A Memorial Day Tribute To An Old Soldier, Harry Hyde

  In my opinion, there are only two things good about "Days Of Thunder," the movie very loosely based on NASCAR racing.

  --It was the first big starring role for Nicole Kidman, who is a fetching lass, to say the least.

  --Robert Duvall's acting in portraying a grizzled, ornery ol' crew chief named Harry Hogue.

  Duvall is without doubt among the greatest actors of our time.  I first remember him as Boo Radley in the Academy Award-winning film, "To Kill A Mockingbird."  I still laugh recalling him as "Frank," the lunatic surgeon in the movie "MASH." But I remember him most for his role as Capt. Augustus "Gus" McRae, the old Texas Ranger, in the classic TV mini-series Western, "Lonesome Dove."

  Duvall simply was great as Gus.

  He almost was as good as Harry Hogue, a character based on the real-life accomplishments, antics and exploits of NASCAR legend Harry Hyde.

  He absolutely nailed the colorful Hyde.

  All this comes to mind because those of us who were privileged to know and work with Harry Hyde still mourn his death 10 years ago, at age 71 of a heart attack, during spring race weeks at the track then known as Charlotte Motor Speedway.   

   

 

 

   

    There have been few characters in NASCAR history as compelling as Harry Hyde.  I doubt there will be any like him again.  Not if the powers that be can help it.  Political correctness, you know.  Corporate image, you know.

   NASCAR, obviously, is immensely popular nowadays, as the TV ratings attest.

   But just imagine how much greater the fun would be if the honchos would allow some competitors like Harry Hyde to liven the action.

   For example, two of the most amusing incidents depicted in "Days Of Thunder" are true.

   Famed driver Buddy Baker, who in the 1970s drove for Hyde and the K & K Insurance Team owned by Nord Krauskoff, vouches for one.

   "We were at Martinsville Speedway and I was having a rough day," recalls Buddy.  "I later won a race at Martinsville, but short tracks weren't my forte.

   "Anyway, just prior to one restart, Harry keyed the radio and told me, 'Just before the green flag, I want you to pull up there and hit the pace car.'

   "I couldn't believe it.

  "I said, 'Hit the pace car?!'

  "And Harry said, 'Yeah, you've hit everything else out there today.  You might as well get the damn pace car, too.'"

   Benny Parsons, the 1973 champion of NASCAR's elite series, had a similar experience with Hyde.

   Parsons had qualified well for a 500-miler at historic Darlington Raceway in a Hyde-prepared car, but on the first lap Benny scraped the wall in the second turn relatively hard.  He had to pit repeatedly for repairs.

   Once he came in and Hyde and the crew weren't awaiting at the pit wall.  "Sorry, we can't do anything for you right now," said an exasperated Hyde, taking a bite from a Brown Mule.  "We're having our ice cream break."

   Don't get the idea that Harry Hyde was always so cavalier.

   Drivers and cars he fielded won 56 races at what's now the Nextel Cup level, and a whopping 88 poles.  He took the 1970 NASCAR championship with driver Bobby Isaac, winning 11 times in 47 races and posting 27 other top ten finishes.  Hyde fielded 36 winning cars for Isaac, eight for Tim Richmond, four for Dave Marcis, three for Buddy Baker, three for Geoff Bodine and two for Neil Bonnett.  Some of his other drivers included Bobby Allison, Cale Yarborough, Bobby Hillin, Chad Little, Joe Nemechek and Chargin' Charlie Glotzbach.

  Hyde won the Daytona 500 with Bodine, Charlotte's World 600 (now the Coca-Cola 600) with Baker, and the Southern 500 at Darlington with Richmond.

  He also won a 500-miler with Bodine in 1986 at Delaware's Dover Downs, which the big-time tour visits this weekend for the Neighborhood Excellence 500, presented by Bank of America.

  During the '70s Hyde mischievously played with the minds of rivals by having the smallest, slightest member of his team push their car to the line for qualifying all by himself.

   The message was that the car was so light and seemingly so "cheated up" that no one else had a chance.

   Says Buddy Baker, "I learned more of what's right and wrong in racing from Harry than anyone else in my career that covered 30 years.  He was 15 years ahead of his time."

