We have a couple of author interviews coming up in the next few days. So get out your cash. These are good reads.
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I first met Liz Clarke about 20 years ago, when I had just gotten my first job as a clerk at The Charlotte Observer. She was a new reporter there, hired in part to write about a future Charlotte NFL team (that would not arrive for another decade). I was still in college then; and she was the coolest person I had met in my young life. It wouldn’t even be fair to say that I had a crush on her, because her coolness quotient daunted college crushes. She had lived in New York, she had chased Bruce Springsteen concerts around the New Jersey shores, she loved Martin Scorcese movies and Woody Allen movies, she told me about the bottle of beer that Bruce bought her years before.
In other words, LIz was the last person in the entire world I ever would have expected to become fascinated with NASCAR. I have my own love-hate relationship with Auto Racing — I hate the races themselves, would rather watch fantasy baseball drafts involving people I don’t know. But I do love the characters, the drivers, two or three of my favorite stories are about race car drivers, one of them about Junior Johnson, another about this guy.*
*I appreciate that it’s tacky as hell to link to an award page, but this is the first place I saw that column posted.
In any case, I can remember feeling astounded when Liz started writing about NASCAR. But the real surprise was … she LIKED it. You could see it in her writing. She was fascinated by the drivers, by the spectacle, by the danger, by the Americanness of it all. And, I have to say, that reading her stories about Dale Earnhardt and Tim Richmond and Junior Johnson and Richard Petty and all the rest made them seem — is this even possible? — cool. She wrote about racing in the same spirit that Tom Wolfe did.
Liz has since moved on — she’s a sportswriter now for The Washington Post, and she writes about lots of stuff, NFL, Olympics, tennis, colleges, you name it. And she still writes about NASCAR. Her new book is called: “One Heullva Ride: How NASCAR Swept the Nation” and of course it’s terrific and very cool and I highly recommend it if you:
1. Like NASCAR.
2. Are in any way curious why people like NASCAR.
Here is my Q&A with Liz, who is still in my mind as cool as ever:
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First off, I have to say, that when I first met you Liz — that was when I was in college — you were so incredibly cool … it was shocking to me that you loved writing NASCAR. How did that happen?
Well first, let me swoon over the phrasing of your question, as I am feeling so far from cool at this stage in my life. I don’t have Tivo, an iPod or DVR. I do have a DVD player, digital tape recorder and digital camera, but all three are still in their box, as I am afraid to open them because I don’t know how they work. So I am feeling about as cool as a dinosaur.
As for NASCAR, it was not a sport I ever wanted to cover or ever expected to cover. But as you know, having worked at the Charlotte Observer, everyone in that sports department gets pulled into covering racing at least twice a year. And that was my fate as a young sports reporter there in 1991, hired to cover Charlotte’s quest for an NFL team, with lots of free time as the NFL dithered in its decision-making.
Once the book came out in February, I gagged when I saw the press release that the publicist came up with, dubbing “One Helluva Ride” as “Liz Clarke’s love-letter to NASCAR.” I honestly wanted to croak because I think the book — or certianly my feelings about the sport — are a lot more complicated and critical than that. I doubt seriously that the publicist read the book. If you read the book carefully at all, or if you get to the end, it’s as much a “Dear John letter” as a “love letter.” So that wording, “Liz CLarke’s love letter,” makes me nauseous.
Yet as a journalist/writer, I did come to enjoy writing about the sport– in a way I think anyone could understand. It was so wild — so visceral. so full of noise, and colors and smells — all of them brassy and noxious and over-bearing. I came to love listening to many of the racers talk, especially Junior Johnson, who was so wise and wiley and spoke is such an authentic way — a way that told you exactly where he was from, the hills of North Carolina, without apology or pretense. There were so many great story-tellers, guys like Rick Mast, Smokey Yunick, the King, Kyle Petty. And the tracks themselves were as singular as the people, quirky and reflecting a specific place and people in the South.
It just seemed like such a rich thing to cover–part sport, part county fair, part way of life. I didnt see how you could capture it fully. And it wasn’t over-run with sportswriters, either, which meant you could actually talk to people one-on-one and at length, if you were patient enough or showed up early enough. So in that sense, I guess I did fall in love with writing about it. Plus, so few editors knew anything about it that it gave you, as a reporter, enormous latitude to decide what the stories were. It’s far more common when covering major stick-and ball sports that an editor assigns every story, and as a reporter yo’re little more than a wind-up doll.
Who was the first NASCAR character to really capture your attention?
I wish I had one vivid answer. My first major profile was on Bill Elliott, who was huge at the time (early 90s), and I was struck by how dour and joyless he was. I wrote that and was stunned to find that people who knew him thought it was dead-on yet shocking because no one had exactly written that.
