he turned around looking up front to see if anyone was paying attention to what was going on outside. No one seemed to notice. For an hour the racket continued, everyone ignored the noise.

An unfamiliar thud made Ellie look in the side mirror, catching a glimpse of one of the boxes in the carrier, flying up into the air. Jesse looked up in time to see the box of clothes deploy like a parachute once you pull the rip cord, each piece dispersing into a cloud of shirts, shorts and underwear, floating to the ground, covering both lanes of the highway.

“Mom a box flew off the top.” He said.

Heads twisted to see who won the box flying contest.

“Oh my gosh, those are my clothes” said his sister Janet.

Cranking the wheel, the car hit the gravel shoulder, the brakes stopped the tires as they grumbled over the stones to a stop. All the doors flew open, the kids piled out to collect the scattered pieces. Embarrassed beyond belief, Janet hurried to retrieve her wardrobe she would wear for the week.

“Get out the highway” both moms screamed, as a truck approached.

Standing on the side, everyone watched as the big black tired truck passed by, running over the scattered array, lifting a few pieces into the air from the back draft as it passed.

Willie, pinching the elastic waistband between the tips of his thumb and forefinger,
held up one of her white panties yelling,

“Look at the tire mark on this one.”

Humiliated, Janet ran over to him, disgustingly grabbing it out of his hands, turning away, and returning to collecting what still lay on the road.

Looking on; Jesse thought about the garments flying into the air, realizing he had never noticed the white panties before, always hidden away in her underwear drawer.

After stuffing everything back in the tattered windblown box, Janet held it on her lap for the completion of the trip. The moms tied down the tarp, then loaded up the car and headed back down the road.

15 minutes later, turning left off the main highway; they headed up the last hill before the lake. All eyes were fixed on the crest, yelling and cheering as the blue of the water capped the top of the tree, once they went over the top.

Overjoyed and relieved the trip was over, Jesse jumped out the back window before anyone could open the back hatch door. Janet couldn’t wait to get her clothes out to see what were ruined.

Oldest of the Anderson girls, Trudy worked the day they left, so she drove up on her own the next day. While down at the lake playing in the water, Jesse saw her descend the 70 stairs down the hill from the cabin. Looking at her, dressed in short white shorts, dark brown hair and round dark sunglasses, he couldn’t hold back his excitement for her arrival. Running over, he stood next to her to listen as she told her mom about the trip from home.

Bending down to look him straight in the eye, she said “Hi! Jesse have you been having fun at the lake?”

With a big smile he said “yes!”

Deciding it was time for lunch, everyone headed back up. Next to the back door of the log cabin Trudy parked her car, a red 56’ Thunderbird.

Shiny, reflecting the few rays of sun that snuck around the branches of the pine trees, Jesse couldn’t resist dragging his fingertips over the smooth surface, from the rounded tail fins to the front headlights.

Watching him do this ogling, she said, “After lunch, do you want to go for a ride?”

Imagining how cool it would be to cruise down the road, with the top down, wind blowing past, he replied, “Yes”

Time moved so slowly during lunch. He never lost contact with the image of the T bird or him riding down the road in it. His attraction for what she could do for him, lingered. Enthusiastically sitting close to her, he watched her every move. She knew the control she had over him.

Once everyone pushed their chairs out from the lunch table, he asked, “Can we go now.”

Looking over at him she smiled, “let’s go”

Simultaneously they opened their doors; he watched as she slid into her low seat, behind the red steering wheel. Between them sat a chrome shifter topped by a black round ball. His eyes couldn’t move off its strange location coming out of the floor. Turning the key the roar of the engine caused his eyes to lift to her bare foot toes with the bright red nail polish, stretching to reach the gas pedal, pressing down to rev the engine. Childish enthusiasm tickled every nerve in his body as they pulled out onto the road.

Long tanned legs, red nail polish, pointed toes, red sports cars and parachuting panties were burned into the synapse of his brain forever.

River of Beauty

How deep does your river of beauty flow?
For I would love to swim and go
Below where few have been
And take the time to grow

Currents and eddys change within
My soul would brightly gleam to win
Just one moment next to you
Would fill life full not thin

Eyes seeing a swan that's too
Consumed with minutes so few
Just one word could satisfy me
For a lifetime would do

I pray your shiny surface be
as bright below what I see
A life with you and me
Could be perfect to a tee