Dennis hasn't raced since a horrific crash at Daytona Beach in February of 1982. At 53 and still somewhat bothered by the incident, it's doubtful he ever will.

Moments after the head-on crash he had an "over-and-back" experience in which he clearly saw his body drifting toward a brilliant white light.

Given up for dead by a member of the speedway's rescue squad, he was brought back by two doctors in the infield hospital.

THE ACCIDENT happened on Feb. 7, 1982 as Dennis attempted to qualify an Eddie Falk-owned Pontiac for the Daytona 500.

He was early into his qualifying run when the rear of the car abruptly pranced to the right, out of his control. As the back of the car kicked out, its nose aimed left, down the steep banking and onto the flat portion of the track.

"It started like a routine run," Dennis said months later. "Nothing different from what I'd done down there thousands of other times. But when the car hit the apron and came back around to the right, there was nothing I could do."

He reacted correctly by steering right, into the spin. But it was too little too late. The car snapped around and went directly into the concrete wall at 180 miles an hour.

"I knew I was going to die," Dennis said. "I'd seen people killed in wrecks not nearly that bad, so I knew I was in deep trouble. I hit the (engine) kill switch and jammed the brake pedal so hard it broke my foot.

"Then I got my best hold on the steering wheel."

Barely two seconds had elapsed between the time the car broke loose and its impact on the wall.

THE TRADEMARK DAYTONA, USA is painted in two-foot-high letters along the frontstretch wall of the speedway. The D in DAYTONA was the last thing Dennis remembered seeing before the impact.

Seconds later, he saw himself dead - if only for a few mimutes.

At first, he felt nothing, just silent darkness. Then Dennis saw a brilliant light, then his body drifting upward, through billowing white clouds, toward the light.

After watching himself try unsuccessfully to move his arms and legs, darkness quickly enveloped him again.

To this day he believes he was dead. Indeed, one of the ambulance attendants who rushed him to the track hospital told attending physicians that their patient already had expired.

"HE DIDN`T HAVE any vital signs of life," said Dr. Jerry Punch, one of two physicians on duty that morning. "There was no pulse, he wasn't breathing and he had that cold, clammy feel. It looked very bleak."

Punch and Dr. A.J. Adessa worked on Dennis for several minutes, administering oxygen and cardiopulmonary resusitation.

"Suddenly, Bill gasped and his eyes shot open," Punch recalled. "He had the most horrified look on his face, like he'd seen a ghost. He couldn't breathe well, he couldn't speak and he couldn't move. He was totally disoriented."

Dennis' larnyx was crushed and his voicebox badly damaged. His shoulder was dislocated, his foot broken and he had suffered severe cuts, bruises and internal injuries.

He spent two weeks in a Daytona Beach hospital, then 10 more days in a Richmond hospital. Today, the only outward lingering sign of the ordeal is his inability to speak much above a whisper.

THE NEWS STUNNED race fans in the Richmond area, the driver's life-long home. When a radio station reported that Dennis was dead, nephew Carroll Harris was so distraught he almost wrecked his truck in his dash home.

Keith Dennis was an 18-year-old student at James Madison University. He rushed home to join his mother, sister and grandmother on a chartered jet to his father's bedside. Ricky Dennis, 21, had gone to Speed Week with his father.

"Every flight from Richmond was booked that day, so I rented a Lear," Theresa Dennis, his daughter, said. "I didn't think about anything except getting to the hospital. I didn't think about the cost ($4,500), I thought about the people I love."

Despite divorcing in 1974, Nancy and Bill Dennis had remained good friends. A registered nurse, she knew something was terribly wrong when a colleague said she had a call from doctor in Daytona Beach.

"I didn't know if it was Ricky or Bill," she said. "I just knew they wouldn't be calling me from down there if it wasn't bad."

She prayed that day for her ex-husband to give up racing. "He's had a great career, a great life," she said at the time. "He's won a lot of races and a lot of championships. He doesn't have anything to prove."

She knew better, though. "I know he won't get out of racing," she said. "It's still too important to him."

Dennis tried to race again, but NASCAR said no. They cited his difficulty breathing and speaking. Before he was grounded, though, he was adamant about racing again.

"I'll be racing again by the middle of this summer," he said in April of 1982. "I decided when I was in the hospital that if I was physically able, I'd get back in a race car as soon as I could.

"I'm not trying to prove anything to anybody or to myself," he added. "I've raced for 25 years and I know what I can do. I don't have to prove I'm not scared. Racing is my life and I'm not ready to quit."

Then he added,"I'm not ready to die, either, I'll tell you that."

BILL DENNIS

Began racing: 1958 at Moore's Field in Richmond. Won his first-ever start after subbing for driver who didn't show up for a Modified race.

Honors: 1970 NASCAR Rookie of the Year.

Titles: 1975-76-79 Virginia Sportsman Champion; 1974-75-76-79 Southside Speedway Sportsman Champion; Top 10 in Sportsman national standings seven times between 1973-81.

Highlights: Won Daytona Sportsman 300 in 1972-73-74 for car owner Junie Donlavey.