Tom Higgins' Scuffs

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.

   

   

    

   

      

   

 

   

 

 

   

The "Thunderbolts" 600

   Seldom in NASCAR history have two things simultaneously deepened so rapidly and intensely.

   These were darkness and drama.

   The date was May 25, 1980.  The site was Charlotte Motor Speedway, now known as Lowe's Motor Speedway.  The event was one of NASCAR's major races, the World 600, now named the Coca-Cola 600, a classic chase that's scheduled to be held once again on Sunday.

   What developed that stormy Sunday has become a rich part of NASCAR history--a classic, tense duel between Benny Parsons and Darrell Waltrip.

   Because of the setting and the circumstances, It rates as perhaps the most thrilling finish ever among the 600-mile, 400-lap races staged at the 1.5-mile speedway, which opened in 1960 and has evolved into a showplace of motorsports.

   There were thunderbolts both in the sky and on the track that spring Sabbath.

   Black clouds boiling along the horizon of North Carolina's rolling Piedmont Plateau spit streaks of lightning that looked like "end of time" scenes depicted in movies.  Heavy rain twice forced red flags that halted the race for periods of 47 and 48 minutes.

   There were rashes of crashes as new pavement tore apart tires.

   Bill Elliott wrecked.  So did John Greenwood...Bruce Hill...Tighe Scott...Bill Elswick...Harry Gant...Billie Harvey.

   Gant's accident on the 203rd lap was especially spectacular.  For the fourth time that day a right front tire on Gant's car blew out.  As the car skidded through the fourth turn, the right front wheel broke off and bounded over the fence and out of the track.

   The biggest, wildest, most pivotal crash came on the 267th lap.  Dale Earnhardt, leading the point standings toward what would become the first of his seven Winston Cup championships, blew a tire.  Earnhardt lost control of his car, sweeping fellow strong contenders Bobby Allison, David Pearson and Cale Yarborough into a grinding melee.

   This accident left Parsons alone in the lead lap with Waltrip, who was intent on scoring a victory that would make him the first driver to win three straight 600s.

   Excitement built as the two drivers raced in close proximity with nightfall increasingly looming as a threat to end the race short of 600 miles.  The track's racing surface wasn't illuminated at that time, remember.  Lights didn't come along until 1992.

   Pressure intensified as Parsons and Waltrip made their final pit stops for fuel and--maybe--fresh tires.  Parsons came in on the 362nd lap.  His crew, led by David Ifft, gambled on gas only.  Waltrip, driving for the DiGard team, stopped two laps later and was forced to adopt the same strategy--fuel only, no tires.

   The most furious finish in track history had been forged.

   Parsons and Waltrip were to swap the lead eight times in the final 26 laps, or six times when counted officially at the start/finish line.

   Here's how the exciting exchange went as a crowd estimated at 120,000 stood throughout:

   Waltrip led following the pit stops, but Parsons surged ahead on lap 375 and stayed in front through lap 388.  Waltrip led laps 389-392.  Parsons led 393-394.  Waltrip led 395-398.  Parsons led 399-400, winning by half a car lenght as specators strained to see in the gloom. 

   Just moments after the checkered flag fell, rain began falling, too.  This didn't dampen the celebrating in victory lane, however, as the colorful Ifft and his crewmen toasted Parsons and popular team owner M.C. Anderson, who for the first time had watched in person as his car won.

   Ifft is the source of Parsons' most amusing recollection of the great race.

   "David is among the most colorful characters ever in NASCAR, and I love him dearly," said Parsons, who, like Waltrip, retired from the cockpit of a race car to a successful career in motorsports television.  "But David is so excitable that he was on the radio constantly those closing laps as Darrell and I raced.  David was cheerleading and offering me advice.  I was annoyed and distracted.

   "Finally, I had to remind David that I had won a Winston Cup championship a few years earlier and therefore knew what I was doing.  I told him, 'Please, shut up!'

