Chris Economaki, Forever on the Move

By JERRY GARRETT

PARIS - For many years, I used to travel in the same circles as Chris Economaki, the veteran automotive writer and broadcaster who died on Friday at age 91.

In 1982, we found ourselves in Seville, Spain, testing a new car. We also found time to take in a bullfight, sample the region's food and drink and get haircuts at a real barber of Seville. It was a long, multiday trip, and when it was over, we flew back to the United States together, changing planes in Madrid.

“You won't make your connection,” a ticket agent told us when we arrived at Madrid's sprawling Barajas airport.

“Whaddya mean?” Economaki demanded, in that piercingly direct voice that he deployed in countless radio and television broadcasts. “We got an hour.”

“You won't make it,” the agent persisted. “It's a huge airport, and your flight is way on the other side.” The agent wanted to rebook us on the next flight - the next da y.

“I've gotta get home today; I have a newspaper to publish,” he said, a reference to his editorship of the National Speed Sport News. He was already in his fourth decade holding that post. “If the plane's still here, we'll make it,” he said. “Let's go.”

I was 34, fit and accustomed to running through airports to make flights. Economaki was rumpled, gray and doughy. In his early 60s, he was already wearing his pants cinched up almost under his armpits. We were each carrying two suitcases.

By the time I grabbed my bags, Economaki was already 30 feet ahead. We ran and ran. But it became apparent very quickly that we really did have a long way to go.

Having caught up, I expected to make it, but I worried about Economaki, who was huffing and gasping. He was already known back then as the dean of motoring writers, and I did not want him to expire while trying to keep pace. It would have made for a very bad headline.

But I need not have w orried. As I tired, Economaki began to pull away from me. I got my second wind when I finally snagged a baggage cart and threw our luggage on. Economaki thanked me but hardly broke stride.

We made the plane. I think I slept most of the way home. Economaki, I learned later, spent a good portion of the flight regaling passengers and the flight attendants with many of his justly famous stories, which invariably included anecdotes about famous drivers, great cars and legendary races. He had decades of tales to tell, going back to the '30s when he was a mere newsboy, hawking the latest edition on some street corner, in a paddock or a grandstand.

The old man's stamina was quite amazing, a trait about him that stuck with me, as I worked with him many more times through the years.

He was fond of recalling the time we were working as pit reporters on some live, televised race. When Ken Squier, the announcer, called Economaki in for a comment about a recently complet ed pit stop, Economaki was indisposed in a Porta-Potty. The old pro never faltered, beginning his response while still in the loo and finishing it as he exited.

Though he said he raced only once, when he was 16, he could drive with the determination of a professional. Running late for a charter flight leaving from a private airport in Canada, I drove nose to tail for miles with an Indy car driver, only to notice in our rear-view mirrors that Economaki, in a rental car, had caught us. He only failed to pass because he missed the last turn into the airfield's parking lot and nearly hit a tree for all the dust kicked up in our turn.

But the old man (like the character actor Walter Brennan, he seemed old even when he was young) was unshakeable. He could keep up with anyone, night and day, in just about any endeavor, and then manage somehow to publish Speed Sport every week in whatever few hours were left on the clock.

Economaki lived life that way for 60 years or more. Though nobody lives forever, he often lived life as if he thought he would. He got to 91, probably good enough to outlast almost anyone who tries to keep up.