Big Bill Moses

Buck and Big Bill

Bill Moses, taking a victory lap

If you’ve spent any time around race tracks in New Hampshire, you’ve undoubtably heard the name Moses. I am proud to be able to call a number of the Moses family my friends, but two of the clan that impressed me the most are the father-and-son team of Buck and Big Bill Moses.

Buck, in front of Bill's car

I can remember Buck driving his own car back in the ‘60’s at the 106 Midway Raceway in Loudon. (More on that place later.) One of my all-time favorite racing stories features Buck, and his nemesis Paul Martel. One year, the two were neck-and-neck for the track championship going into the last week of the season. Paul blew his engine in the qualifier, and all Buck had to do to take the title was line up for the green flag in the feature. Instead, he loaned his car to Martel. Now, if you wrote that into a piece of fiction, nobody’d buy it. It’s too ridiculous. My dad was the pit steward, and I swear to God it happened just that way.

The one thing I remember most about Buck is that he could do more with less than any car builder I ever heard of. He also wasn’t above seeing how far the rule book could be bent. Once, he brought his car with some new “improvement” into the pit at 106. Dad found it, and asked Buck about it. Buck protested that it was legal, and he should be allowed to run it. To his surprise, Dad agreed. That REALLY got him mad.



“You mean, EVERYBODY’S going to be allowed to run that way?” he protested.



Still, I think if my life was on the line over a race, I’d want Buck to build my car.

I think even Buck would agree that, as successful as he was as a driver, Big Bill was better at it than he was. There were, of course, two Bill Moses’. There was Buck’s son, and Buck’s brother, Dusty, also had a son named Bill. Dusty and his Bill were both musicians, so the other became known as “Billy Gee-tar.” Gee-tar Bill has some recordings somewhere on the web, and if he or somebody he knows reads this, maybe they’ll leave the link in the comments. (HINT!!)

Bill at Nor-Way Pines

Gee-tar Bill also raced, and was very good at it, but Big Bill was truly one of the greats. With Buck building his cars, he went from victory to victory and made it look easy. They were the last team I ever saw run a flathead Ford, and the last season they did they were still winning features with it. When they finally gave up the flatty and switched to a straight-6 Ford truck engine, Big Bill won the track championship at the Nor-way Pines. They were also the first I ever saw try an independent rear suspension on a dirt-track car. Somehow, Buck came up with a rear end out of a Corvette, and they spent half a season trying to get it to hook up properly. Never did get it to work quite right, but nobody else could have done half as well with it either.



I got into trouble with Bill once when I was track announcer at the Nor-Way Pines, over one of Buck’s clever innovations. They had built a new car and from what I hear they didn’t have enough money to put a proper body on it. Instead, somebody gave them some corrugated aluminum swimming pool lining, so they rivetted it onto the bare frame and went racing. When I heard that, I thought it was a great idea. What turned out to NOT be a great idea was my decision to call the new car “The Flying Bathtub.” Now, most racers have a sense of humor about the nicknames I make up, but Bill was actually planning to hit me with a pie. He was really mad! Of course, I apologized, and swore I’d never use the offensive name again. I honestly didn’t think there’d be a problem, because most of the other racers only saw it from the rear anyway.



I think it broke everybody’s heart to hear about Big Bill’s passing. It happened during the off-season, and I don’t recall what year it was, or what the situation was. I’m hoping somebody will post something to the comments section and give us the details. I know the loss was felt by everybody in the racing community. Bill was a great guy, and if he’d never won a race in his life there’s an awful lot of people who would still miss him. No matter how he did on the track, he was a true champion.

Buck, Sarah, and Bill

Three generations of racing Moses'

The last I knew, Buck is still with us, although I haven’t seen him in years and I don’t know if he still goes to the races. Bill also had a daughter, Sarah, who’s quite a race driver in her own right. Sarah married another good driver, Sam Comeau, from another racing family that includes such dirt track heroes as “Flying” Franny Comeau and “Hard Luck” Harold Hannaford. And, of course there’s the endless parade of Moses cousins, etc. who keep the dirt flying wherever they go. “Prince” John, Ray, Billy, Royal, and the rest of the gang. Good people, every last one of ‘em.

A picture of me and Leanne Weeks

Tractors

It's Columbus Day weekend, and I just spent the last two days being the announcer at Sandwich Fair's antique tractor pull. Had a blast, as did everybody else, and I can never go to one of these without noticing the similarities between the antique tractor crowd and the dirt track racing crowd.

