I’ll go into the fan aspect first. Remember now, this article is to provoke YOUR thoughts as to why you are reading this and what parts of the article may fit for you and what parts don’t. Comments are most welcomed and responses will be forthcoming to each, with respect for whatever your position may be.
NASCAR is currently running commercials that feature the local weekly tracks, which incidentally, NASCAR seems to have abandoned with the exception of when those tracks present a good advertising opportunity. I won’t discuss that position here but I will say their commercials make a good point. Those stands are the place where a little girl may give up her doll for a race car. Those stands are the place where the life of a young boy will be forever changed as he decides what he wants to do with the rest of this life. That worked for me at age 5. First time at a race track and nothing in my life would ever be the same again.
On the way home that evening, covered in red clay dust, I began to envision what it would be like to race on that half-mile clay oval. The thought that I could be killed, never entered my mind, but then, being only five, almost six, such a thing as death was unknown. That evening, 60 years ago, I became a stock car racing fan and the trip had begun.
Through the years I have been blessed to attend races all over, and was a constant visitor to all the Southeastern tracks. Ventured once to Pocono, once to Michigan, and, remember Trenton, New Jersey and that track? Was there once too. I have been through rainout postponements, once traveling to Rockingham, NC three weekends in a row until the race was run. Even that day at the start of the race, it was so foggy that the most prominent part of the field for the first few laps were the high wings on the Plymouth Superbirds and Dodge Daytonas . I have no idea how the drivers could see what was going on out there on the track.
I was fortunate, in the mid seventies, that my parents were so into racing they purchased a used motor home for race headquarters in the infield. The next year they purchased a custom ordered, brand new motor home and we were in high style. We had already made friends with motor home folks from several states and we would meet in the infield at each track and circle our motor homes like the covered wagons of old, giving us an open space for our campfires and bench racing stories each night. The ladies cooked and some brought homemade desserts and we lived in our own little world on those race weekends. We were a diverse group as to the drivers who were our favorites but we were a tightly knit group of folks dedicated to the sport.
It was at a race in Talladega, 1978, when a writer for the Talladega newspaper came to our motor home in the infield (by this time it was covered with racing decals of every kind, including the big STP sticker off the hood of the King's car) and wanted to interview me. I got my Mom to come out and we sat down and spent 30 minutes talking with the reporter. The next morning, front page of that newspaper, “The Daily Home” was a picture of my Mom and me and an article that pretty much was quote for quote what we said. I still have that article hanging on the wall here where I write. In short, that article stated that we spent approximately $8,500 per year attending the major races in the Southeast. Now, bear in mind that was with Press Credentials and comp tickets due to my radio station work, and the price of gas was less than a dollar. But, even so, in 1978, that amount was a sizeable chunk of money. Still is a sizeable chunk of money, but in today’s world of race-fandom it is maybe three race weekends in motel costs, tickets, and food, not to mention gas.
There is one truth very self-evident about most race fans; they want to introduce their friends to the sport. That happened to me. Not to be sacrilegious, but by age ten I had become the “Billy Graham” of stock car racing. I talked about it to anyone who would listen. I never stopped talking about it. If my mother were still living, you could ask her about the endless chatter, always about racing. She once said that when I was born (I’m the first child) they couldn’t wait for me to start talking. By age two, she was trying to find the switch to shut my mouth, and I hadn’t even discovered racing at that point. I was recruiting new race fans everywhere I went, school, camp, church (and my mother didn’t think I should tell folks at church I went to stock car races). Over the years, everyone who ever met me either became a race fan or stopped associating with me so they wouldn’t have to listen to my mouth.
By the end of the seventies, the weekend excursions to the races would leave my place, Friday after work or early Saturday morning, with 8 to 10 of us in the motor home and four or five car loads of folks following. We were a band of traveling gypsies out to follow our favorites. I have volumes of stories from those weekends and many of those people , but most are so incredible it’s difficult to tell them without photographic evidence to back them up or sworn affidavits from respectable individuals. Believe me, from the kiss on the cheek by Elizabeth Taylor in Victory Lane at Charlotte, to other incredible encounters, the stories are there.
I have heard, for most of my life, that once racing “gets in your blood, you can’t get it out”. I would have to say that is an accurate statement. Even with the state of today’s NASCAR racing, which I will not opine in this article, I still carry the NASCAR decal on my vehicle windows and still am drawn to the television on race day... for the race, I might add, not for all the diatribe of the “expert” talking heads. What about you, the reader? Think back to when you became a race fan. What about the sport drew you? Did racing ever become an obsession in your life? Share your story in the comments section to this article. I would love some input as I’m sure many readers would.
