Tom Higgins' Scuffs

Petty and the president

It was a day during which a county commissioner upstaged the President of The United States.

   The date was July 4, 1984.

   The county commissioner was Richard Petty.

   The president was Ronald Reagan.

   How did Petty, the “King” of  NASCAR,  do it?

   By winning the Pepsi 400 at Daytona International Speedway while Reagan, the first sitting chief executive ever to attend an auto race, was among the awe-struck throng looking on.

It was Petty's 200th victory on NASCAR's major circuit, an astounding accomplishment.

As I grow older, approaching age 72, I sometimes can’t recall everything that happened the day before.

   But I vividly remember that Independence Day dating back 25 years, more than a quarter of life expectancy for most of us.

   Me and my media buddies were up early to go to the track.  We anticipated, correctly, that traffic would be snarled more than usual because of heightened security associated with Reagan’s visit.

   We were right.

    After finally getting parked, we found long lines at the gates into the grandstands and press box.  Everyone entering had to go through metal detectors manned by Secret Service agents and local law enforcement.

   Still more metal detectors waited inside the fence.

   Finally, we reached the foot of the steps leading to the press box.  A husky Secret Service agent was standing there.

   “Okay, guys, take ‘em apart,” he said, pointing to our computers and offering a small screwdriver.

   I panicked.

   “Sir,” I said, “it’s all I can do to turn this durn thing on and off.  I’ll never get it apart and back together.”

   “I sympathize,” he said.  “But I can’t let you up there to the box until you show me what’s inside the computer.  There could be a bomb in that thing, and the President is going to be sitting in a nearby suite.”

   Somehow, I managed to remove the cover from the bulky, early-model computer, called a Port-A-Bubble.  And I got it back on.

   President Reagan wasn’t present for the 400’s green flag, but he was en route to the famed 2.5-mile Florida track, where the Coke Zero 400 is scheduled this weekend.  Reagan memorably gave the command to start engines by phone from Air Force One high above either South Carolina or Georgia.

   In an incredible moment of luck, a photographer snapped an iconic picture of the president’s plane landing at the Daytona Beach airport just as Petty sped down the backstretch, which is parallel to the runway.  It appeared Petty’s Pontiac was under the left wing of the beautiful aircraft.

   Terry Labonte, Bobby Allison, Dale Earnhardt, Harry Gant, Petty and pole-winner Cale Yarborough took turns leading during the first half of the 160-lap race.

   As the finish neared, it was Petty and Yarborough far ahead at the front, leading Gant by about a half-lap.

   Starting the 157th lap, rookie driver Doug Heveron lost control just past the start/finish line and flipped into the grass separating the racing surface and pit road.  The accident forced a yellow flag.

   Since Petty and Yarborough had passed the line, both knew whoever got back first under caution would win the race.  NASCAR did not freeze the field the first moment of yellow as it does now.  Racing back was permitted.

   Petty was the leader in his famed red, white and blue No. 43 Pontiac.  Yarborough right behind in an orange and white No. 28 Chevrolet.

   Down the backstretch Yarborough pulled an aerodynamic slingshot pass to forge ahead.  Petty drew alongside coming off the fourth turn for a dash through the homestretch trioval to the flag.

   Yarborough was on the outside,  Petty the inside.

   Their cars scraped sheet metal hard enough to send sparks and smoke spewing.

   At the line Petty was ahead by less than a foot.  Although two laps were left to go, King Richard had won his 200th race!

   Me and other media members could see President Reagan next door in the VIP Suite owned by NASCAR’s ruling France Family.  Like everyone else at the speedway, he appeared astonished in breathless excitement and was holding his chest.

   As the field slowly circled the track on Lap 159, Yarborough drove onto pit road, only to be frantically waved back out by his crew.

   One more lap and it was over.  Richard Petty had claimed a 200th triumph in NASCAR’s big-time, a seemingly unachievable plateau.  

   Richard didn’t go to Victory Lane.  Instead, he parked the car that was destined to be enshrined in the Smithsonian Institute on the start/finish line and was met by a jubilant Buddy Parrott-led pit crew.

   Petty then was ushered up the steps to meet Reagan, who had been interviewed on TV by former driving champion Ned Jarrett just before the dramatic finish unfolded.

   Reagan exuberantly shook hands in the France suite with Petty, a fellow Republican and member of the governing local commission in Randolph County, N.C.  Petty and fellow NASCAR star Bobby Allison had arranged for Reagan’s visit to the Daytona speedway on Independence Day.

   “The president said it blowed his mind that me and Cale would touch fenders going almost 200 miles an hour,” said a grinning Petty.  “He couldn’t understand how we kept control of the cars.

   “We touched fairly hard three or four times.  The last ‘bam’ sort of squirted me out ahead.  When the cars came apart, it seemed to give me the slightest edge.”

   Proclaimed Reagan: “I feel the patriots of years ago would feel right at home in this atmosphere.  Our founding fathers were gutsy like you, and we better not forget that.  Patrick Henry, from what I read about him, would have been out in one of those cars in the race.”

   Of his premature roll onto pit road, Yaborough said, “I guess in the excitement my brain blew up.  I just flat messed up.”

   Yarborough’s error set up one of the greatest trivia questions in NASCAR history: “Who finished second in the 1984 Pepsi 400 at Daytona?”

   Most answer that it was Yarborough, because of a famous photo showing he and Petty side-by-side racing to the checkered flag.

   However, the answer is Harry Gant.  Yarborough’s dive onto pit road cost him second place.  Cale finished third.

   Yarborough praised his rival Petty.

   “Richard drove a heck of a race,” said Cale.  “I’m glad to see him get his 200th.  Now he can work on 300.”

   It wasn’t to be.

   Although Petty continued to race through the 1992 season, he never triumphed as a driver again.
   I don’t view this as a negative.

   Two-hundred is an impressive round number in terms of stock car racing victories, especially when the final triumph outshined the President of The United States.   

I

Ernie Irvan scores a special win

There hardly was a dry eye that summer Sunday 13 years ago at New Hampshire International Speedway.

   Not among the estimated 82,000 fans on hand and the NASCAR Winston Cup Series teams gathered for the Jiffy Lube 300.

And not among the millions watching the race telecast from the New England track, where the Lenox Tools 301 Sprint Cup Series event is scheduled this weekend.

   That's because Ernie Irvan was the winner, dramatically and touchingly capping a comeback from life-threatening injuries he suffered only 99 weeks earlier.

   A crash during practice at Michigan International Speedway in August of 1994 prior to the GM Goodwrench 400 dealt Irvan such terrible head and lung trauma that doctors at a hospital in Ypsilanti, near Detroit, initially gave him only a 10 percent chance to survive.

   I remember that awful morning well.

   A media pal and I were driving to the track in Michigan's Irish Hills from our lodging in nearby Adrian.  At an intersection near the speedway we heard a siren and pulled over.

