Seems society makes a big deal out of labeling folks, or placing one in this cubby hole or that cubby hole, without regard for how the person so labeled may feel about that. I'm guilty of doing it. I try very hard not to do so, but it happens from time to time, although I like to think not often with me. I can remember when I was a teenager, especially when I went from the comfortable six years I had spent in elementary school to junior high school, I experienced severe anxiety at times because it seemed I didn't fit in anywhere.
I was not an athlete. There was no stick and ball sport I could play with any proficiency at all. I've told the story before about my one attempt at little league baseball when, after my first game, the coach told me to go home a burn the uniform, don't even bother to bring it back. I was really not outstanding in any venue, not even the classroom although I had good grades in English and History. I really think the eighth grade was the worst because I felt like I didn't belong with anyone there. That was the year the class had a Christmas Dance before the break for the holidays and I felt compelled to go although for the life of me now I have no idea why.
There was this girl in several of my classes who was always kind to me. You know the kind of girl I mean, the one who wants to adopt every stray dog she sees. Guess she had a big and compassionate heart because she brought up the subject of the two of us going to that dance together. So it was arranged, socially awkward me having my Daddy drive us to the school gym for the dance starting at 7:00 p.m. and to be over by 10:00. Looking back on that night, I can only equate that disaster to things like the sinking of the Titanic or the explosion of the Hindenburg. I did not know how to dance, although I could jerk around pretty good as many of the teens did back then. It was slow dances that killed me, or should I more accurately say, injured the poor girl’s feet forever. I vowed that night that the dance was my first and last, and I kept that vow until the weddings of our two kids when the mother and father of the bride, or the groom as we were both with one daughter and one son are supposed to dance. It has been many years since that last dance at our son's wedding but Ann still suffers with foot issues from those two dances.
My first dance was bad enough, but it was when my Daddy picked us up and took my "date" home first that the night caused me issues for years. The dreaded good night kiss, under the turned on porch light on her front porch with my Daddy sitting in the car watching. I don't think I initiated that kiss, but it was sort of the butterfly kisses some little girls give out when they are 6 or 7 years old. When I got back in the car I'm sure my face was as red as some of those Bud Moore Mercury's used to be! Of course, my Daddy being who he was, couldn't let it pass without comment.
When I went into the 9th grade was when I started to realize that my adventures at the race tracks on the weekends with my Uncle Bobby made for good conversation with many of the guys at our lunch table. My Christmas break of my ninth grade year, the lunch table where I sat had become a popular hangout for guys into cars and racing. In three months I had gone from a shadow in the corner to someone the other guys like to hang around because I could, and did, talk about fast cars and race tracks. Very few of those guys got to go to the tracks as their parents, as was much the case back then, looked down on racing and didn't want their kids hanging out at a race track. I never really understood that but then racing was my outlet and it quickly became who I was to a large part of the male population at my high school.
By the tenth grade, I was asked to write a column from time to time for the school newspaper. The subject? Racing, of course. Looking back I have no idea how I was ever approached to do that but it happened. So, for three years I contributed a column or three a year, usually for the Columbia Speedway races and events at Darlington, to the school newspaper. I was beginning to feel more like a part of something although still somewhat reserved and shy to a degree.
It was also in the tenth grade when I was required to take chorus as an alternative to gym. Into my life entered a music teacher named Leila Lucas. What an absolutely wonderful lady she was. After just a few classes, she told me I was quite talented and she selected me for the special chorus. I was a part of every special the chorus put on, even selected to appear on television with the small ensemble for a Christmas Special. It was Mrs. Lucas who really started to open up my life. It didn't hurt any that she drove a beautiful 1962 Dodge Station Wagon, very close to Petty Blue at that!!! I recall her smile, always present, most of all though.
While we are on the subject of teachers, I can't let this Legendtorial pass without talking about Ms. Eldene P. Devet. She was the most feared teacher at Eau Claire High School and the three years prior to my senior year, I was warned that I didn't want her for English. I didn't even know at the time that she also taught the Public Speaking class as it was called. I choose to take Public Speaking because I thought it would help me overcome my remaining shyness. First day of my Senior Year our schedules were handed out in home room. Mrs. Devet for Senior English AND Public Speaking. Damn the luck I thought.