   "As fulfilling as winning was for me, I felt for Darrell.  Second place in that race would have been very difficult to swallow."

   Both Parsons and Waltrip say the intervening years have produced added appreciation of just how great their battle into the gloaming proved to be.

   There has been no 600 like it...There may never be again.  Certainly not one with so many passes for the lead in the closing stages.

Star Wars

   The controversial finish ranks among the wildest and wooliest in NASCAR history.

   It led to the intervention of a state governor, alleged death threats against the sport's biggest star and creation of a mythical move that never happened.

   The race was the third running of The Winston, an all-star event at the track then known as Charlotte Motor Speedway.  The principals were Dale Earnhardt, his arch rival Geoff Bodine, and Bill Elliott.

   Here's the story of a day that will live forever in NASCAR lore, May 17, 1987:

   It was hard to tell where Bill Elliott's forehead ended and his red hair began.

   That's because the Georgian's face was ablaze in anger.

   Elliott had just battled Dale Earnhardt--and lost--in a dramatic duel that makes this particular all-star battle the most memorable among many spectacular shows that have been staged annually since 1985.  The current stars are scheduled to come out once again Saturday night at the big track north of Charlotte, a layout now named Lowe's Motor Speedway.

   Elliott had the strongest car, leading 121 of the first 125 laps in his Ford on the 1.5-mile track.  But since The Winston was being run in increments of 75, 50 and 10 laps, rivals got repeated shots at him.

   As the last segment began, Elliott and Geoff Bodine ran abreast on the front row.  Earnhardt was lined up third.

   In turn one there was contact among the trio.  Who hit who first is still debated.

   The heavy bumping spun Bodine into Elliott, who had to slow and fight for control.  Earnhardt darted low and flashed ahead in the No. 3 Chevrolet he was in the process of making famous.

   Fans roared louder than the thundering engines.

   After a brief caution period for Bodine's spin, Earnhardt and Elliott ran 1-2 with seven laps to go.  Twice they brushed sheet metal.  Then Earnhardt appeared to force Elliott high in turn four.  Elliott responded by tagging Earnhardt, who careened off the asphalt into the grassy area between the homestretch and pit road.

   Earnhardt stayed on the the throttle and with sensational driving (and some luck) kept going straight.  He came back onto the pavement still in front.

   Earnhardt's feat quickly became known as "The Pass In The Grass."  Catchy, but incorrect.  There was no pass.  Earnhardt remained the leader throughout the incident.

   While Elliott pitted to replace a tire cut by the contact, Earnhardt headed to victory, winning by almost a second over runnerup Terry Labonte.

   The so-called "cool-down lap" was just the opposite.  Elliott banged into Earnhardt on the backstretch, then again on pit road.  Bodine popped the winner's car, too.

   Fans roared anew.  Half cheered Earnhardt.  Half booed and made threatening remarks and gestures.

   Because of the tension, two burly crewmen from Earnhardt's Richard Childress Racing team--Danny "Chocolate" Myers and Cecil Gordon, a former driver--accompanied Earnhardt to the press box as body guards.  Before meeting the media, Earnhardt watched a video of the closing 10 laps.

   "I know what happened and I'm just confirming it," said Earnhardt.  "On the restart Bodine chopped Elliott off.  It was just reflexes that allowed me to get under them.  Then Elliott knocks me into the grass.  I should be the one that's hot!"

   Elliott came to the press box after Earnhardt left, an unprecedented visit for a 14th-place finisher.

   "Dale knew I had the best car and he cut me off," said a seething Elliott.  "This after he hit Bodine and got him into me.  If a man has to win a race like that, he can have it."

   NASCAR fined Earnhardt and Elliott $2,500 each.  Bodine was fined $1,000.

   Two days later Georgia Governor Joe Frank Harris announced that he and fellow citizens had raised the money to pay the penalty for Elliott, then the state's favorite son.