First, it's heaven on earth for the shade-tree mechanics. Even more so for the mechnical dummies like me, because the tractors look like even I could work on them. Engine, drive train, four wheels (sometimes) and a seat.

There's also a lot of overlap with both the participants and the fans. There's a lot of the same people in the pit area, and in the stands. It seems to be a place where burnt-out racers go to get their gadget fix. It's a good place, because the entry fee - i. e. the price of an old tractor - is relatively low, and you don't go banging up your equipment against the other guys.

It's also a lot more family friendly. Literally anybody can drive a tractor. The youngest competitor over the weekend was 12, and one of the class winners was 13. Another of the winners was 77. Men and women both compete with equal standing. Dirt track racing on the local level is also very family friendly, but the pit area is a lot more intense and, quite frankly, more dangerous as well.

The most disturbing thing, although it's also very amusing, is how John Deere is the center of the universe. You either love or hate John Deere tractors. There seems to be little middle ground here. I guess it's not all that black and white, as both sides will easily acknowledge the value of the other's preferred tractors, but it is rare to find somebody who collects both. You're either all JD, or all anything else.

At the antique tractor pull JD's won their share of prizes. They also have a very distinctive sound all their own. They seem to do best at low rpm's. Still, it's such a partisan thing that, to me at least, rooting for John Deere seems too much like rooting for the Yankees. The Farmalls, Olivers, Cases, Cockshutts, and the rest certainly held their own in every division, and no single brand dominated.

The greatest extreme that anybody takes brand loyalty to would have to be Rick Merrill of Loudon, NH. Rick has a working farm, so he's not just a rich collector with a herd of trailer queens. From what I understand, most of his tractors earn their keep. They'd better. He owns 45 of them, and every single one is a Farmall. Still, many agreed with Tom Marston when he stated that, "Tractors are green and yellow. All the other colors are for scrap metal."

Don't get me wrong; I'm not quitting the races to go tractoring. Still, it's a great atmosphere, and if you get the opportunity to go to an antique tractor event, you should. I know, if you're reading this blog, that you're going to have a great time.

Tommy Richardson

Tommy Richardson, receiving a trophy

from starter Ted Winot

at Bear Ridge Speedway, Bradford VT

I promised when I started this that from time to time I was going to talk about some of the more interesting people I've known in this sport. A while ago I was being interviewed for a story, and the writer asked me what the most memorable race was that I ever saw.

Now, I've got to tell you, I've seen a lot of races in the last 45 years, but it didn't take long to come up with an answer. It was in the early 1960's at what was then known as the Legion Bowl in Rumney/Wentworth, NH. At some point in the feature, whatever held the hood down on the leader's car broke. Probably a piece of rope. The hood flopped up over the windshield. The driver then stuck his head out the driver's side window and kept on going. Not only did he finish the race with the hood covering the windshield, he won. That driver? Tommy Richardson.

Tommy was from Enfield, NH. When everybody else was running Fords his car was an old Plymouth coupe bearing the number 574 jr. Why "jr"? No idea. Don't care. Tommy sure could make that thing go, though. He was a uniquely talented driver. I can remember him in that old Plymouth, tail hanging out, and he was smooth when everybody else was just trying to get around the track in one piece.

To be honest, I don't remember if he was ever the track champion, but he sure did win his share of features at the old Bowl. I never really knew that much about him, either. As far as I know, he is no longer alive, but he still has family in the area. I would love to hear from anyone who remembers Tom. He had a nephew, Bobby, who raced Modifieds in the area in recent years, and showed quite a bit of his uncle's talent.

From what I gather, Tom had his share of health problems as he grew older. The last time I ever saw him race was in the early 1970's at Bear Ridge Speedway in Bradford, VT. The impression I got was that he'd just shown up to watch the races. One thing led to another, and he got invited into the pit area. The owner of a Ford coupe, # 319, offered him the use of his car for the afternoon, and I guess Tom couldn't resist. I also got the impression that it had been some time, possibly years, since he'd driven a race car. He went out and won the feature in convincing fashion.

That is how I will always remember him. Standing on the front stretch, shaking hands with the flagman, holding the first-place trophy. That, and with his head sticking out the driver's side window, grimly chewing dust on his way to that trophy.

-----------------------

You long-time readers noticed that I recently added the picture at the top of this piece. I fished it out of an old scrapbook I've kept since I was a kid. I sliced through the tape on the edges of the 8x10 to put it on my scanner, and when I did I noticed that he autographed it on the back; "Tom Richardson - 574". I still get a lump in my throat just thinking about it. Miss ya, Tom.

