First, let’s start with “the most famous words in motorsports”. I truly grew tired of that phrase years ago and wish they would come up with a new way to let us know they are going to ask the drivers to start the power plants. But, for tonight’s show, the contrast between the Nationwide command and the Cup command will serve to show you a small part of what I mean about “then” and “now”.
Friday night, a very distinguished appearing guy, a man I used to dislike tremendously, gave the command to start the engines. He exhibited as much class as I have seen in a long, long time while giving that command and I was touched by the honor that must have been for Bobby Allison. You see, I disliked Bobby because he used to beat my guy from time to time. I’m not talking behind his back. I told Bobby that to his face in front of several hundred witnesses. Bobby was a class act Friday night, a true class act. Oh, and Bobby and I are friends these days.
Now, let’s contrast with the same command Saturday night. If you didn’t see it don’t go looking for it because if you have an sensibilities about you whatsoever, you are likely to become sick on your stomach. Those three “men”, for lack of a better descriptive word, were disgusting to the point of repulsive. If NASCAR was aware ahead of time that such a scene was the intention of those animals, then NASCAR should be ashamed. Oh yes, I know there were two “famous” movie stars and a basketball player involved, but that is no excuse for such a disgraceful debacle. I could only imagine a first time NASCAR viewer seeing that and believing that is the culture that permeates NASCAR fandom. I would not like to be associated with that, thank you. And the movie they were promoting? “Grown Ups 2”. Sick, sick.
I also wonder at what point the NASCAR tracks, especially Daytona, decided that it is necessary to entertain with concerts by such folks as Sheryl Crow. As for her, I can take her or leave her as far as her music goes, but had I been at Daytona I would not have gone over to observe the show. After all, I would have been there for a race. A race! You know. That sideshow NASCAR allows to happen AFTER all the music and Hollywood freaks are finished.
Many of you listening tonight, and who will read this later on the Home Page, will certainly identify, at least somewhat, with what I’m about to relate. About the days when my family and I were going to almost all the races in the Southeast. We were infield campers at Daytona, Talladega, Darlington, Charlotte, Rockingham and Atlanta. Both races at those tracks every years. We made trips to North Wilkesboro, Martinsville, Bristol, Greenville-Pickens, Spartanburg, Myrtle Beach Savannah, Augusta, and even Kingsport, Tennessee. We were “roadies” for the racing circuit. 
At first, it was sleeping in the back of my Uncle Bobby’s station wagon. Then we graduated to tents. My Mama and Daddy bought their first motor home in 1974, and from then on it was a home away from home on race weekends. We had a whole gang who traveled with us, sometimes 8 or 10 in the motor home and two or three car loads following us. We would always be there for the Saturday race,which was then Busch Grand National, and then for the Sunday race.
It wasn’t long after we got the motor home that we hooked up with other families with campers, motor homes , or refurbished school buses. In those days, there were no infield parking rules as are today, so we would circle up the “wagons” much like the pioneers did on the way to settle the west, and we would have a huge extended family for the weekend. Second or third time that happened, we were in a pattern where the women would bring all different kinds of food items and we would spread a community table for every meal. As I sit here and think back to those meals, my mouth actually waters for some of those good foods. One lady from Tennessee would always bring a cake, a different kind for each race, that was a big as a racing tire. I used to joke with her about what size cake pan and oven she must have.
At night we would circle the chairs around a campfire and start telling racing stories. With the folks we had in those chairs, the stories were endless, and although it was almost always the same folks at every race, the stories seemed to never be repeated but were always something new. We had some racers who could entertain even the non-race fan. Our little group of white-line gypsies brought a lot of new fans into the sport as it seemed every race there would be three or four in the group who have never been to a race before. But, you know what? Every single one of them came once and they were a part of that group from then on. I am still in contact with several of those folks, either through personal contact, social media sites, or right here on RacersReunion.
All the folks in that group came for a RACE. Oh, there were differences of opinion, always, as to the favorites. There were Pearson fans, Petty fans, Richmond fans Parson fans, Bonnett fans, and yes, sadly, even D.W. fans, but we all got along. When the races were over, we would always spread out all the remaining food and have a dinner for the road. We would linger as long as allowed because we simply enjoyed the friendships we had there. We lingered so long, one time, in fact, in the Atlanta infield, that we looked up to see six County Sheriffs’ cars speeding toward our encampment.
