It was summer, 1967. I was 13 years old, but I knew what a race car was supposed to look like. That Sunday afternoon, looking at the '56 Ford late model, I recognized it for what it was. Leland (NC) Raceway was brand new. The lights hadn't been installed, so the track was racing on Sunday afternoons. Local Sunday racing was hardly given a second thought, back in the day. Afterall, that's pretty much how NASCAR had began, and, for the most part, still operates.Leland Raceway, like its Wilmington(NC) area predecessor, Carolina Beach Speedway, was not (exactly) state-of-the-art, even for the mid '60's. What they both lacked in ammenities, they more than made up for in crowd appeal. Crowd appeal, of course, translates into purse structure, and Leland Raceway, with its grey colored clay, vertical drop-offs everywhere except the front stretch, its dirt-bank inside retaining wall, and the nereby woods for the infield "facilities", was paying $300.00 to the late model winner every Sunday afternoon. That was serious money in the eastern Carolina's. Actually, it was exactly twice what our home track, Little River (SC) Raceway, was paying.I was there with my dad. I was his crew. Sometimes my to cousins (15 and 12 years old) would come along and help, but on this Sunday, it was just me. My job was to run out on the track during cautions, which always were red flags, and wipe the mud off the windshield, and, if there was time, to clean the mud out of the sreen wire in front of the radiator. My dad ran in the late model class and our 283 powered '57 Chevy had won several races that season. We were a threat, a contender, Bobbie Gentry's haunting "ode to Billie Joe" was a hit song, and life was about as good as a 13 year old could imagine.I knew this "new" car, this '56 Ford, #0 was the real deal. I could see the aluminum hubs on each wheel, the Frankland quick change, and I studied the lettering on the car, to possibly determine who this car might be. See, I did not "know" the visitor, and that was unusual, and it bothered me. The car was painted a meidum blue metallic, the lettering was all in white. Along the quaterpanels was "Central Oil and Machine........Florence, SC" I knew THAT was serious. Because such lettering usually appeared on the fomidable Junior Johnson team: Junior, his brother Cecil, his son "Slick" and Jimmy Hatchell all of them numbered "1" or "8" or some combination thereof, and operating out of Florence, SC. (Tragically, Winston Cup driver Julius "Slick" Johnson would be fatally injured at Daytona in the early '80's)Of even more concern was the lettering on the hood: "289 Cu. In. Sportsman". Until this summer, Ford late model in the eastern Caroinas, had been required to use the old Y-Block 292 engine. The 292, or even its larger cousin, the 312, were no match for a finely tuned 283. But the Ford guys were smart. They realized that the 289 was an entirely different design, much more akin to the small block Chevy and that's what they began running that summer. A 289 would wind-up at least as quick as a 283. It had an unmistakable high-pitched whail, and it was initially outlawed at Little River, resulting in a Ford boycott, when Hop Holmes attempted to run one. But, none of that mattered at Leland, and this new car had one, and that couldn't be good.In June of 1967, I did not know the driver's name, scripted on the roof of that 1956 Ford Victoria, but me and millions more soon would. In neatly scripted white letters ........."Sammy Ard". From Leland to Daytona, Sam Ard became very well known and respected as an incredible competitor. But Sam wasn't just a driver. Sam was just as good as a car builder, and built all of his race cars. He was a crew chief, fabricator, a set-up guy, and tow-the-car-to-the-track guy.Sam was from a different era, a different world. They don't make them like that anymore. I'm convinced, that given the opportunity, Sam Ard would have enjoyed the same success in the Winston Cup ranks that he had experienced at the other levels. Unfortunately, a head injury at Rockigham prematurely ended his career. Appropriately, Sam Ard is in the Hall of Fame at Darlington, not too far from where he grew up.