Catamount Stadium

http://www.catamountstadium.com/

Found another cool link. This is the website that belongs to the fellow that writes the column I've referred to from The Racin' Paper, Bill Ladabouche. It's a tribute to a track near his home, Catamount Stadium. I can remember drivers, etc. referring to this track. The impression they gave to me as a boy was that, if you were a serious racer and thought you could run with the big dogs, you were going to leave whatever little bullring you were currently toiling at and head for Catamount.

The Guy To Beat

It is NOT one of the constants of the universe, but it happens frequently enough so that you might think it was. It's an interesting phenomenon, and almost unexplainable once you look it over. Also, it seems to be more and more difficult to achieve as time goes by. It's when there's one driver who almost completely dominates a race track.

The first time I remember seeing it was at the old 106 Midway Raceway, the tiny dirt bullring that eventually grew up into NHIS. The driver in question was a gentleman named Paul Martel. He was a driver of exceptional skill, and although he reportedly knew nothing about mechanics, he drove for a car owner who definitely did.

For a few years, Paul Martel could not be beaten. Simple as that. He drove the # 444, and it went like stink. After a long period of domination it was discovered that the 444 was built on an International Scout frame. Now, you've got to remember that this was about 1964, 1965, and there were no Troyeas and such. A racecar was a pre-war coupe with a roll cage welded to the frame and the fenders removed. A Jeep or Scout frame was the ultimate, but quite illegal at most tracks.

To make a long story short, Paul was given two weeks off and the car was outlawed. When he returned, it was in a legal car and the other drivers thought it would be open season. No such luck. Paul went right back to his winning ways in the 3J, which was a pretty basic old Ford, just like everybody else was running. Paul was flat-out good, and there was nothing anybody else could do about it.

In the A class at Riverside Speedway in Groveton, there was a fellow named Sylvio Bilodeau. He drove a '34 Ford sedan, # 92, painted purple. It had the words "Al Capone" on the back. During a three-year period in the mid-sixties, Sylvio and the Al Capone Special won over half the A-class features. At Bear Ridge Speedway in Bradford, VT, Alan Whipple brought a beige # 47 with a Chevy six and ruled that track for a couple of years.

It's not that they were never beaten. It's just that they so clearly outclassed the field that it was ridiculous. These drivers won features and championships with an ease that was disconcerting. Consequently, they were hated passionately by the average fans. You would hear their names over the loudspeaker, and it was always followed by a chorus of boos.

In retrospect, this was the weirdest part. In each case, the drivers in question were the nicest of fellows, and almost always drove an honest race. Sylvio Bilodeau in particular was a real sweetheart of a guy, who lived quietly in North Stratford and drove a logging truck for a living. One day a week, he was a villian of Darth Vader-ian proportions who greeted the boos with a smile and a wave.

The only driver I ever saw beat this stigma was Franny Comeau. Fran owned the Late Model division at the Nor-Way Pines Speedway in Wentworth for over a decade. In that time, he won nine championships. He started out with a '56 Ford sedan that had already been beaten to death by another racer and discarded. Fran won either four or five titles with it. Then, he and his car owner put together a Mustang. For years after it was plainly obselete, Franny was the one to beat at the Pines. When he finally quit racing, the majority of the Late Models were tube-frame pure-race cars, and he was still beating them with that old Mustang.

And the best part of it was, the fans loved him. I mean, absolutely loved the man! For a while, the track held a Favorite Driver poll, but Fran would win every year by a country mile, so they just didn't bother any more. If you had a Late Model and raced at the Pines, you were racing for second; both on the track and in the hearts of the fans.

I haven't seen anybody in recent years that dominated like those four. If you have, feel free to post your comments, but in the last ten to fifteen years it seems to be getting tougher and tougher to do. One reason could be the vast number of classes now being run. It has thinned out the race fields considerably, at the same time as it has increased the car count at most tracks. Another factor closely related to that is the fine-tuning of the rules over the years. It's become harder to come up with a combination that can't be easily replicated.

Still another reason could be that, once a driver proves his domination in one of the lower classes, they give in to the temptation to move up, and the magic disappears. I've seen it happen to a pair of drivers who, each in turn, ruled the 4-cylinder division at the Pines for a couple years at a time. Both John Chase and Pete Royea came off big championship seasons and moved into Modifieds, only to find themselves running mid-field.

