Theft of little go-carts big loss for Shriners

“They [go-carts] make kids smile,” said James, a longtime temple member and one of the drivers of the bright-red, Indy-style go-carts stolen in mid-October. He refused to cuss the crooks, even when prompted.

“When the kids smile, the parents smile, too.”

No one is smiling now. These men who don dark-red fezzes before revving up in the Motor Unit, the official name of the mini-car patrol, are disheartened. The nobles, who perform in eight to 10 parades annually, have been forced to the sidelines.

This is a case of not-so-grand auto theft. Replacing each cart would cost about $2,000. Kidding aside, that’s a lot of money for a charitable, nonprofit organization.

The team bought the little machines about two decades ago. Like Nabbar’s bicycle and horse units, the go-carts are a significant part of the 73-year-old organization’s history. Their drivers painstakingly cared for them, changing out engines when they wore out, wiping away the crud that accumulates on the underside of a ride 4 inches off the ground. On parade days, wanting the carts to sparkle, nobles often blacked both sides of the tires — outside and inside.

A baffling burglary

Here are the facts of the case, courtesy of the East Point police, in whose jurisdiction the crime occurred:

The heist occurred sometime between 10 p.m. Oct. 15 and 6 a.m. Oct. 16. It was a chilly, rainy night, the moon shoved behind clouds. Crooks with bolt cutters opened a hole in the fence of a storage facility on Lakewood Avenue. They rummaged about in different units, taking tools and miscellaneous things, before reaching the temple’s 10 go-carts.

Imagine the perpetrators eyeing the small fleet. Red and gleaming, the carts probably looked like holiday candy in a box. The criminals nearly emptied it, leaving three. The rest, say police, must have been loaded on a truck or trailer. Nothing smaller could have accommodated the machines, each measuring about 6½ feet long.

“My assumption is that they were fishing about” as they prowled the storage units, said East Point Detective Cliff Chandler. “Until they came to those go-carts.”

What do you do with a hot go-cart?

“Don’t have a clue,” said Chandler. “We’re really baffled by it.”

Souped-up and speedy

Any Shriner could tell you: A go-cart brings out the adventurer in your soul. You need faith to jump in one. If your fanny is built for a big, fat GM, it’s wise to avoid a little, lean g-c. And once in, will you be able to get out?

Driving one is a rush. The wind is in your face, the pavement mere inches below your spanking spot. An engine, shrouded by a neat-looking little spoiler, ka-pops and pows behind your head. A slight turn of the steering wheel, you zip off in a new direction.

The Nabbar go-carts originally came with 3-horsepower engines, admittedly a wimpy power plant. When those motors conked out, the nobles nearly doubled the carts’ oomph, installing 5-horse engines. On a straightaway, the little cars easily hit 35 mph.

Big deal, you say? Consider “threading the needle,” a speedy exercise in agility, timing and guts. Three go-carts form a circle with just enough room between each to allow another cart to pass through. That is precisely what happens: As the three carts go round, another trio of carts zips through.

“If someone messes up, it’s sort of like the Blue Angels,” James said. “Everyone’s going to crash.”

The nobles don’t crash often — not in public, anyway. They practiced their routines at a parking lot adjacent to the old Ford Motor Plant in East Point, doing the needle, working on figure 8s and more. The work paid off: In August, Nabbar almost won an annual Shriner go-cart competition, polishing off every team but the Funny Cars of Moolah Temple No. 54 of Memphis.

Meet their maker

The go-cart business mirrors the U.S. auto industry. Both have downsized, with fewer choices than before. Used to be, you could buy a go-cart from Maytag. And you could take it home in your Pierce-Arrow.

Now a single American company, Promo Karts of Watseka, Ill., remains. The plant, about 90 miles south of Chicago, sells more than 600 each year. The inventory starts with models costing less than $2,000, such as the Indy-style carts the Nabbar nobles use. It also sells scaled-down versions of Plymouth Prowlers and ’32 Ford highboys, as well as the Cadillac (the Peterbilt?) of the line: little semi-trucks trailing 8-foot trailers. They sell for about five grand apiece.

“They are very, very nice,” said plant manager Jason Cahoe, who relies on his pre-teen and teen sons to help him judge each model’s cool factor. When told of the thefts in Atlanta, Cahoe didn’t hesitate. “Tell them [the nobles] to give me a call.”

They did. If they cannot recover their purloined go-carts, the nobles say they will replace them with new carts from Illinois. It won’t be easy, but it’s necessary. The little cars represent a big spot in parades, festivals, and in their hearts, too.

Sure, they’re inanimate objects, without much practical use. You can’t even stick a sack of groceries in one. But who among us can say he’s never been smitten by something red, and low, and fast?

Anyone with information about the stolen Nabbar Temple go-carts can telephone the East Point Police Department, 404-559-6282.