A special trip to Bristol

EDITOR'S NOTE: Bristol Motor Speedway hasn't always had the kind of crowds we'll see Saturday night. And, besides Bruton Smith, few people likely know that better than Tom Higgins. I expect, were Tom on the other side of the fence and trying to run the place, that he'd have called for sticker tires every time he hit the pits.

But like his father, Tom knew which side of the fence to stay on. So enjoy this Scuffs entry, about a special trip to the little track that thinks it's a superspeedway.

By TOM HIGGINS

It’s likely there’ll be at least 160,000 spectators in the towering grandstands Saturday night at Bristol Motor Speedway for the Sharpie 500.

Thousands more dearly would love to join them, but can’t get tickets.

This, I realize, will seem like a fairytale to the unlucky fans, but once upon a time, Bristol track officials actually gave away tickets to the speedway’s NASCAR races.

I can vouch for this from personal experience.

In 1963, after six years of working in sports departments at daily newspapers in North Carolina, I decided to try something different. I leased the weekly Yancey Record in my little hometown of Burnsville, N.C., and returned to the Blue Ridge Mountains as the paper’s editor and publisher.

In mid-July, quite unexpectedly, I received a fat envelope in the mail from the track then known as Bristol International Raceway. I opened it to find a working press credential and four complimentary grandstand tickets for the Volunteer 500, all unsolicited.

I was delighted at the opportunity to see a race again, having last covered the 1962 Southern 500 for the Durham Morning Herald. That was the Darlington Raceway event in which Junior Johnson was flagged the victor, but saw the outcome overturned at midnight when repeated rechecks of scoring cards showed Larry Frank had won the race.

I told my father, M.B. "Pappy" Higgins of my good fortune.

Pap was then 61 and somewhat well-known in the area as a colorful game warden, or law enforcement officer, for the N.C. Wildlife Resources Commission.

To my astonishment, Pap said, "I want to go to the race with you."

I was surprised because he didn’t like crowds or loud noise. He’d even been apprehensive, at times, of attending my high school and college basketball games.

Nevertheless, on the morning of July 28, 1963, Pap and I met up with three Burnsville friends who were avid racing fans for the 50-mile drive across the mountains to Bristol.

It was a hot, humid Sunday, even in the hill country.

Pap and our pals went to their free seats in the grandstand. The tickets put them about halfway up right at the start/finish line.

I hiked down to the infield to say hello to friends I hadn’t seen in a while. On pit road I saw Linda Vaughn, Pure Oil Company’s "Miss Firebird," up close for the first time.

Wow!

No matter what happened in the race, it already had been a spectacular experience for me.

I went to the press box for the start of the show.

The action seemed to take up right where the last race I’d seen left off—with Junior Johnson running hard up front.

Junior, driving a Chevrolet, grabbed the lead from Ford arch-rival Fred Lorenzen on the second lap and stayed ahead for the next 160 laps.

Johnson then began experiencing engine problems, leaving Lorenzen in command for all but a few laps, which were led by Jim Paschal and Richard Petty.

All the while, I kept a wary eye on Pap. He was fidgeting and clearly uncomfortable with the hectic action unfolding before him, but he stayed seated.

On Lap 312, however, there was a development that determined Pap’s future as a race fan.

Coming off the fourth turn the lavender No. 22 Holman & Moody Ford of Fireball Roberts suddenly slipped sidways and began barrel-rolling violently down the front straightaway. At times the car looked to be as high in the air as a power pole.

As the car slammed down it occurred to me that Pap wasn’t going to like this.

I turned from watching the wreck to see what he was doing.

Pap, his face ashen, was hurrying up the aisle, his long legs taking the steps two at a time.

I left the press box and headed him off at the top of the grandstand.

"Pap, where are you going?!" I asked.

Shaking, he looked me squarely in the eye and firmly replied, "Tommy, if these fellers are damn fool enough to kill themselves, I ain’t damn fool enough to watch it!"

With that he walked down the hill to our car and remained there for the rest of the race.

A race won, incidentally, by Lorenzen at an average speed of 74.844 mph, good for a purse of $4,540. Lorenzen had started from the pole after qualifying at 82.229 mph. Seven cautions slowed the race for only 36 of the 500 laps.

Attendance was announced at 23,000, but I doubt it actually was little over half that.

Contrast not only that 1963 Bristol crowd, but some of the other figures to this era.

The qualifying record is up to 128.709 mph, a mark set by Ryan Newman in 2003.

And when Dale Earnhardt Jr., triumphed at Bristol last August he earned $322,443, or 71 times what Lorenzen pocketed.

The great jump in speed at "Thunder Valley" has led, not surprisingly, to another big figure—20 caution flags, or more, in some races.

But back to my Pap…

En route home across the mountain he solemnly declared, "I don’t care how many free tickets you get, I’m not ever going to a race again."

Pap lived 31 more years, passing away in 1994 at the age of 92.

He kept his promise, never returning to a race track.

This isn’t to say, though, that he didn’t become a fan.

Sometime in the 1970s, after I’d become the motorsports writer for The Charlotte Observer, Pap came down from the hills to visit and joined me and Buddy Baker on a fishing trip.

Pap liked the joking, fun-loving Baker immensely and so began following Buddy’s career as a driver.

Pap enjoyed watching the races on TV. His favorites were those at Bristol.

Unfortunately for fans without tickets, TV also is the only way they’re going to see the action at Bristol.