   Two police cars went speeding by, followed by a van and two other private vehicles.

"Reckon what's going on?" my friend asked.

"Probably just some VIP friends of Roger Penske (the MIS owner) getting a police escort," I reasoned.

Wrong.

   The caravan was rushing those close to Ernie to be with him at the hospital:   His wife, Kim, and father, Vic, along with his team owner Robert Yates, crew chief Larry McReynolds and others.

   Irvan had been flown minutes earlier by helicopter directly to Ypsilanti from the crash site near turn two.  The star driver was hurt so badly that the track’s medical team knew seconds counted, and didn’t bother taking him to the infield infirmary.

   Drivers who had been on the track with Irvan at the time of his 170 mph crash desribed what happened:

"As Ernie exited Turn 2 I saw his car's right-front dip down a little bit, like he might have cut a tire," said Ted Musgrave. "With the right-front flat, the car just went straight.  It hit the wall very, very hard."

Despite the grim early prognosis, California native Irvan survived, fighting with the same bravery and determination he’d shown in winning 13 big-time races, including the 1991 Daytona 500.

 But the odds that he'd ever drive a race car again appeared incredibly long.

 However, Ernie DID come back.

   In March of 1995 he drove well in a testing session at Darlington Raceway.  By early fall he'd been given NASCAR clearance to return to the cockpit.

   His first start came in the Tyson Holly farms 400 on Oct. 1 at North Wilkesboro.  He led 31 laps, eventually finishing sixth.

   Irvan triumphed for Yates' team once more on Feb. 15, 1996, in a 125-mile qualifying race leading to the Daytona 500.

   Now, with tears flowing freely and all around, he returned to Victory Lane in a NASCAR points race on July 14, 1996, amid the green forests of New Hampshire.

"I knew in my heart and mind that I was going to win again," said Ernie in Victory Lane.  "I never, ever gave up hope.  There was no doubt in my mind that this day would come."

Fine pit work played a pivotal role in the storybook win.

   During a final pit stop on the 245th of the race's 300 laps on the 1.058-mile track Yates and McReynolds decided to just put on right-side tires and refuel.  When rivals pitted later, it enabled Irvan to take the lead on the 278th lap and he was ahead the rest of the way, finishing 5.47 seconds ahead of the runner-up, his teammate Dale Jarrett.

"Gosh, the emotions are overflowing," said McReynolds.  "Ernie's comeback is complete now. We're not in comeback mode any more."

Irvan's peers praised his overall perseverance and the performance at the speedway near Loudon, N.H.

Said Jarrett: "I can't express how glad I am to see Ernie win.  It's just terrific.  I think this is one of the great days in racing."

Added Ricky Rudd: "What Ernie has done serves as an inspiration to all of us.  He has shown that if we get hurt real bad, we can overcome the injuries and return to race competitively again."

Irvan triumphed one more time, taking the Miller 400 at Richmond in Sept. of 1996.

Almost unbelievably, Ernie experienced another hard crash at Michigan on Aug. 20, 1999, once more suffering a head injury.  He retired about a month later, finishing with 15 victories, 22 poles and approximately $11 million in winnings.

During NASCAR's Golden Anniversary celebration in 1998 Irvan, who lives with his family near Mooresville, N.C., and operates a chain of businesses, was honored as one of the sanctioning body's 50 greatest drivers.

Although he won much bigger, richer races, to me his most memorable victory came in New Hampshire almost 13 years ago.  It was a triumph not only for Ernie Irvan, but for the human spirit as well.

Dick May raced for many - and 'for the sport of it'

Every time we happened to meet, my greeting to the man was the same: “Dick May!  Or he May not!”

Without fail, Dick May, for many years a familiar and popular figure on NASCAR’s big-time tour, shook his head and chuckled.

Understandably, it was deeply saddening a few days ago to learn of May’s death on June 9 at age 78 in Concord, N.C.  He passed away peacefully with his daughter Joni at his side.

May was among a group of drivers whom I’ve thought for many years the likes of which never would be seen again - so-called “independents” without big sponsorships who struggled to get their cars to races, much less make the fields.

Rethinking, this scenario just might be repeated.  But more on that later ...

May was bitten by the auto racing bug in 1950.

“Me and three of my Army buddies went to a jalopy race in Watertown (N.Y) while we were stationed at nearby Camp Pine (now Fort Drum),” May recalled for a Charlotte Observer story in 1981.  “We went back to base figuring we could drive as well as the guys did in the race.

“So we bought a 1936 Ford coupe and took it to the camp motor pool to get it ready to race.  Essentially, this consisted of bending some pipes and welding them inside for rollbars.

"We drew straws to see who would be the driver. I won.”

A native of upstate New York, Dick was the 1962 champion at Watertown Speedway, a dirt layout.

May first competed in NASCAR’s top division in 1965 after buying a former Wood Brothers Mercury “from a guy in New York who either had to get rid of the car or rid of his wife.”

The venture as a car owner didn’t last long.

“I couldn’t maintain a car,” confessed May.  “I’m no mechanic.  All I know about them is that if the car is pushing, the front is going to hit the wall first.  If it’s loose, the rear end is going to hit first.

“I was driving for a guy one time and when I came in from practice, he wanted to know if the car was running hot and what the oil pressure was.  I asked him which gauge was which.

“He was incredulous and said, ‘You mean you don’t look at the gauges!?’

“I told him, ‘Yeah, and I think you did a nice job on them and the rest of the dash, too.’

   “Seriously, though, I don’t want to sound too flip about racing.  It has been very good to me and my family, enabling me to start my own trucking business.  I’ve got four tractors and 10 trailers.

“The thing, see, is that I’m among a very few who still races for the sport of it.  All the different rides I’ve shown up in, I never bought a single one, gambling on making a big bunch of money.  The car owners always have come to me.”

And how they came.

From 1970, when he moved south to be nearer the heart of NASCAR, until his retirement from the cockpit in 1985, Dick May started 185 top-level races, never winning but finishing in the top 10 eight times.  He drove relief in many, many more races.

It would take exhaustive research to determine all the team owners who put Dick May in their cars.

In 1975 during the Mason-Dixon 500 at Dover Downs in Delaware the ever-ready May established a NASCAR record that undoubtedly will be listed forever.

He drove five different cars for five different owners in the event that was plagued by rain and multiple mechanical malfunctions.

   Among May’s favorite memories was the National 500 in October of 1980 at the track then known as Charlotte Motor Speedway.

   May qualified at 161.315 mph in a Dodge fielded by Ed and Norman Negre, making the field in the first round of time trials, a rare feat for him.  This enabled him to start in front of superstars such as Richard Petty and David Pearson.

“Usually, I had to sweat making a race,” May conceded.  “But not this time.  What an enjoyable experience, except for one thing.  I didn’t know what to do with myself the remaining two days of time trials.  I was wandering around pretty lost.”

