The Speed Way
David Axelrod
Dr. David B. Axelrod served as Suffolk County, Long Island’s Poet Laureate, before moving to Daytona Beach, Florida. He is founder of Writers Unlimited Agency, Inc. (www.writersunlimited.org) which he directed for over thirty years, and also publisher of Writers Ink Press. His newest project is the Creative Happiness Institute, Inc., where he offers his services to the public.
He has published twenty books of poetry in addition to hundreds of essays and articles. He is the recipient of three Fulbright Awards, including his being the first official Fulbright Poet-in-Residence in the People’s Republic of China. The New York Times described him as “A Treat!” He has shared the stage with such literary notables as Louis Simpson, Galway Kinnell, William Stafford, Robert Bly and Allen Ginsberg, performing at the United Nations and around the world. He has been translated into fifteen languages.
Learn more about Dr. Axelrod or contact him through his website: www.creativehappiness.org and at www.poetrydoctor.org.
Okay, I never raced and, honestly, at best I’m barely an auto mechanic. But I’m not new to auto racing. My father, Samuel, owned an auto parts store and was a truly talented mechanic who built and owned stock cars that raced at the old West Peabody Speedway in Massachusetts. We spent Saturday evenings at that track. I spent endless hours making wooden soapbox derby racers. And well before NASCAR was so popular, we spent every Memorial Day weekend glued to the radio and later the TV to hear the Indy.
Okay, I never raced and, honestly, at best I’m barely an auto mechanic. But I’m not new to auto racing. My father, Samuel, owned an auto parts store and was a truly talented mechanic who built and owned stock cars that raced at the old West Peabody Speedway in Massachusetts. We spent Saturday evenings at that track. I spent endless hours making wooden soapbox derby racers. And well before NASCAR was so popular, we spent every Memorial Day weekend glued to the radio and later the TV to hear the Indy.
For my father, Samuel R. Axelrod
Poetry, NASCAR, poem, poet, Poet Laureate, Speed Way,
15000
Thank you Nascar for your support on the project.
Daytona News-Journal, “Demolition Derby;” White Lies (Copyright 1988, La Jolla Poets Press), “Buggy Racing;
The Speed Way is the first book of poetry every devoted entirely to NASCAR and auto racing.
TIME TRIALS
No great clamor — rather,
the steady hum of auxiliary
generators keeping the oil
warm, attached to 48 cars
stretching along the pit row,
awaiting 2 timed laps.
Singly, they start their engines,
growl, then roar out onto the track.
With this burst of energy
an order will be set, from
inside and outside pole spots
to the back of the pack.
It’s a week before the race,
a world away from a checkered
finish. First in line is Blue 2,
Brad Keselowski, racing since
he was a kid, who says his goal is,
“win anything and everything.”
But for now there’s that restrictor
plate to change; the new release
valve; which tires to use and an
infinite list of details before
speeds are measured to within
a thousandth of a second.
If dad does it, and if he brings you
there, chances are you’ll want to do it,
too. So imagine Richard, watching
his dad, Lee, powering sideways
through Daytona’s north turn, wheels
digging into sand and shells,
defying the corner’s reputation
as “The Junkyard.” A son would
have to hold his breath and hope
he’d grow up just like dad,
not to mention, grandson Kyle.
Bobby Allison will be hard to beat
with 84 wins over 22 years.
Then, there’s brother Donnie,
who’s in the Motorsports Hall
of Fame. Imagine, Bobby lost
two sons, Davey and Clifford,
as they pursued their passion
for the sport. Photos show a love
of family and racing so strong
the next generation will surely win.
But for NASCAR, no one beats
William Clifton France, senior
and Bill, Jr., founder of an empire,
whose entire family now shepherds
NASCAR, the Speedway and the sport.
FOR RICHER OR FOR POORER
At first it was a rich man’s sport.
In 1903 or 4, about all a common
man could do was pick dead fish
off the beach before the races.
Vanderbilt brought a beast
of a Mercedes that could do 92.
Later, he’d put $6 million into
paving the Vanderbilt Motor Parkway
to speed him from NYC, 45 miles
out on Long Island. In 1910,
Rockefeller, for all his Standard
Oil, loved watching Barney
Oldfield gassing up his Benz
to hit a record 131. Handsome
young men of daring could
do little without the money
to buy $6,000 worth of tires —
the price of 4 race treads,
even in the Depression. When
he came to town in the ’30s,
a guy like Bill France was
the opposite of a fat cat. He didn’t
have a dime enough to call
a sponsor and ask for money —
just fiddled with cars, opened
the throttle and let loose,
paving the way for generations
of working stiffs to not just watch
but enter their cars. Take Russ
Truelove, a heartthrob on
the track in the mid ’50s, out
there in his souped-up Mercury.
