Tom Higgins' Scuffs

'Stars Fell On Alabama'

   From time to time in recent years I have been asked to name the most memorable racing story I wrote during four decades of covering NASCAR.

   My answer always has been the same.

   It was typed early on the morning of May 1, 1976, a few hours after "Stars Fell On Alabama."

   This most touching tale took place during spring race week at Talladega Superspeedway, where the big time Nextel Circuit teams are gathered once again to run this Sunday.  And the star of the column was driver Johnny Ray, a native of nearby, rural  Eastoboga, Ala.

   Grab a hankie or Kleenex and look back with me to a Friday night 30 years ago as I retell the story,  paraphrased, once again.

      

   Here goes:

   The scene on April 30, 1976 was Frank's Club, a popular restaurant and nightspot on the shore of Lake Logan Martin not far from NASCAR's biggest track, then known as Alabama International Motor Speedway.

   The place was packed with people involved in what at that time was the Winston Cup Series.  Scads of fans were there, too.

   The late Herman Hickman, an old newspaper pal who had become public relations director at N.C. Motor Speedway, and I arrived just in time to get the last available table.

   We ordered drinks and had just been served when the band, performing a rock routine, suddenly clunkered to a stop.  Puzzled patrons looked about to see what had happened.  The band members were staring toward the entrance.

   There, standing at the head of three steps leading down to the dance floor, was a man wearing a neck brace and casts on both arms, which stuck straight out in front of him.

   It was none other than local hero Johnny Ray.

   Slowly, stiffly he made his way down the steps.  Reflexively, without a word being uttered, everyone in the place rose and applauded lustily.

   Ray smiled appreciatively.  Tears rolled down the cheeks of his wife Kay, clinging tightly to his elbow.

   Johnny Ray, you see, was lucky to be there.  He was lucky to be anywhere.

   A horrid, grinding "T-Bone" crash 10 weeks earlier in the Daytona 500 had broken almost every bone in his upper body.  Rescue workers at first thought the 32-year-old Winston Cup rookie was dead.

  It appeared he couldn't survive.  However, doctors at a Daytona Beach hospital saved his life.  But permanent paralysis seemed a possibility. 

   Eventually, Ray began to move a bit, and he became strong enough for transfer to a Birmingham hospital just 30 miles from his home.  He faced a lot more surgery there.

   As race weekend at Talladega approached, Ray began pestering his doctors to release him for two days to visit with NASCAR friends.  The doctors said no.  Ray persisted and finally prevailed, but only on the promise that he would take things very easy.

   So much for the promise.  En route home that Friday evening, Johnny forced Kay to stop at Frank's Club, a favorite hangout.  "I want to see if any of the racing crowd is around," he'd said.  "I'd like to shoot the bull a bit."

   She reluctantly agreed.

   As the standing ovation greeting the couple subsided, the club's hostess scanned the place for a couple seats.  The only spots available were at mine and Hickman's table.  The Rays came over and sat down.

   I guessed that I might have just lucked into a heck of a story.

   I was right.

   Ray told me that while lying in traction in Daytona Beach, barely able to move anything but his lips, he'd had a phone call placed to order the building of a new race car.

   He was determined to race again, hopefully by that autumn.  If not then, certainly the next season.

   As Johnny spoke, Kay Ray winced. 

   "I don't want him to do it," she asserted firmly.  "But he says he absolutely has got to do it.  He says if he is denied racing, then he's not living."

   What possibly could make a successful businessman--owner of a trucking company and a big ranch filled with cattle--feel so strongly?

   "That's not hard to explain," said the feisty, 5-8, 140-pound Alabamian.  "There's one special place I have to win a race at--the superspeedway here at Talladega.  If I don't, I doubt I'll ever consider my life a success. 

   "You see, as a boy I farmed cotton fields on the spot where the speedway now sits.  Lordy, there's no telling how many hours I've sweated on a tractor out there.  Back and forth, back and forth.  The rows seemed to stretch on forever.

   "There's a big old oak tree right behind he press box area.  That's where we'd get in the shade to have lunch when my dad, Macon, would motion us in.