When May wasn’t scheduled to compete, he went to tracks across the country anyway, working as a representative for STP, making sure the various teams were supplied with everything from air filters to caps to decals.

   Ah, those decals.

   In 1989 when NASCAR took it’s major tour to Sears Point, the road course near San Francisco, for the first time, a flight from Charlotte was packed with people connected to stock car racing.  May was among the passengers.

   Somewhere high over the Midwest Dick came up the aisle with a bunch of STP’s distinctive red, white and blue decals in his hands.  He’d whisper to selected folks and point to the windows.

   “Pull the window shade down, put a decal on it, then push it back up,” he suggested.

   When we deplaned, the passenger cabin of that aircraft was plastered with more decals than would appear in the race.

   We figured the flight attendants would be furious.  To the contrary, they were amused and even asked May for some extra decals.

   Now, back to the tough times that May and his fellow “independents” often faced getting to and making races, especially in the 1970s.

   I never imagined that NASCAR would see such a situation again.  Now, because of the economy and cutbacks among U.S. auto manufacturers, I’m not so sure.

   Could be that some of the present-day stars and their teams might learn what it’s like to scrounge.

Hard-nosed racer was in thick of D-Day action

Watching on television as the deeply touching D-Day ceremonies took place at Normandy on June 6, I had tears in my eyes and thoughts of a fine, longtime friend and great NASCAR racer in my mind.

President Barack Obama was eloquent in addressing the world in general and the surviving military veterans specifically, the then-young men who on that date 65 years ago so courageously attacked Hitler’s Fortress Europe and began foiling his plan to conquer and rule the planet.  These heroes are mostly in their 80s and 90s now.

Some of these men, proudly wearing their medals and ribbons, were present for the anniversary observance of the battle in which they stormed France’s beaches while in their late teens and 20s.  In them, I saw Walter Bud Moore, a lanky South Carolinian.

 Moore is 84 now, and has been retired from NASCAR competition about 10 years, living on the shore of a picturesque lake just north of Spartanburg, his hometown.

   He recalls D-Day, the following march through France to Germany, and his subsequent long career in stock car racing vividly…

D-Day, the longest day

Unable to sleep, Cpl. Moore arose and went on deck of the landing craft that he and other members of the 90th Infantry Division, 359th Regiment, D Company, First Platoon have been aboard since June 1.   

 After the troops, attached to the Fourth Infantry Division, were taken on at Liverpool, the ship moved a few hundred yards from the dock and anchored. The soldiers were told a force was being assembled for an exercise assault somewhere on the English coast.

    During the darkness of the night of June 4-5, LCI 149 began moving, then stopped and was at anchor when Moore went topside for fresh air.

    Bud, who has been in the U.S. Army since August of 1943, can't believe the sight before him.

    “There were ships as far as I could see, thousands of them in what I assumed to be the English Channel,” Moore recalled.  “I went back below and told my buddies, ‘Boys, this ain't no exercise. It ain't no dry run.' ”

    Moore might have been a military greenhorn, but his assessment was very accurate.

  “Within a few hours a PT-Boat pulled alongside and these officers came aboard the LCI,” he said.  “They pulled out this big map and informed us that tomorrow is going to be D-Day and that our outfit's orders are to assault a place in Normandy on the French coast code-named Utah Beach.

      “We didn't know exactly what to expect when we went in, but we figured it was going to be bad. The Germans had had all those years to fortify the coast of France.

   “At five o'clock on the morning of June 6 the front of our transport went down and we were off. The ramp opened up 200 yards short of dry beach and we stepped out into shoulder-deep water.

   “I was a machine-gunner. I had a tripod for a 30-caliber machine gun on my back and it weighed 51 pounds. My pack weighed 30-to-40 more pounds, so the going was tough. I stepped into a hole the German artillery - which was zeroing in on us - had blown in the ocean bottom. I was in water over my head, and thought I was going to drown.

   “But I swam a little bit and found footing.

   “About that time a boy to my right or left - I don't remember - got hit and just disappeared.

      “Finally, I got to the beach and right then I realized what war was all about.    It's crazy.

      “I had just turned 19 and here someone I'd never seen was trying to kill me. My folks had raised me right and I thought I was a decent human being. I couldn't imagine shooting someone or having them shoot me.

   “But on that beach I realized those Germans in front of us were going to kill us unless, by God, we shot them first. You learned pretty quick what it took to survive.

     “A lot of fellers got hit, some of them my buddies.  We felt it was awful, and it was. We had about 200 casualties.

   “Before long, we found out the first wave at Omaha Beach, just up from us, had been pinned down and practically wiped out. There were 4,000 casualties at Omaha Beach, and it made you wonder what would have happened to you if your outfit had gone in there.

“We had a job to do and a lot of good men died doing it.  After a
  time you got immune to it. . . .  “

On through Europe

      Moore recalled  “The Big Push” of July 3, 1944, when American planes dropped personnel bombs  “thick as raindrops” on a 10-mile strip near Periers, France.

“Right after that, Gen. Patton broke through, made a hard right and hemmed in the Germans on the Cherbourg Peninsula,” he said.
          In December of ’44, during the Battle of The Bulge, Bud was involved in an incredible incident.

      “We were attacking a little town that we'd swapped back and forth with the enemy about five times,” said Bud.  “My platoon leader ordered me and this kid driver to take a Jeep with a 30-caliber machine gun on the hood up this trail and check out some houses near patches of woods.

“We saw this German soldier run in a wood hut. I sprayed the building with a couple of bursts, and the tracers set it on fire. A white flag waved and the German came out.

“We loaded him on the hood and took him with us. A little bit further we saw two German soldier sprint into a rock house. We took heavy fire from the house, and I returned it, blowing out the windows and doors. They showed a white flag, but wouldn't come out.

   “The kid Jeep driver spoke a little German, so we sent the one we'd captured in to tell the others if they didn't surrender we'd call in artillery and blow 'em off the face of the earth.”

   The Germans started coming out. They kept on coming. And coming.

   “When we got them all lined up we had 15 enlisted men and four officers,” said Moore, chuckling at recollection of the sight.  “We'd captured the area headquarters. We started marching 'em back.

      “My commanding officer said, ‘Boy, what in hell was all that shooting over there?' I said, ‘Well, we was having a little trouble.'

   “He said, ‘Where did all these Germans come from?' I said, ‘We happened to get them out of a building over there. You only sent two of us and we had to capture a whole army.'

“It was funny afterward. But we were lucky.”

Bud was awarded the first of his Bronze Stars for meritorious service for that capture, and was promoted to sergeant for his outfit's continuing fight across France, into Germany and on to Czechoslovakia.

     En route, he got the second Bronze Star. He had been on the front lines nine months and 14 days without being evacuated or being wounded seriously enough to miss combat.

      “I guess it was bound to happen,” said Moore.  “We were pulling into an abandoned complex, I think it had been a hospital, and got into a heck of a fight. I took three slugs in the left thigh.”

