He offers that silly grin, when his cheeks puff up and his eyes narrow and his chin quivers, and it’s hard not to laugh. Steve Stapp fills out every bulge in those familiar bib overalls, and today he’s decided to wear a straw hat that has a faux flower — complete with bloom — growing out the top.
He takes his place at the Storyteller’s Roundtable at the Hoosier Racer’s Swap Meet, an annual event this past weekend at the Indiana State Fairgrounds. People flocked from the aisles and booths, perching on chairs, leaning on posts, or just standing around, anticipating some good stories from today’s panel of nearly a dozen men.

To begin, don’t look at this happy-go-lucky guy and assume you know him, or know what he’s all about. He looks harmless enough, with the salt-and-pepper hair and his easy laugh. But there was a day, kids…there was definitely a day.

In the crowd, eagerly looking on, are some young boys, maybe teenagers, maybe pre-teen, maybe just starting to need a razor. Many race go-karts or mini-sprints or whatever, and they’re eager to learn about how to take the next step in their career, which for many will be sprint cars. They probably look at Stapp — known affectionately as Bopper, as in “the Big” — and wonder what this funny guy is all about.
Indulge me a moment, kids. Let me tell you about the guy who seems like the happiest dude on the planet, with his wacky sense of humor, gift of gab and biting wit, all wrapped up in a super-sized package.
To begin, don’t look at this happy-go-lucky guy and assume you know him, or know what he’s all about. He looks harmless enough, with the salt-and-pepper hair and his easy laugh. But there was a day, kids…there was definitely a day.
The guy sitting to Bopper’s left, the quiet, smoldering guy with graying hair and penetrating gaze, used to be Bopper’s driver. Oh, not his only driver; during the course of his long career you could almost fill the RCA Dome with guys who drove for Stapp at one time or another. But sometimes for a mechanic there comes along a guy, at the right time, who makes for such a special, meaningful team that it forever defines both men. That’s the story with the guy sitting next to Bopper: his name is Pancho Carter.
Oh, you’ve heard of him? That’s good, kids, because there was a time when Mr. P. Carter, in Bopper’s car, was about as badass as badass gets. Pancho was a born sprint-car racer, possessing all the good and bad traits that made him ideal for the role: intense, hungry, tough, focused, high-strung, disagreeable, demanding, fiery, self-centered and ornery.
When Pancho first hooked up with Bopper, he already had the ability to win. But Bopper patiently helped put the final, razor edge on the man, a man who — like every great sprint car racer throughout history — wasn’t very easy to get along with. That final touch made both men better, and in their heyday — the mid to late 1970s — they showed the world what magic is all about in a sprint car.
Look around you, kids. See all those graybeard men who are crowding around to listen to the stories being told? Even though three decades have passed, they still smile when they think of Bopper and Pancho. Their hearts pound just a little faster, their eyes twinkle, and they shake their head. They picture Winchester, or Eldora, or New Bremen, or wherever, and they insist that they’ve never seen better. Never.
That’s pretty good, kids, when you can inspire a whole generation of race fans.
All along the way, Bopper had that sharp, biting wit, an edge of cynicism honed from the realities of life. He developed the skill — a very good skill, by the way — of looking at everything coming at him, dismissing stuff that wasn’t important, and dealing only with the things he had to. It was kind of amazing, really, how in almost any situation Bopper could shrug his shoulders, shake his head, and offer that silly grin. If it bothered him, he sure didn’t show it.
Along the way, Bopper had a few critics. They said he didn’t like to work very hard. They said he was lucky, because he had Pancho. They said he was eccentric. (Well, actually they said he was weird, but eccentric sounds nicer.) They said he was overrated.
Here’s a lesson, kids. When you win a little bit, you attract a few critics. When you win a lot, there are more critics. Fact of life. However, you begin to notice that most critics accomplish vastly less than the man they’re belittling at the moment. And, now that some years have passed, it can be noted that among his peers during the same period of time, only a tiny handful of mechanics accomplished more than Steve Stapp.
But none of that matters, anyway. Because Bopper puts the words of the critics and mixes them with the words of praise he also hears, and tosses them both out the window. Then he laughs, shakes his head, and notes that, what the hell, who cares what people say, anyway?
Well, words do matter, actually. Because, even though he wears that silly hat and pooh-poohs any compliments, the fact is that Bopper is an American original, one of the most interesting, accomplished, colorful  and entertaining people our sport has ever produced.
So, kids, don’t let the hat and the bib overalls fool you. Bopper is a smart guy, and he probably knows more about sprint cars than the next 50 people you talk to. In fact, it probably wouldn’t hurt to sit down and ask him a few questions, even though he’s got about a 50-year head start on you. You might discover that he’s a pretty cool dude, for an old guy.
You can even tell him that, kids. He won’t mind if you make fun of his goofy hat, or his bib overalls, or his silly grin. Once you get past that, however, ask him about Winchester, or Eldora. Ask him about how to develop the right attitude to drive these badass things. Ask him about life, and how you keep smiling even when it tries to beat you down. Then listen carefully, kids. And take a few notes.