Ok, now it’s time to address the issue of why someone would want to drive a race car. What is it about the sport that makes men, and women now as well, buckle up those belts and go racing, always knowing that freak things happen and death could be the end result? Oh, I know young folks believe themselves to be invincible, but still! Is it safer to play baseball, soccer, football, tennis, golf? A reasonable person would think it much safer on a golf course than on a race track with several fast cars banging and slamming each other (on the short tracks) or going 200 plus mph on the super speedways. Even with all the safety factors these days, as we have seen even this year, death is still a passenger in every race car. Why, then, take such chances?
Probably the most entertaining explanation for being a race driver came from Kyle Petty when he said “I’m too lazy to work and too chicken to steal”. While that was a tongue-in-cheek response to a reporter’s question, it was, I think, an effort by Kyle to make light of the fact that he knew of the danger. That comment was made long before his son Adam was killed in a race car. I am fortunate enough these days to hang out with many of the historic heroes who built the sport. I have heard that question, in various forms, asked of Rex White, Ned Jarrett, Bobby Allison and many, many more. While there has never been a definitive answer given by any of these gentlemen, the underlying premise, in my opinion, is that there is that special connection between man and machine that makes each one more than the sum of the other. Automobiles have been a fascination with most men since the invention of the first one. As Richard Petty once stated, the first auto race occurred when the second auto was built.
Mankind, I believe, was born to compete, be it on a ball field, in academics, at the poker table or whatever. The advance of civilization came about as men competed against each other to discover new medicines, new machines, new technology. Racing, as no other sport (my opinion) allows a man to compete not only against other competitors, but against machines, against race tracks, and, ultimately, with death itself. Winning a race, in and of itself, is a great accomplishment, any track, any division, any time. Winning is winning. The driver has prevailed against other men and machines, and death.
Leaving the philosophical behind now, I will decline to state my reasons for wanting to drive a race car, which eventually led me to do just that from 1969 to 1973. No other driver ever seems to answer “why" they drive/drove, but most all of them will tell you how it came about. If you ever get the chance to attend an event where the drivers of the past are appearing, GO. You can hear stories that will make you appreciate the sport of today even more than you ever thought possible. And you can believe this: I have listened to these guys and their memories of their careers are incredible. I marvel how these drivers can remember almost lap-by-lap the races in which they participated. Rex White, Richard Petty, Ned Jarrett, Bobby Allison, Johnny Allen, Li'l Bud Moore, and so many more. Such entertaining and awesome stories, all absolutely verifiable and with little embellishment. If you are a race fan, you will be entertained and educated.
So, why be a race driver? Goes back, I think, to being a fan in the first place. In 2009, RacersReunion issued a CD called “Racers and Chasers” which includes songs written and sung by RacersReunion folks like Jeff Gilder, Jay Sellers, and Perry Allen Wood. Some great music there, absolutely fantastic music, some of the best “driving music” you could have in your CD player for road trips.
But the point is, track 7 is entitled “Rain”. That song, written by Perry Allen and performed by Jay Sellers, sings about the kid who “dreams about racing every night” and in school day dreams about the same thing. I was that kid. Or more rightfully stated, one of those million kids who dream that dream.
I was fortunate enough to have experienced what it was like to “climb through that hole” and into a race car. I never won a stock car race. Never. Many second place finishes and many third places finishes, but never a win. Even back then, it bothered me only a little because I WAS RACING. I was driving a stock car in NASCAR. Yes, short track limited sportsman racing WAS NASCAR racing.
My NASCAR license from the first year hangs on the wall here in my home office. All of that came about because I was first a fan. I was one of those kids in the infield who watched every turn, every win no matter who was driving, and in my dreams I was the guy winning those races. And, you know what? Never won a race but these days that’s not important. Sixty years ago I started an adventure that continues every time I see a race car, every time I talk with the heroes of the past, every time I read a new book about racing, and there are several good ones out there. A life full of memories, full of friends made through racing, then and now.
Add your comments. I would very much enjoy reading what each and every one of you wants to share about your personal experience. The reasons for being a fan are as diverse as the people in the grandstands these days. Thanks for taking the time to read.
-Tim
Email: legendtim83@yahoo.com
Twitter: @legendtim83
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