It was such a sweet moment at the time and thrilling, too. Now, when I think about it, I’m sentimentally sad.
I’ve seen Richard Petty a few times lately, and I guess that’s what brought back my memory. Petty is one of the great storytellers. So, if he likes you and he’s in the right mood, his stories are funny and delicious.
He’s always liked me, so he'll start with his stories if I ask a question about something. One he told recently was about running the first race ever at Daytona International Speedway. They didn’t have catch fences back then, so Richard had a wreck and flew over the wall between the third and fourth turns.
He said with that beautiful, incredible smile, “So, I tell everyone that I was the first to exit at Daytona.”
I was working on a new Stella Bankwell Mystery when I got home.
I weave much of my history into the stories, mainly because Stella once worked in motorsports marketing. I decided to have Stella live through a true story of mine, which made me a bit sad.
Back in those days, we used to sit around on Goodyear tires or hang out in the trucks during rain (I was usually at the #3 truck with the Earnhardt bunch), and all those guys told great stories.
A few had run in the 1950s, but most were just fans of that era, and they talked about the Fabulous Hudson Hornet, one of the most excellent race cars ever built, and the drivers. Invariably, someone spoke about one or all of the Flock brothers and their sister, who is said to be the first woman ever to race. I think she even ended up on The Tonight Show one night.
Tim Flock, so they said, was as handsome as he was fast. He had a pet monkey named Jocko Flocko, who traveled with him and then sat in the race car as Tim raced. This is not a fable. It’s true. Jocko was in the car with Tim when he won at Hickory Speedway, so he is the only winning monkey in stock car history.
A few weeks later, Jocko’s racing career ended when he pulled a device that allowed the drivers to check tire wear and was hit by a pebble. Flock had to pit for a fix, and Jocko was taken out of the car.
He still got to go to the races, though.
At an autumn race in Charlotte, I heard that Tim Flock was camping outside the track. It’s a big outfield, but I went to find him. After an hour’s search, I found him. He was, I suppose, somewhere in his 60s with dark black hair. No one had exaggerated his looks. My goodness. What a handsome man. And, his ways made him even more attractive.
“Excuse me. Are you Tim Flock?” I asked.
He smiled, big and bright. He was, I figured, happy to be noticed since his years of tremendous fame and stardom had faded twenty years earlier.
I explained that I had heard many stories and wanted to meet him.
“Young lady, you just pull up a chair, and we’ll talk.” He was kind and friendly. I sat down in a lawn chair, and this legend of years past told me about his racing family and Jocko.
“Jocko was my best friend,” he smiled. “I sure do miss him.”
I am grateful for the opportunity to meet Tim Flock, a man who is in several Halls of Fame. A few years later, he died of throat and liver cancer.
He was without insurance, so Darrell Waltrip, a big fan, honored him with a Tim Flock paint scheme, hoping to raise money for him.
What makes me sad about that wonderful afternoon? It hurt to see such a great driver on the outside of the track and not inside.
Ronda Rich is the best-selling author of St. Simons Island: A Stella Bankwell Mystery. Visit www.rondarich.com to sign up for her free weekly newsletter.