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At the time of this interview, Jon was in Jalalabad, Afghanistan filming a new documentary for HBO. He brought a DVD of 'Dirty Driving' with him, and reported that film subject Sammy Hawkins had become a cult hero among the American soldiers,
especially the helicopter pilots who have to do some pretty dirty driving to stay alive. The soldiers all want to thank HBO for letting Jon document life in Anderson, Indiana, and for letting Jon film in Afghanistan. Jon sent in these comments.
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HBO: What attracted you to the world of thunder car racing?
Jon Alpert: As a perpetual underdog, I'm attracted to similar species. Sammy
Hawkins - and Anderson, Indiana - are about as underdoggy as it gets.
But Sammy sure has fighting spirit. And I really admire that, and his
determination to scrape himself off the wall of that track - and to
scrape himself off the wall of life - every time he get smashed by dirty
drivers, and an even dirtier economy. I come from a town - Port
Chester, New York - that lost all its jobs and factories when I was in
High School, and I've driven though our former Rust Belt, and seen town
after town like Anderson that are haunted by empty factories and by the
ghosts of jobs that have vanished and are never coming back. I guess if
it wasn't for spirits like Sammy it would be pretty depressing.
We were on a bus tour across the country - showing our films from
ground zero, Afghanistan, and Iraq - in town squares of the heartland,
using the video wall on the side of our bus to show our tapes and
organizing town meetings to discus the issues affecting America. Brent
Renaud ('Dope Sick Love') was our one man advance team. We didn't have
much time to properly plan all our stops, and we were looking for a
town to visit in the formerly industrialized mid west. Brent said, "I
had some relatives who used to live in Anderson." He got off the
freeway to look around and reported back that the town seemed dead. I
said "Find something, 'cause we're arriving on the bus in 6 hours."
Brent hung up the phone, looked up, and saw two pit bulls chained to a
tree, an orange stock car with the number 26 on the side, sidled past
the dogs, knocked on the door and Sammy Hawkins answered. The next
thing we knew, we were at the Anderson Speedway, the world's steepest
banked quarter mile track, holding on tight as Sammy showed us a world
of scrapped fenders, bashed bumpers, and fist fights in the pits.
The racers of Anderson seem to be searching for a singular moment in
the sunshine. Life in Anderson is cold, cloudy and the forecast gets
gloomier everyday. Friday night at the track is their chance to be
somebody, to shake their fist at the steam-roller of life that has
flattened everybody else and shout "Not This Time Buddy"
The car - and the freedom and mobility it bestows - has always been
part of America's identity. In High School, I still remember the
excitement when Dad came home with a new car. The whole neighborhood
came over. I remember family road trips and the feeling of freedom, and
sort of poor man's manifest destiny that the car provided. I even
secured a 1954 - junk Ford - with the illusion that I could fix it up,
make it run, and that girls would want to drive around with me
(spectacularly unsuccessful on all counts). Well put the car culture on
steroids and you have Anderson, Indiana. When I was a kid we grew up
with a baseball in our hand. In Anderson, it's a wrench.
The passions that car racing unleashes are sort of a surprise to New
Yorkers; the screaming fans, the rivalries on and off the track. Most
of us city folk don't know who the current NASCAR champ is. But
everybody in Anderson, Indiana knows who #26 is: Sammy Hawkins. And
that's what Dirty Driving is all about.
I admire Sammy Hawkins and his fellow drivers. It is a tough life in
Anderson. They experienced the sub-prime mortgage crisis a decade
before the rest of America knew what sub-prime was. But they don't
quit. And I know if I cut them off, they are slamming me into the wall.
Gentlemen (and Ladies) start your engines!
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