He could run flat out for a $5,000
purse, tearing up the beach, racing
north toward Junkyard Turn,
then south on A1A toward fame
and that small fortune. Fast cars,
at last, were for any good man’s
pleasure. “If we were lucky,”
Truelove waxed poetic, “we’d
hear the faint whisper of the surf,”
a siren’s call to speed as we
risked it all racing along
the beach. Later, he admitted
a driver couldn’t hear a thing
over the roar of the engine.
DALE EARNHARDT, JR.
1.
It’s the 10th anniversary
of his dad’s death, 1 lap
from winning the 500.
“That changed the sport,”
says everyone — better belts,
barriers, neck braces, safety
a major factor; an outpouring
of grief that made NASCAR
even more popular. But
what does it do to a son?
2.
At the time trials, he draws
applause for opening it up
to 186.364 — good enough to
win the inside pole. It’s not
just a record, it’s a way
to say, “I’m me, not just
a legacy.” He wants to be
as dependable as the color
guard that marches before
the national anthem.
3.
“I had to hit the brakes
and he hit me from behind.”
So much for the pole position.
He’ll race, but regulations say
he’ll start last in a car that
didn’t run the time trials.
Not to worry, it’s still plenty
fast. By mid-race, the crowd
rises to cheer as he takes
the lead, if only briefly.
4.
“This should be called
the Lotto 500,” says the race
announcer, “It’s so unpredictable.”
So Jr. dodged and trained,
duct-taped and pit-stopped,
survives to darned near
the last lap, only to get bumped
into the wall — not even able
to finish — but given the odd
calculations of the sport, he’s
listed 24th among 48 starters.
Yes, the crowd rose as one on
lap 3 to hold 3 fingers
up in honor of his dad, but
nothing is guaranteed. Jr.’s
already 36 and for now, he
has to wait ’til next year.
SHOOTOUT
Maybe they aren’t guns,
but these cars are weapons —
hundreds of horsepower
burning through a gallon
in 2 minutes. Slap a wall —
you’re lucky to shower
the track with sparks,
or spin and pray the cage
protects you. Straight
out, floored, pushing
cars nearly 200.
“Too dangerous,” NASCAR
says and restricts the air flow.
“Just too fast.” But fans
want a real race, flat out
toward the checkered flag.
All that skill, all that power —
no room for yellow here.
Only the flash of a green
flag, then hell-bent
toward victory, a show-
off lap, back slapping
and media hoopla.
DANICA PATRICK
1. Political Correctness
Let’s get the leering out of the way
right away, but it doesn’t hurt that
she’s really good looking. Still,
if a woman is going to race in what
is still a man’s world, she’d better
be plenty tough about the comments.
We aren’t that far from sexy pin-ups
on every mechanic’s garage walls.
2. Ethnicity
In Serbian, it’s DAN-ee-tsa.
Americans could probably learn
that, although she, herself, says,
“Dan-i-ka.” Maybe because
in Serbia, they also still say,
“Jena i jena” — a woman is
a woman — as the caption for
a scantily-clad centerfold in
the daily news. That’s a good
reason for a name to get
Americanized.
3. Winning Some Points at Least
Used to be green was an unlucky
color for a race car not to mention
the number 13. Used to be a woman
would never race. She entered 13
in 2010 and scheduled 12 for 2011.
Break a few rules, break a few
expectations. GoDaddy! Even her
sponsor is techy and new. Her first
year in NASCAR she racked up
enough points to beat 100 men.
Now she’s signed on as a star.
TO BE COMPLETELY HONEST
“Don’t bet on this sport,” says Dale, Jr.,
who ought to know. “It’s a lottery.
You just can’t predict who’ll win.”
They’ve regulated so much about
the cars that they all look alike.
No wonder every bumper and grill
are a match — with templates enforced
to within 1/8th of an inch. The air
restrictor plates, carburetor settings,
the tires, suspension, not to mention
weight and fuel. All that’s left
to chance is who’s going to crash
out in the Big One. It’s hard to hear
a driver say, for all his pluck, the sport
comes down to just dumb luck.
For all the talent and showy colors,
for all the pairing up for the dance,
you could be clever as a fox and
still lose. But hey, that’s what we
love about America — just about
anyone has a chance.
THE POLITICS OF ETHANOL
(NASCAR’s official fuel contains 15% ethanol.)
