Photograph by Mark Kraus

Funny cars file into Kearney Raceway Park as pale dirt swirls up through the air and into small tornadoes with grit finding its way to the teeth of spectators. The orange sun is sinking over a horizon of corn fields. It’s hot. It’s humid. But no one seems to mind.

Kearney Raceway Park is home to people as eclectic as the cars. They are different ages, different skill levels with different budgets for engines and racing slicks, but at heart they are all the same.

Because of the park, because of the drag strip, racers have a safe place to break speed barriers. Street cars, and those with 10,000-horsepower engines shaped like space-age ships, gather to entertain the community of fans who have gathered. They are here for speed. They are here for each other.

Funny car chaos occupies summer weekends at the Kearney dragstrip. Hundreds of earmuff-clad fans fill the risers and line themselves along the chain link fence that separates the track from the public. The smell of hot metal, exhaust and burnt rubber churns through the air, feeding the excitement of evening races. In the pits – a large concrete lot behind the track – a rainbowed assortment of drag cars await to tantalize the eyes.

Funny cars earned their moniker in the 1960s, when a spectator took one look at the altered wheelbase of the race cars and said, “That looks funny.” Newer cars in this class are commonly characterized by their tilt-up fiberglass bodies and custom chassis.

Alma resident Matt Nissen is one of the many familiar faces at the Saturday night race. He’s a bit bigger than the average funny car driver at a towering 6 feet 2 inches, but that doesn’t stop the speed addict from adding 4.20-second runs to his catalog of accomplishments. Nissen noted these lightning-fast runs take a toll on the car.

“Those cars are so volatile; they are constantly tearing themselves apart,” he said.

Weeks of preparation go into tightening nuts and bolts, making sure chassis aren’t cracked and that the trailers, water tanks, food and his team are ready to go. When it’s time to race, his team buckles Nissen inside the vehicle. With the shell down around him, he is in his own world.

Drivers like Nissen then have little choice but to enter a state of Zen. They scan their instruments, prepare for launch and wait as the tower of lights (affectionately dubbed the “Christmas tree”) counts to green.

“Time slows down,” Nissen said, and then the 4-second storm begins. Nissen and other funny car drivers typically run an eighth of a mile in 3 to 5 seconds at 180 miles an hour. And then, as part of his routine, he deploys the parachute from the back of the car to create drag until the car slows enough to come to a stop. His pit crews end the run by towing the car and driver back to the pits.

Drag racing accelerated its way into Nebraska culture in the early 1950s. Much like its purpose throughout the rest of the country, Nebraska’s raceways kept the young and old off streets and back roads and gave them a place to speed safely. Kearney Raceway Park started hosting races at the U.S. Army Airfield in 1964 and continues as Nebraska’s only drag racing track.

Despite the sweltering heat, the energy from the fans, racers and pit crews fills the air. For the Nebraskans who find themselves leaning over the chain-link fence to get closer to the eardrum-rattling action, they are right at home.

Tonight’s contest is a bracket racing battle: a side-by-side timed acceleration contest by cars with different performance levels.

In one lane, a blue Chevy Monza, driven by Tim Reeve, is poised and ready for takeoff. In the other lane is Thad Harms in a deep burgundy Dodge Polara 500. Despite looking right at home behind the driver’s seat, the car doesn’t belong to Harms. Its owner, Tracy Rhodus, is new to owning the car, too. He didn’t build it, or even change it before he brought it to the track.

Harms got to this moment in time through a bit of serendipity that started with a tragedy.

In late October 2022, Rhodus’ best friend, Terry Campbell, was driving from Chapman to Grand Island when he was killed in an accident. Authorities determined the other vehicle was speeding 93 miles an hour in a 45 mile-an-hour zone when it smashed into Campbell’s vehicle.


Photograph by Justin Burch

Later, Campbell’s family made the difficult decision to sell his beloved Polara racer at an estate sale, and Rhodus was there to bid on it.

But the car did not sell easily: Rhodus battled through 45 minutes of intense back-and-forth bidding.

“It’s like he was testing me, to see if I really wanted it,” Rhodus said.

Rhodus called up Harms on the day of the race and asked if he wanted to give the Polara a go on the track. The timing felt right, and Harms agreed. Rhodus included a photo of Campbell in the passenger’s seat to make the moment more special.

The Christmas tree lights start ticking down.

Both engines roared to life – one built over generations; one bought in memory of a friend.

Despite ear plugs, the man-made thunder pushed deep into the bones of spectators. Front tires lifted off the track with the force of the detonating gasoline under the hoods.

The roar of the Polara’s 440 cubic-inch V8 engine rumbled down the track as the gaze of the spectators followed him to the end. Harms propelled across the finish line 13.98 seconds after starting the race – in first place.

Rhodus accomplished what he set out to do.

Asked what Campbell would have said to his friend after his prized hot rod came in first?

“I told you so,” Rhodus said with a laugh.

Such is life in legal street drag racing. The story will play out again next weekend, maybe with a different ending.