Seriously, they all arrived at the same time and a total of 10 deputies all jumped out of the cars at the same time and told us “you have to get out of here now!” Oh, I know it was only our group of six motor homes gathered there and no other vehicle in the infield, but it wasn’t close to dark and the pit crews were still loading equipment,but those Georgia Mounties were not filled with Southern Hospitality that afternoon. It took us about 20 minutes to pack up everything and those deputies stayed right there watching every move. I still think if we had taken 30 minutes, they would have escorted us out at gunpoint. I know they already had a difficult weekend and we were the only hold up from them getting off work. Even so, I had to remind them that we were NOT General Sherman’s army, we were ticket buying race fans. From that time on, we got out of Atlanta as soon as the traffic allowed. I wrote the President of the Atlanta Raceway to complain, but never got an answer.
The very fact that we loved the sport of racing had us at those tracks. There was no other reason we were there, but in those days there were few extra entertainment incentives, in spite of Humpy Wheeler and his often ill-conceived shows at Charlotte. We had the racing and we had the pre-race fireside chats and camaraderie of the evenings before the main event. During the race, we would have the conversations about how each of our favorites were doing.
But you know the best thing about those days for all of us? We each knew when we left home to drive however many miles may have been before us, that we were not only get to see our favorites race, but we were also going to be able to talk with them, hang out with them. Sometimes before the race, always AFTER the race, we had that privilege. There was no wondering about whether or not we would be allowed to purchase a wrist band to stand in line to see our driver. All of us were like that. Not only did we get to see and talk with our favorites,and I mean really TALK, not just “hello” and get a fake smile in return, but we could also talk with almost every other driver in the race. I can truly say that the only race of the literally hundreds of Grand National races I attended, that I didn’t get to speak to The King afterwards was the 1970 Darlington Spring race, but he had a good excuse for that one. All of us old timers remember how it was to sit down on the pit wall after a 500 mile race and talk with our favorite driver. They would get out of their car and sit on the pit wall, most of them, and meet the fans. I remember The King, Daytona Firecracker 400, 1964 I believe,where Richard had dominated until a blown engine parked him. Yet, after the race, there he was, soaked in perspiration, signing autographs. I sat right beside him for over an hour and he never stopped signing or talking to the fans. Would any of you like to try that today with any of the current drivers? If so, let me know how that works for you.
I’m not blaming the drivers of today for the “stand offish” attitude because I know that has, for the most part, been thrust upon them by sponsors and “handlers”. But being able to talk with our drivers back then made us a part of the sport. Much more a part of the sport than a ticket holding spectator. Guess that’s why racing had bigger crowds then. I know as I sit in my recliner in my den for every race now, I don’t miss the hassle of the traffic and such events as the Georgia Deputies. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to just go, see a race, and go home without any personal contact with the guys we came to see. Oh, I could tell you stories about some of the “guests” we had join us in our encampments before a race, but I don’t want discussions going on about my veracity. Somewhere, we do have a picture of the night Tim Richmond joined us in our Darlington encampment to talk racing for a couple of hours so I will attest to that.
I guess, to wind this up, I will just say the fans of today have their reasons for going to the track. Maybe it IS the entertainment by musicians, or perhaps it is to witness such lunacy as those three poor excuses for humanity giving the command for the 400. There are those, for sure, who go for the race and maybe, on a good day, they get to stand in line to get ONE autograph from their favorite and on a really good day, get their picture taken with that favorite. For them, I am pleased.
Yes, it is much different today that it was when I was at the track instead of just watching it on my television. But racing is racing and I do like my stock car racing. I won’t make too many suggestions to NASCAR tonight, not that they would listen anyway, but I do have one I would offer:
For NASCAR purposes, change the “most famous words in motor sports” from “Drivers Start Your Engines” to “Drivers, here are your fines and penalties for this week”. One more suggestion along those lines; get a baboon to learn to say the words. Beats the heck out of those morons Saturday night.
