The Boy

It's September 3, 1951. Labor Day in the Pee Dee region of South Carolina presents a brief respite from the hard summer's work. However, the town of Darlington has become a hubbub of activity. Thousands of people have laid this day of rest aside to witness the spectacle known as the Southern 500, a stock car race that, from its debut just one year prior, had already become the Indianapolis 500 of the South. Excitement filled the air, with sounds, sights, and smells that can only occur when crowds assemble to celebrate sheer competition. As the stands began to fill, a few boys from nearby Timmonsville High School searched for a parking space, anxious to join the throng. They spotted a place in a nearby field, and scattering toward the gate they called out behind them, "Remember where we parked, Cale, and we'll meet you right here after the race. And we ain't waiting on you, so you'd better be here."

Though William Caleb "Cale" Yarborough felt as if he were in a dream, he was actually at the Darlington Raceway. It seemed as if it were the largest thing in the world. From the parking lot, the speedway looked as if it went on forever. As Cale approached the ticket booth, he began to regain control of his thoughts. He had brought enough money for the $2 ticket, but he sure didn't want to have to pay it if he didn't have to — that way he could have more money for hot dogs and Cokes. He had to figure a way inside. As he made his way past the incoming crowd, he came upon a boy handing out pamphlets, and he took one. It read: Darlington International Raceway today is the scene of the nation's greatest stock-car race of the year ... the second annual "Southern 500" strictly stock car speed classic ... under NASCAR sanction.

Darlington, the nation's finest raceway, that's how the new mile-and-a-quarter asphalt track is regarded by the race fans throughout the country.

Not another track in the United States of this size provides such ample facilities ... a grandstand from which you can see every corner of the track from every seat ... something that is better than any other track in the country.

For speed ... Darlington ranks second only to Indianapolis ... with its two-and-a-half mile span.

"For beauty ... there's none finer than Darlington Raceway!"

Three programs were scheduled the first year ... 1950 ... with Johnny Mantz of Long Beach, California, winning the Labor Day race ... then Johnny Parsons, Van Nuys, California, won the 200-mile AAA big car race ... the motorcycle program that included three events was cancelled due to rain after only the novice 50-mile race saw a new record established for all tracks.

The 1951 program includes only two events — the 250-mile AAA big car race on July 4 ... won by Little Walt Faulkner of Long Beach, California ...

So far in the three major races at Darlington Raceway, the California drivers have monopolized honors ... but can they do it today? ... That's the big question ...and the rebels with their confederate flags flying ... are out to upset the California fruit cart.

Who's your favorite today? Pick your own. Everybody else has ... and they can't all be right.

Cale could wait no longer. He walked around the track until he found a place where no one was looking. He found a loose place in the fence, got down on his belly, and slid beneath. He was inside the Darlington Raceway, still had the $2 in his pocket, and was surely the happiest kid in the world.

Cale was no stranger to auto racing. Almost every South Carolina town had a dirt track with weekly action, and Cale had been to Florence many Friday nights, clutching the fence with his dad at his side and yelling for the local heroes as they battled. Drivers whose names race fans still remember, names like Junior Johnson, Cotton Owens, and Fonty Flock. Over the course of the evening, the dirt and dust at the fence would coat you from head to toe. And, standing there at the fence, you could fix your eyes on a certain car and follow it around the track, lap after lap. You were so close that when you waved at the driver, you felt he was looking directly at you. Heck, it was almost like being in the race car.

And now here he was at Darlington! It was the biggest place Cale had ever seen. Grandstands stretched as far as he could see, and they were already almost filled. He strolled around to Turn 1 and looked across the track to Turn 4, feeling as if the other end of the track was in another country, it was so far away. And he imagined how it must feel to race around such a racetrack. Then his attention was drawn to the infield. He had never witnessed such a scene. People were everywhere. They were barbecuing, tossing footballs, eating, drinking, sleeping, laughing, and generally having the time of their lives, it seemed. From the look of it, there couldn't have been any beer or fried chicken left in the state of South Carolina. But then his eyes found the pits, where the race teams were preparing for the day's activities. Like a magnet, Cale immediately joined the stream of people walking across the track.

Walking straight to the pit area, he began to pick out some of the drivers whom he recognized from being at the short tracks and others whose pictures had been in the newspapers. He could see Lee Petty, Fireball Roberts, Fonty Flock, Herb Thomas, and Curtis Turner. All of his heroes together in one place, and he could walk right up to them. "Hiya, Fireball," "Hello, Fonty," he said as he would pass them. And each, in turn, waved back and answered, "Hi, kid." Cale was hooked. If there had been any question as to what he wanted to be when he grew up, he had found the answer.

Wandering from pit to pit, he was able to see and touch the race cars. Lee Petty's Plymouth, Marshall Teague's Hudson Hornet, Frank Mundy's Studebaker, and Buddy Shuman's Ford were there for his inspection. It was like being in heaven — leaning against the cars, listening to the conversation between the different teams' members as they were finishing their preparations, gazing into the engine compartments, and soaking it up like a sponge. It was very doubtful things could be any better than this.

Shortly, the time came for the race to begin, and the guards began to move the people who had made their ways from the grandstands back to their seats. Cale had to join them as they paraded back across the track, and he found a place to stand near the fence at the first turn. "Hey, kid, you can't stand there, you're blocking people's view," someone yelled to Cale. "You'll have to get in your seat or move over there out of the way." He pointed over toward the second turn, where there were nothing but bushes. Having snuck in, he had no seat, so he headed toward the bushes. Several hundred people had joined in the second turn, but there was room for one more boy. Finding a spot where the whole track was visible, he settled in. To Cale, this was as good as a box seat at the start-finish line. And the race was about to begin.

Having no particular driver as a favorite, Cale decided to root for those who...