    He was destined to receive five Purple Hearts for wounds he sustained.

Moore was near Pilsen, Czechoslovakia, meeting a Russian force, when he learned of Germany's unconditional surrender on May 8, 1945.

      Victory came 11 months and two days after Moore and thousands of other Allied soldiers fought their way ashore on the beaches of Normandy. 

Homeward bound and goin’ racin’

  Bud Moore left Europe for home on Nov. 1, 1945, aboard the USS Excelsior, named for Excelsior Mills in Union County, S.C., not far from Moore's hometown.

      “It makes me proud that D-Day is being remembered so well and that so much is being made of it, 'cause I think it definitely changed history for the better and certainly saved the world from Hitler, Bud now says.

       “I just wish all the rest who went in on D-Day and didn't survive then or during the rest of the war could be alive to be recognized.”

       Bud, mechanically inclined, returned home and opened an automobile garage.

      He soon became known for being able to make cars run very, very fast.

      There have been stories for years that Moore tuned engines for the moonshine haulers transporting illegal whiskey and also for the government revenuers chasing them.  It has been told that Bud always gave the haulers a little more horsepower.

 It was simply good for business to be sure that the white lightning runners didn’t get busted and that the revenuers were always trying to catch up.

     Bud just grins at these tales and will neither confirm nor deny.

     Moore joined the new NASCAR organization in 1950, a year after its formation.

     In 1957 Buck Baker won the circuit’s championship with Bud as his crew chief.  Moore subsequently took titles in 1962 and ’63 as a team owner/crew chief with Joe Weatherly as his driver.

Darrell Dierieger won  the 1966 Southern 500 at Darlington Racway.

 Tiny Lund won NASCAR’s Grand American championship in 1968 in a Moore-fielded car, and, in a show of Bud’s versatility, Parnelli Jones captured the Sports Car Club of America’s Trans Am road racing crown in 1970 driving Moore’s famed Boss 302 Mustang.

     Buddy Baker won three 500-milers at Talladega Superspeedway in the 1970s for Bud, and Bobby Allison took the ’78 Daytona 500 in a Moore Ford.

On June 5, 1994, the eve of D-Day’s 50th anniversary, NASCAR’s  Budweiser 400 was run at Dover Downs.  Officials of the Delaware speedway used the occasion to honor Moore, with the military playing an impressive role.  Indicative of the esteem in which Bud is held by fellow racers is the fact that seven of his former drivers were there to be part of the ceremony - Allison, Baker, Brett Bodine, Geoff Bodine, Dale Earnhardt, Ricky Rudd and Morgan Shepherd.

Moore sold his racing operation in 1999, finishing with 63 victories and 43 poles in NASCAR’s elite division, and the utmost respect of his peers.

Moore is a member of several motorsports halls of fame.

He deserves to be in a U.S. military hall of fame as well.

Marcis stayed on track to score Richmond win

It was a race during which three of NASCAR’s most famous teams and stars outsmarted themselves.

No, I’m not specifically referring to Memorial Day, when journeyman driver David Reutimann won the Coca-Cola 600 at Lowe’s Motor Speedway. As sprinkles began in the rain-plagued event, postponed from the previous day, Reutimann remained on the track while most of the top competitors pitted under a yellow flag for fuel and tires.

This gamble gave Reutimann the lead.

The showers intensified, forcing NASCAR to order a red flag and bring the field onto pit road.  After a wait of about two hours and with rain continuing, the 600 was declared official with only 227 of the scheduled 400 laps at the 1.5-mile track completed.

   Reutimann’s first Sprint Cup Series victory, a terrific upset, stirred recollection of a somewhat similar situation that occurred 27 years ago.

   The date was Feb. 21, 1982.  The site was the old Richmond Fairgrounds Raceway, a .542-mile track in a state of disrepair and destined to be replaced in 1988 by a sparkling new facility at the same location.

   Joe Ruttman was leading and pulling away on the 244th of 400 laps when the right-rear tire failed on his car.  Ruttman lost control and spun, bringing out the yellow.

   The next three drivers behind Ruttman in the Richmond 400 - Richard Petty, Benny Parsons and Dale Earnhardt, all Winston Cup champions - dashed onto pit road for service.

  The fourth in line, Dave Marcis, headily stayed on the track.  Marcis and his teammates, led by new crew chief Jerry Darling, had noticed thick, black clouds approaching from the southwest.

   “Stay out!  Stay out!” Darling shouted into the radio hookup between himself and Marcis.  “You’re the leader!”

   Six laps were run under caution, then heavy rain swept over the speedway, and the red flag was shown on the 250th circuit.  NASCAR shortly made the season’s second race official.

   “There was no way I was coming into the pits,” Marcis said upon arriving in the press box, still wearing his helmet to keep the rain off his head.  “I couldn’t believe the guys in front of me pitted, not with weather threatening like it was.

   “Richard stopping really surprised me.  He’s always on top of everything, more so than anybody, and I just knew he’d stay out.  But in he went.

   “Maybe Richard and Benny and Dale had some little problem.  Maybe their cars were loose.  When that’s the case, and you see a yellow flag, the first reaction is to pit.

   “When they did, I said to myself, ‘Here’s my chance!’

   “During the red flag I didn’t exactly pray for the rain to continue.  But I said if the Good Lord ever wanted to help a poor ol' independent driver who fields his own cars and builds his engines, then this was His chance.”

   The Good Lord agreed and Marcis pocketed a sorely needed winner’s prize of $19,425.

   He missed by a week qualifying for a $130,000 bonus under what was then known as the Winner’s Circle Plan. This program paid what amounted to appearance money to Winston Cup Series victors.

   Bobby Allison had qualified for the eighth and final spot in the plan by taking the Daytona 500 on Feb. 14 of 1982.

   “Of course, I’d like to have gotten bonus money,” continued Marcis.  “But right now, I feel so good about winning again it’s hard to think of anything negative.”

   The triumph, the fifth and what proved to be the last of Marcis’ colorful career, ended a winless streak of 137 races dating to November of 1976, when he took the Dixie 500 at Atlanta.

   Petty competed in the Richmond race despite being hobbled by a broken right foot and torn ligaments in the leg.  He suffered the injuries the previous Sunday in a Daytona 500 crash.       

    Petty wore a cast from his right knee to the ankle, and a hinge connected to another cast on the foot.  Prior to qualifying on Thursday, Petty drove a van around the Fairgrounds parking lot, testing how he’d be able to work the accelerator pedal.

   “I really felt comfortable the first 150 or so laps,” said Petty, destined to win seven championships and 200 races.  “Maybe that’s because my car was running so good.  Then, the durn injuries started hurting me.

   “I started not to pit after Ruttman’s spin.  Just as I did it started sprinkling rain, and we put on only two tires rather than four in order to get out quickly.  Benny and Dale took four tires, so I was in front of them and felt good about my chances.

   “I wasn’t even thinking about Marcis, 'cause I’d been told he was a lap down.  Turns out, of course, he wasn’t.

