SO, what’s in a name, right? This comes up from time to time, ‘Where did CHICAGO JON come from’? Well, the obvious wise-ass response would be “my parents”, but while I have no aversion to being a wise ass, I also disdain being a dumb-ass. We’ll take this journey, but it will go down a road less traveled, and it is REALLY a story about tribes, and the ones we meet, and live in while we do this thing called life. (admit it, Princes voice just went thru your head)

In a piece I did once, titled “My First Tear Gas Riot” (no lie) I described a 1976 mob outside ‘IRP’ (Indianapolis Raceway Park, now known as Lucas Oil Raceway) trying to roll myself and my Dads car, and I thought “Camp by the dragstrip?? No-sir-eee-BOB!” And yet, five years later where was I? Yep, in Raceview Campgrounds, right across from the Funny Car pits of IRP. Later it would become Raceview FAMILY Campgrounds, in an effort to shake the image of things like the legendary ‘Kentucky Winnebago’ being roadside, giving T-shirts to spirited young ladies, in need of clothing. (as they had shed their tops, at the urgings of the party-monsters of said vehicle. For those who don’t know, it was a dilapidated school-bus, and an Indy mainstay for years.

How did I land in this basket of insanity? Technically, it was a business decision. Motel rooms were, as our Wisconsin friends would say, “spendy”, and since you were at one for at BEST, six hours a day, impractical. You would get back at 9pm, and would be back up at 3am, to get  out on Crawfordsville road by the drive-in so you’d have a good spot to be in line. I met this ‘gang of thieves’ from Minnesota at Broadway Bobs in 1980 and they camped at Raceview, and told me about all the fun it was. Now, we get to the “tribe-mentality…..

In those days, people were more…fun. You wanted to meet someone, you walked around and struck up a conversation. (Wow, Grampa, tell us more about how your days were better!) Seriously, people do not know how to interact anymore, they are too busy staring at the phone, they think a conversation is sending someone a cartoon of poop. Back THEN, you’d grab a small cooler with some beers, and take a walk. You hear a band you like on a boombox, you walk over and chat them up. And this, in principle is how you’d get the tribes, at our peak we had thirty, maybe forty people all circling the wagons. We were the best of friends for a week, then the race was over and it was ‘see you next year’. Shooting from the hip, we had at least six guys from Minnesota, about fifteen from the south, mostly Kentucky. A couple guys from Ohio, a bunch that I can think of from Pennsylvania, and two guys from Illinois. (ironically, even though the race was in Indiana we had no Hoosiers in the tribe back then) And boy, don’t EVEN get me started on the Canadiens we ‘adopted’ in 1989, those guys were a RIOT! Describing themselves as ‘exterior-transparency-maintenance-engineers’ (translation: window washers) man, those hosers knew how to PARTY! They strolled up to our bonfire around midnight, and asked “Hey, any of you got a knife, EH??” (what they needed a knife for shall go un-disclosed) Alan, from Kentucky proceeds to go all ‘Crocodile Dundee’ and pulls a borderline sword from his hip, “Will this do?” (most of the Kentucky guys seemed well armed, I would come to find out)

Well anyway, I suppose it was Friday morning in 1981, after a night of partying that some proper introductions started being made. The Kentucky guys had known for years a man whose name is now well known in this sport of drag racing, they simply referred to him as ‘Chicago Mike’. (forth from left in this 1987 photo) and as my connection to the Second City had been unveiled the night before (I had to explain the Old Style beer in my cooler) I promptly was anointed ‘Chicago Jon’. Who said it first is subject to debate even to this day, but it is of NO doubt that it gained traction mostly because of Alan. (third from left) I’d tell a joke or whatever, and his one of a kind baritone-voice would boom out, “Ohh, What-eerr-you talkin ’bout, Shee-KAAA-GO!?!” And so the Labor Day weekends would go, the earliest to arrive staking out extra territory for the tribe members who couldn’t get to town until Friday, long before the now common barrier-tape, it was just parking the cars needlessly far apart, and the ‘wagon-circle’ would tighten up as more arrived. It was drag racing and sunburn all day, and then party on into the night…..

In 1965, Ray Davies (The Kinks) sang ‘Where Have All The Good Times Gone?’, and like anything in life, ‘the Tribes’ were built for speed, but they weren’t built to last. By the ’90s, with each passing year there would be fewer and fewer members at the races. It would be, ‘where’s Norton’? and the response would start with “well, he met this girl…”, and you get the idea. Life happens, things evolve. I last stayed in that very campground in 2019. Bonfires and boom-boxes have been replaced by motorhomes and ESPN on satellite dishes. But make no mistake, Chicago Jon lives on. The fall of 1988 would find me in line at the local copy store, thrashing together the beginning of this enterprise that soldiers on to this day. Back then the leading racing video enterprise was called Diamond P Productions. With my name, address and phone number in one hand and a rubber-check in the other, I awaited my turn in line, until Marty (great guy, ftr) called out ‘next’. And when he asked for the NAME of the business I momentarily flat-lined. I hadn’t thought it through, and suddenly blurted out “CHICAGO JON PRODUCTIONS!” The cards had the catchy (yea, right) slogan of ‘If I can’t do it, you don’t need it’. And THAT, race fans is how ‘Chicago Jon’ happened. Next go around, it will be the triumphant return of the off-season classic, The OLIAS Awards!!

Hope your year was great, and the next one even better. Til then, I AM Chicago Jon, time to say,,,,CCCCCCCCC-YYAAAAAAAaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!