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Here’s a pic taken a few years back at a motorcycle race in Houston at the Astrodome.  Pictured are Eric Wilder, friend John and a gorgeous model (I believe she is a Denver Bronchos cheerleader).

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I don’t follow most sports but one that I do is car racing.  Like many other little boys I grew up loving cars.  When I was ten or so I remember waiting for the new model year, in rapt anticipation for the body style changes.  As a boy I also liked speed and consequently started following auto racing.

In the fifties, sixties and probably even the seventies, all motor sports were mostly an unorganized mélange of racers, racing enthusiasts and promoters, and Europe was the motherland of racing.  In Vivian, where I grew up, there were mostly Chevrolets and Fords.  In Europe there were Jaguars, Mercedes Benzs, Ferraris and Maseratis.

I loved European cars and I loved European racing, and I had my heroes, the greatest of whom was Stirling Moss.  Moss was the most fantastic racer that ever lived.  He rarely had a car as powerful or as fast as the competition, but he almost always found a way to win anyway.  The cars were just as fast then as they are now but they weren’t nearly as safe.  If you wrecked at speed in the 60s you were likely to die, or at least sustain horrible injury.

Formula 1 was in its infancy and I always rooted for the American racers – Phil Hill, Ritchie Ginther and Dan Gurney.  In 1962, there was a sports car race track in Bossier City, Louisiana called Hilltop Raceway.  I talked my parents into taking me and my best friend Rod to a race there.

I can’t remember the exact month but it was following the 12 hours of Sebring in 1962.  Sports Car Illustrated, my favorite magazine, reported that the Gonzales Brothers, Dan Gurney and Stirling Moss would race at Hilltop the weekend following Sebring.

My all time hero, Stirling Moss didn’t make the race, nor did the Gonzales Brothers but Dan Gurney did.  The race was sanctioned by no one in particular and there was a variety of race cars in the field.  Gurney had a modified formula 1 open-wheeled race car that was the class of the field.  He took one practice lap in a rented Corvair and then proceeded to smash the track record.

There were Porsches, Ferraris and probably even a few Triumphs in the race.  None were as fast as Gurney’s car, even though there were a couple of other open wheelers there, notably Lloyd Ruby and Roger Penske (yes, he was once a very good race car driver).  There were two one hundred mile races and Gurney easily won both of them.  I remember him screaming through the other racing cars, nonchalantly waving to the crowd as he lapped the field over and over.  One of my greatest treasures was Gurney’s autograph that I lost somewhere along the way.

I still love watching fast race cars.  Today I watched the finish of the 24 hours of Daytona, one of the world’s greatest endurance races.  It is always the first major race of the year.  This year it was won by the Chip Ganassi-Felix Sabates racing team with drivers Scott Pruett, Juan Montoya, Memo Rojas and Dario Franchitti.  Pruett, Montoya and Franchitti were all open-wheel racers in the old Champ Car series.

Many of the observers of motor sports in the world say that Formula 1 is the greatest form of racing, and the home of the greatest racing drivers.  To this I say BS!  The old Champ Car series spawned the best racers and the best racing that I have ever seen.  There is rarely a passed car in Formula 1 so how exciting can it be?

Despite the fact that many Europeans say there are no great American racers, I say their racers never raced against Al Unser, Jr. during his prime.  He was unbeatable.  Perhaps the greatest racing driver of all time, Little Al never got his due.  There is little doubt in my mind that he could have waxed the likes of Fernando Alonzo or Michael Schumacher in a head-to-head race.

That’s not to say there aren’t wonderful European race car drivers.  My favorite is Alex Zanardi.  It took the great Italian racer to finally dethrone Little Al.  If you watch the finish of a NASCAR race these days you will undoubtedly see the winner doing a burn-out donuts, a very American thing to do.  Was an American the first to cut celebratory donuts?  I don’t think so.  I think it was the great Alex Zanardi.