   The animosity simmered, epecially among fans, throughout the summer.  Some Bodine followers allegedly felt so strongly that they threatened to do in Earnhardt in August when the Winston Cup tour visited the road course at Watkins Glen, N.Y., Bodine's home track.   The threats were never made public, but were taken seriously enough that the FBI is said to have investigated.

   Earnhardt received extra protection at Watkins Glen, but there were no unusual incidents.

   Earnhardt and Elliott eventually became friends again, even trading visits to help promote each other's auto dealerships.  And Earnhardt and Bodine, through the strong intervention of NASCAR president Bill France Jr., were forced into a relative truce.

   Since 1992 the all-star event has been held at night, and post-race fireworks have become a traditional part of the entertainment.

   The rockets' red glare always is quite a sight to see.  But the bombs bursting in air will never match the on-track fireworks of 1987.      

The Duke Of Darlington

   Once again it's race week in  Darlington, for decades my favorite place on NASCAR's big-time tour.

   Yep, even more than the San Francisco area.  Or Phoenix.  Or Daytona Beach.

   Why was often-dusty, relatively rural litle Darlington my No. 1?

   A variety of reasons.

 

  I loved Darlington because of the beauty of the stately old homes out on Cashua Ferry Road, their grounds awash in color as azaleas bloomed during spring race weeks.

   I loved it because of the Raceway Grill, just off what originally was the track's fourth turn.  The little cafe was famous for its hamburger steaks, still sizzling in the platter when served.  Legendary driver/team owner Junior Johnson once declared, "I've eaten at fine restaurants all over the world, and I've never had a better meal than a Raceway Grill hamburger steak."

   I loved Darlington because of the inevitable antics of high-spirited fans in the infield.

   I loved it because the track, dating to 1950 and the oldest of NASCAR's superspeedways, was such a difficult test for most drivers.  David Pearson, Dale Earnhardt, Jeff Gordon, Cale Yarborough, Bobby Allison, Darrell Waltrip, Bill Elliott, Fireball Roberts and Harry Gant were the exceptions.  For others, the raceway nicknamed "The Lady In Black" because of her treachery, usually was equal to its motto, "The Track Too Tough To Tame."

   And I loved Darlington because it was where long-time raceway official Red Tyler held court.

   W.D. "Red" Tyler of nearby Florence, S.C., joined Darlington Raceway's board of directors in 1952.  He  became vice-president in 1968 and president early in '83, a post he held for seven years.

   If there ever has been a more colorful track official, I haven't met him.

   Just being around Red was fun, mainly because of his acerbic wit.  He invariably had funny things to say, and often it was on the risque side.

   Some examples:

   --Red loathed Clemson University.  He'd attended Presbyterian College, and back in the 1930s Clemson had beaten Red's school something like 77-0.  Red never forgave the Tigers.

   So he always had a Clemson put-down.

   Once, at a pre-race party in Darlington, Red, with his wife Margie at his side, beckoned me to their table.  "Tom, I just wanted to tell you that Margie caught me in bed with another woman last night and isn't even going to do anything about it!" he said.

   I said I found that difficult to believe.

   "Know why?" Red continued smugly.  "The other woman's husband went to Clemson!"

   --While serving as Darlington Raceway's vice president Red often teased his colleague, Barney Wallace, the president, about the latter's widely-known, much-deserved reputation for being tight with the money.

   As I walked toward the track's infield cafeteria one day Red yelled for me to join him in his motorhome parked nearby.

   We chatted a bit and then Red said he wanted to prove a point about Wallace's parsimony.

   Red radioed Wallace, who was in his office just outside the track.

   "Bahney, Bahney," said Red in the deepest Southern drawl I've ever heard.  "The screen do' (door) over here at the cafeteria has a fairly big hole in it.  The flies are getting in there and practically carrying off the food.  You need to send a carpenter or someone over heah to re-screen that do'."

   There was a long silence.

   Finally, Wallace responded.  "Red," he said seriously, "let's wait and see what kind of crowd we have on race day before we take on that project."