   "Dad isn't farming anymore.  He's the combination police chief and fire chief in Eastoboga.  He feels the same way about me winning here as I do.  He supports me seeking an auto racing career."

   Ray said he had taken to speed sports while stationed at Travis Air Force Base in California.  He raced motorcycles at first, then switched to sprint cars on the U.S. Auto Club circuit.  He came back south in 1968, got his businesses going and decided to resume racing in 1974.

   He ran two races on NASCAR's major tour that season and four more in 1975.  His best finish was 22nd in the '74 Talladega 500.

   Johnny was optimistic that 1976 would be a breakout season for him.  Then came Daytona.

   As we talked, the band at Frank's Club came back from a break and started playing a slow tune.

   "Come on," Johnny said to Kay.  "Let's dance."

   She resisted.

   "Honey, we shouldn't," she said.

   "Come on babe, it's important to me," he insisted.  "I'm not going to keep being a mummy forever."

   The Rays made their way to the dancing area.  Every other couple out there gave way to them.  The Rays were alone on the floor.

   The band stopped for a moment, then began another special song, exceedingly appropriate for that moment in time.  The Rays began to sway.  The number was the hauntingly beautiful tune, "Stars Fell On Alabama."   

   There wasn't a dry eye in the place.

   The next morning I was moved to write that if anyone ever penned a racing version of John F. Kennedy's "Profiles In Courage" a prominent chapter should be devoted to Johnny Ray.

   Also, that should he ever realize his dream of racing again he'd be free of that neck brace and the casts that confined him almost like the bars of a jail cell.  It would be most appropriate, then, if someone tied a yellow ribbon 'round that old oak tree.

          ******

  In epilogue, Johnny Ray never drove a race car again.  However, he fielded Winston Cup cars in 10 races through 1978 for four different drivers, including a young Dale Earnhardt.  Ray still operates a trucking business and a beautiful, sprawling ranch in the rolling countryside at Eastoboga.  He is a veteran member of the White Flag Committee that helps in the promotion of events at Talladega Superspeedway.   

   

      

   

    

   

   

      

Also Known As...

  He began his career as a race driver under an assumed name.

  He once kept his career going by writing a check that should have bounced, but didn't because he beat long odds to win two races during the same weekend, earning enough money to cover it.

  Who is this man with a past that seemingly might be shady but actually is quite the opposite?

  None other than Ned Jarrett, among the most admired and respected figures in all of motorsports.

 

   "I look back on my early years in racing and I shudder," Jarrett said recently.  "I can't believe some of the chances I took, like writing that check.  It was out of character for me."

   It sure paid off, however, for Ned went on to win two major NASCAR championships and for years he was the most respected and beloved commentator in network television's racing telecasts.

   Like so many NASCAR competitors, Jarrett discovered racing because his father, Homer, was a fan.  Ned accompanied his dad to the dirt tracks that sprang up around the Carolinas in the years just after World War II.

   "We went to North Wilkesboro Speedway and the Charlotte Fairgrounds," recalled Ned.  "The excitement captured my imagination.  From the very start I thought about someday being able to drive a race car myself."

   His interest grew immensely when construction began on Hickory Motor Speedway in Jarrett's hometown.

   "The track was the talk of the area," said Ned.  "I recall going into country stores and hearing people discussing it.  Even oldtimers were saying things like, 'I could drive one of them cars!'  I was 20 when the track finally was ready for its grand opening in 1955.  I was deeply involved with the operation of my father's lumber business at that time, but even so I was intent on being part of that first racing card at Hickory.

   "I worked out a situation that enabled me to do it.

   "I had saved a little money from my job at the sawmill and I used it to buy half interest in a '39 Ford coupe from John Lentz.  It was decided that I'd drive the car, and I finished 10th in my first race.

   "My dad disapproved.  He didn't want me to race, even as a hobby.  I followed his wishes for several months, during which time John Lentz drove our car.  Then, one weekend, John showed up at the track very sick.  We didn't look too hard for another driver.

