DuQuoin Was Our Darlington
|
|
Labor
Day was a big deal in our family growing up in the 1960’s.
My
father’s side of the family were steelworkers and coal miners. They had
gone through the labor wars in their respective industries. They had
lived it. As family we had lived it. And what we didn’t live
through we were taught. Labor Day was more than an extra Monday off.
It meant something special.
Labor
Day was a big deal.
Growing
up in a racing family, Labor Day was a big deal. It was Darlington, the
“Granddaddy of ‘em All.” For us, this was the second biggest race of the
year in all of Motorsports behind the Indy 500.
We
always wanted to go to Darlington, but never got the chance. It was too
far away. School always started back on Tuesday and there was just no way
to make it back in time. There was no way
my sister and I were going to be allowed to miss the first day of school. Not even for a race. Not even for
Darlington.
Back
then, Du Quoin was our Darlington.
The
rural little town in southern Illinois was the site of the Du Quoin State Fair
(now the Illinois State Fair at Du Quoin).
The fairgrounds, campgrounds and track were situated on 1200 acres of
reclaimed strip mine land and had hosted auto racing of one type or another
since before WWII. On Labor Day,
businessman W. E. Hayes’ dream was our
epicenter of racing as the United States Auto Club, the other leading
Sanctioning Body rolled in for three days of racing on the flat 1-mile harness
track.
It
was quite a weekend. Saturday opened with the USAC Midgets running two 50-Lap
races. Sunday brought in the USAC Stockers for a 100-Lap Race. Labor Day
was the cream of the crop, the USAC Champ Cars (Indy Car roadsters) running a
100-lap race – the Ted Horn Memorial 100.
A
race fan’s dream.
Du
Quoin was an over the top experience for a kid growing up. It was a fair
of fairs with everything one could imagine.
In addition to the seemingly endless displays, there were rides,
amusements and loads of carnival food. At night they hosted concerts –
top shows with top artists. It was said that every artist but Sinatra,
Elvis and Streisand had performed there.
And in the middle of it all, topping it all off was racing with the top
drivers of their series.
What
more could a kid want?
As
this weekend brings the 2018 summer to a close, I can’t help think back to
those weekends back then. The long ride in our faithful
truck, Big Red across Western Kentucky into Southern Illinois, past the
seemingly endless miles of corn either being harvested or ready for harvest.
Pulling through the big gates of the Fairgrounds with all the
anticipation and excitement a kid could have of going camping, going to a huge
fair and seeing three days of top-flight races.
Pulling
into our familiar camping spot, next to our friends we had met here before and
only see on this weekend every year. Our
camp set up with the precision of a NASCAR pit crew, a routine practiced many
times on summer weekend camping trips to Rough River and Lake Barkley.
Then it was my sister and I walking the campground roads endlessly until
it was time to go to the fairgrounds or track. Why? Because back
then, before smart phones, video games and social media that’s what kids in
campgrounds did-you walked around, walking, talking, hoping your friends from
past races had arrived so you could catch up on the year gone by or hoping to
meet new kids who would join you, walking and talking.
Our
evenings there were special. We would go to the Midway and take in all of
that. We’d take in a few rides, maybe a cotton candy or two. There
were lots of sights and sounds for a kid to take in. Evenings in the
campground was even more so. As the night grew long, the campfires would
pop up and we’d sit listening to the adults talk about the racing, hearing the
tales of races and racers of the past.
After
a while we’d gravitate over to the campfire of the Tinley Park, IL tribe.
The Bettenhausen crew would camp right there
among us “commoners” and it was neat to have the chance to meet members from
such a racing family. To have this chance
to just spend evening after evening with them just hanging out at their
campfire was beyond this kid’s wildest dreams.
Gary was just on his way up,
starting to really make a name for himself, signing to race for Roger Penske.
Merle was just getting started, so this was heaven to a young race fan.
I would have spent all my free time there if I could and if I had a dime
for all the times Dad said, “No! Leave those folks
alone!” I could have bought all the cotton candy on the Midway.
Bedtime
would always come long before sleep time as the anticipation of tomorrow’s race
was just too much excitement for a race kid to handle. We were always sent to
bed long before we could go to sleep and were forced to just lie there
replaying today’s race highlights while anticipating what tomorrow would bring,
as we would finally drift off to sleep to the sounds of Louis Armstrong or
Karen Carpenter performing on the Main Stage at what seemed to be miles away.
Daylight
would bring a big breakfast. Got to have a big meal; we’re going to the
races and there’s not going to be any running up and down getting concessions
and stuff. We’re here to watch a race. As race time
approached it was time to gather up the cushions and stuff and make the march
to the track. I don’t remember any shuttles or anything, just falling
into line of other race fans leaving the camp for the long walk to the track
for the race ahead.
Du
Quoin was a special facility. I remember it as a clean, tidy, well-kept
track, which sounds odd for a dirt track but at that time this hosted the Hambletonian Stakes, the first event in the “Triple Crown
of Harness Racing for Trotters.” This wasn’t just your run of the mill dirt
track. In retrospect, from a safety aspect it was more suited to the
trotters than stockers.
Its
infield was much different than Darlington-instead of being filled with fans
and flags (and at one time a temporary jail), Du Quoin’s infield was occupied
by a pair of swans, swimming elegantly on the “lake” located just inside the
inner guardrail that looked perfectly suited for outboard races. The tote board occupied an island in the
middle of the “lake” just behind a beautifully decorated and landscaped Victory
Lane. It wasn’t Darlington but it still
had a “charm” all its own.
