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.