By dawn, the little (pop. 1,400) Long Island village of Bridgehampton was noisily abustle. By 6 a.m., ratchety Coopers, purring Allards and roaring Ferraris were already tuning up. By noon, three hours before the start of the big Bridgehampton Cup race, some 35,000 spectators lined the closed-course route. They craned at one of the three killing right-angle turns, or hurried down to the bridge where the cars jumped to a four-wheel takeoff. Some were attracted by the morbid sudden-death aspect of the sport, but mostly they were dedicated sports-car fans.
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