John Delphus (J. D.) McDuffie was born on December 5, 1938, in Sanford North Carolina, where he and his wife Ima Jean later made their home and raised Jeff and Linda, their two children.
On July 7, 1963, J. D. went racing for the first time on the Grand National circuit (Winston would not arrive on the scene for another nine years) at Myrtle Beach Speedway, then known as Rambi Raceway. He started in the 14th position and finished 12th. Because Floyd Powell already had the #70 that J.D. had always raced on smaller circuits, his 1961 Ford ran with only a large "X" on the door, but he would later reclaim his favorite number.

J. D. was not a rich man when he entered racing, and I doubt that he was any richer when racing took his life, except in friendship. I don't believe there was a single soul in the racing world, drivers, owners or fans, that didn't love J.D. The words I've heard used most to describe him are determined, sweet and loveable. J. D. McDuffie was all of those things and more.

Much the same as many of the independent drivers of days gone by, he operated on the proverbial shoestring, making do with used parts and once-run tires, while doing most of the mechanical work on the car himself. He had very few employees over the years and most of those that he did have worked only part-time. His pit crew was usually made up of workers picked up at the track on raceday.

When you look at the big fancy haulers that the moneyed teams use to transport their cars, you are not looking at anything like what J. D. used to carry his. I had the profound honor of meeting him once, just outside of Darlington in 1991. In the parking lot outside our motel sat what appeared to be a pickup truck with a flatbed body, and strapped onto that flatbed was the familiar old #70. I've since learned that he called that makeshift hauler, "Ol' Blue."

Standing outside the truck, with the ever-present cigar clenched between his teeth was J. D. McDuffie. It was obvious that he was not only the race driver, but the truck driver as well. We stopped to wish him well and chatted for a few minutes, then went about finding our supper. If I'd realized that we'd lose J. D. only five short months later, I'd have stayed longer and talked more.

That cigar I just mentioned was a perennial prop with J. D. and he was seldom seen without one, even in the racecar. In fact, he used to claim that a good cigar would last him 100 miles and if he went through five cigars, he'd had a good day because he finished the race.

The big-money days were just coming into NASCAR back when he started racing and sponsorship for racecars was becoming the way to go. Unfortunately, that didn't bode well for the independent racers that were working on the smallest of budgets. Because they relied on inferior equipment sponsors tended to shun them, feeling that they were slow cars and that their dollars would be better spent on the fast cars. Many of those drivers might have been among the greats, had someone taken a chance and put them in first class rides, but the cycle was a vicious one that tended to make the rich richer and the poor poorer.

J. D. was not without lettering on his car most of the time, but his sponsors included local businesses like "Son's Auto Supply" and "Rumple Furniture" rather than any nationally or even statewide known product. Such sponsorships were likely to mean nothing more than an extra set of tires strapped to the rack on "Ol' Blue", still he persisted over the years, all for the pure love of the sport and the thrill of the race. I'm quite sure that companionship entered into that equation as well, for J. D. loved people as much as they loved him

His records, as I said, were not impressive probably even to him. Over 28 years, he started 653 races, finishing in the top-five only 12 times and in the top-ten 106 times. He never won a race, with his best finish of third coming at Malta, NY in a 100-mile race in 1971. He did however capture one pole in his ra