David and Dad
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It
was Wednesday when the phone rang. Odd day. Odd time. When
you have elderly parents and family that’s never a good sign.
I
hesitated to answer it, but each ring seemed more insistent for me to
answer. Fearing the worst, I finally took a deep breath and picked it
up.
I
answered, “Hello, Nance’s residence.”
“You’ll
never guess who called!”
It
was my father. Now I was really scared. We always talk on Sunday
nights after the race. Plus, I’m the one
who calls. Dad never calls.
Dad
wasn’t in the best of health as a combination of allergies, asthma and
emphysema was slowing stealing his life from him. Working as a pipefitter
in the local steel mill for thirty years or so didn’t help either. His
father worked underground in the coal mines for over fifty years. Black
lung got him. Dad said the dust in the steel mill is what made him
sick. He always said Pa had black lung... he had iron lung.
Grandfather Ellis Nance and father Clemen Nance before Black Lung and Iron Lung
As
his condition worsened, breathing would become difficult. Walking across
a room would exhaust him. Carrying on a conversation would make him short
of breath. Excitement would choke him up.
Something
must be bad wrong for him to call me and to call now. My head was spinning as I tried to figure out
where it was going and get ahead of it.
“Who?”
“David
Pearson.”
David
Pearson was my Dad’s favorite stock car driver. If you’re looked at my bio you
know he was my favorite as well. Growing up, most kids dreamed of being a
driver, but mine was to join the Wood Brothers and be the front tire changer
for David Pearson’s #21. Obviously, I never made it. Dreams die
hard but it’s just as well. I’m sure he’d not reached 105 Cup wins had my
dream of going over the wall with an air gun had come true.
Growing
up, we were glued to the radios on Sundays to hear how David would
finish. On those lucky occasions when a race or a portion of a race was
televised, like the live ABC broadcast of the finish of the 1976 Daytona 500, we dropped
everything to plant ourselves in front of our television to finally see his
mastery that we could only imagine. As Pearson fans we were right there
with him, going through the lows and highs and this finish, often called
NASCAR’s greatest race that had it all in a mere half a lap.
In
the brief span of a minute and ten seconds we experienced every feeling and
emotion a race fan could have. We were on a high seeing David sitting in
second on the last lap, knowing he was right where he needed to be for the win. The anticipation of when the “Silver Fox”
would make his slingshot move on the leader, Richard Petty, having our hearts
jump into our collective throats when Pearson closed on Petty on the
backstretch, started outside, then ducked inside. We cheered and waved
him on as he pulled alongside, held our breaths wondering how low Petty would
take him. We cheered when he completed the pass before Turn Three,
slipping between “The King and a lapped car, only to watch helplessly as Petty
made his move and dove underneath, heading for the win. Screaming as they
came down for the flag side by side, only to have our hearts drop as Petty
pulled ahead. When they made contact, the sparks flew and the 21 slammed
nose-first into the wall, I recall the air turning light blue as some choice
words were uttered by my Dad (and thought by me before he said them) as we all
looked in disbelief that Petty not only knocked David out of the race but was
going to spin past the line for the win.
When
Petty came to a stop, short of the finish line, the realization there was still
hope overtook us as we search the TV screen to find Pearson. Where is he?
Where is he? And as we spot David nursing his battered #21 toward
the line, past the motionless #43, 800 miles from the scene we were doing our
best to push him across the line before Petty’s crew members can get to
Richard’s damaged car and push him to the finish first. There was no
greater elation and relief when Johnny Bruner dropped the Checkered Flag on the
limping Wood Brothers Purolator Mercury as we flopped back into our chairs
exhausted from the emotion and our efforts.
It’s
just what you did as a fan.
Dad
had met David at Atlanta after the 1978 Dixie 500. You all remember that
one don’t you? That’s the race where the fans left the track after the
race not knowing whether Donnie Allison or Richard Petty had won. There
was a scoring controversy between the two NASCAR flipped their decision between
the two several times.
Dad
just happened to go to that one. It was a last minute deal. A co-worker of Dad’s was pursuing his pilot’s
license and needed to get in some flight time. They decided taking in the
Atlanta race would be a good excuse to fly so they rounded up a couple of more
fans and off they went. After the race and not knowing the results, the
group headed to the airfield to get ready to fly back to Owensboro, when there,
sitting in a swing, relaxing before loading up for his take off was David
Pearson. That day was not a good one for the “Silver
Fox.”
He had encountered issues and exited early that day, finishing 32nd.
David had already cleaned up, changed and was ready to go, but he and Dad
got to talk a bit before each flew their separate ways.
Dad
always said it was terrible to watch a race and leave not knowing who had won,
but getting the chance to talk with Pearson more than made up for it.
“You’re
kidding me! That’s great! Why did he call? What did you all
talk about?
I
knew the answer to the first question or at least I thought so, so I played
dumb (which is not a stretch for me to do). I had almost forgotten about
it as it had been so long. It was the summer of 1993 I believe and the
Louisville Motor Speedway was having Pearson and several other drivers in to
sign autographs and put on an exhibition race. I had been working on Dad
for us to go and meet him since I heard the news that David was going to be
there. I so wanted him to go. I offered to drive down and pick him
up and take him to it and take him back home, but when it came time, between
the summer heat, the hot, humid Ohio River Valley air and the huge crowds,
there was no way he could make the trip. I was heartbroken but was
determined to make the trip and at least get Pearson’s autograph for him.