I digress.  Today I watched the finish of one of the premier events in motor sports.  Fox and the Speed Channel, to their great credit, aired fifteen hours of the spectacle.  In addition to the millions watching on TV more than 50,000 spectators observed the event from the infield.

The cars of NASCAR champs Jimmy Johnson and Kurt Busch finished 2^nd and 3^rd, a testament to the talent overflowing in what is today the greatest forum for motor sports racing.  Shortly before his death, Dale Earnhardt, himself a consummate race car driver, and his son Dale Jr. finished 3^rd overall driving a GT class Corvette.  I realized then that these Americans can race with anyone on earth, and win.  Three years ago, another wonderful race driver Tony Stewart, came within twenty minutes of winning the 24 hours of Daytona, before his rear suspension disintegrated.

My only regret about NASCAR is that most of the events are held on ovals.  This is a promotional deal because you can get more spectators into the stands and these spectators are never out of sight of the racers.  Problem is they are going so fast that it is hard to tell one car from the next – except on TV, and I guess that is the point.

I missed seeing my hero, Stirling Moss race in person back in 1962.  I did get to see Dan Gurney easily best a field that included Indy champ Lloyd Ruby and racing owner great Roger Penske.  Today I watched as Gurney’s son Alex finished second.  Am I a fan?  Dyed in the wool.

Who is the present greatest race car driver on earth?  I don’t know I like A.J. Almendinger, a racer that can compete in anything on wheels.

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Here is a picture of a bridge on Highway 77 between Mulhaul and Guthrie, Oklahoma.  A pump jack is framed through a bridge over Beaver Creek, a tributary that drains into the Cimarron River.

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Hey, I’m on a roll tonight!  Check this site out. Eric

Shadowlands Haunted Places Index - Oklahoma.

I was looking for information on Skeleton Creek in Logan County, Oklahoma when I came across this very interesting article. Eric Wilder

Okeene, Oklahoma » Zipp Wyatt/Dick Yeager.

Pigs are remarkably adaptable creatures.  Over the years, many domesticated animals were released or escaped into the wilds.  Not only have they survived, they have thrived.  Here are two pictures of feral pigs taken by a wildlife camera in Logan County, Oklahoma.

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I recently discovered a wonderful little cookbook written by Louisiana native Gwen McKee.  All of you afficionados of gumbo know that the key to good gumbo is the roux.  Those of you that have attempted to make a roux from scratch also know that the paucity of ingredients don't comport with the difficulty in creating this absolutely key ingredient to a perfect bowl.

Gwen's recipe for Microwave Roux ably explains how to overcome this difficulty.  This book was published in 1986 but if you can somehow obtain a copy, I would highly recommend it.  The Little Gumbo Book has only twenty-seven recipes but all are outstanding.  Here is one of the recipes.

2/3     cup vegetable oil
2/3     cup flour
2/3     cup chopped onion
2/3     cup chopped celery
2/3     teaspoon minced garlic
2/3     cup chopped bell pepper
2/3     cup chopped green onions (optional)
2/3     cup hot water

Mix oil with flour in a 4-cup glass measuring bowl. Microwave uncovered on HIGH for 6 minutes.  Stir and cook another 30-60 seconds on HIGH for 6 minutes.  Stir and cook another 30-60 seconds on HIGH till the color of mahogany.

Now you can add your chopped vegetables, stir well, and "saute" them on HIGH for another 5 minutes till soft but not brown.

Now before stirring, pour oil off top.  Add hot tap water, stirring till smooth.  Beautiful! And it freezes for later use.

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I'm watching the LSU - Ohio State championship football game.  As I watch, I think of two things:  the game is in the Superdome of New Orleans.  My thoughts return to 2005, the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina.  Geraldo Rivera is reporting from outside the Superdome.  The building resembles a giant sarcophagus, the gray people in the background little more than eerie wraiths all but devoid of life.

