Written by Monte Dutton Fri, 2019-12-06 10:23
Many years have passed. Some of the details have escaped my memory, but some are as vivid as a sunset or a waterfall. Apparently, I was four or five because Glenn “Fireball” Roberts perished after a crash in 1964, when I was six.
I remember that the race was on dirt, a quarter-mile track at the Greenwood Fairgrounds, about 25 miles from where I lived then and now. I don’t remember who won. It was a Modified race, which is to say that the cars looked like full-sized versions of what are called Legends cars now. Roberts’ car was black and gold, emblazoned with No. 22. He drove a similarly decorated Pontiac in 1962 at NASCAR’s premier level, which suggests I was four years old. I can’t find a photo of the Modified. It may have been fielded by a local owner who painted it to mimic the colors. I expect Roberts was there because the promoter made it worth his time.
Written by Monte Dutton Fri, 2019-11-29 06:52
It’s Thanksgiving, and I might order a pizza. Generations have passed, the family has wings and my nephew is having the feast at his house on Saturday evening so that he and Jessica can show off their young’uns at another wing.
This is the second time in my life this has happened. The first was in 2001 when a race in Loudon, N.H., was postponed on account of 9/11 and run on the Friday after Thanksgiving. I couldn’t care less about Black Friday if it was puke green, but the rest of the gypsy troupe and I flew up to brave the elements, which didn’t really require much bravery. The race was run on Friday because, allegedly, NASCAR president Mike Helton had a wedding to attend on Saturday, and he was in a position to make such arrangements work.