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2001 Soap Box Archives Nascar Racing I have received so much e-mail about the tragic death of Dale Earnhardt that I wanted to share my thoughts with those of you who were his fans, and those of you who may not understand what this man meant to the world of racing. Dale’s success as a Nascar driver is well documented and there’s no need to go into that. Everybody knows that he was a winner and one of the most successful drivers of all time. I met Dale at the Talladega race last year and he was a true gentleman, courteous and outgoing with a quick smile and handshake, definitely one of the good old boys. I know that some people think that we’re making a big deal out of this, that people die every day and after a period of mourning it’s time to move on, and you’re right. But, and I say this with the utmost respect, you probably don’t understand what Nascar means to somebody from the southeastern part of the country. The rest of the world has it’s Formula and Indy cars but the south’s got stock car racing and Elvis Presley never had a more rabid fan than some of the gentlemen who risk their lives flying around the track on Sunday afternoons. This kind of racing began with the moonshine haulers in the mountains of Carolina, on the dirt tracks with old boys who spend the last cent they’ve got on a new carburetor so they can race Saturday night. It’s not just a sport, it’s an obsession and if you truly want to understand go sit among the shirtless faithful in Charlotte, Atlanta or Talladega, watch their faces when their favorite driver gets into contention, listen to them roar as the checkered flag is dropped. Sit there with them for one race and you’ll learn more about Nascar and it’s fans in four hours than you could ever learn reading about it or watching it on TV. You’ll hear about Cale and Darrell and Donnie and King Richard. Old timers like Fireball Roberts and Lee Petty and Herb Thomas and his fabulous Hudson Hornet. These names are heroes to a southern boy and stock car racing is as much a part of our heritage as hominy grits and fried chicken. So if it seems that some people just can’t quite let Dale go, be patient with us, we’ll get over it eventually. But wherever the fast cars roar around the track on a hot Sunday afternoon, when the faithful stand up and cheer their favorites, everytime who ever takes the checkered drives down victory lane, Dale Earnhardt will be remembered, cherished and most of all missed. What do you think? God
Bless America
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