It was retro, like racing was many years ago. Going somewhere simply because, well, because I wanted to. No assignments, no television, no responsibilities, no worries.
Just sit there and watch the races, and enjoy myself.
It was an unusual July 4 weekend, with no specific work at any track. A weekend off, in July? Better go to the races.
So it was my son and I, figuring out what to do with an open Friday and Saturday night. He is 15, something of a casual race fan, and is much more into tennis or basketball or video games. He enjoys good racing, but he’s a long way from being as consumed by racing as I was at the same age.
“Let’s go racing like I did when I was a kid,” I offered. “Anderson one night, Mt. Lawn the next.”
That was the routine, in the beginning. Anderson was more likely, because it was just a few miles from our home. My dad was a casual fan, too, and driving more than a few minutes to go to the track was out of the question. Mt. Lawn, some 20 miles to the east, came later, when I was old enough to drive and could choose my own schedule.
In those days, Mt. Lawn was a Sunday night track. In recent years, they have moved to Saturday night. But with the holiday weekend, we could catch a Friday-night race at Anderson and then take in Mt. Lawn the following night.
If you want a glimpse of a city in transition, come to Anderson, Ind. A General Motors town? That’s the way it used to be. But not anymore, and today the factories are literally being torn down right before our eyes. It’s a tough situation, both economically and symbolically, and it makes you wonder how the town is going to turn it all around.
But Friday night was one of the most heart-warming things I’ve seen in my old home town in a long time. A massive crowd poured through the Anderson Speedway turnstiles, nearly filling the place. They were here to watch Outlaw Figure-8 racing, as well as a couple of other classes, topped off with a traditional fireworks show.
Watching all those people reminded me that even in difficult times, people yearn for entertainment. If you offer them a reasonably-priced ticket, a nice facility, and good racing, they’ll come. And they did.
Saturday night, it was on to Mt. Lawn. We drove through a typical July afternoon, sunshine pouring across the country landscape of Henry County. I sat in the passenger seat, allowing my son to get some miles on his learner’s permit (there is no greater reminder that years have passed than watching your kid drive).
In a way, life had come full-circle. Years ago, my dad took me to the races; now, my son was taking me.
As we drove along the quiet two-lane highway, I gazed at the farms and homes along the way. People were busy doing a variety of things; mowing, working in the garden, sitting in lawn chairs, grilling out.
I remember seeing the same thing as a kid. I always wondered, don’t those people know there is a race tonight, just up the road? Why would they sit at home instead of going to the races? They don’t know what they’re missing.
Today, I am a little more broadminded, but I still feel the same way: They don’t know what they’re missing.
Mt. Lawn looked great, neat and well maintained. The 38th annual Raintree 100 for late models was on tap, a race I seldom missed in the 1970s and ’80s. I was excited to see L.J. Lines in the pits, and I introduced him to my son.
“When I was 15,” I explained, “this guy was one of the stars I was watching.” My son didn’t even roll his eyes, but he did shake L.J.’s hand, and said it was pretty cool that he was still out there racing.
For a while, it looked like L.J. was going to join Harold Scott as a five-time winner of the Raintree. But Terry Cater had other ideas, and he was impressive in making two runs from the tail to finally win it.
As he pulled to the start-finish line, the large crowd was equally mixed: Half were cheering, and half were booing. Fans were arguing and shouting at each other, some saying Cater was rotten and the others saying he’s wonderful. He just smiled and gave a nice victory-lane interview, and finally the booing and cheering began to quiet.
It was great, really. It was the kind of conflict that keeps people coming back, and it’s the foundation of what short-track racing can, and should, be.
On the way home, as our headlights cut through the country darkness, I told stories of the guys who, in another era, captured my imagination and shaped the course of my life. Gene Prosser, Don Higgins, L.J. Lines, Bob Fields, Dick Hinshaw, Gene Huston, Herb Rose, Gene Cook, Dennis Miles, Don and Darrell Skaggs, Don Gregory and many more.
It was a great weekend, close to home. Just like it used to be.