Jimmy Blewett was signing autographs – the flats of himself and his car that all the drivers have. He signed T-shirts and shook hands and smiled, wearing a black firesuit with the word, “Showtime,” emblazoned across the back.
Those are the pre-race motions of every driver, every week on the Whelen Modified Tour and the others like it across the country. But the line of people who came to him this week was atypical. Some of the women hugged him. Some of the men gave him firm handshakes and hardy pats on the back, looking into his eyes and knowing that words had suddenly become useless — and so hard to find.
And the kids who came, one by one, two by two, were mercifully unaware — as Blewett playfully mussed the hair of each of them — of what true loss is. Maybe they hear the same music in the throaty roar of an engine that the Blewett brothers did once a long time ago.
Maybe someday they will understand that there is a difference between victory and triumph.
Victory came to an emotional Donnie Lia at the end of The Made In America Whelen 300 at Martinsville Speedway late Saturday night. Triumph came at the beginning.
Jimmy Blewett was back, just weeks after his brother, John Blewett III, was killed in an accident as the two raced for the lead at Thompson (Conn.) Int’l Speedway.
“I feel right now this is the best medicine for me and my team — and for everyone involved,” said Blewett, who won this race a year ago.
His return lasted 19 laps before he was forced to retire with suspension problems, coasting into the garage. It was arguably the hardest 19 laps he had ever driven, but racers race and the Blewett men have been racers for two generations now.
He says the fans and people in the racing community have helped so much in such a trying time. He wanted to thank them for everything, especially the donations to the trust fund of his nephew, John Blewett IV.

“My brother wouldn’t want me sitting home. He wouldn’t want me feeling sad. He would want me out here racing.” — Jimmy Blewett

“My brother wouldn’t want me sitting home. He wouldn’t want me feeling sad. He would want me out here racing,” said Blewett, whose thick New Jersey accent includes that native touch of defiance in its tone. “This is how we grew up. This is what we do. I’ve come this far, and he wouldn’t want me to stop now, ya’ know?”
I know. Everyone who has truly been around this sport knows — we know that on its worst, gut-wrenching days, it can take everything and threaten to shatter all that’s left behind.
“I got chills when you brought it up,” said North Carolina driver Jason Myers, who races alongside his brother, Burt, just about every week, of the accident that took John Blewett’s life. “They grew up close, racing like we did. You live and die at this sport. When you give it all you’ve got and put your life on the line every time you get behind the wheel. You spend every day and put everything into racing, into your car — you really live and die by it.”
The Myers family has its own tales — racing patriarch Bobby Myers, Jason and Burt’s grandfather, died at Darlington Speedway during the 1957 Southern 500. In 1958, Bobby’s brother, Billy, the 1955 NASCAR Sportsman Division champion, died of a heart attack on the track at Bowman Gray Stadium.
No one could blame them if they had walked away. No one could blame Jimmy Blewett if he simply said, “no more.”
Yet, for two generations, the Myers have raced on, just as Jimmy Blewett will, salvaging himself from the wreckage of the worst that could possibly happen, staying true to who he is — and who his brother was.
That is triumph — and that was 19 laps at the beginning Saturday night.
Maybe victory — so trite by comparison — will come later.