My second thought goes further back, to the fifties.  When I was a boy, my family and I would listen to the LSU games on the radio, enraptured by the running of Billy Cannon.  He always somehow found a way to pull victory from the jaws of defeat.  Listenting to our scratchy old radio, I always felt that Billy would break a tackle, put his shoulder down and run for a touchdown.  I was never disappointed.

Seeing the two grand teams playing tonight in the Superdome, I get the same feeling about the people of New Orleans.

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There is a nunnery up Chartre Street in the French Quarter of New Orleans.  NO is known to some as a wide open town, famous for all forms of free expression.  NO, though, is a city with deep religious roots.  The Chartre Street nunnery is but one example.

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2 navel oranges, peeled
1/4 cup sugar
1/8 cup water
1/8 cup warm water

Mix sugar and 1/8 cup water in a heavy saucepan and heat very slowly until dissolved. Do not stir. Continue to cook to a rich caramel color. The water will evaporate and the color will change quickly after about 30 to 45 minutes. Remove from heat and quickly and carefully (there will be a lot of steam) pour in warm water. Return to heat and bring mixture back to a boil, stirring until caramel is completely dissolved. Cool.

Slice each orange crosswise into 4 to 6 parts and reshape, using toothpicks to fasten the slices back together. Pour caramel syrup on top and chill.

For an extra special touch, pare thin strips of orange peel, cook for 5 minutes in boiling water, drain, dry and sprinkle over oranges.

Recipe courtesy of Judy M. Heyman from Louisiana Entertains, a complete menu cookbook.

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Marilyn and I visited New Orleans six months after Hurricane Katrina and parts of the visit are chronicled in my book Murder Etouffe. I came across this picture today while looking at some of the photo files on my computer.  It was taken on a street in the French Quarter, Chartre Street I believe, although I’m not sure.

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This is the last working day of 2007 and for me, I didn't feel like getting out of bed.  It snowed here again last night, a clumpy, wet snow that had mostly already melted when I opened my window this morning.  The window framed a listless landscape of mostly black and white, all color seemingly lost to the inevitable onset of winter, and Mother Nature's cold breath blowing from the ice caps at the top of the world.

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Lustful moments frozen in meaningless time

lodged neath icy borders of meaningful rime

have thus our lost fantasies frought

banned from our hearts but not from our thoughts

Wilder-2007

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Christmas Day, It was 64 degrees in Edmond.  Today, as I hear Patch barking in the back yard, I gaze out the window and notice that it is snowing, the ground already white.

Growing up in the warmer and more predicable climes of Louisiana, it took me a while to get used to the rapid weather changes we have here in Oklahoma.  Those of us that live here joke about it but to our State's weather predictors it must be a nightmare.

They don't wake up in a cold lather worrying about it, though because they are usually already awake, chasing tornados and wild storms, and reporting their impending paths to frightened Okies.

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Downtown OKC has a very special attraction, the Crystal Bridge.  The CB overlooks a beautiful lagoon with several smaller bridges that cross.  Ducks, and various waterfowl abound.

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Last April’s Oklahoma City’s Arts Festival – The Food Court

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Here is a scene from Oklahoma’s recent ice storm, slightly romanticized.

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I awoke this morning to learn that my family and I were not the only ones affected by Oklahoma Ice Storm 2007.  Tonight, 618,000 people are without electric power, hotels and motels filled to capacity.  I drove through much of Oklahoma City today and was surprised at the damage I observed.  Branches from broken trees littered yards and roadways.  What's in store?  A major winter snow storm this Friday.  Okies are tough but it's cold so please say a little prayer for Oklahoma.

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3          cups sugar
3/4       cup milk
3/4       teaspoon vanilla
2          tablespoons butter
2 1/2    cups pecans

Place 2 cups of sugar and milk in a large saucepane.  Cook slowly.  At the same time put other cup of sugar in another saucepan on low heat; stir until melted.  Pour melted sugar slowly into the milk and sugar that should be ready to boil, mixing while adding.  Cook slowly until a firm ball will form when dropped into cold water.  Remove from heat.  Add vanilla and butter and beat until mixture begins to thicken.  Stir in pecans.  Grease counter top with cooking oil and cover with wax paper.  Drop batter by small spoonfuls onto wax paper.  Pralines will set immediately and will come up easily without breaking.