  “If I couldn’t win, I’m happy Dave did.  He’s driven relief for me before, and is a fine guy.  Nobody works much harder.”

  Marcis, known for wearing wing-tip shoes while driving in races, retired in 2002 from a career in the big time that covered 25 years and 883 starts.  Dave, 68, has made his home near Asheville, N.C., for four decades, and he now builds custom street rods on order and operates a fishing/hunting lodge at Rib Lake in his native Wisconsin.

Concluded Marcis that stormy long-ago Sunday at Richmond:  “My previous four wins came in heavily sponsored cars fielded for me.  This is my first win out of my own shop.  I built the engine, towed the car up here driving my truck and drove the race.  I consider it my greatest accomplishment.”

David Reutimann knows the feeling.

Benny Parsons prevails in a classic

Swirling about with awful foreboding was what I refer to as an “End Of Time Sky.”

It looked even more frightening  than a memorable scene featuring Charlton Heston as Moses in the epic movie, “The Ten Commandments.”

However, in this case it wasn’t Pharoah’s army threatened by the ominously black, rumbling, tumbling clouds.  It was the competitors and approximately 120,000 NASCAR fans attending the World 600 at Charlotte Motor Speedway on May 25, 1980.

The event, which has its Golden Anniversary running this weekend, now is known as the Coca-Cola 600 and the track as Lowe’s Motor Speedway.

Of all the previous 49 races covering 600 miles at the track, that show in 1980 ranks as by far the best I attended and saw in person.

Credit this to the courage and driving talents of the late Benny Parsons and Darrell Waltrip.

With weather threatening to bring the race to a premature conclusion—it already had been red-flagged twice for rain—Parsons and Waltrip staged perhaps the most stirring sprint for the checkered flag in the speedway’s 50-year history.

They swapped the lead a whopping eight times in the final 26 laps at the 1.5-mile track, including four times in the last 10 laps!

Of the race’s 400 circuits, here’s how the duo’s late series of exchanges for the front went: Waltrip led laps 389-392, Parsons 393-394, Waltrip 395-398 and, finally, Parsons 399-400.

Parsons prevailed at the finish line by a half car length.

The excitement left both drivers and many of the fans drained.

“It was very, very even there at the end,” said a delighted Parsons, stating the obvious after winning Charlotte’s May race for the first time.  “I knew there was always the possibility that Darrell would get around me again.”

Asked if he used a bit more track than usual to block Waltrip on the last lap, Parsons grinned and replied, Hmmm…Maybe.”

Said Waltrip, who was going for a third straight 600 victory, “Son of a gun, I just ran out of tires.  After mine and Benny’s last pit stops, I knew I was in trouble when he pulled right up behind me.  My car pushed (understeered) when he was back there.

“But let me say this:  Benny drove a super race.”

Both of the Chevrolet drivers and their crews had gambled on not changing tires during what proved their final pit stops, taking on fuel only.  Parsons pitted on lap 362, Waltrip on 364.  The stops left Waltrip with a 1.3-second lead, but Parsons quickly caught up and the dandy duel was on.

The race had become essentially a Parsons-Waltrip show on the 274th lap when a wreck in the fourth turn foiled the hopes of Bobby Allison, Dale Earnhardt, David Pearson and Cale Yarborough.  All four were in strong cars and running in a pack right behind leader Waltrip.

“The Racing Gods were with me, ‘cause I could have been in that crash…I was running in that pack,” Parsons said during the victor’s interview in the press box.  “A lap before then, I blistered a tire between the third and fourth turns.  I couldn’t get slowed down enough to get onto pit road, so I went around again at reduced speed.  I was down low to go in the pits when everything went wild in front of me.  I was able to avoid the wreck.”

New asphalt pavement chewed up tires during the 600 of ’80.

Driver Harry Gant blew four right fronts, finally losing a wheel and crashing.  Neil Bonnett said he pitted 19 times and used 52 tires.

Back to Benny Parsons…

In the press box, he expressed how much winning the biggest NASCAR event in his native North Carolina meant to him.  Parsons was born in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Wilkes County and at the time of his 600 triumph he lived in the little Sandhills town of Ellerbe, where he was president of the PTA.

He then related an amusing incident that took place during the dramatic laps leading to the finish.

“My crew chief, David Ifft, is one of the most colorful, excitable characters in stock car racing,” said Parsons.  “He couldn’t restrain himself on the radio, cheerleading and giving me advice.

“I love David to death, but I had to remind him that I had won the Winston Cup Series championship in 1973 and the Daytona 500 in ‘75 and I knew what I was doing.  I told him to please shut up!”

It was Parsons’ third triumph in a car fielded by a team owned by M.C. Anderson of Savannah, Ga.

The personable Anderson accompanied Parsons to the post-race press session and said it was the first time he’d seen Benny win.

“I wasn’t at the other two races,” a smiling Anderson revealed.  “Benny and David and the boys had enjoyed such good luck when I wasn’t around, there had been some talk of banning me from the track.  But I coaxed them into letting me come today because the 600 is such a major event.”

Not surprisingly, after retirement, Parsons and Waltrip, both well-spoken, continued in stock car racing as analysts during television motorsports broadcast.

Benny, who lost his life to cancer on Jan. 16, 2007 at age 65, even won an Emmy for his TV work with ESPN.  Waltrip remains a stalwart with Fox Sports.

Finally, in addition to that scary sky on May 25, 1980, I vividly remember this:  Benny Parsons was able to silence David Ifft—at least for a while.  But his highly popular victory aroused  the fans, whose applause and cheers were almost as loud as the thunder.

Kick-starting an all-star brawl

One of the biggest brawls among NASCAR pit crews was kick-started.

Literally.

It happened on May 21, 1989, two decades ago, at Charlotte Motor Speedway moments after conclusion of an all-star race then named The Winston.

Nowadays, the track is known as Lowe’s Motor Speedway and the event, scheduled Saturday night, as the Sprint All-Star Race.

As ’89 winner Rusty Wallace drove off pit road and slowed to maneuver into Victory Lane, crewman Sandy Jones of arch rival Darrell Waltrip’s team gave Wallace’s Pontiac a kick in the right rear quarter panel.

Instantly, it was on.

Arms flailed. Fists flew.  Feet kicked.  Teeth bit.

The crews of Wallace’s Raymond Beadle-owned team and Waltrip’s Hendrick Motorsports-fielded outfit lit into each other.

The incident led to some of the juiciest quotes in NASCAR history.

But this is getting ahead of the story…

Then as now the race was split into three segments.  In ’89 the first increment of 75 laps was won by Wallace.  The second segment of 50 laps was taken by Waltrip.

A 10-lap dash for a $200,000 winner’s prize thus was set up at the 1.5-mile track.

Waltrip whipped his Chevrolet to a .38 second lead, but with just over a lap to go the Pontiac-driving Wallace caught him.