Let’s burn food for fuel.
We have too many hungry
people. Some can starve —
economic survival of the fittest.
Turn corn into ethanol.
Push food prices up.
Pay no attention to that
man behind the screen
or all the studies that say
even large-scale production
isn’t cost or energy efficient.
It isn’t lack of oil forcing
us toward biofuel. It’s
too much of it — too much
oil-industry power distracting
us from better batteries,
solar chargers, cheap,
powerful electric cars.
Don’t get me started on
the lack of good mass transit
that would get people to work
without cars, so folks could make
a few dollars, feed their families
on cheaper food, the price
of which wouldn’t be inflated
by making ethanol.
“AIN’T THAT WHAT IT’S ALL ABOUT?”
(For Waddell Wilson.)
“Speed never bothered me
none,” says Waddell. “I
won me some pretty purses
before I figured engine
building was my niche.”
109 wins later, 3 at
the 500, he’s earned
his Legacy award. Over
200 mph? Sounds pretty
good to the old guys,
“Speed is what it’s all
about.” But NASCAR
wants it family-friendly.
It’s tough to bring
the family to the track
to see a fellow hit the wall
and die. “I haven’t built
a flathead in years. That’s
what I used to race ... I won
a few but building them
is a lot safer than drivin’ ’em.”
Ah, but would he take the wheel
in one of those fancy cars?
“Guess I’m a bit past
doing it now,” but still
strong-voiced and glad
for the Legacy honors.
SCORING
“So, if you win you get all the points?”
“No, you get extra points.”
“And if you crash, you don’t get any points?”
“No, you can get even more points than the guy who wins.”
“But if you come in last, do you get any point?”
“A few.”
“So, you get points if you crash or lose?”
“That’s true.”
“For pity’s sake, tell me how they score.”
“Any driver who leads a lap during a race receives
one bonus point. The driver who leads the most
laps receives an additional bonus point.
The race winner receives 3 bonus points.”
“I guess I get it. If you run first for
lots of laps, then even if you crash
you can get a ton of points.”
“Not quite. The winner gets 43 points
plus 3 bonus points, plus an extra point
for each lead lap, plus an extra point if
he leads for the most laps so he could
get a total of 48, or not …”
“Or not? But if there were a big crash
and the guy who was leading and a bunch
of others close behind couldn’t finish ...”
“Then, if the last-place guy somehow
got to win, he’d get 43 points plus
3 so he could get more than
the car that ran up-front for the race
and almost won.”
“And this is the new scoring system
NASCAR says they’ve simplified?”
“True. Now, let me explain the other
rules about who gets guaranteed to start
or the way they pay out purses.”
“Excuse me, but I’m going for nachos
and some aspirin.”
RAY FOX
He doesn’t think of himself as a pioneer,
though others say so. “We just had lots
of extra parts from Chevy so we built
3 cars” — in 1963 the first to race
3 at once at the 500. And as for inventing
drafting, “Jr. Johnson figured that out
when he raced for me.” Ray Fox, at
95, is just a gentle giant, admitting
only that, “We sat on the pole and we
won a lot.” An interviewer would like
him to reveal some secrets, remember
old grudges. “I only wish we had better
parts,” says Ray, “If we turned over
8,000 rpms those valve springs would
break and that was it. We’d be
out of it.” In those days, it was Ford
vs. Chevy. It must have been fierce —
somewhere between enemy camps
and corporate war. But Ray just says,
“We were competitive but we were
friends.” His daughter remembers
some squabbles, but Ray is content,
“I don’t want an old friend to hear
me going over that, and I don’t want
any trouble with NASCAR.”
It’s men like Ray who built the sport,
and he’s stayed with it to found
the Living Legends of Auto Racing
Museum. “He’s always been a motorhead,”
his friend says. But nowadays, with
young drivers bragging and even
brawling, the way Ray sees it
sure sounds like wisdom.
AT THE LEGACY OF SPEED BANQUET
The collectors are out
with glossies, NASCAR
jackets, even model cars
to be signed. The old-timers
are glad to slap each
other’s backs. Those
500s left you exhausted
and sore. Now it’s a soft
seat and a slide show
you can pick your young
self out of, or shout,
“There’s Billy! Gawd,
he was handsome!”
These are easy times,
showing up for kudos
and autographs. 3 drivers
from the ’60s stand
close for a photo —
but this one is for themselves.
You can tell by their gentle
hands around the shoulders,
this one is sincere. Speed was
one thing. Now, they
take it all in stride, glad
they have survived.