   "I went out in the infield and put on John's helmet.  We looked quite a bit alike, so once I was in the race car, no one could tell the difference."

   Ned finished second that night, the team's best-ever showing.

   "After the race, John and I agreed that I was the better driver," continued Ned, chuckling.  "So I stayed in the car after that, running under an alias as John Lentz.

   "Then, one night, we lucked up and won.  I had to go through the Victory Lane ritual.  Folks saw immediately that I was the driver, not John.  Naturally, word got back to my dad.

   "He came to me and said, 'Ned, if you're going to race, you might as well be the one getting credit for it.'

   "The next year I moved up to NASCAR's old Sportsman Division (now the Busch Series Grand National tour) and started chasing points.    I finished second in the standings my first season behind the champion, Ralph Earnhardt, Dale's dad.  I won the division title back-to-back in 1957 and '58."

   It was during the '58 season that I first saw Ned Jarrett drive a race car.  It was a summer night at McCormick Field, a minor league baseball park that temporarily had been transformed into a small speedway when the Asheville (N.C.) Tourists lost their spot as a Dodgers farm team.  Jarrett came strolling through the grandstands en route to the "garage area" behind where third base was located.  He wore a snow white uniform and a cool haircut--a military-type buzz on top and ducktails on the sides.  His gray helmet was tucked under an arm.

   He cut a striking figure.

   The fireworks that night, however, were provided by Ralph Earnhardt and Banjo Matthews, who were bitter enemies.  As they battled for the lead on the second lap of the feature event, Ralph turned Banjo over in centerfield, snapping a 15-race winning streak for Matthews at his home track.

   The race was red-flagged while the uninjured Matthews' car was uprighted.  A Matthews protege exited his own race car to confront leader Earnhardt.  The irate protege made the mistake of sticking his face into Earnhardt's window.  Earnhardt whip-lashed him with a punch to the mouth.

   "I remember that!" said Ned with a laugh.  "Those were different days."

   Jarrett knows this well, because he was involved in torrid rivalries as well, engaging in duels with the likes of Junior Johnson, David Pearson and both Lee and Richard Petty. 

   "Feelings got so strong between me and Junior that we were wearing out our cars by beating on each other," said Ned.  "Finally, Big Bill France, the NASCAR founder, interceded to stop it. 

   "One time David Pearson got boiling-over mad at me after we had a run-in and he wrecked.  As I came back around the track, David had wrenched the steering wheel off his car and threw it at me.

   "Through the years, things smoothed out between me and all these fellows.  We grew to count each other as friends."

   Ned Jarrett considers the worthless-check-made-good incident as critical to the big-time NASCAR career that would eventually lead to him being inducted into eight motorsports halls of fame.

   It happened in 1959.  Ned had decided to give up the grind of running as many as 80 races per year in pursuit of the Sportsman Division championship, graduating to what is now the Nextel Cup Series.

   "My timing was terrible," Jarrett conceded.  "The factories had pulled their support from the sport and there wasn't much money in it.  I scrounged around trying to find a ride, but there were no competitive rides to be had.  I saw that I was going to ave to buy my own race car, but I had no money."

   Ned got word that a car owner named Paul Spaulding had a '57 Ford for sale.  Junior Johnson had done pretty well in the car.  The price was $2,000.

   "I told my friends I was going to buy the car," continued Jarrett.  "They were skeptical, because I had no money.  I had it all figured out, though.  I would buy the car late enough on a Friday afternoon that Spaulding couldn't get to the bank in time to cash the check.  There were races in Myrtle Beach and Charlotte that weekend, each paying $1,000 to win.  I would just sweep them both in 24 hours and deposit the money to cover the check when the bank opened on Monday morning.

   "And the race car would be mine."

   Ned shook his head and smiled ruefully at the recollection.

   "My friends thought I was crazy," he said.  "And looking back, it really does seem a pretty insane thing to have done.

   "After buying the car I arrived at Myrtle Beach too late to get any practice.  Even so, I qualified eighth.