In Turn 4, Wallace’s right-front fender made contact with Waltrip’s left-rear.  It appeared a light touch, but it was enough to send Waltrip spinning for 300 yards into the grass between pit road and the racing surface as Wallace took the lead.

NASCAR officials ordered a yellow flag.  Since caution laps didn’t count in The Winston, a lap of racing was left when the field went back under green.

Wallace was the leader, with Chevy drivers Ken Schrader and Dale Earnhardt lined up 2-3.  Ford stars Bill Elliott and Alan Kulwicki completed the top five.  Waltrip, who had pitted for four fresh tires, was pinned back in the field.

Wallace got a fine restart and took the checkered flag .23 seconds ahead of Schrader with Earnhardt a bit further back.

Rusty hardly slowed on the so-called “cool down” lap because he knew Waltrip would be coming after him.  And he was, fast as his car would go.

Wallace got onto pit road and turned to enter Victory Lane before Waltrip could catch him.

Darrell didn’t get to punt Rusty, but Sandy Jones did.

Wallace’s gleeful team, led by crew chief Barry Dodson, was arriving to celebrate with Rusty about this time and saw the kick.

The fuse had been lit for a fight that had a crowd estimated at 84,000 roaring in delight and encouragement.

After about a minute or a little more, NASCAR officials and track security personnel were able to separate the two crews.

They stopped the melee, but couldn’t quite the mouthing.

“I hope Rusty chokes on that $200,000!” said a furious Waltrip.  “He knocked the hell out of me.  A lot of guys let greed overcome speed.  I had him pretty well covered.”

Countered Wallace:  “I barely touched him.  I didn’t intentionally wreck him.  I ran out of racing room. He ran out of racing room.  It happened on the most treacherous part of that corner.  That’s why he went around so easy.  I stand on that.

"I’d be crazy just to drive up behind a guy and wreck him intentionally in front of God and everybody.

“If you’re out for a gentleman’s drive on Sunday afternoon you don’t need to be in this race.”

Waltrip had this to say: “Rusty said after a race here last year that if he could have gotten a bumper to me he would have taken me out.  Today he did.  At least he lives up to his word.

“I haven’t seen Rusty yet.  I’d say if I never did I’d probably be just as well off.  You don’t ever want to get in an argument with a fool.”

Waltrip’s crew chief, Jeff Hammond, now is a member of the Fox TV team, along with Waltrip, working NASCAR telecasts.  In the minutes after the ’89 Winston, Hammond initially tempered his remarks.

Then he spoke.

“What Rusty did was a bush league move,” said Hammond.  “Anybody can wreck another driver with a race car.  It doesn’t take a lot of finesse.

“Rusty had been trying to get under Darrell, and that one time, coming off the fourth corner.  He just stood in the gas and never lifted.”

   Waltrip’s teammates generally  backed Jones’ kick.

    Schrader and Earnhardt were asked their views of what happened in Turn Four that day.

   “If I could have caught Rusty I might have done the same thing to him,” said Schrader.  “He would have known it.  You go in knowing stuff like this is going to happen in The Winston.”

   Said Earnhardt: “I saw a lot of smoke.  I’m not getting in the middle of this.  But I would like to have been up there with Darrell and Rusty in the middle of all that heat, going for the win.”

   Added Richard Childress, Earnhardt’s team owner:  “I’m with Rusty on this one.  If I was still driving and in that situation, I’d probably spin out Dale Earnhardt if I could.”

   About an hour after the race Wallace was escorted to the press box by a sizable security contingent for the winner’s interview.

   Rusty was met by not only the media, but by officials of R.J. Reynolds Tobacco, sponsors of both the all-star race and the season-long Winston Cup series.  The RJR people were jubilant, drinking champagne from the bottle.  They were celebrating because they knew the wild finish and fight were going to bring them nationwide exposure.

Wallace insisted there was no heavy contact between his car and Waltrip’s.

“My car doesn’t have a scratch on it,” Wallace steadfastly maintained.

This was confirmed by NASCAR  Winston Cup director Dick Beaty.

Wallace’s green and white Pontiac might not have sustained any marks, but some crewmen in the melee did, getting slight bumps, bruises and — in one case — a little bit worse.

Barry Dodson had accompanied Wallace to the press box and, in a private interview, he uttered what to me ranks among the most memorable quotes I heard in a motorsports writing career now in its 52nd year.

Still seething, Dodson said,  “During the fight, somebody almost bit off my little brother John’s ear.  I think that’s very unprofessional.”

David Poole vs. Sports Illustrated

Since David Poole’s sudden death at age 50 from a heart attack on Tuesday, dozens of newspaper articles and radio, TV and Internet commentaries have been devoted to his terrific talent as a motorsports reporter.

   Practically all of these have been sentimental and touching in nature, and understandably so.  Although gruff and volatile at times, deep within, The Charlotte Observer and ThatsRacin.com beat writer was a gentle, generous soul.

   This column is a bit of a departure.

   It’s what I think is a humorous tale about the highly opinionated David putting his foot, or typewriter, in his mouth in 1978 while a journalism student at The University of North Carolina.

   Here’s the story:

   In ’78 there were two stand-above-all-the-others stars in college basketball, Magic Johnson of Michigan State and Larry Bird of Indiana State.

   Sports Illustrated named Bird its player of the year.

   David was livid.

   He felt that honor should have gone to the leading player for his beloved UNC Tar Heels, Mike O’Koren.

   David fired off a letter to Sports Illustrated in protest.

   “Larry Bird couldn’t carry Mike O’Koren’s jock strap,” declared David in the letter, which SI printed!

   I learned of all this in 1992 while closing on a real estate deal to buy the condo near Lake Norman, N.C., where I have lived ever since.  The local attorney handling the closing was Cliff Homesley of Mooresville.

   “Do you know David Poole down at The Observer?” Cliff asked.

   “Sure,” I said.  “He’s a fine friend of mine and edits most of the racing copy I write for the paper.  He’s a great guy.”

   Laughing, Cliff nodded approval of my assessment.

“David and I were suite-mates in Lewis Dorm at Chapel Hill,” he said.  “And I sure enjoyed that time.

   “I was a freshman in ’78, David a sophomore.  When I arrived, there was no doubt who was in charge of that dorm.  It was David, even though he was in only his second year at UNC.”

   Homesley then related to me the incident about Poole taking on Sports Illustrated about the qualifications of Bird vs. O’Koren.

   “Me and fellow students really ragged David about his letter being printed in the magazine,” said a grinning Homesley.  “We did it just to see him puff up and get red in the face and go into one of his rants.”

   O’Koren indeed rates among UNC’s all-time greats.

   However, he was no Larry Bird.

   O’Koren spent 1980-88 years as a player for the New Jersey Nets and Washington Bullets in the NBA, then became an assistant coach.