   Red rolled his eyes and both of us broke out in laughter.

   --Red owned a very large houseboat that he based on the coast at Georgetown, S.C.  He enjoyed playing host to drivers and others in racing when they came to the area to fish.

   Pearson, Buddy Baker, former-driver-turned-team owner Hoss Ellington and myself once were Red's guests during a major king mackerel fishing tournament in the Myrtle Beach area.

   The ocean had been very rough during the event's first day.  Some participants experienced sea-sickness, and more of the same seemed in prospect as the forecast was for the waves to keep rolling high and hard.

   We discussed what to do, pondering the use of Draminine, patches behind the ears, and so forth.

   Red, who wasn't fishing in the tournament, scoffed.

   "I have the perfect antidote for sea-sickness," he proclaimed grandly.

   "For God's sake, please tell us what it is!" begged Ellington.

   Red bellowed in delight and yelled, "Hug an oak tree!"

   In other words, stay off the ocean.

   --Fellow motorsports writer and pal Steve Waid  and I once were fishing with Red at the Winyah Bay jetties near Georgetown.

   We were using fiddler crabs for bait and trying to catch sheepshead, which are tasty and scrappy fighters.

   Waid, concededly not an angler, was having a difficult time getting fiddlers on his hook.

   "Boy, it's simple," said Red.  "Just turn 'em over and tickle their bellies.  When they open their mouths to laugh, stick the hook in there."

   Poor Steve spent the next hour trying that technique until I told him better.

   At some point during Red's reign as track president I nicknamed him "The Duke Of Darlington."

   He hated it--or at least made like he did--and thereafter he had a good-natured zinger awaiting me every time we happened to meet.

   I got him back--and good--during one of the NASCAR fraternity's trips to New York for the post-season awards festivities.

   Red and I were sharing a table with friends at Peacock Alley in the Waldorf-Astoria's lobby.  Three elegant, elderly ladies sat nearby.

   As Red arose to go to a NASCAR meeting, one of the ladies commented on his drawl.

  "My, what a charming accent," she said.  "I bet when you were a little boy Gen. Robert E. Lee was your hero."

   I couldn't resist.

  "Ma'am," I said.  "I've got news for you.  When Robert E. Lee was a little boy, Red Tyler was HIS hero"

   There was a lot of laughter, and Tyler's face turned as red as his hair once was.

   His one-liners aimed at me grew in intensisty and frequency.  I enjoyed every one of them.

   Sadly, Red died suddently of a heart attack in March of 1994 at age 73 just days before a gleaming new grandstand, The Tyler Tower, was to be dedicated in his honor at Darlington Raceway.

   That tower, and all other seats at the grand old track are sold out for Saturday night's Dodge Charger 500.  Hopefully, a good time will be had by all.

   Ol' Red would like that.   

   

   

Whupped!

   At the neighborhood social center in Mooresville this week I overheard some of NASCAR's often-praised "boys back at the shop" in deep discussion.

   Okay, okay, so the social center really is a bar and grill.

   Anyway, these engine-builders and chassis specialists and welders had just gotten off work at some of the local Nextel Cup Series operations and they were hoisting a few brews and discussing what a heavy work load the current stretch of races means for them.

   Starting with the Subway 500 on April 22 at Phoenix there are 14 major events in as many weeks.  There isn't another break until the weekend of July 30.

   "Lordy, trying to keep up is going to put a whipping on us," lamented one of the young fellows.

   I cackled out loud.

   The group at the adjoining table gave me a cold stare that essentially hissed, "What's so funny, old man!?"

   I said, "Lads, I'm not laughing at you.  But the mention of whippings reminded me of a column I wrote 25 years ago, well before many of you were born.  It dealt with whippings, or punishment, that some of NASCAR's top stars of that era experienced when they were boys.  I still get a chuckle out of their stories."

   The "boys back at the shop" asked me to share some of the tales.  I did so with them.  Now I will with you.      

