If you want to master the art of solving the television crime dramas before the second commercial break, then you could do worse than read the works of Agatha Christie (1890-1976). The creator of Hercule Poirot and author of Murder on the Orient Express presented a doctoral education in mystery solving across her one hundred plus books. At the time of her death, she was the best selling author in the English language, as many, many cover blurbs proclaimed at the time. But, you ask, what about the great mysterious event in her life three-quarters of a century ago? What, ho? Let me explain.

Londoners woke on the morning of December 7, 1926, to find the front page of the Daily Mirror covered with photos of Christie and the search parties seeking her. The headline trumpeted: “Mystery of Woman Novelist’s Disappearance.” Christie was missing, having left behind an abandoned car containing a bag of clothes and her fur coat. Luminaries such as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Dorothy Sayers were drafted into the search effort.

Suspicion fell on Christie’s husband, Archie, who had been having an affair. The ensuing week and a half brought a great deal of publicity and very little in the way of results. As opposed to C.S.I. or The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, grim patience solves more crimes in the real world. Like other unhappy spouses and spouses-to-be over the years, Christie had run away. She was recognized as a guest at a hotel in Harrogate. The police did not endorse her claims of amnesia, though they were forgiving based on the current stress of her life. (In addition, to her husband’s straying, Christie had recently nursed her mother through a fatal illness.) However, it took Christie two more years to dispose of Archie in divorce.

Gentlemen of a certain age find themselves in the basements of their homes. Some noodle around with tools building furniture of questionable utility and unique design; others build model railroad train layouts whose complexity rival an Amtrak timetable; and then there are those who recreate the Indianapolis 500 with electricity and plastic. For those of the latter stripe, the scale of our dreams has only grown cooler since we were youths. The whining, whizzing speed demon that beats in the heart of every full-scale driver can find outlet in 1/32nd scale on a pair of plywood sheets.

The English first started building tracks to race model cars, though the tracks did not have slots and the vehicles had remote steering. The main goal at the time was to successfully complete one whole lap with your miniature auto. Americans brought the hobby home after World War II and added a few innovations: a groove in the track that kept the cars in a single lane; and racing. Throughout the fifties, the hobby grew despite a tendency for the cars to burst into flames (most were still home assembled out of available materials like old model train engines, balsa wood, and glue).

Throughout the 1960’s, the hobby grew like an alligator on a sheep farm. Various companies began producing finished cars and tracks for home play. Chains of commercial raceways appeared in the growing suburbs. And, much like Putt Putt on ESPN today, tournaments were broadcast on national television hosted by the likes of Johnny Carson and featuring prominent racers like Jackie Stewart. For a brief, tire-burning moment, slot cars were more popular than model trains or bowling.

Then the moment passed like a tiny Aston Martin shooting off the track on a reverse-banked turn. AMF (the bowling chain) started buying up the public racetracks and closing them. Public interest turned in other directions- the magazines and manufacturers that served the hobby followed all those home tracks into the national attic.

Today, public raceways crop up and disappear as mostly hobbyists try to expand their circle. Scale Auto Racing keeps an eye on the current state of, well, scale auto racing, including film of national tournaments. Non-U.S. companies like Carrera , Ninco , Scaleextric still produce race sets. Ridge Road Station (16131 Ridge Road West, Holley) has a nice selection along with an elaborate model train setup. Once you start working in scale, it seems hard to stop.

January, 2006

“Whether out of fear or self-protection, we rarely present our true face to the world. Mexicans are secretive by nature. Our formality is a shield against scrutiny. We use masks all the time,” says Father Sergio Gutierrez. Perhaps this explains the wildly popular sport of Lucha Libre [free-style fight].

Throughout human history, wherever two or more have gathered, wrestling has followed. Seventy years ago, professional wrestlers in Mexico began wearing masks, subsuming their own personalities to a character inspired by their new face. Records do not convey whether the acrobatic style associated with Lucha Libre immediately followed, though one can well imagine the freedom engendered by hidden identity. Soon, luchadors were flying through the air and appearing in innumerable films.

Hulk Hogan and the Rock can only dream of a film career approaching the greatest of all screen luchadors. El Santo (1918-1984) first starred in El Emascarado de Plata (The Silver Masked Man) in 1952. Within a decade, he was an action star ala Batman or James Bond, with his Bentley and his amor de dia. El Santo chose to remain enmasked throughout his public career, only revealing his identity (Rudolfo Huerta) after retiring. Thousands followed his funeral procession through Mexico City to the Mausoleo del Angel where he was buried in his mask.

Father Sergio Gutierrez began his ministry caring for children on the streets of Veracruz. After seeing the wrestling films Fray Tormenta and Fray Tormenta in the Ring, Gutierrez began raising funds for his orphanage by wrestling as Fray Tormenta [Brother Storm]. In recent years, he has become a mentor to a younger group of devout wrestlers, such as Sagrado and Mistico. And he inspired a new Hollywood movie starring Jack Black.

June, 2006