Baker was buoyed by win at another Texas track

Before Texas Motor Speedway near Dallas/Fort Worth there was Texas World Speedway near College Station.

Major NASCAR races were held at the latter from 1969 through ’73, and again from ’79 through ’81.

The 2-mile track was built as a sister speedway to one of similar design in the Irish Hills — Michigan International Speedway.

Unfortunately, the layout deep in the heart of Texas never drew fans like its counterpart not far from Detroit, and eventually it fell into disrepair.  It finally was surrendered back to the tumbling tumbleweeds, whitetail deer, jackrabbits and resident population of rattlesnakes.

There were some exciting races at Texas World Speedway, and all six different winners there are now in the National Motorsports Press Association Hall Of Fame.

The eyes of Texas were upon Richard Petty as he won at College Station three times.  Buddy Baker, Darrell Waltrip, Cale Yarborough, Benny Parsons and the late Bobby Isaac triumphed there once each.

Baker has perhaps the best memory of the place.  Also one of the worst.

The worst came first. It happened in the track’s 1969 grand opening event, the Texas 500 on Dec. 7.

Buddy, driving a Dodge fielded by Cotton Owens, dominated much of the season finale, leading 13 times for 150 laps after winning the pole at 176.284 mph.

He was ahead and looking strong on Lap 228 as the field went around at reduced speed with the caution lights flashing.

Exactly what happened at this point has become a bit foggy during the intervening 36 years.

Some contend Baker looked toward his pit to flash a “V” sign for what appeared to be a certain victory in just 22 more laps.  Others think that Buddy was distracted while trying to read a message chalked on a pit board for him.

Whichever the case, Buddy suddenly slammed into the rear end of James Hylton’s car.  Although the pace was  slow under yellow, the impact caved in the front of Baker’s car, crushing the radiator and sending the prospect of victory evaporating in a stream of steam.

“I feel awful about it,” said a crestfallen Baker.

Isaac subsequently rolled to his first triumph on a superspeedway.

Things went better for Big Buddy at College Station on Nov. 12, 1972.

Once again the Texas 500 was the season’s last race.

A.J. Foyt, driving a Mercury for the Wood Brothers, won the pole at 170.273 mph.  Buddy was second fastest in the K&K team’s Dodge, with Petty lining up third in another Dodge.

The trio proved overpoweringly dominant.  No other driver led a lap.

Baker grabbed the front spot from Petty on Lap 229, then held off Foyt in furious battle over the final 42 miles.  Buddy took the checkered flag a half-car-length ahead.

He was euphoric to have won such a thriller.

I was tickled, too, and for selfish reasons.

Since 1965 Buddy and I had taken a post-season fishing trip to somewhere on the Carolinas coast with a few other friends.

In ’72 we had plans to go to Georgetown, S.C., and fish with longtime buddy Jerry Bradshaw.  We were going to leave Charlotte on Monday afternoon after Buddy returned from the race in Texas.

“Winning is going to have Buddy in a buoyant mood,” I thought to myself.  “This year’s trip is going to be especially fun.”

It then occurred to me that Buddy, because of the Victory Lane proceedings and the press box interview, probably wouldn’t get back home until late on Monday.  We’d have to postpone heading to Georgetown until Tuesday.

Around 2 a.m. on Monday a ringing phone roused me from sleep.  A jubilant Buddy was calling.

“Get your gear out to the driveway,” he said cheerily.  “I’m picking you up in two hours!”

“How did you get back to Charlotte so fast?” I asked.

“Man, I beat Big Daddy A.J. in his home state!!!” answered Buddy.  “I chartered a plane!!!”

Somewhat sleepily, I managed to get my fishing tackle and clothes to the sidewalk.

Buddy arrived about 5 a.m. and we were off.

He was ebullient, his adrenaline pumping overtime.

Too much so.

Somewhere south of Conway, S.C., on a rural “shortcut road” through a swamp to Georgetown, we whipped by a highway patrolman who was hidden in the woods.

After us he came, blue lights flashing.

“We were speeding pretty fast,” I moaned.  “We’re going to jail.”

The officer’s eyes widened when he saw who was driving the car. “Are you Buddy Baker!?” he asked.

Buddy allowed that he was.

“You won the race yesterday in Texas!” said the officer.  “Have you got any souvenir caps for me and my fellow patrolmen?”

Buddy had a boxful of new caps, which he gladly donated to the S.C. Highway Patrol.

After being warned to slow down, we were under way again, talking about how lucky we were that the officer was a racing fan.  And that Buddy had won.

“If you had lost,” I said, "we might be in a cell in Conway right now.”

It turned out our luck continued during the next few days. For a change, the fish were biting.