Once popular hydros struggling to keep their roostertails flying

By PAUL DELANEY

Staff Reporter

A generation before the Sonics, Pilots/Mariners or Seahawks, the notion of anything Major League in the Northwest was a nebulous thing.

Back when the Washington Huskies and Oregon Ducks were more often than not college football whipping boys — and the WSU Cougars were, well, same-o-same-o — the Northwest’s only claim to the national sports spotlight came on the water.

Within just short of a month in 1950, the state went bonkers over boat racing and for good reason. On June 26, the Slo-mo-shun IV unlimited hydroplane – Slo-mo for short – set a world, one-mile speed record on Lake Washington at an unheard of average of 160.32 miles-per-hour.

But more importantly, July 22, Ted Jones drove the Slo-mo to a Gold Cup victory on the Detroit River, beating band-leader Guy Lombardo in his Tempo VI and earning the right for Seattle to host hydroplaning’s most coveted race the following year.

It was the Slo-mo that brought Gold Cup hydroplaning to Seattle, thus enabling 500,000 fans to witness the spectacle in their own backyards and go wild over it, according to the book, “This is Hydroplaning,” by Paul Lowney.

This journey down memory lane takes place because last weekend the hydros took to the Columbia River in the Tri- Cities and this weekend they complete the northwest swing in Seattle.

Tri-Cities appropriately hosted the prestigious Gold Cup on the golden 50th anniversary of the Water Follies and another good crowd lined the shores to watch Jimmy Shane duel deck-to-deck with J. Michael Kelly for the win.

But the sport that once ruled summers in the Northwest struggles with problems both on and off the water and it’s future seriously concerns Mike Fitzsimmons.

Fitzsimmons is likely best known locally as the conservative radio talk show host. But just a few handfuls of people around these parts know him in his other role.

He is one of the foremost experts on what was once a dynamic sport that captivated conversations and media coverage in the Northwest every July and August.

Spending 43 consecutive years as one of the television voices of Seafair gives one some pretty solid credentials.

While you may disagree with his politics, Fitzsimmons’ stories, knowledge and insight into a half-century of roostertails are fascinating. He’s a walking encyclopedia of hydroplane history.

While still strong here in the Northwest, where most of the race teams reside, the sport suffers elsewhere, even in Detroit, the birthplace of top-flight hydroplane racing.

It was that city’s inability to land a sponsor that allowed the shift to Tri-Cities for the Gold Cup. More importantly, however, its long-standing race was first canceled all together, but now revived with the help of the United Autoworkers Labor Union and set to be run Aug. 22-23.

Competition issues aside, with there being only a small handful of boats that can really put on a race the people can enjoy, the once mighty “thunderboats” from the 50s, 60s and 70s struggle with money.

Sponsorships are spotty because the hydros have never been able to be packaged into a timely offering for television, the force that drives all sports. Race day is hours long, even now when the event’s heats are split into multiple days.

“It’s 45 seconds of excitement punctuated by hours of boredom,” Fitzsimmons likes to say. “For television it has to be three hours max.”

Another hole in the hydro hull over the decades is the shift in culture.

Successful races in the past relied heavily on the service clubs in their respective communities. “If it was not for the Seattle Jaycees there would not have been a race,” Fitzsimmons said recently.

Groups like the Jaycees, Rotary, Lions and Kiwanis all played a part in establishing events like Seafair, which has had hydroplanes churning the water for seven decades.

“Nobody joins anymore,” Fitzsimmons said and because of that events have to contract for crowd control and other services, cutting into an already thin bottom line.

Locations for races also play a part he said. While doing research for a commissioned painting — Fitzsimmons is also a talented and sought after artist and builder of exact replica model boats — he looked at photos of the old 1960s pit area for Seafair and discovered a significantly different Mercer Island. The once sparsely populated shore is now jammed with homes and lake users who don’t like the boats encroaching on their lake.

There once was no bigger fan of hydroplane racing than Fitzsimmons, but he’s watching a sport he has loved for decades possibly fade into history. He sees the day when the roostertails no longer climb from the water, but is not sure when that will happen.

“The sport is like a cat with nine lives and they’re on 8.5,” he said.

Paul Delaney can be reached at [email protected].