   "There was a tough field that night, including Bob Welborn, a bearcat of a driver.  I finally got up to the front and Bob and I had a heck of a race.  We ran side-by-side near the end.  My stomach was knotting up because I might not win and get the $1,000 I needed.  Then, coming off the final turn on the last lap, I saw Bob peel into the pits.  A wheel had broken on his car, and I got the checkered flag."

   So far, so good.

   Well, not necessarily.

   Ned Jarrett has a painful problem facing him as he headed to Charlotte for a race just a few hours later.

   "Back then, most drivers had their steering wheels covered with electrical tape before the races started," he explained.  "This improved the grip tremendously.

   "Well, whoever put the tape on my steering wheel for the race at Myrtle Beach had wound it on backwards, which meant I was gripping the gritty side.  As the race wore on, the tape began working on my hands like sandpaper, really chewing up the skin.

   "My hands were bleeding so bad when the race was over that I had to have tourniquets put on my arms to stop the blow flow.  I could see the bone in my thumbs.  En route to Charlotte, I stopped at the hospital in Conway (S.C.) to get patched up."

   Ned drove to Charlotte and, with no sleep, began working to get his car ready to race.  The vehicle was in bad shape--almost as bad as he was.  The Myrtle Beach track was rough and it had beaten up his car.

   "I started the race in Charlotte, but my hands were causing me a lot of agony," recalled Jarrett, wincing.  "Joe Weatherly had dropped out early, so we got him to drive in relieve for a spell.  Then, Junior Johnson got in the car.  Between the three of us, we somehow got that car to Victory Lane."

   Meanwhile, word had spread among the other drivers and crews about the bad check Ned had given Paul Spaulding to buy the race car.  Neither Joe Weatherly nor Junior Johnson would take any money for driving in relief.

   "They knew that if they did, I couldn't cover the check," said Ned.  "Obviously, I've never forgotten what they did.

   "Who knows where my career would have gone--or if it would have gone--if I hadn't made that check good."

   Those pressure victories were Jarrett's first at the major NASCAR level, and during the next seven seasons he would win 48 more times, taking the circuit's championships in 1961 and '65.

   The most memorable of his 50 wins?      

   No contest.

   It came in the Southern 500 of 1965 at demanding old Darlington Raceway, "The Track Too Tough To Tame."

   The temperature was blistering hot that Labor Day, and the heat wreaked havoc with the field, causing engines and tires to fail.  When the checkered flag waved, Ned Jarrett was the winner by a whopping 14 laps, the greatest victory margin in NASCAR history.

   I covered the race for The Charlotte Observer that day, and I filed a story that posed a question about the power of prayer.

   Ned had spoken to a Methodist Youth Fellowship group in Darlington County the night before the 500.  As he left the church, the teenagers he'd impressed told Ned they were going to pray for him to be safe and do well.

   "I had no idea," Ned said in his post-race interview, "that their prayers would be answered on a scale that would put me 14 laps ahead."

   There was no way Ned--who was to retire in 1966 at the age of 35--nor anyone else could have known at the time how much the outcome of the '65 Southern 500 was to impact big-time NASCAR racing three decades later.

   Sharing in the Victory Lane rapture at Darlington was Ned's youngest son, Dale, then 7 years old.

   "It was incredibly exciting, and the thrills didn't end at the race track," Dale recalled.  "When we got home that night we found that neighbors had decorated our house and yard with bunting and balloons.  They had a big party going.

   "I began dreaming that night about becoming a race driver."

   Dale Jarrett is proof that dreams come true.

   In 1999 he became the Winston Cup Series champion, making he and dad Ned only the second father-son duo to take the top NASCAR title.  The others: Lee and Richard Petty.

   Dale Jarrett has won some of the sport's biggest races--Daytona 500s in 1993 and '96, the Coca-Cola 600 at Charlotte in '96 and the Brickyard 400 at Indianapolis in '99. 

   After retiring as a driver, Ned Jarrett operated the Hickory track in his hometown and also Metrolina Speedway in Charlotte.