    

   Decades later, Buddy Baker remembered the incident down to the last detail.

   "I was 10 or 11 and I was spending the summer with my grandfather, Harwell Hatchell, on his farm down in Florence County, S.C.  Me and a couple cousins caught a little ol' green snake and we'd been playing around with it.

   "Well, late every afternoon, Grandpa would sit out in the front yard and whittle.  He was carving on something and I sneaked up behind him and threw that snake on his shoulder.

   "My Grandpa was 6-8 and as tough a man as I've ever known.  But he was scared to death of snakes.  When he saw what was on him, he pitched a fit.  He really went into a rage.

   "I started running.  He chased me for a bit, then gave up.  As I disappeared into a cornfield he yelled a promise that he would get me sooner or later.

   "I was so scared that I waited until way after dark to go back to the house.  And even then I tip-toed to my room.  I eased into bed and pulled the covers up.

   "That's when I heard this evil cackle that made my hair stand straight up.  I thought a monster had me.  A monster would have been better.  It was Grandpa.  He was sitting in that room in the dark waiting on me.  And he had his razor strop.

   "Oh my!"

   Ricky Rudd offered this anecdote:

   "I'll tell you I got broke right quick from even thinking about playing hookey from school.  It happened when I was in second grade back in Norfolk.

   "I hid in the garage until the school bus was gone.  Then I came out and said to my dad, Al, 'Well, no school for me today.  The bus left me.'  He tore my backside up with his belt."

   The longtime driver/team owner James Hylton got his lashing from "switches" broken from trees.

   "My Momma almost pruned a tree breaking off switches," said a grinning Hylton.

   And just what had jaunty little Jimmy done?

   "I threw the cat down the well," said Hylton. 

  "After Momma got through switching me, Daddy put me on a rope and made me go down in the well and get the cat's body.  Then he made me clean the well.

   "I never threw anything in there again."

   The late Dale Earnhardt vividly remembered what he called "the worst fannin' my little fanny ever got."

   Said Dale:

   "I got whipped for stealing my own marbles.  I swear it's true.

   "See, me and my best boyhood friend, Roger Bostic, who lived right down the street from us in Kannapolis, had been shooting marbles.  We got mad over something, and Roger went home, taking all the marbles--mine and his.

   "When I'd go down to his house to get mine, Roger would run inside and lock the door.  I'd scream and scream and threaten, and he'd just laugh out the window.  He really ticked me off.

   "Finally, I saw Roger and his mother leave.  I went down there, went to his room--remember, this was back in the good ol' days when you could leave a house unlocked--and got my marbles.  I didn't think nothing was wrong about going in their house.  Me and Roger spent nights with each other all the time.  It was almost like my house.

   "Roger told his mother what I'd done and she called and told my Daddy (the late hall of fame driver, Ralph Earnhardt).  Daddy misunderstood and thought I had gone in the house to get Roger's marbles.  I thought Daddy was going to kill me."

   Bobby Allison got whipped with a garden hose.

   "I sassed my Dad at the wrong time," said Bobby with an impish grin.  "He showed me there wasn't a right time for that."

   Richard Petty's all-time No. 1 spanking came for getting into a rock fight with his brother Maurice, later the Petty team's chief engine-builder.

   "Every time it rained in Level Cross it seemed to uncover rocks in our yard," recalled King Richard.  "We had this chore of moving the rocks to the driveway.  Without fail, we'd get to arguing and wound up throwing the rocks at each other.  One particular time we hit each other in the head and Momma let us have it.

   "After she got through our heads felt wonderful compared to our backsides."

   And how about Richard's son Kyle?

   "My Grandpa (the late hall of famer, Lee Petty) had poured some concrete at his shop," recalled Kyle.  "After admiring his work for awhile, he went inside.  As soon as he got out of sight I ran the dogs through the wet concrete.  Then I rode my bike through it."

   Who whipped Kyle?

   "Grandpa and Daddy took turns."