   I have two favorite Harry Hyde anecdotes.

   Harry and his nephew and racing associate, Tommy Johnson, were out one day on Harry's property, not far from what's now known as Lowe's Motor Speedway.   The Hendrick Motorsports complex now sits on the site.

   Harry and Tommy were "plinking" away at tin cans with their .22 rifles.

   Richmond was driving for Harry and Hendrick Motorsports at the time, and he dropped by to say hello.  Tim had a girlfriend along.

   Harry was a crack shot, probably traceable to World War II, when he was involved in the heavy island fighting in the Pacific theater.  Tim was impressed by how well Harry could shoot.

   Richmond said, "Hey, that looks like fun.  How about letting me and my girl try it?"

  Harry told Tim that he and his friend were welcome to shoot as much as they liked.  But Harry said he would have to go back to his house and fetch some more shells.

   Harry was gone and gone and gone.  Finally he came back.  Harry handed Tim and the young lady a box of shells each.

   Before long the girlfriend had caught on and was hitting the cans pretty regularly.  Tim, though, hadn't hit a single one, and Hyde was riding him unmercifully.

   Richmond, getting red in the face, said that something had to be wrong with his rifle.  He demanded to swap .22s with his girlfriend.

   Tim took the other rifle, loaded it, and still didn't hit anything.

   By this time, Harry was really on Tim's case.

   Richmond was getting madder and madder.  "Something has got to be wrong," he said.  "I know I should have hit some of those cans.

   "Why, when I shoot I'm not even seeing any dust fly on the bank behind where the cans are lined up.  If I'm missing, shouldn't there be a puff of dust?"

   Said Hyde, "Son, you're aiming into the wild blue yonder."

   Richmond became so frustrated that he took his girlfriend by the hand, stalked to his car and drove away in a huff.

   Hyde and Tommy Johnson collapsed in laughter.

   When Harry brought the ammo back from the house, he had given Tim a box of blanks.

   My second favorite Harry Hyde tale?

   We were bound for Phoenix and NASCAR's second Winston Cup Series race there in 1989.

   Hyde sat across the aisle on an airliner out of Charlotte.

   The plane encountered some turbulence over New Mexico and the fasten-seat-belts light flashed on.

   Hyde went on reading a book on World War II, a favorite subject because he was a veteran of many of the Pacific battles.  He left his belt unbuckled.

   A war of wills began between Hyde and a haughty flight attendant with whom he obviously had a personality conflict.

   Twice she told Harry to buckle up, then came back with what she grandly and loudly declared was "a third and final warning."

   Harry gently closed his book and with phony, syrupy sweetness said, "Honey, if something should cause this seat to go flying through the nose of this airplane, is it going to make a damn bit of difference whether my ass is strapped to it or not?"

   The many racing folks seated near Hyde on the flight hooted in delight.

   The flight attendant beat a hasty retreat, and the seat belt wasn't mentioned again.

   Harry's sense of humor nailed me a few times, once most memorably.

   It happened during a press conference at Charlotte Motor Speedway, an event attended by most of the the track personnel, including the many lovely female staffers.  Someone brought up Harry's storied "Little Black Book," a journal in which he had logged every condition at every track throughout his career.

   "What would you do without it?" a reporter asked.

   Hyde grinned wickedly and stared straight at me, well aware that I covered hunting and fishing for The Charlotte Observer along with motorsports.

   "Me going to a race track without my Little Black Book," said Harry, "would be like Tom Higgins going fishing without his worm."

   The hall erupted in laughter.  The lovely speedway staffers laughed loudest of all.

   I blushed redder than at anytime in my life.

   An hour later I was kicking myself for not standing up and replying, "Harry, I never go anywhere without my worm."

   I later hit Harry with the line, but it had no impact.  The timing was long lost.

   I was honored to present the address for Harry's posthumous induction into the National Motorsports Press Association Hall Of Fame at Darlington, S.C.  He very deservedly also has been inducted into the International Motorsports Hall Of Fame at Talladega, Ala.

   Rest in peace, Harry Hyde.

   Characters with your color and charisma now appear to be personna non grata in NASCAR.

   And that's the sport's loss.