   Bird played professionally from 1978-92 for the Boston Celtics.  He finished his career as the NBA’s fifth all-time leading scorer, although the latter years of his career were plagued by a bad back.  Bird now is president of basketball operations for the Indiana Pacers.

   Bird is rated by many authorities among the very top players ever.

   I couldn’t wait to leave Cliff’s law office and get home to phone David and gig him about that letter to Sports Illustrated.

   I got his answering machine at The Observer.

   “David,” I said tauntingly, “do you suppose Larry Bird’s bad back came from trying to carry Mike O’Koren’s jock strap all those years?”

   Within an hour my phone rang.  David was on the line and he was livid.

   “Who is the bastard that told you that story!” he demanded.

   “Sorry, I can’t say,” I replied teasingly.

   David began raging and demanding I give him a name.  I refused.

   To my delight, I could tell from David’s voice that he was boiling like a volcano about to erupt.

Finally, realizing I wasn’t going to reveal the source, he hung up.

   For the next several years, almost every time I talked to David, he prodded me to ‘fess up my source.

   I refused every time.

   On Jan. 31, 1997, I retired from The Observer after 34 years in the paper’s sports department.  David Poole was named to succeed me as the reporter covering NASCAR.  It’s among the best decisions The Observer ever made.  He proved to be tremendous at the job, winning prestigious awards and a national following.

   The Observer subsequently ran a story, along with photos, about a Mooresville law firm restoring a grand old mansion on South Main Street for use as offices.  It was the firm led by Cliff Homesley.

  At long last, it clicked for David: Mooresville, Higgins, Homesley.

   Again, David phoned me.

   “Cliff Homesley is the bastard!” he yelled.  “Cliff Homesley!”

   “I neither confirm nor deny,” I said.

   David ranted a bit, then laughed and hung up.

   I figured he would phone Homesley with some choice words.
   But he didn’t.

   “Even if David had chewed me out about revealing his Larry Bird gaffe, it wouldn’t have changed the way I feel about him,” Homesley said the afternoon of Poole’s funeral. 
“I loved the guy.”

   Almost all of us who knew him did.

Last-lap crash: Like 1987 all over again

It seemed Sunday as if an imaginary time machine and NASCAR driver Carl Edwards were transporting me - and perhaps millions of other stock car racing followers - 22 years into the past.

   The date was May 3, 1987, and the Winston 500 at the ultra-fast track then known as Alabama International Speedway was off to a sizzling start before a crowd estimated at 135,000 and a national television audience. 

 The lead cars in the NASCAR Winston Cup Series event were being timed at almost 207 mph, not much off Bill Elliott’s record qualifying lap of 212.809 mph.   Then, trouble struck on the 21st lap at the high-banked 2.66-mile speedway near the town of Talladega.

  A small puff of white smoke flew from the left rear of a Buick driven by popular veteran Bobby Allison.  A tire had been cut. In an instant his car spun, whipped backwards and soared smoothly into the air. Watching from the press box at the track now named Talladega Superspeedway, I thought to myself, “It looks like an airplane taking off!” 

 Then the smoothness was shattered.  

Allison smashed into the fence fronting the packed grandstand near the start/finish line, ripping away support posts, strong cables and other parts of the barrier.  His shrapnel-spewing ride continued for hundreds of feet.  Shards of metal flew into the grandstand.  It was a horrifying sight.

    I feared for the lives of fans in the front rows and for that of Allison.   I felt that my friend and neighbor back in North Carolina, the late NASCAR flagman Harold Kinder, was a goner.  The moment the spectacular accident began, he started waving the yellow flag.  And he courageously continued to do so while Allison’s car flew right at him.  The car slammed back onto the track just yards from Kinder’s perch.   

In the weeks before the ’87 Winston 500 Talladega track officials had strengthened the fencing with two giant cables.  These were credited with eventually flipping Allison’s car back onto the track.  

As crews worked feverishly to get the protective barrier back in place, the speedway’s public relations director at the time, Jim Freeman, observed, “Right now I’d say those cables were well worth the cost.”  

The similarity of the Allison crash and that of Edwards at the conclusion of Sunday’s Aaron’s 499 are incredibly eerie.   They sailed into the fence at almost the same point, spun around shattering the metal, and fell back onto the track with the cars on their wheels.  

A major difference:   Edwards wrecked while in the lead roaring toward the checkered flag, losing control of his Ford after a slight tap from a Chevrolet driven by rookie Brad Kesolowski, who won the race, the first victory of his Sprint Cup Series career.   Also, Edwards didn’t sustain a scratch. 

 Allison suffered painful but relatively minor facial injuries and bruised hands.  

Several fans were hurt during the Allison crash, three with rather significant injuries.  Only one person was harmed badly by Edwards’ accident, suffering a broken jaw. 

 Another irony: A rookie also won the 1987 race - Davey Allison, Bobby’s son.   Davey, just 26 at the time, was able to shake off the sight of his father’s awful accident and drive to his first major triumph.  

Davey generally stayed by his dad’s side while the Winston 500 was red-flagged for 2 ½ hours for repairs to the fence.   “I’m not sure how I kept control of my emotions,” Davey said after the race.   “I saw the accident happening in my mirror and my heart sank.  It’s the scaredest I’ve ever been in my life.  

“As I drove around the track I asked The Lord to let my dad stay on earth a little longer - hopefully, for a long time.  When I came back around the track and saw him get out of his car, it lifted my heart.  

“During the red flag he told me I had the savvy and the car to win the race.  He told me to get back out there and keep the 500 in the family.”   Bobby Allison, leader of the storied “Alabama Gang,” had won the race in 1986.  

Memorably, the Allisons were to score the greatest father-son finish in NASCAR history in 1988, Bobby taking the Daytona 500 with Davey right behind.  

A hard crash at Pocono, Pa., ended the great driving career of Bobby Allison later in ’88.

   Tragically, Davey lost his life due to  the crash of a helicopter he was attempting to land at the Talladega track in July of 1993.  

Bobby Allison’s flight that almost carried into the grandstand at Talladega understandably caused considerable concern among competitors and for officials of both NASCAR and the International Speedway Corp., which owns the Talladega track.  Both organizations are controlled by the heirs of NASCAR founder Big Bill France.  

“If Bobby had gotten into the seats, the death toll would have been of earthquake proportions,” one shaken veteran driver told me.  “There would have been nothing to stop his car for hundreds of feet but human bodies.   “It probably would have been the end of NASCAR.”

 NASCAR’s response was to place restrictor plates on the carburetors of the cars, reducing horsepower.   However, the plates, generally hated by the drivers and their crews, tend to keep the cars in tight packs, leading to big multi-car crashes.  There were two of these Sunday.  

So what to do now, following the Aaron’s 499 melees and Edwards’ terrifying crash, in which he bounced off the windshield of Ryan Newman’s Chevy? 

 The late, highly-respected driving champion Benny Parsons once offered this solution for the Talladega track, where he was involved in a 23-car crash in 1973:   “Knock down those high banks and turn it into a two-mile speedway…But I know they won’t do it.”  

