Date Thu, 08 Oct 1998 081205 -0800 From Satch Carlson Subject [R] Merrill memories I had followed Carl's adventures since he imported the Sierra Cosworth. This was at a time when the Cos was embarrassing itself in the WRC and the Lancias were thumping everybody with the Integrales; the Japanese were just coming up to speed, developing their variable-throat turbos that were not very amusing to the FIA. . . Anyway, we all shuddered when Carl flang the Cosworth off Pike's Peak, but he wasn't fazed. Finally I had a chance to sit down next to him at dinner during one of the Northwest events, where I was running around playing Sancho Panza to Tom Grimshaw's Don Q. Rallyists being rallyists---that is, only one step up from the running-dog lackeys of the jackal press---it was a crowded dinner party, as Carl invariably grabbed the check at these soirees. I managed to elbow my way to the catbird seat between Grimmie and Carl, two marvelous raconteurs, and I never did get to ask why the Sam Hill a guy who could arguably buy a slew of Lancias would choose to saddle himself with the Cosworth, because we fell instead into telling jokes and stories. I will always remember Carl as one who truly loved life, who grabbed it in a great embrace, whose enthusiasm and laughter were hearty and infectious. It was almost as if he knew he only had an allotment of 62, and was determined to mine them for about 75 good years. No one loved or appreciated a good joke more than Carl; I recall with glee that he had never heard The Cannibal Joke, and when I got to the punch line, I thought we were going to have to resuscitate him. No finer dinner companion, in my book---which makes him very special indeed.