Dick May raced for many - and 'for the sport of it'

Every time we happened to meet, my greeting to the man was the same: “Dick May!  Or he May not!”

Without fail, Dick May, for many years a familiar and popular figure on NASCAR’s big-time tour, shook his head and chuckled.

Understandably, it was deeply saddening a few days ago to learn of May’s death on June 9 at age 78 in Concord, N.C.  He passed away peacefully with his daughter Joni at his side.

May was among a group of drivers whom I’ve thought for many years the likes of which never would be seen again - so-called “independents” without big sponsorships who struggled to get their cars to races, much less make the fields.

Rethinking, this scenario just might be repeated.  But more on that later ...

May was bitten by the auto racing bug in 1950.

“Me and three of my Army buddies went to a jalopy race in Watertown (N.Y) while we were stationed at nearby Camp Pine (now Fort Drum),” May recalled for a Charlotte Observer story in 1981.  “We went back to base figuring we could drive as well as the guys did in the race.

“So we bought a 1936 Ford coupe and took it to the camp motor pool to get it ready to race.  Essentially, this consisted of bending some pipes and welding them inside for rollbars.

"We drew straws to see who would be the driver. I won.”

A native of upstate New York, Dick was the 1962 champion at Watertown Speedway, a dirt layout.

May first competed in NASCAR’s top division in 1965 after buying a former Wood Brothers Mercury “from a guy in New York who either had to get rid of the car or rid of his wife.”

The venture as a car owner didn’t last long.

“I couldn’t maintain a car,” confessed May.  “I’m no mechanic.  All I know about them is that if the car is pushing, the front is going to hit the wall first.  If it’s loose, the rear end is going to hit first.

“I was driving for a guy one time and when I came in from practice, he wanted to know if the car was running hot and what the oil pressure was.  I asked him which gauge was which.

“He was incredulous and said, ‘You mean you don’t look at the gauges!?’

“I told him, ‘Yeah, and I think you did a nice job on them and the rest of the dash, too.’

   “Seriously, though, I don’t want to sound too flip about racing.  It has been very good to me and my family, enabling me to start my own trucking business.  I’ve got four tractors and 10 trailers.

“The thing, see, is that I’m among a very few who still races for the sport of it.  All the different rides I’ve shown up in, I never bought a single one, gambling on making a big bunch of money.  The car owners always have come to me.”

And how they came.

From 1970, when he moved south to be nearer the heart of NASCAR, until his retirement from the cockpit in 1985, Dick May started 185 top-level races, never winning but finishing in the top 10 eight times.  He drove relief in many, many more races.

It would take exhaustive research to determine all the team owners who put Dick May in their cars.

In 1975 during the Mason-Dixon 500 at Dover Downs in Delaware the ever-ready May established a NASCAR record that undoubtedly will be listed forever.

He drove five different cars for five different owners in the event that was plagued by rain and multiple mechanical malfunctions.

   Among May’s favorite memories was the National 500 in October of 1980 at the track then known as Charlotte Motor Speedway.

   May qualified at 161.315 mph in a Dodge fielded by Ed and Norman Negre, making the field in the first round of time trials, a rare feat for him.  This enabled him to start in front of superstars such as Richard Petty and David Pearson.

“Usually, I had to sweat making a race,” May conceded.  “But not this time.  What an enjoyable experience, except for one thing.  I didn’t know what to do with myself the remaining two days of time trials.  I was wandering around pretty lost.”

When May wasn’t scheduled to compete, he went to tracks across the country anyway, working as a representative for STP, making sure the various teams were supplied with everything from air filters to caps to decals.

   Ah, those decals.

   In 1989 when NASCAR took it’s major tour to Sears Point, the road course near San Francisco, for the first time, a flight from Charlotte was packed with people connected to stock car racing.  May was among the passengers.

   Somewhere high over the Midwest Dick came up the aisle with a bunch of STP’s distinctive red, white and blue decals in his hands.  He’d whisper to selected folks and point to the windows.

   “Pull the window shade down, put a decal on it, then push it back up,” he suggested.

   When we deplaned, the passenger cabin of that aircraft was plastered with more decals than would appear in the race.

   We figured the flight attendants would be furious.  To the contrary, they were amused and even asked May for some extra decals.

   Now, back to the tough times that May and his fellow “independents” often faced getting to and making races, especially in the 1970s.

   I never imagined that NASCAR would see such a situation again.  Now, because of the economy and cutbacks among U.S. auto manufacturers, I’m not so sure.

   Could be that some of the present-day stars and their teams might learn what it’s like to scrounge.