Makes 2 1/2 dozen

Recipe courtesy of Carrie F. Cade in Louisiana Entertains - a complete menu cookbook

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2 cups sugar
1 cup water
16 sprigs mint
4 pounds finely crushed ice
8 1 1/2 jiggers bourbon

Confectioners's sugar and mint for garnish

Mix sugar and water; bring to a boil, stirring. Cool. Place 2 sprigs of mint in each glass; crush to release mint flavor. Add 2 ounces of the sugar syrup, stirring gently. Fill glass with ice. Add 1 jigger of whiskey. Stir until glass frosts. Top with sprig of mint and sprinkling of powdered sugar.

Recipe courtesy of Wilbert Martin in Louisiana Entertains - a complete menu cookbook

I encountered this interesting sign while driving along a lonely country road in Caddo Parish, Louisiana, about a hundred yards from the Cass County, Texas border.

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I awoke two days ago to a beautiful hazy sky.  Here is a pic that I took, and slightly romanticized.

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My pug pup Princess is playing under my feet as I pen these words, and Dusty is playing on my CD player. Yes, and I have had a glass or two of wine.

Outside, the weather is cold, rainy and gloomy. I wish that I could tell you that I have a fire ablaze in the fireplace but I don’t. “This is the first humidity we have had in days,” Marilyn says. “I’m not spoiling it with a fire.”

Hey, life is filled with trade offs.

Anyway, I’m listening to Dusty, a woman with the greatest voice that ever was. She just covered a Young Rascals song “How Can I Be Sure,” and it was better than the original. Now, she is singing Tupelo Honey. Hey, there isn’t a singer greater than Van Morrison, but Dusty equals the legend.

My old brain has pretty much atrophied, but Miss Springfield’s words herald memories, rich memories. She is singing “I Think it’s going to Rain Today.”

Dusty’s words are beautiful. They return me to an earlier time. I think I’m going to cry today.

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I wasn’t born yet on this date in 1941, but those alive at the time remember vividly the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Franklin Roosevelt called it “the day that will live in infamy.”

The “Greatest Generation” gave up its beliefs in isolationism and quickly rose to the occasion. What ensued was the greatest war ever fought in the history of this world.

Today is Pearl Harbor Day and I beg those of you like me - those not around during World War II - to remember your parent’s, and your grandparent’s sacrifices because, truly, without them you would now be living in a third-world country, praying to a strange God and enduring the tyranny of an unsympathetic ruler. Remember their bravery.

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I just finished watching a frustrating day of college football where the top two teams in the nation bit the dust.  Does college football need a playoff?  Hello!!  For those of you that care, here is the Wilder Final Football Poll, at least the top five:

1. Arkansas
2. ULM
3. Appalachian State
4. Pittsburg
5. Texas Tech

Discarded Commode

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Traveling west on Route 66, about a quarter of the way between Bethany and Yukon, Oklahoma, you will reach a bridge crossing the North Canadian River. To your left is Lake Overholser, one of Oklahoma City’s manmade lakes that supply water to the people of Oklahoma County. Once, on the south corner of Route 66, just before crossing the bridge, was a place like no other. It was a honky-tonk bar the locals knew as Pauline’s Bait and Tackle Shop.

Pauline, a crusty old woman, and her daughter ran the combination bar, restaurant and bait shop (yes, you could buy minnows outside the restaurant).. The old wood-framed building sat alone in an otherwise vacant lot. On weekends, cars, pickups, Harleys and horses populated the unpaved, often muddy parking lot.

The single-storied building sat on cinder blocks. When you entered, from the front or side door, you were instantly taken aback by bare wooden rafters decorated with stuffed ducks, other birds and animals, all dusty and musty with age. There wasn’t a rug in the place. It was all bare, unpainted wood - old wood, including the floor.