Our
seats were always in the stands near the first turn where the Champ Cars
drivers would cut their wheel to throw their big roadsters into a broadslide. Unfortunately that wasn’t in the covered
Main Grandstands, which always looked so appealing when that hot Illinois sun
would start beating down. But Dad always
wanted to be where the cars were at their very fastest and that was the
place.
I
like seeing the cars at their fastest but this location put me farther away
from the pits which was something I loved to watch. My allotment of binocular
time was a premium for me as I watched the pit boards to get info you couldn’t
get any other way. Back then, there were no radio broadcasts, no scanners
to listen to crew and drivers. So I’d split my time watching the race and
watching the pit boards to gain info like position, when teams were going to
pit, whether they were gaining or losing time, etc. Board watching was a
huge part of the race experience.
It
was at Du Quoin where I got to see so many great drivers show their greatness.
In midgets, Mel Kenyon
was my immediate favorite. His story of surviving a fiery crash but losing his
fingers from his left hand to returning to not only drive again but to go on
and win over 300 races and seven championships, eight runner-ups and top five
points finishes in 21 of 27 seasons behind the wheel is incredible. Seeing him lapping that one-mile track in
his #61 is a lasting Labor Day weekend memory.
Seeing
drivers like Ramo Stott, Iggy Katona,
Norm Nelson, Don White, Butch Hartman and Jack Bowser pitch their USAC Stockers
sideways through the flat turns was a sight to behold . In addition,
Champ Car drivers like A. J. Foyt, Al Unser, and Parnelli
Jones often drove in the series. Foyt won the 1968 USAC Stock Car
Championship and Unser was Rookie of the Year in the series.
Two
of my favorite memories from the Sunday Stocker races was seeing all the
different shields “engineered” to protect the radiators and windshields. These shaker screens were marvels all to themselves
as everyone had his own idea how to protect the radiators from the dirt and
debris kicked up in a 100-lap race. Not
only did they have to protect those valuable radiators, but they had to
self-clean as a blocked protector was just as bad as an unprotected radiator as
you couldn’t win with either. Watching
the way each addressed this was a thing to behold. Everyone had his own ideas about how to keep
the windshields intact as well, as extra sheet metal would appear on the hoods
in different locations and configurations in hopes of keeping errant rocks off
the glass. And more than one driver ran
with windshield wipers to clear the dust from the windshield.
Also,
it was during the Du Quoin Stock Car race I first heard the name Gerald Kulwicki, then
engine builder for Norm Nelson and father of the 1992 NASCAR Winston Cup
Champion, Alan Kulwicki.
Now
Labor Day was THE DAY. This race was
part of the Championship Trail and all the big names showed up on their quest
to win a National Championship. It was A. J. Foyt, Mario Andretti, Don
Branson, the Unsers, Johnny Rutherford, Lloyd Ruby,
Jim McElreath and many more racing heroes we’d heard
race at Indy, now in their Champ Cars for 100 laps on the 1-mile
dirt-it
doesn’t get much better than that! Foyt
was my favorite. My Mom and Dad’s as well. My sister, the
contrarian, adored Mario Andretti, which made for lively exchanges along the
way.
Labor
Day was always the same. We’d listen to Darlington
on the radio until it was time to head to the track. It was practice,
qualifying and racing. There is nothing like seeing those Champ Cars, two
rows of twelve, take the green flag, head toward the first turn and then pitch
them into a broad-slide right in front of you, and do it again and again for
100 laps. The heat… it didn’t matter. The dust was only a slight
annoyance. This was racing at its beat. This was our Darlington.
Memories
from races past fade, but fortunately some were captured on film and can be found on YouTube. Not as many as Darlington mind you, but you
still get the idea.
Some
memories though remain. Although I was a Foyt fan, two drivers always
stuck with me. One was Don “Pappy” Branson,
the oldest driver on the circuit. His car was always easy to pick out
with its bright yellow paint scheme with red trim. Branson was always fast, smooth and near the
front. It didn’t hurt that his car flew
a tiger tail off the gas cap, as he was fueled by ESSO whose motto was “Let us
put a tiger in your tank!”
The
second driver was Jud Larson. I never knew a lot about him other than
his driving style. At that track I don’t know another driver who had better car
control than Larson. It seemed like he’d pitch his car sideways right
after he passed the flag stand, long before everyone else did and could still
pass and outrun competitors taking a more conventional “line” with later
“entry.” I’m not sure how he did it but
it was something to see and I’m sure I swallowed more Illinois dirt than I
needed to, sitting slack-jawed watching him go through the turns.
I
loved seeing the Champ Cars race but always hated to see the Champ Car races
end. It meant no more big time
racing. It meant not seeing my
open-wheel heroes in real life for another long year. It meant tearing down camp and making the
long drive home. It meant school
tomorrow. Most importantly, it meant
summer was truly over.
Not
wanting the weekend to end, I was guilty on the long walk back of lollygagging
behind, head dropped and feet dragging in hopes of making it all last just a
little while longer. Mom would fuss as
mom’s do, trying to keep her flock together, moving along and out of trouble,
but that would just slow me down even more.
Then Dad would remind me, “Son, if you hurry up, we might catch the end
of Darlington on the radio” which always lifted my head and quickened my
step. It wouldn’t be long before the dust covered
pack of Nance’s would exit out those fairground gates, heading south to the
final laps of your Darlington on Red’s Motorola as Du Quoin, our Darlington
grew smaller in our rear view until finally disappearing, just like the final
moments of this kid’s summer.
Post
Script-A lot has changed at Du Quoin since those days. We stopped going when USAC dropped the dirt
tracks from their Championship Trail.
The USAC Midgets and Stock Cars are no more there as well. The USAC Silver Crown still race there but
now under the lights on Sunday night.
ARCA is the premier event on Labor Day now and can be viewed on MAVTV.