It's like Ray Evernham said back when he was Jeff Gordon's crew chief. First, you're competitive. Then you're a winner. Then, a champion. Finally, a dynasty. In 45 years of NH dirt track racing, I've seen four dynasties. Who will be next?

Bill's Back In Time

Found it.

The column I referred to before is "Bill's Back In Time," by Bill Ladabouche. It appears to be a regular feature in The Racin' Paper, and in my humble opinion it's a darned good one.

There's another very good site concerning the history of racing in New England, from more of a Maine perspective. http://www.wickedgoodracing.com/ is definitely worth checking out.

See ya.

The Racin' Paper

http://www.racinpaper.com/site/index.php

This is just to let you know about an excellent website and newspaper, called The Racin' Paper, that covers racing all over the region. As good as the site is, it's also good to pick up a copy of the paper. If you're into the history of the sport there's an excellent column that takes a look back. Unfortunately I left my newest copy at the track, but if you pick up the latest issue you'll be sure to find it.

A Tale of Two Engines

A TALE OF TWO ENGINES

They were the best of engines, they were the worst of engines. The Dickens, you say?

Actually, they were both the best of engines, each in their own time. And, they're both pretty much gone from the scene.



The first of them was the flathead-V8 Ford. This engine was made by the Ford Motor Company from 1932 until 1953. At the end of World War II it was probably the most common automobile engine in the world, and it would be made for almost another decade. Suffice to say, when racing started up again after the war, they were everywhere. It was the engine that Chuck Berry refers to in "Maybelline." Nothin' outrun my V8 Ford.

Between VJ day and 1950 a number of tracks opened in the area, as they did everywhere. The Gilford Bowl, Thunder Road in Barre, VT, and a dirt track in Claremont, NH all opened during this time, as well as others. Ford flatheads were not the only engine in the field, but sometimes it seemed like it.

By the mid-60's, Riverside Speedway in Groveton was running two classes, cleverly named A and B. The B cars were late-model, post-war machines, and you got to see a little bit of everything. This was during the heat of the musclecar era, and everybody had a big V8 to stuff under the hood. The A class, on the other hand, was just about all pre-war iron minus fenders and running boards. And, no matter who made the body and frame, the power came from Dearborn, Michigan more often than not.

The first chink in this armor that I ever saw came in the late 1960's at the Bear Ridge Speedway in Bradford, VT. A Vermonter showed up named Alan Whipple. He drove a 30's Ford coupe, but under the hood was a very controversial power plant. There was a lot of debate on whether or not it was legal. In the end, it was decided that it was, for two reasons; it had two fewer cylinders, and was smaller in displacement. In spite of these disadvantages, Whipple's # 47 ruled the track from that moment on. His engine was a straight-6 260 cubic inch Chevrolet.


If you bought a base-model Nova, you could have the same engine. By 1970 they were pretty common. They were easy to find, easy to work on, and with more and more racers using them, high-performance parts were becoming easier to get as well. Plus, the newest flathead Fords were now almost 20 years old. Slowly but surely, the 260 Chevy replaced the flathead as the motor of choice.

As with the Ford, there were other engines available. If you bored out a slant-6 Dodge they ran really well, but not every track would allow that level of modification. Ford made a 300-ci straight six truck engine, but they didn't catch on like the Chevy. Even GM came up with a good alternative, with a very good V6 to counter the outdated in-lines. And, there were still a few flatheads around.

The last competitive racer I know of that ran the flathead was Big Bill Moses. His father, Buck Moses, was one of the crowd of racers that came of age after the war. He was also one of the best car builders around. Bill was still winning features and challenging for the track championship at the Nor-Way Pines Speedway into the late '80's with a flathead Ford V8. In the end, he and Buck finally gave in to the inevitable and swapped out the V8 for a 300 Ford 6.

By that time, a lot of changes had come to open-wheel dirt track racing. '34 Fords were now too valuable to convert into race cars. They also didn't get the job done against the specially-made cars from Troyea, Tobias, etc. The biggest nail in the coffin of the Chevy 6 came from NASCAR.

By then, the major-league's engine formula had settled down. Instead of an actual stock car with whatever its manufacturer put under the hood, Winston/Nextel cup cars were specially made and all sported the same cubic inch displacement; 358. Whether the engine was Ford, Chevy, Dodge, or now Toyota, they displaced the same area. And, as happens in a free market economy, it wasn't long before these basic engines became available to non-millionaires. Soon, local dirt-trackers started agitating to be allowed to run modern V8 powerplants, and put their 6-cylinders into mothballs.

