Long before NASCAR became an international sport, it was a regional sport based in the old south. I remember going with my friend Eric Smith, whose dad was a big Richard Petty fan, to the opening of a grocery store in my hometown of Greensboro, NC. I remember sitting on the King’s knee while he signed his autograph for me in big, bold flowery script. We sat on the fender of his open trailer, which hauled his real Plymouth Superbird race car—not a show car—behind a box truck full of spare parts.
They raced real cars back then, or at least they used real car bodies, with hopped-up versions of real engines you could get in production cars. Eric’s dad, Jim Smith, was not only a Petty fan, he was a big Plymouth fan too. I remember the Smith driveway always being filled with various Plymouths through the years, and that year Jim had a big ol’ Fury III. Back then, you raced—and won on Sunday—and sold on Monday.
This photo was taken in either 1986 or 1987 at Rockingham, NC. At the time, I was a big Geoff Bodine fan, so pretty much every picture from this roll (except for this one) is of the Levi Garrett number 5 car. I like this one though, because it shows a lot, like how we dressed, how the place looked (we all sat on a concrete ledge and had to bring cushions to feel comfy), and how you can still recognize the makes and models of cars from a fleeting distance.
Back then, the grass parking lot (boy, a lot has changed!) was full of the cars being raced. That day, I bought a Levi Garrett hat from Geoff Bodine’s dad, Ely, who ran their small concession trailer out on the gravel road leading to the track. Thunderbird Super Coupes, 442 Cutlasses, Monte Carlo SSs, Gran Prixs, and Buick Grand Nationals packed the joint. There were no interloping fans from California or Yankeeland. I made the mistake in those years of buying seats near the front. For three hours, it would rain chicken bones, Biscuitville wrappers, and swill-filled beer cans. I still wouldn’t trade those race experiences for anything.
I go to the race now, and it’s in a skybox, the drivers are from other countries, the Car Of Today looks like a cartoon character with it nose bent out of shape, one of the cars is even a four-door, front-drive Toyoty (that's what we called 'em back then), the engines aren’t recognizable as anything I know, and the cult of the sponsor reigns. As a big magazine editor, they roll out the red carpet for me, but I still ain’t feelin’ it.
If I had to put my finger on the exact moment NASCAR lost my interest, there would probably be two. The first was when Bobby Allison collected the fence at Talladega in 1987 in his Miller High-Life Buick. It’s the last important thing I remember that happened in the old-style cars with real production bodies. Something changed that day--that crash was so horrific that some of the fun just went out of it for me. The other event was when Chevy changed from the Monte Carlo to the Lumina in 1988. It was bye-bye for cars with rear-wheel drive. You no longer had to race something that resembled what you sold.