Never heard of ‘em. Her. Her. And why would I have? I don’t have much interested in land speed records, of which she held many in her lifetime, nor do I follow racing of any kind – televised traffic as British comedian David Mitchell calls it – although it does seem to be popular with a lot of folks. Good on them, but – really? Watching people risk their lives driving in circles or straight lines while creating bad, stinky air? Okay. Whatever floats yer boat, y’all. Not for me.
That said, Paula Murphy is worth noting because in a sport famous for its overwhelmingly male make-up (and male chauvinism), she stood out during a time that was even less welcoming than even, say, twenty years ago: the late 50s and early ‘60s. Born in 1928, Paula Muhlhauser grew up in Cleveland. Her father was a tool designer who built sailboats and raced them in his spare time, and her mother was an X-ray technician who became a stay-at-home mom. As a teen, Paula competed in speedskating and sailboat racing as well as in equestrian shows. She graduated from the University of Cincinnati in 1949, obtaining a job in human resources at G. E. where she met, and later married, Dan Murphy. In 1953, she gave birth to a son. Murphy moved with her family to California for the sake of her husband’s career, but they divorced in 1956; by the time their child was 10, she did not know where Mr. Murphy was, leaving Ms. Murphy to raise her son alone.
To support her family, Ms. Murphy obtained work at an aerospace engineering firm in North Hollywood; friends she made there took her to car races. Her first impression, she later confessed, was that they were about as interesting as watching grass grow (I feel you, girl). Her views changed when she got the chance to race herself (I feel the need, the need for speed – did Paula Murphy say it first?!).
Making national news in 1964 when she broke ground to become the first woman to zoom across the salt flats in a car powered by a jet-engine, Murphy also set a land speed record for women at the time. Her vehicle spewed a 10-foot flame; its engine screamed; it could be controlled not by steering as much as by the use of parachutes. Making things even more fun (not to me, not ever to me), the car was designed for a man, so when Ms. Murphy got into its cockpit, she couldn’t reach the brakes. To remedy this, a pillow was stuffed behind her back, which raised her up enough in the seat to reach the pedals, while exposing her upper body to the full blast of the wind at high speeds. Before taking off, she said later, she had not received many instructions beyond being told where the accelerator was.
By the late 60s, she had left her day job, becoming a racer and speed record chaser full time. “I’m an oddity, a rarity, and that helps,” she said in an interview during her years of success, “I have 60 to 70 bookings every year.” Being presented as the world’s inaugural female race-car driver was not always pleasant. Examples of the casual, entrenched sexism she encountered along the way: “She prepares to sit down in the most unusual office ever occupied by a pretty young lass in a miniskirt,” one TV newscaster said over footage of her approaching her car. In 1964, Sports Illustrated referred to her as a “girl” and a “29-year-old brunette”; at the time, she was 36, and divorced.
In 1973, when she was racing a rocket-powered car called the Pollution Packer (stinky air, y’all!) at the Sears Point Raceway (now Sonoma Raceway) in Northern California, the parachutes came off her car, sending her flying off the end of the track at about 300 m.p.h., where she gained about 70 feet of altitude and crashed, breaking her neck – this ended her formal record seeking, speed racing career.
YOU COULD NOT PAY ME ENOUGH TO TRY THIS SH*T. Anyhoo, still, a very groovy, ground-breaking woman, and a certified fast AF driver. I drive fast all the time, but – no, just no. Hell no!