Ted Winot

There are certain constants in the racing universe. For example, dirt track racing works best at night, because the track doesn't dry out as fast. I could go on and on, but the point is that one of those constants is this; you need a good flagman.

The flagman is the glue that holds a race together. He/she is the law out there on the track. You may not realize it, but they have a lot more to do than keep track of how many laps left to go. They have to see literally everything that is going on, which makes a couple of good assistants indispensable. Plus, once they've seen everything, they have to be able to execute the necessary authority to see justice done. And they have to do it quick!

It's a largely thankless job, because when you get it right, it's expected. But God Almighty help you if you get it wrong! Or, if anyone has the perception of your being wrong. And all you have to do for that to happen is make a decision. Guaranteed, whoever you rule against has a section of grandstands eager to tell the world what a rotten, blind, lousy S. O. B. you are. You've got to be able to take it all with a smile. IF you can do that, and be a born showman on top of it all, you're on your way to being nearly as good as Teddy Winot.

I first became familiar with Ted when he was flagman at the Legion Bowl in the early '60's, but he already had a widespread reputation before that. He had flair, that's for sure. At the beginning of a race he would take a green flag in one hand and a red one (later yellow) in the other. He walked down to the beginning of the first turn and waited. Coming from the other direction was the field of race cars, lined up two by two and moving slowly out of turn four. He would stand on the infield, wagging the flags at them, beckoning them to come on.

Suddenly, he would leap into the air, the green flag waving. Switching it to his left hand he ran up the infield toward the start/finish line as the cars roared past. He usually timed it so that he and the last car met right there. Then, he would sprint across the track and leap onto the flagstand. He would perform this same ritual every time he started, or re-started, a race. He must have run ten miles every race day.

After a couple of years at the Bowl Keith Bryar came calling, looking for officials for his new track in Loudon, and a team was born. Marge and Pearl Clogston (my mother and grandmother, respecively) were the checkers, Sonny Clogston (my dad) signed on as Pit Steward, and Ted Winot would handle the flags. It was a combination that would also work together at the Riverside Speedway in Groveton, and the Bear Ridge Speedway in Bradford, VT.

It was a combination that would go a long way toward writing the book on how to run a race track, but to be perfectly frank the only irreplacable part of the machine was Ted. I've seen several good flagmen, and a bunch of mediocre ones, but there's never been one like him. He was easily as interesting as most of the races he presided over. As with anyone like that, the most memorable moments were the ones that went just a little wrong.

The 106 Midway Raceway in Loudon was a place where the best laid plans often went south. The reason was two-fold; the place attracted a ton of cars, and the track was tiny. About a fifth-mile, with an asphalt front straight, and I don't know where Keith Bryar got his clay but the rest of the track might as well have been paved also. Fast doesn't begin to describe it. Sometimes, too fast.

This was back when there was only one class. You brought a race car, and you raced. Sometimes fifty or sixty cars would show up, but that many cars simply wouldn't fit on the track. The max was 24, which meant a lot of racers watched the feature from their trailers. With that many cars, Dad and the Tech Inspector would come out to be infield flaggers.

So one night the feature's lined up, Ted's in turn one, the cars come out of turn 4, and up into the air he goes. He runs, the cars go, and he gets to the flagstand just as the last car goes past. He looks at turn 4, and here comes the leader. He hesitates. Big mistake. The field comes by, and there stands Ted on the wrong side of the track. Dad was laughing so hard he sat down in the infield. Eventually there was a wreck, the red flag came out, and a red-faced Ted flagged the rest of the race from the flagstand.


The Riverside Speedway in Groveton was a good track. It started about 1965 as a dirt track, but clay was hard to come by that first season. So, the owners used a mixture of fine sand and old drain oil. The picture here is of Ted in his trademark top hat after a hard afternoon. This was where he earned his nickname, "Rastus." If you think this is funny, you should have seen what he looked like after he took the hat off.

For its day, Riverside Speedway was one of the most well-thought-out facilities any of us had ever seen. Instead of a rickety set of bleachers, they built actual grandstands. The judges stand stood high above everything, and there was a VIP lounge below. At the back of the grandstands there was a large refreshment stand with a restaurant-quality kitchen, and under the stands was all the storage a track would ever need. There were even enough bathrooms.

The track was a large quarter-mile with steeply banked corners, and a solid concrete retaining wall. The flagstand was recessed into the wall, and a heavy-duty chain-link fence kept the fans and the track seperated. If you went up to the fence, there was a good three-foot drop to the track. Ted, of course, was athletic enough to be able to make the leap up to the flagstand. The only flaw in the design was that the door in the fence that allowed the flagman to bail out and into the grandstand area was on the turn 4 side of the stand, instead of the turn 1 side. This turned out to be an almost fatal flaw one day, as a car came out of 4, hit the wall, and went up into the air. It landed again right into the flagstand, and hung there. Ted dove for the door, and it's a good thing it opened easily because he actually went under the car to get away from the spot it came to rest.

It's odd how some things will make an impression on a kid. The thing that always amazed me about Ted when I was young was when we would leave the track at Loudon late on a Saturday night. There was a little place in downtown Laconia that would stay open until about 1 am called Mr. Sub's, that made the best toasted grinders you ever had. (Grinders? Oh, they call those subs now.) After the races the place would pack out with drivers, crews, fans, and of course the officials. The memory I will always have of Ted is him cruising from table to table in Mr. Sub's, holding the biggest, sloppiest meatball sandwich you ever saw in one hand, and never spilling a drop.

The team finally broke up in the early seventies. I don't know the reason, but I guess Ted just got tired of going to the races. His replacement wasn't very impressive, and he was the first in a long line who made us miss Ted all the more. I'm not even sure if Ted is still alive. If anyone knows, or has any more stories, feel free to post your comments.

By the way, the first photo is from the Legion Bowl, circa 1963. Both pictures were taken by Sonny Clogston.