In the last years before the Modified Sportsmen class at the Nor-Way Pines became the V8 Modifieds, the dominant car was the #92 of "Dynamite" Dave Sanville. Rumor had it that brother JJ Sanville spent over 11,000 dollars, in mid-80's money, to put together Dave's 260-ci Chevy 6. Supposedly, it had been put on a dynomometer and shown to produce over 500 horsepower. When asked, Dave and JJ just smile and walk away. They still have the engine, but have nowhere to race it.

Sonny's Boy

SONNY'S BOY

Hi. I'm Rick Clogston, and as of this writing I am the track announcer at the Legion Speedway in Wentworth, NH. I'm 50 years old, and have literally been involved in dirt track racing in NH and VT all my life. This blog will be the history of that, as seen through my eyes.

It will be a good idea, if this is a topic that interests you, to check the old entries every now and again, as I will be adding pictures, etc. as I go along. Also, it would be good to remember that this is all as I see it. This is not meant to be a definitive history, but merely some thoughts on a topic I've seen a lot about. Feel free to add your own comments as you see fit.

This first entry will be about my father, Albert "Sonny" Clogston. There was a time in my life that it kind of bugged me to be known as Sonny's Boy, but now when somebody remembers me as that, I consider it an honor. This isn't about him as my dad, though. This is about him as a race fan, and participant in the sport he loved so much.

Actually, it's also about my mom, Marge, and grandmother, Pearl. The three of them went as a package from track to track back in the 1960's. They were members of the American Legion post that owns the land the Legion Speedway rests on. The post built and opened the track in 1961, when I was 5. There is some dispute on that year, so if anyone can prove otherwise I'll happily revise, but I remember it being the summer before I started first grade. Dad was the announcer, Mom worked in the consession stand, and I forget what Gram did.

I was just a little squirt, but I remember the first two weeks of racing. The track didn't have a public address system, so Dad stood up on top of the judges stand, which was a platform with a roof, cupped his hands around his mouth, and yelled. The third week we got our first PA. Dudley Cotton, the brother of Senator Norris Cotton, brought his 1954 Plymouth sedan which had three bullhorns mounted to the roof. The microphone had a long cord, which they ran up to the judges stand, and that was the PA for the rest of the first season.

In '63, Dad, Mom, and Gram were offered jobs by Keith Bryar at his new 106 Midway Raceway. That track, by the way, eventually became Bryar Motorsport Park, and is now known as New Hampshire International Speedway. Back then, it was a 1/5 mile dirt bullring. Dad became the pit steward, and Mom and Gram were the checkers. For those of you who don't recognize those terms, the pit steward runs the pit area. He is everything from a rules enforcer to a parking attendant. The checkers keep track of the cars on the track, and the order in which they are running.

Dad enjoyed being Pit Steward. He got to hang out with all the drivers and crews, and they respected him enough to do what he said. The fact that he was 6' 2" and 240 lbs. gave him a little of that authority, but also the fact that he was upbeat, outgoing, and knew what he was talking about. He had his own way of doing things. One of the rules was that every race car should have a welded four-post roll cage, welded to the frame. Dad had a way of testing your race car to see if it was safe. He would climb in through the same hole the driver used, and he carried a short-handled sledge hammer. Then he proceeded to . . . uh, test your roll cage. If he could get out any other way than the way he got in, you couldn't race. You could tell when a new car showed up at the pit entrance. The racket it made could be heard in the next county.

Back before Mom and Dad were married, their idea of a hot date was to go to the races. It was usually the Gilford Bowl, Waterford Speedbowl, or Thunder Road in Barre, VT. After getting married, they waited until I was four or five before they started dragging me to the races. In retrospect, I guess I have to admire their discipline for holding off that long. I still remember the first time I ever went, which as I recall was Thunder Road. On the way home, they asked me how I liked it. I was unsure. It was awfully loud, and awfully crowded. But, I wasn't crying, so we kept going.

Usually, Mom and I would sit in the stands and watch the races. More times than not, Dad would wind up going off to talk to somebody. He knew EVERYBODY! I can remember him saying he'd be right back, and half an hour later he'd be on the infield talking with the flagman. Other times he'd wind up in the judges stand, or in the pit. He knew the drivers, the car owners, the officials, the guys who owned the track, just plain everybody. Now that I'm 50, and know what it is to know a lot of people, I can only marvel at how many people he knew by the age of 35. And had a day job, too!