   Then, as the television networks expanded coverage of NASCAR, Ned's expertise and pleasing, easy-going manner led to a new career as a commentator for ESPN and CBS.  He also syndicated a radio show.

   Among auto racing's magic TV moments is Ned's play-by-play call of son Dale's dramatic rally to overtake Dale Earnhardt on the final lap to win the '93 Daytona 500. 

   Widely-liked during his driving days, Ned Jarrett saw his popularity soar beyond his belief once he became a TV personality.  At race tracks across the country appreciatiave fans stood in line for his autograph and to have photos snapped with him.

   Ned's fame has enabled him to undertake numerous efforts on behalf of charities and service organizations.  In recognition of his many contributions, Lenoir Rhyne University in Hickory bestowed on Jarrett an honorary doctor's degree in humanities.

   "Obviously, I'm grateful that things have turned out as they did," said Ned, who remains very much a competitor--only now it's on the golf course against his cronies at Catawba Country Club.  "It has been a wonderful ride.  A ride that I wouldn't have dared imagine back in the 1950s when I didn't even race using my own name."

   Some story.

   Some man.   

The "Whoa-Go" Bombshell

   It was perhaps NASCAR's biggest bombshell of the 1970s.

   And now,  even 27 years later, it remains among the most startling surprises in stock car racing history.

   "It" was the breakup between driver David Pearson and the Wood Brothers team, which together had formed one of the sport's all-time most successful combinations.

   The stunning development came during the second week of April in 1979 immediately following  Darlington (S.C.) Raceway's Rebel 500.   

   The early-morning phone call roused me from bed.  "Tom, this is Whitt Collins," said the caller, a public relations representative for Purolator, the longtime sponsor of the Pearson-Wood Brothers team.  "David  Pearson and Glen and Leonard Wood have decided to go separate ways."

   This was explosive news.  Nowadays, it would be akin to Jeff Gordon leaving Hendrick Motorsports or Dale Earnhardt Jr., departing Dale Earnhardt Inc.

   For 7 1/2 seasons Pearson and the Wood Brothers had combined to win 43 races and 51 poles in just 157 starts while running a limited schedule of mostly-major events on superspeedways.

  "Is this an April Fool's joke a week late?" I asked incredulously after recovering from initial shock that momentarily left me speechless.  Whitt assured me it wasn't.  "I'm sorry," he said, "but I just don't have many details and I can't go into it."

   The cause of the split seemed apparent.

   During the 500-miler at Darlington on April 8 Pearson and the Wood Brothers crew had erred very uncharacteristically.

   It happened during a pit stop on the 302nd of the race's 367 laps at the historic 1.366-mile track that was among Pearson's best.  As Pearson sped from the pits in an effort to beat frontrunner Darrell Waltrip out and get back on the lead lap, both left side tires flew off the No. 21 maroon and white Mercury.  The car nosed to a grinding stop between the end of pit road and the entrance to the first turn.

   The crowd estimated at 50,000 gasped in disbelief.

   What had happened!!!? 

   There had been a breakdown in communication.

   "The Wood boys were going to change four tires, but I thought we were changing only two--the right sides,"  said Pearson. 

   As Pearson revved the engine to take off, crew chief Leonard Wood shouted, "Whoa, whoa!"  Pearson thought that Leonard said, "Go, go!"

   And go he did.  For a few yards at least.

   Then the tires, with no lug nuts tightened to hold them on, rolled off the car.

   Pearson's crew sprinted down pit road, bringing a jack along to get the tires back on.  But too much damage had been done, and Pearson was out of the race.

   Just hours later he was out of the Wood Brothers' ride as well.

   "The incident at Darlington triggered it," said Pearson.  "It was just the climax of several little things.  This had been coming on."

   However, Leonard Wood offered a different assessment: "It wasn't the pit snafu.  Certain things couldn't be worked out.  You have to plan different strategy these days with at least 12 teams capable of winning."

   Pearson had become known for running conservatively until the late stages of races, then charging to victory as the laps wound down.

   Regardless of what caused the rupture, it ended a pairing whose exploits will be feted forever in NASCAR lore. 