Country swing bands often played live music on weekends, catering to hundreds of sweaty dancers - I don’t recall that Pauline’s had air conditioning. You haven’t lived until you’ve eaten a hamburger and drank a longneck at Pauline’s.

Alas, Pauline’s is gone, razed to make way for a strip center that never materialized. Only memories remain of a place unique in a world Wal-Mart’s, Outback’s and Barnes and Noble’s.

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For every hero or heroine that has won a medal in the service of their country, there are tens of thousands of others that also served and are no less patriotic.  My brother and I were both in the Army during the Vietnam War.  My Dad was in World War II, in Germany and France.  When the war broke out, my Aunt Carmol joined the Marines and served throughout the conflict.  None of us were heroes but we were there and proud to serve.

So many people served their nation without fanfare, often never receiving a single thank you.  Many have never talked about their experiences, even to their family.  Aunt Carmol is dead now, and Dad has Alzheimer’s.  I wonder, how many stories are left untold and how many sacrifices went unheralded, even unnoticed.  To these people, to everyone of you out there, I say THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart.

This is not something that I just thought of.  Here is an excerpt from my novel PRAIRIE SUNSET.  High in the Ouachita Mountains of central Arkansas, an old man with a heart condition is prompted to tell a story about the war that he has kept hidden inside himself his entire life.

EXCERPT FROM PRAIRIE SUNSET

Comforting darkness, piquant chili and pacifying effect of strong beer combined to loosen their tongues. Coaxed by Attie, Lillie Mae and especially Hulk, John told several amusing vignettes from his youth."

            Hulk finally said, "Were you in the war, John?"

            After hesitating a moment, he said, "Yes, I was."

            "Well tell us a war story," Hulk goaded.

            Poignant memories flooded John's mind and he smiled sadly, unconsciously grinding his toe against an empty cardboard carton in front of him.

            Hulk prompted, "We're you in the Battle of the Bulge?"

            Waves of nostalgia crested John's mental bow and he said, "Wasn't supposed to be, but I was."

            "Please, John," Lillie Mae said. "Tell us."

            John did, beginning slowly, and then warming to the tale. "The Bulge was Hitler's last attempt to turn back the advancing Allies," he said. "For a month and a half the Battle lasted, called the 'Bulge' because Germans failed to break through the line, only succeeding in bending it. I was a radioman in the signal corps, too young to serve but I had lied about my age and joined anyway. One night an old colonel appeared at the communications tent, needing to relay a message to Patton. Since we were out of direct radio communication with the main force he decided to deliver it in person. He conscripted me to drive the jeep for him.

            "The night turned bitterly cold. Snow had fallen for days, piled high on both sides of the road. Continuing night and day the line of battle had spread out many miles, constantly moving, like an angry sidewinder. When sun came up the following morning, we realized we had somehow crossed the enemy line.

            "Germans, besides many other things, were excellent soldiers. We found ourselves caught, along with an advancing column of American infantrymen, in a crossfire ambush. Fresh from the States, our boys were young, mostly teenagers, barely out of diapers, and none had ever seen a German, much less been under fire.

            "Finding yourself caught in the middle of a fire fight is like walking a railroad track at night. Hearing the loud blast of a whistle behind you, you turn and stare into the lights of the monstrosity, twenty feet away, and bearing down on you - the remains of your best friend already chewed up beneath its wheels.

            "When the attack began, the noise was frightening and extreme - beyond imagination for the uninitiated. Along with gunfire and violent explosions, steel, dirt and stone whistled randomly around our heads. When our inexperienced boys dropped their rifles and ran for cover, German marksmen began dropping them in their tracks. Blood was running in the ditches, staining the snow crimson, when we reached the center of the column. Unarmed, the old colonel jumped from the jeep and ran directly into the path of the retreating GI's."