For my part, I’d always been frightened to watch races at Talladega, especially after the colorful driver Tiny Lund lost his life there in 1975.   After the Bobby Allison incident, I couldn’t bring myself to look at the “live” action.  I covered the races by watching closed-circuit TV in the infield media center.  

Call me chicken, crazy, or whatever, but somehow this seemed to somewhat remove me from seeing someone get seriously hurt, or worse, in person.  

Following what could have been a monstrous tragedy at Talladega in 1987, Darrell Waltrip, a three-time champion and now an analyst for Fox television’s racing shows, dramatically warned, “We’re sitting on a time bomb here.”  

Carl Edwards’ wreck shows they still are.

LeeRoy lords over 600 field

During a stock car racing career covering almost five decades, Junior Johnson competed against, and fielded cars against, thousands of drivers.

   So who was the bravest of them all?

   “No doubt about it,” says Johnson.  “It was LeeRoy Yarbrough.”

   That’s saying something, coming from Junior, considering a list of “bravehearts” that includes himself, the late Dale Earnhardt and Cale Yarborough, with whom Johnson won three consecutive NASCAR Winston Cup Series championships.

   Yarbrough, no relation to Yarborough (notice the slight difference in the spelling of last names), is flashing back to mind because the 50th staging of NASCAR’s only 600-mile race looms on May 24.

   Yarbrough triumphed in the 10th running 40 years ago.

   Here’s how I remember that race:

   Yarbrough won the event in stirring style in 1969 when it was known as the World 600 and the track as Charlotte Motor Speedway.  The names now are the Coca-Cola 600 and Lowe’s Motor Speedway.

   Driving a No. 98 Mercury prepared by Johnson and a Herb Nab-led crew, based in Wilkes County, N.C., Yarbrough came into the race as the favorite.

   He previously had won the Daytona 500 in February by making up 11 seconds on leader Chargin’ Charlie Glotzbach in the final 10 laps.  On the last lap he dived low, maintained control despite clipping the apron, and swept by both Glotzbach and a lapped car to take the checkered flag.

   It was an incredible, gutsy move.

   Afterward, during the victor’s interview in the press box, the likable. generous, mercurial Yarbrough, beside himself in elation, announced that he was buying fur coats for the wives of the principals on his team.

  Yarbrough, running a limited schedule of 30 starts during the ’69 season’s 54 races, triumphed again in Darlington Raceway’s Rebel 400 on May 10.

   At the 1.5-mile Charlotte track two weeks later, Yarbrough qualified second to Donnie Allison, the pole winner at 159.296 mph in a Ford fielded by Banjo Matthews.
   I saw a display of Yarbrough’s bravery at a Charlotte hotel two nights before the 600.  The speedway had a hospitality room, and LeeRoy was there to chat and joke with friends.

   Some rowdy, inebriated fans crashed the party and made off with about six bottles of expensive Scotch whisky. The chap in charge, a gentle soul, was distraught.  “How am I going to explain this!? he wailed.

  “Don’t worry,” said Yarbrough.

   He strode a few rooms down the hall to where the thieves were staying.  He stared down all four of them and demanded, “Give the booze back.”

   And they did.  Immediately.

   None of them wanted to mess with LeeRoy Yarbrough.

   On race day, it took a while for the show to really get going because of a rash of wrecks.  Among these was a crash on Lap 13 by superstar David Pearson.  His Ford got atop the guardrail and appeared to be going out of the track.  But it slammed back down the banking to the apron.

   “I was looking at the parking lot,” said Pearson.  “But the car came back…I sure had a lot of help from the Man Above.”

   Of the 400 laps in the 600, Yarbrough led 4-29, then 104-105 and 151-157.  He took total control on Lap 162 and led the rest of the way.

   He whipped to a two-lap advantage, prompting Nab to letter on a large pit board, “COOL IT!”  There was no radio communication between drivers and their crews in those days.

   Yarbrough complied and won easily over Donnie’s car, which had been taken over by Allison’s brother, Bobby, in a relief role.

   Yarbrough held an abbreviated winner’s interview.  He was competing in the Indianapolis 500 the next day, and needed to get up there.

   At the time, there was a dirt landing strip behind the backstretch at the Charlotte track, and Yarbrough had a twin-engine plane he piloted himself at the strip.

In taking off, he buzzed the press box, causing all of us in there to duck.

   “LeeRoy taking the 600 is one of the most satisfying victories I ever had,” said Johnson, destined to see his cars win 140 times and claim six championships at NASCAR’s major level before he sold his team and retired after the 1995 season.

  That satisfaction was to be enhanced on Sept. 1 of ’69 when Yarbrough pulled off another daring last-lap pass, this time going by  Pearson, to win the Southern 500 at Darlington.    

  The victory made LeeRoy and his Johnson-owned team the first winners of what was then NASCAR’s “Triple Crown,” the Daytona 500, World 600 and Southern 500.

   Yarbrough was named Ford Motor Co.’s “Man Of The Year” and honored during a December banquet that drew dozens of celebrities, including actor James Garner.

   LeeRoy had advanced a long way.  He grew up poor in Jacksonville, Fla.  But he managed to earn enough money to build his own car at age 12.  He began racing at a local dirt track when he was 19 and won for the first time in ’57.

   He subsequently won 11 races on what’s now NASCAR’s Nationwide Series and 83 times in powerful modified division cars.

   He scored two short-track triumphs in ’64 in the big-time series, now called Sprint Cup.  In ’66, driving an underdog Dodge, LeeRoy took the National 500 at Charlotte, leading 450  of 500 miles.

   This earned him factory-backed rides, including Johnson’s.

   Then, the factories withdrew from NASCAR, and after another National 500 victory in 1970 at Charlotte, he had to scramble for rides.

   It proved to be his last checkered flag.

   In 1972 Yarbrough drove 18 races for lightly sponsored team owner Bill Siefert and finished in the top 10 nine times.  He attempted to qualify for the Daytona 500 in ’73, but failed.

   Yarbrough wasn’t to be seen at a track again, finishing with 14 big-time victories.

   Two horrid crashes in Indy Cars had left Yarbrough with serious head injuries that marked the rest of his life.

   After leaving racing he was charged with trying to kill his mother, and subsequently placed in a Florida mental institution.

   His former team owner, Johnson, sought his rehabilitation, and had Yarbrough brought to North Carolina for evaluation at two different mental facilities.

   “I planned to give him a job at the shop if he checked out,” recalls Johnson.

   It was to no avail, and Yarbrough was returned to Florida.

   He died there at a hospital in 1984 at age 46 as the result of another head injury caused by a fall.

   The shooting star of the 1969 season, and the 10th running of Charlotte’s 600-mile race, was gone.

   However, the memories weren’t lost.

In succeeding years, the most courageous driver that Junior Johnson ever saw was elected to numerous motorsports halls of fame.