   The split also overshadowed one of the greatest finishes in NASCAR history.

   Waltrip and Richard Petty swapped the lead four times in a hectic, thrilling final lap.  Waltrip prevailed at the finish line by half a car length.

   Long after the Rebel 500 had ended Waltrip came to the press box a second time.  Following the winner's interview, he had visited with guests and race officials in a nearby suite.  Now he came back and with a full moon rising over the old track, Waltrip looked out across the infield, spread his arms and sang, "I'll see you in my dreams..."

   David Pearson subsequently formed his own team, raced a few seasons, and  retired in 1986 with 105 victories, second alltime to Petty's 200.  The Wood Brothers Team remains active, and now is in its 53rd year of racing.

   I imagine that from time-to-time Pearson and the Wood Brothers, Glen and Leonard, who have remained friends, look back over the years and see each other in their dreams, too.

   I

A Heavy Toll, Happy Ending

   As April arrives, action generally starts to roll at local auto racing short tracks around the nation.

  This has been among the rites of spring for decades, inspiring renewed dreams among young drivers to someday reach the NASCAR big time.

  And so it was for a teenaged South Carolina farm boy in the late 1950s.  Except for one thing...

  He had no ride and no prospects of getting one.

  Things were tough beyond this.

  The U.S. economy was in recession, and the youthful fellow had no money to pay his bills.  The electric company had sent notice it was planning to cut off power to the modest home he shared with his wife, a high school sweetheart.      

  And then came a phone call.

   A car owner wanted him to come to Savannah and drive in a Saturday night show on a little dirt track.  He offered to pay half of whatever purse the car won.

   The youngster borrowed $10 from his mother for gas and food, and he and his bride headed to Savannah.

   In Walterboro, S.C., he was stopped for speeding.  The fine was $10--all the money they had.

   Returning home seemed the best option, but they continued on toward the Georgia coast.  And then they remembered: There was a toll bridge ahead and they didn't have a cent to pay to cross it.

   In desperation they stopped and pulled the back seat out of their car, hoping to find change that might have fallen from the pockets of people riding back there.  They found 15 cents.  The toll fee was a quarter.

   Even so, they drove on.

   A kind toll-keeper laoned them the dime they needed to cross the river, and they continued to Savannah.

   Prior to the race the cars were being warmed up on pit road.  Suddenly there was a popping sound and a plume of smoke.  The engine in the car that the farmboy was to drive had blown up.  There wasn't going to be any prize money.

   Other drivers took up a collection, raising enough money for the down-on-their-luck couple to buy burgers for supper, get enough gas to return home and, importantly, pay the toll to re-cross the river.  And, yes, repay that tollkeeper his dime.

   For many, many people, this sour experience would have ended the dream of becoming a race driver right then.  But this chap persevered.

   He eventually manged to get a job sweeping the floors at the shop of the famous Holman-Moody Racing Team in Charlotte.  And he talked his way into rides with lesser car owners.

   Finally, he got a relatively good car and on June 27, 1965 he won a NASCAR 100-miler on a half-mile dirt track in Valdosta, Ga.  In his first victory, he outran a field that included future hall-of-famers Ned Jarrett, Tiny Lund, and Buck and Buddy Baker.

   He was on his way, and for the next 23 years he never looked back.

   His record grew to show 83 victories at NASCAR's top level, including four Daytona 500s and five Southern 500s at Darlington Raceway--a track he sneaked into at age 11 to watch the first Southern 500 in 1950 because he didn't have the money to buy a ticket.

   He remains the only driver in NASCAR history to win three consecutive driving championships.

   Retired as a driver since 1988, he's now a highly successful  businessman in South Carolina, operating auto dealerships, restaurants, a dry-cleaning chain and a large farm.  He's a board director for banks.

   Nowadays he could BUY toll bridges.

   Shows what determination and uncommon grit can do.

   There's an ancient adage that sometimes "It's darkest before the dawn."  This probably seems especially true when the power company is planning to turn off your lights. 

   Count racing hall-of-famer Cale Yarborough among the adage's most ardent believers.