            "Thrusting rifle after rifle back into the hands of those child soldiers, he admonished them to hold their ground. Around us, the battlefield was alive with explosions, hot lead and  the mortally wounded, screaming for help. A mortar round exploded near the jeep, spraying me with dirt and shrapnel. When I wiped my face, the blood on my hand was not my own.

            "Any one of a hundred Hun marksmen could have dropped the colonel. None did. Maybe they were awed by his bravery and coolness under fire. Maybe a higher force was protecting him.  With confused soldiers dying all around him, he coursed the length of that bloody road, exhorting them to turn and fight. One-by-one their youth dissolved in a mire of smoke and torn flesh, and they became men in the hot cauldron of battle. They did turn and fight, hanging on until reinforcements arrived."

            John grew silent and Attie squeezed his hand, feeling the intensity of his pain. Finally he chuckled and it drew into a hoarse laugh.

            "Know what's funny?" John's rapt audience shook their head without answering. "I remember the Colonel as old, but he was probably no more than forty. Thirty-five years younger than I am now and I still think of him as an old man. I can't remember his name and I don't suppose you'll ever read about him in any history book, but he did as much as anyone to defeat the Nazis."

            Suddenly aware of frogs, crickets and distant owls, John realized no on had spoken for an interminable period. When she saw he had finished the story, Lillie Mae put her arms around his shoulder like a mother comforting a child. Hulk remained silent, torn by his own conflicting emotions.

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The oil boom and ensuing oil bust of the late 70s and 80s is long past and seems almost like a dream to me now.  I can recount stories about the era for hours, some of them funny and some of them sad and I still chuckle about one that happened to me and my then wife Anne.

Anne was an oil and gas accountant – a damn good oil and gas accountant.  She and I formed a small oil company and began drilling wells.  I love oil business, but Anne was passionate about it.  She poured her heart and soul into our company (and I suppose so did I).

Caught up inextricably in the bust, we both fought with every sinew of our beings to save our floundering company.  We set out on a quest for a “white knight,” or at least a friendly banker.  Alas, we found neither but we had a few adventures along the way.

I have often heard that people that live together for a long time begin to look alike.  If this is true then Anne and I were identical twins.  Why, because we were together twenty-four hours every day.  Hey, and we both had reddish-blonde hair.

Anne and I traveled the country looking for a friendly banker to bow up our company, suddenly needy with Oklahoma banks and companies crashing right and left.  We thought we had found a home with a bank in Los Angeles.  On a trip there, we pitched our company, and our souls.  The banker, a large man with long hippy hair, a longish beard and John Lennon glasses, listened to our impassioned plea with a happy Santa Claus smile on his round face.

“I’m curious,” he said when we finished our presentation.  “How did a brother and sister happen to start an oil company together?”

Neither Anne nor I had a good reply and it didn’t really matter as his inane remark gave us the answer to the question we had just spent an hour asking.

We never found our white knight, or our friendly banker.  Like so many companies during the 80s oil bust, we went belly up.  Yes, the bust is long past and seems almost like a dream to me now.  Some of the stories were funny but many, so many, I keep buried deep in my heart – until moments such as now when they come bubbling up painfully to a surface still frothy with crushed emotion.

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Eric and Anne – 1982

Please check out my new book trailer video.  Thanks, Eric

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e15ePGVK26s

Earlier this year I had the honor to appear on Brent Weber’s Fox 25 morning show to plug my book Big Easy.  Brent is an affable and intelligent man, and put me instantly at ease.  I realized that he is talented but didn’t know that he is also an accomplished actor until I received this recent email:

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There is a new review of Just East of Eden on the website Bookpleasures.com.  There is also and interview with Eric Wilder on the website.  Please check it out.

http://www.bookpleasures.com/Lore2/idx/0/3072/article/Just_East_of_Eden_Tales_From_The_Blog.html

http://www.bookpleasures.com/Lore2/idx/0/3074/article/A_Conversation_With_Eric_Wilder_Author_of_Just_East_of_Eden_Tales_From_The_Blog.html