For a while we did Saturday nights at Loudon for Keith, and Sunday afternoons at the Legion Bowl. The Bowl closed around '65 or '66, so they took a job offer for Sundays in Groveton, NH at a new track called Riverside Speedway. By that time, the team included Dad, Mom, and Gram as pit steward and checkers, and Ted Winot, a well-known flagman. Soon, I'll write more about Ted. Suffice to say for now that he was the best.

I'm hesitant to name many names here, but I'll take a chance with this one. There was a driver who made the rounds of the local tracks, a very good driver named Ralph Stygles. He was aggressive, but very good, and could sure build a car. He had a wife named Ida, who one could easily say was a passionate advocate of her husband. Nothing wrong with that, of course, but sometimes she . . . how can I put this? Sometimes, she let her advocacy of her husband go a little over the top. She was loud, and could sometimes get pretty abusive. At Groveton, Dad had a raised platform from which he could see the whole pit area and also the race track. It was a short distance from the fence that separated the pit from the parking lot.

One day, Ida perceived that Ralph had been treated unfairly, and decided that Dad was at fault, at least in part. She stood on the other side of the fence and cussed him up one side and down the other, while he stood up on his platform watching the race, paying no attention to her. Finally, she stopped to draw breath. Dad turned and yelled, "Kiss me, Ida!" Everybody in earshot fell out laughing, and Ida was so mad she was speechless. Which, of course, was the idea.
Happily, Ralph and Ida, and most other racing people, were good friends and great people. Racing does bring out a lot of strong emotions, but Dad had a gift for not taking a lot of things personally that other people might have. And, he didn't let his liking or disliking of anyone color his decisions. He tried his level best to be fair.

Frankie Hall, Dad, and meThis came out one night at the Loudon track. For a couple weeks it was plain to see that somebody was slipping on studded snow tires, which was illegal as hell. It tore up the track, and gave a car much better grip. Try as they may, they couldn't catch the perpetrator. One night before the feature race, Dad was walking through the back row of the pit, where it was really dark. He stopped at the car of a good friend, Cy Colby of Bristol. Cy was a great driver, and had a well-earned reputation for being an honest and clean driver. Imagine how Dad felt when he saw that Cy was in the process of putting a pair of studded snows on his race car. It broke his heart to do it, but he sent Cy home for two weeks. Rules is rules.

Around 1968, the team got an offer to help open yet another new track. This time, it was in Bradford, Vt. The Bear Ridge Speedway. By that time, Loudon was becoming Bryar Motorsport Park, and the McLain Brothers were in the process of selling the Riverside, so they took the offer. After three or four years there, Gram and Ted called it quits, so Mom and Dad did the same. For a few years they didn't work the tracks, or even go to the races. They had gotten to the point that they knew so much about how a racetrack is run, it was no fun to go. I grew up, went in the Navy, and drifted away from racing myself.

Eventually, they started going to the old Legion Bowl, which had been leased and reopened by Wayne Weeks and Norman Roulx. It was now the Nor-Way Pines Speedway. Mom would sit in the stands with a pad of paper, checking the races, but Dad did what he always did; cruised around the place chewing the fat with everybody. After a while Wayne talked him into taking over as the announcer, a job he held until he retired in the early '90's. By that time I was working part-time as a DJ at a local radio station. I would go to the races with Dad and sit with him in the judges stand. The summer that he retired we were up there one night. Between races, he gave me this look that I'll never forget. He passed me the mic for a 4-cylinder class qualifying race and said, "Let's see how the hot-shot DJ does." I called the race, and when I turned around, he was gone. He'd gone down to the stands to chat with fans he knew, and never called another race.

That fall, he and Mom retired to Florida. A few years later Wayne Weeks also retired and moved down as well, about ten miles from where my folks lived. Dad would sometimes go to the races at a small track in Inverness. He passed away in 1998.

Although I've been going to the races from a very young age, the only job I've ever held at a track is that of announcer. In that, I still hold fast to Dad's number one rule; be everybody's fan. The job of track announcer is especially blessed. You're an official, but you don't have to make any decisions. No one has any reason to hate you, unless you say something bad about their favorite driver. The thing I always try and remember is that every driver on that track has friends and family in the stands. It doesn't matter if they're the track champion, or running dead last. They are worthy of respect. I learned that from Dad.