As
I stood in what seemed to be an endless line, I scribbled out a note. In
it, I explained how my Dad was a big fan, how my Dad’s
condition prevented him from coming and asked him if he could sometime give him
a call just to encourage him, lift his spirits. I included all the phone numbers,
including mine so he could bill the call to it.
When
it was my turn I found myself suddenly tongue-tied. Finally getting the chance to speak to the
man who was my stock car hero left me speechless. All I could do was slide my #17 die-cast to
him to autograph, hand him the note and pleafully ask, “Please?”
The
three-time Cup Champion quietly took the note and slipped it in his shirt
pocket, then reached for the die-cast, signed it and slid it back to me.
I stood there silently wanting to say more, but couldn’t. Sensing those behind me getting restless, I
dropped my head, muttered “Thank you” and stepped out of line so they would
have their chance.
I
had missed my chance to say something to David Pearson and was so frustrated
over the whole thing I just left, not staying for any racing, replaying the
whole scene over and over in my mind and kicking myself over what I should have
done, but for some reason, couldn’t.
I
never really thought David would ever call. He’s a big time driver.
He didn’t know me or my dad. I figured he was just too busy to
bother with it. Plus, I couldn’t open my mouth to ask him, so why should
he? Besides, he probably gets requests
like this all the time and he doesn’t have time to answer them all.
Because of all of those reasons, if he didn’t, I wouldn’t ever hold that
against him. Heck, I’d never hold it against him anyway-he owed me
nothing and through his driving had given me more than I deserved. But...
Dad
answered the second question first.
“I
knew who it was as soon as I answered the phone and he said ‘Hello.”
He didn’t need to introduce himself. There is no mistaking that
voice. It wasn’t much of a conversation though. Your Mom was at the
grocery, so I had to get up and answer the phone. I was out of breath
from that before I said anything. Then when I heard who it was I got
excited and that cut my air off even more. By then, I was in no shape to
carry on a conversation.”
“He
seemed to understand and did most of the talking. He had to. I was
in no shape to.”
“Don’t
feel bad Dad. I was so excited when he autographed my car, I got
tongue-tied myself and couldn’t say anything. There is no telling what he
thinks about the two of us. Probably wonders if anyone in our family can
talk.”
“He
was nice though” and that’s when I learned the rest of the story.
“Before
he hung up he apologized for not calling sooner. He said, ‘I promised
that boy (I was in my mid-thirties at the time) that I would call you. He
gave me a note with your number on it and when I changed out of my street
clothes into my racing uniform that night to race, the note fell out into my
racing bag. That was my last race of the season and I didn’t find it
until I was going through my bag for the first race this season (1994).
I’m sorry, but I promised that boy I’d call you.’”
I
was silent as I soaked it all in.
“Did
you really ask him to call me”, he asked quietly.
“I
was disappointed you weren’t able to make it to Louisville to see him. I
didn’t know if he would call or not. I just thought it might help.”
“I
wished I hadn’t gotten choked up. He had to do all the talking.
There were things I wanted to say...”
Dad
was now getting short of breath. I wanted to know more but this was not
the time to try and push to find out what he wanted to say so I wrapped it up
by saying “I’m really glad he called you, Dad. That means a lot to me
that he would do it, even after all this time.”
David
Gene Pearson, three-time Cup Champion and 105-win Cup driver owed us
nothing. If the Hall of Fame driver promised me he’d call Dad, I never
heard it. But after finding my misplaced note, he took the time to call
and lift my Dad’s spirits and forever secure his place in my Hall of Fame long
before NASCAR recognized him for theirs.
David Pearson in Victory Lane at the 1976
Daytona 500
In
racing as in life, there are champions on the track as well as off. David Pearson was both.
Several
times I tried to get Dad to talk a little more about the call, what the
shortness of breath kept him from saying, but it never happened. He just wouldn’t go there. So I quit asking. He knew I wanted to know. He’d tell me if he wanted me to know. For fourteen years he didn’t.
On
June 9, 2008, the hideous diseases that for so many years had slowly choked
away at my Dad and his life, finally freed him as he passed from this world of
fighting to talk and breathe to one where his breath and words are now easy,
rich and full. Ten years later on
November 12 of this year, his favorite stock car driver, David Pearson, finally
joined him. I’m pretty sure that day,
Dad would have stood back and after the welcoming crowds thinned down and
cleared out, he would have walked up like he did at the Atlanta airfield,
welcomed David home and resumed that phone conversation that he had waited 10
years to complete.
I
was sad to hear of David Pearson’s passing.
He was my hero as well. It always
hurts when heroes leave us. It did on
June 9, 2008. It did again, November 12th. But I had to smile knowing that Dad finally
got to tell him what he wanted to tell him.
He finally got to finish what he started. In that, I take comfort.
Dad
left before ever telling me what he was going to say to David Pearson, but
couldn’t. One day, I hope to join
them. I’m not sure if I’ll ask them
about that conversation though. You see
I have some unfinished business as well.
If I can get that air gun away from Leonard Wood just one time (if he
beats me there) I’ll get to go over the wall and change those front tires for
my hero, David Pearson.
Move over Leonard, I’m going to change those
tires!
I
can’t wait!
Thank
you David Pearson. You are a true
champion.