'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.