The Richest Guy In Town
There are scenes in two movies that force me to hold back
tears. Since it's not baseball season, I won't talk about the final scene in
"Field of Dreams." In the spirit of the Christmas season though, I'll
admit the closing scene of "It's A Wonderful Life" gives me trouble.
I think there's probably a little bit of George Bailey in all of us. He has his
struggles in life as we all do on different levels but it's all put in
perspective by his brother Harry who offers a toast, "To my big brother
George; the richest man in town." It's a reminder that life isn't just
about the money we chase and the things we want. It's about the memories we
create and cherish, hopefully with our families. I say this without bragging but at this stage in life, I
look back and realize how I really have had a, "wonderful life." I've
been very fortunate, lucky really and in the spirit of the Christmas season, a
time that's all about making and reflecting on memories, I'd like to share just
a few of my favorites that involve my family. Some of the earliest memories of my life involve race cars
and race tracks. My maternal grandpa had been a part-time modified racer before
I came along. He still had a couple of old cars sitting around his property and
I vividly recall climbing in those at about 4 or 5 years of age and
"racing" in my mind as kids do. I remember plastering my old, metal
pedal car with Richard Petty STP stickers that he gave me. I also remember
thinking how much faster those stickers made that car go! We'd make regular trips to area short tracks on Friday and
Saturday nights. Some families went to movies. We went to the races. There was
a Saturday night in the summer when we were heading home from shopping. We kept
passing trailers and old, converted school buses carrying race cars heading in
the opposite direction. My dad decided he'd turn around and follow the next one
he saw. A man of his word, he did just that and we spent a great night at a
race track I'd never been to before and haven't seen since. We moved to western Pennsylvania in the mid-70's.
The people there sure talked funny but they also knew how to race. Trips to Lernerville and Mercer and occasionally North Hills were
what I looked forward to in grade school. I don't think you had much of a
childhood if you never fell asleep in the car, on the way home from a race
track, only to wake up in your bed the next morning, still clutching that souvener checkered flag you got the night before. There was a time my mom and little brothers went back to
West Virginia for my uncle's wedding. Dad and I were by ourselves; just the
men. He picked me up from school and we headed straight to the track. At the
ripe old age of 6 or 7, I was thrilled that without the "little"
kids, we could get there when the gates opened and stay until the very end. If
you don't think what you do with your kids now will matter in the years to
come, tell me why I can recall one evening with such clarity 36 or 37 years
later. Time and distance can separate us but families will always
have those bonds that tie them together. Fast forward to the 90's and I'm
living in Nashville. With the job I had then, it was rare for me to be in town
on weekends. Funny how things work out sometimes. I
was home on a weekend when my parents planned to be in town. Now it was my turn
to treat Dad to a night at the races. Of course the weather was perfect.
Everything about that night was perfect, even though Andy Kirby tore up the
fence in front of the grandstands toward the end of the late model feature in
spectacular fashion. Although younger than I am now, I still remember how proud
I was to be able to treat my dad to such a great time at "my" track,
after all those years when he paid for the whole family. I think my favorite Christmas gift I ever gave my parents was
tickets to the 1993 Winston 500. They in turn bought tickets for my
grandparents so we all went to Talladega. In the last race my grandparents ever
attended, we sat just past the start finish line and watched Rusty Wallace go
airborne at the end as Dale Earnhardt won the race. Who knew it would be such a
memorable finish? Then again, when you're watching it with family, especially
an older generation, aren't they all memorable? A few years later, Nashville Superspeedway was built in the
Lebanon area. They moved the Busch Series race from the Fairgrounds to the new
track and we were there for it. It was the first time my dad and one of my
brothers had ever enjoyed hot passes. My dad was a grandfather by then but man, he was as excited to meet Chris Economaki
as any kid would have been to meet their hero. He watched a tire specialist for
Brewco Motorsports glue lug nuts on tires and wanted
to ask about the epoxy he used. I tried to tell Dad the guy was busy and
probably didn't want to be bothered. Dad asked anyway and the specialist
answered his questions and talked with him for several minutes. When they were
finished and we walked away, Dad said, "See, show interest in people and
what they do and they'll make time for you." I was a married father by
then but he was still teaching and I was still learning. With growth and age and responsibilities, our schedules have
not allowed my entire family to see a race together since we were all living at
home. Fortunately though, I've been able to share the hot pass experience with
my other brother and even my sister who never was a fan growing up. Whether it
was Nashville, Bristol or Atlanta, I don't remember all the race winners from
those trips and that's OK. That's not really what makes the memories that last;
the ones that matter. It's the time together. It's the sharing and the passion and
the timelessness of it all. It's standing on top of a hauler at Bristol,
watching practice and wondering just how in the world some lower-middle class
kids ended up here. It's remembering how you felt when you saw and heard cars
on a track when you were a kid and getting that same feeling as they roll off
pit road at Atlanta; only now you're on this side of the fence. It's about
those few hours of not worrying about business and responsibilities and
schedules and hoping this hot, humid, August night in northeast Tennessee lasts
forever. And although it won't, the memories will and in the end that's what
really matters. That's what we're doing. We're making memories and when you own
as many of them as I do, you really do feel like, "the richest guy in
town."