Dale Earnhardt: My Hero

Tomorrow is always a bitter, sweet day for me. It is the first race of the season, but it will also mark a tragic day in my history. Tomorrow will be the first running of the Daytona 500 that will be on the exact day Dale left us. Some people don't know this about me, but I absolutely love stock car racing. One year out of the 32 races, I attended 24 of them. In my younger days, I would pack my stuff and go to work on Friday and leave right after school to be somewhere on Saturday morning. I have been to Bristol, Charlotte, Daytona, Martinsville, Pocono, Atlanta, Rockingham, Darlington, Talladega (my favorite!), and countless Busch races too like Hickory and Myrtle Beach. I would then drive back on Sunday night, stop by my apartment take a shower and sometimes go to work without even a nap. Racing is a big part of my life. My wife loves to go too (except Talladega! No hotels there!). I still have seats at Talladega, Darlington, and Charlotte.

So why Dale Earnhardt for a hero. Well, I grew up down here in the South and for somebody like me that was never blessed with much money, he seemed like a likely hero. He earned his money every Sunday and never had a guaranteed contract in his life. For somebody that made it only though 8th grade (and was only because he promised his mom he would finish grade school), that is good enough for me. But even more was his attitude. He didn't wait for opportunity to knock. He made his own opportunities and did his own knocking. If you ever saw him in person, there was not mistaking that 6 foot tall, slim frame of his. I will never remember seeing him race. He truly was the best. It was almost like everybody else was just out there but he ruled the roost. There are a few memories that stick out. Like at the Winston when he drove the silver car and literary wrecking half the field before finally taking D.W. out. I was there. How about when he won Talladega when everybody thought he was done. I was there. One of the best memories I have of him was at Talladega. It was a rain delayed Winston cup race and they didn't even start it until 5:30 p.m. There are no lights at Talladega so I was pretty surprised they even started the race. Well it was one of the most exciting races nobody ever saw. They don't even have tape of it. It was not on TV. They all had left. Well Dale was hit in the rear going through the trioval and went in the wall head on going at least 195 mph. The marks are still on the wall. It seemed terrible. As Dale go out of the car, he grabbed his chest (he had a broken sternum) and as I looked through my binoculars, he waved. I knew he was waving at me! He was that kind of person. He had to show everybody he was OK. The next week he broke the track record at Watkins Glen with a broken sternum. My best memory of him was at Rockingham. It was early as I wanted to watch practice before the Busch race. Dale was out walking on the track at about 8:30 a.m. I saw him and went running to the wall yelling and holling at him. He saw me and very slowly walked up to the fence. I was yelling and screaming the whole time. And what did he say, "Calm down son, it will be alright." He was laughing the whole time. It was the closest I ever came to him.

Some people think it is odd that I would so affected by the death of somebody I really never got to meet. But he was my friend on every Sunday. To me, it was us out there racing against the others. And on Sunday, February 18th, 2001 something left me. He was bigger than the sport in which he competed. He was in his prime and taken from us too early.

So why do I drive a big, black, Chevrolet truck with a 3 on the front? Now you know. It is strange how many people still flash their headlights 3 times at me even today. We have not forgotten him and never will. I still hold up 3 fingers on the 3rd lap of every race...and I am happy to look around and see...I am not alone. Light a candle for Dale tomorrow and remember.