The first class of Senior English Mrs. Devet sounded more like Sgt. Carter from the Gomer Pyle show than a teacher. She made it very clear what she expected and what she absolutely would not tolerate. I was very gun-shy and went home that day to talk to my Mom about changing to another teacher. She told me to stick it out and pretty much take what I was dealt. Looking back on that advice, I realize without a doubt that my Mama was a genius. To make a long story short, by the end of the third week in her classes, both English and Public Speaking, I absolutely adored Mrs. Devet. Looking back now I realize that I owe her so much for what she did for me. After graduation, when I was home on leave from the Navy, I would go by the school and spend a day with her to speak to all of her classes to let them know what a blessing they had by having Ms. Devet. I was out-of-town when she passed away but I'm sure her funeral was attended by dozens of students she had helped throughout her teaching life.
Yea, I know, that is all a personal background story many of you may not have cared to hear, but for some, maybe it opened up your memory banks to times in your own lives very much like mine. As for me today, I still can't be categorized. I like country music, some pop music and Broadway show tunes. I sing country but enjoy singing Broadway more. I sing Johnny Cash and Elvis songs as well as John Denver and Michael Buble. Stock car racing is the ONLY sport I enjoy although I am known to watch some college football games and I do watch my grandsons in whatever sport they are playing at the time. I also enjoy live theater. I like comedies, but also enjoy dramas. Science fiction is good reading, but so is historical novels. I'm comfortable in a suit and tie, or my jeans and boots. Don't try to put me in a cubbyhole, it won't work.
The ending to this Legendtorial sort of brings this all together. When Jeff designated me as "The Legend" I took that on as a way to promote the site. As I have often said, and as can be proved by the home video discovered a few months ago, I was wearing cowboy hats, boots and sunglasses long before that well-known King. I guess I choose that as the "suit of The Legend" because it attracts attention (something I surely did not want in the 7th and 8th grades). It gives me the chance to interact with folks who are fascinated by the hat especially. As for the dark glasses, these days they are somewhat of a necessity in any type of bright lights because of an eye condition. Have these things been accepted? Unequivocally, YES! In fact, when I walk into a room of racing folks gathered these days hatless, I'm asked many times "where is your hat?” Funny how that has worked out.
What I really want to say is how I now "fit in" with a group of folks who have allowed me to become a part of those who believe the history of stock car racing is worth honoring. I have appeared, many times, with a group of the pioneers and heroes of the early days who have accepted me and who make me feel so very special. I am allowed to sit with folks like Bill Blair, Jr., Clyde Mangum, Bobby and Donnie Allison and Rex White, along with so many more, who accept me as a member of something far more important than am I. I am able to talk with Frances Flock about the early days and about the contributions of her husband Tim to the sport. Frances is the epitome of what it means to honor the history some want us to forget, or at least over look. I am able to talk with writers such as Tom Higgins and Steve Waid, honored that those guys I have read for so long have the time to talk with me.
I am honored that I can pull up at Memory Lane Museum in Mooresville, withOUT my cowboy hat no less, and Alex Beam recognizes me and zips me off in the golf car to see some of his collection of vehicles not open to the public. That his son, Sam Beam, treats me as though I am a celebrity while it is Sam who has done so much in racing. I am so appreciative of the courtesy and attention that Don Miller and Bill Rhine give me every time I see them. I deeply appreciate Bob Hissom thinking of me when there is an event gathering of racing folk. Bob is a very special individual who leaves no detail to chance.
For those of you who think this may have been too personal, please forgive my personal reflections. I guess it's just the time of year that makes an old man look back and realize what a wonderful life he has had and what a wonderful life he is living. I never have to worry about "fitting in" now, or about being in the shadows. I have been accepted by the group of folks I never imagined I could be a part of. To all of you I haven't mentioned by name tonight, it was only in the interest of time I didn't name you. Each of you are, or is, so wonderful.
And, last but certainly not least, over thirty-one years ago, I was accepted by a young red-haired lady (I had better luck than Charlie Brown with the red-haired girl) who is my wife Ann. She allows me to participate in all these wonderful events and supports me in those things. Surely, just as George Bailey in the Movie, I can say "It's a Wonderful Life".
