It is one of the most fortunate ideas in the history of American motorsports. From humble beginnings—a novelty, really—to become one of the most iconic and successful events in the world, the Chili Bowl is the epicenter of wintertime racing in the U.S.

It all came from a crazy idea in the mind of a creative thinker, Emmett Hahn.

Today, people see Emmett strolling around Expo Center, smiling and shaking hands. They know him solely in the role of the race promoter, and as a friendly, laid-back fellow.

Beating in his chest, however, is the heart of a racer, a man who survived the rough-and-tumble world of supermodified racing in a wide circle from his Tulsa home. Emmett was a tough racer and was not above talking smack every now and then. Fiercely competitive, he hid much of his passion behind his easy smile and ready sense of humor.

No matter how you figure it, Emmett is a self-made man. He rose from humble beginnings and as he became a better racer, there was more food on the table. When Tulsa’s John Zink needed a driver in 1971 he hired Emmett. It was a sweet marriage, with lots of trophies and accolades and pretty decent money. Tulsa, Amarillo, Hutchison, Wichita, Lawton…Emmett and the Zink car were a natural-born force.

Emmett Hahn and the John Zink Special. (Photo courtesy of the National Sprint Car Hall of Fame)

Among the supermodified racers of the Great Plains, Emmett is legitimately among the very best to ever get it done. He had dreams of a wider career arc—maybe even Indianapolis—but an eye injury took away his gifted ability of reading a race track quicker than everyone else. In 1982 he yielded to the inevitable and turned his attention to whatever came next.

He’s as independent as a cat, and clocking in for a 9-to-5 gig would never work for Emmett. He enjoyed some success in a couple of different business ventures, but racing was his love. He couldn’t stay away from it.

Something to know about Emmett is that people have been telling him for years that his ideas are crazy and won’t work. Every time people tell him that, he ends up going to the bank.

He began promoting races at Tulsa’s Port City Raceway, featuring smaller cars on a Thursday night. Thursday night? That can’t possibly work…but it did.

Some years later he launched ASCS, based on the concept of a spec cylinder head that can run longer between rebuilds. The idea couldn’t possibly work…but it did. Trust me on this: when Emmett launched ASCS, many in the sport truly believed that he had lost his mind.

But his biggest, grandest, most impossible idea was the event that became the Chili Bowl.

While he was promoting at Port City, the micro guys told Emmett they wanted an indoor race in the winter. Emmett had long eyed the Expo Center—one of the largest open-floor spaces in America—and wondered. In 1986 he brought in some dirt and the Shootout was born. The following January he partnered with Texas promoter Lanny Edwards—on a handshake deal—and a bigger event, the Chili Bowl, took place for the inaugural run.

One of the greatest compliments a racing promoter can receive is when an event of his creation becomes so big, so successful, that everyone wants to “fix” it. That’s been the story of Emmett and the Chili Bowl. It is without question one of the most vibrant and dynamic events in all of racing, yet people continue to insist that it is somehow broken.

It’s too big. Too many cars. Too many nights. Not enough rules. Too many rules. Doesn’t pay enough. Don’t like the format. If you gather more than a couple of racing people together and mention the Chili Bowl, you’re sure to get, “Yeah, but what they need to do is…”

Entries come from all across the country and the pits are so crowded you can hardly turn around. The stands are full. People eagerly await their ticket renewal letter. Everybody seems to be having such a good time.

It doesn’t appear that anything is broken.

(If I were in charge—Emmett is far too smart to ever allow that to happen—I would scrap the long driver introductions on Saturday night and somehow get the last feature finished before 11 p.m. eastern time. That’s my two cents, heavily inflated.)

Emmett Hahn and Dave Argabright at the Chili Bowl in 2013. (Dave Argabright photo)

When people tell Emmett what he needs to do, he just smiles and listens and nods his head. Then he goes on doing things like he believes they need to be done, just like he always has.

Emmett celebrated his 84th birthday this past October, and he has long past earned the right to do as he pleases. What pleases him most, it seems, is seeing the Chili Bowl prosper. Although he has handed off much of the heavy lifting to family members, it is obvious that the Chili Bowl is still Emmett’s pride and joy. Papa still loves the baby, very much.

Times change and people come and go. But let’s always remember that this epic, dynamic, monster Chili Bowl happened because of one crazy idea, from one badass racer.

Maybe—just maybe—Emmett isn’t so crazy, after all.

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