SALT LAKE CITY — In the early 1970s, when I first went to work for the Deseret News as a sports writer, one of the first beats I was assigned by George Ferguson, the sports managing editor, was the Salt Flats.
This was when the Bonneville Salt Flats was the undisputed Fastest Place on Earth, before the Black Rock Desert in northern Nevada and man-made test tracks emerged as rivals.
If you wanted to set a land speed record, you set it on the salt bed left behind by Lake Bonneville located 125 miles due west of Salt Lake City.
Early one fall I set out for the Salt Flats to cover an assault on the existing 24-hour speed record by a racing team from Italy.
This was no baling-wire, greasy-overalls sort of outfit. The team was funded by a wealthy Italian racing family. The cars were two super-charged Ferraris (one to race, the other for parts), and the drivers were Graham Hill, the famous Formula One race-car champion from England, and Paul Newman, the actor and racing enthusiast who signed on to be Hill's backup driver.
They hauled their gleaming red Ferraris onto the salt like thoroughbreds at the Kentucky Derby.
Just looking at their operation I was sure they'd get their record.
I was even more sure when I learned that the record they were chasing – an average of 161 miles-per-hour for 24 hours – had been set in 1940 by Salt Lake's Ab Jenkins in his race car, the Mormon Meteor
That was over 30 years ago, back when I was pretty certain people still traveled by covered wagon.
I was absolutely convinced they'd get what they came for when I couldn't get an interview with either Graham Hill or Paul Newman. Those guys were as serious as the Miami Heat.
After a day spent testing their cars, Team Ferrari officially set off after the record around noon on day two. I settled in to watch. This was going to take awhile.
Problems with the Ferrari started almost immediately. First there was a tire malfunction. Then something went wrong with the steering. Things finally smoothed out around sundown, and into the dark they raced.
Then, abruptly, about one in the morning, Graham Hill pulled in for a pit stop and Paul Newman didn't spell him off. Instead, they rolled the Ferrari onto the flatbed truck it rode in on.
Someone had done the math and concluded they had fallen so far behind there was no way they could get the record.
I watched as they packed up and headed back to their motel in Wendover..
Still no interviews.
I walked over to my car, a yellow Camaro, got in, turned the key and drove through the pitch-black night across the salt flats, just me and the desolation.
Other than I hope I don't break down out here, and, What's Ferguson going to say when I send in a story without any quotes?, one thought dominated my mind: Who in the world was Ab Jenkins?
Who was this man who set endurance records that two perfectly beautiful Ferraris, a world champion race-car driver and Paul Newman himself couldn't break?
This past weekend, I finally got my answer.
I watched the new film, "Boys of Bonneville."
The documentary traces the life and times of Salt Lake native David Abbott "Ab" Jenkins and his love affair with speed and the salt flats – and the extraordinary lengths his son Marv went to to preserve his memory, his legacy and his car.
I learned that Ab was so popular in Utah that in 1940, the year he set that 24-hour endurance record, a bunch of his friends put him on the ballot for mayor of Salt Lake City and he won the election without spending a nickel of his own money or giving a single speech.
And the whole time he was in office, he continued to make time to go out to the Salt Flats and set more records.
Those were the days.
I highly recommend the film. The part about Ab and Marv and their father-son relationship is alone worth the price of admission. And the vintage footage the filmmakers found is priceless.
Just one little criticism. I'd have included the story about Graham Hill, Paul Newman and their Ferraris. Ab wasn't there, but it was still one of his finest hours.
Lee Benson's About Utah column runs Monday and Friday.