I was intrigued immediately by Junior Johnson, who had long since retired from racing and was a car owner when I met him, because he was obviously so bright and held a lot of stuff back. You had to work to get things out of him. He reminded me a lot of the late Sen. Sam Ervin from NC, who presided over the Watergate hearings. He spoke a beautiful form of English — “my mother tongue,” he declared it proudly during one testy exchange in the hearings. I digress. And Dale Earnhardt of course made a big impression. He was an enigma — a puzzle to be solved, as I was for him I think. But he ended up being a great ally, and there wasn’t a person in racing I admired more.
One of my favorite images in your writing — and you write about this the book as well — is the image of Dale Earnhardt staring down a highway patrolman. What was that moment like for you in the car — and did you think (as I sometimes do when writing) “Wow, this is the whole story right here.”
I wasnt thinking ahead to the way I would structure the story during that day I spent with him, which would have been really smart. I had met him at his shop very early that morning, and I rode with him in his truck to North Wilkesboro, followed him around all day, and rode home with him that evening. So it was a full day of scribbling down most everything that he said and did. So much of it was funny and touching and, at points, surprisingly frank. I got on his nerves a bit because I didn’t say much, and that made it hard for him to take control of the “interview,” if you will, because he couldn’t figure out what my angle was. The truth is, I didn’t have an angle; I just wanted to see what he was like. But it was a great day, and he ended up being incredibly cooperative.
We came upon the state trooper on the way home; he drove home on an interstate, but had taken back roads there. Anyway, it was obvious from the get-go that he was a fairly obnoxious driver; he yapped at every driver in front of him to “move it over.” he leaned so far to his left, always sizing up chances to pass, I thought he’d fall out the door. His eyes were darting all over the mirrors. Still, he’d answer my questions as he drove and yapped at cars. When we came upon the trooper, I thought he’d straighten up and drive normally. But he didn’t; he just closed right up on his bumper and stayed there, grinning in the mirror as the trooper looked back at him in his rear-view mirror.
It was a game to Earnhardt; and I suspect he thought it entertained me, which it did. But everything he did was a contest of some sort. He always had to establish the upper hand, even with crew guys and friends and reporters, for sure. It was a funny scene, and it’s a fond memory because it’s so clear in my mind how happy it made him.
OK, away from NASCAR from a moment: How many times have you seen Springsteen now? What number are we up to?
Well, there are two counts I keep, though I’m not 100 percent accurate with either one. The count for actual Bruce Springsteen concerts, for which I have ticket stubs or some evidence of admission, is in the low 100s right now–probably 110, 120.
Then there is the count that includes appearances in bars, mainly on the Jersey shore, for which I have no ticket stub or way of verifying. I lived in NY from 1978-84 and spent a good bit of time going down to the shore (Absury Park, Red Bank, Sea Bright, etc) when Bruce was around. He’d get into these patterns of showing up at bars like the Stone Pony and Big Man’s West, especially, and play with certain bands. It wasn’t hard to figure out when he’d show up. So if you add those in, it’s probably 200 or so.
Do you still have the beer bottle?
Oh yes, I do. In fact, it’s on the bookshelf of sports books right next to my home computer, and I am looking at its faded label now. It’s between “Figure Skating: A History” and “The Catcher was a Spy: The Mysterious Life of Moe Berg.”
This beer bottle is a Heineken bottle with a very faded label that has been gouged out in one tiny spot. Bruce bought me this beer one night at Big Man’s in Red Bank, NJ, though it’s not as riveting a story as it sounds. I was sitting at a table with 5 or 6 other women (let’s say “babes,” to make the story better). Anyway, Bruce knew one of my friends, and he was sitting at the bar, alone. And the barmaid came over and said, “Bruce wants to buy everyone a drink. What are you having?” We were all in such a tizzy we couldn’t make a decision, so someone blurted out, “Heinekens all around.” That’s what we had. I was so nervous afterward I started clawing the label, then realized this would be a prized treasure, so I stopped tearing off the label. Luckily it was the dead of winter, and I had a giant down coat with me, which enabled me to smuggle the bottle out of the bar tucked inside my coat sleeve. I’ve taken good care of it since. Must have been 25 years ago, if not more.
It’s ridiculous to ask you this Springsteen question, but I remember a specific answer of yours when I asked you the first time 20 years ago, and I’m curious if your answer has changed: What is your favorite Bruce song? And how do you think he’s aged?
A: Oh my, I dont know what I said.* I probably said, “Thunder Road,” which has meant so much to me over the years. But I think, deep in my soul, it is “Incident on 57th Street.“ That’s what I would like played at my funeral, not to sound morbid.
As for how he has aged, this is complicated. If you mean physically, he looks remarkably fit, healthy and happy, so that is wonderful to see. The concerts are obviously shorter these days; not the marathons of old with an intermission in between. I don’t begrudge that one bit: Bruce and the E Street Band still give so very much to their audience. Fabulous to see in concert. As for how he has aged as a writer, I am less keen on that. In fact, I brood about this a good bit. I think his writing has fallen off, to be honest, and it pains me to say this.
*I remember precisely which song Liz told me was her favorite 20 years ago — I’m always fascinated by what real fans like. She said then that here favorite song was “She’s the One,” and I know this because I had never really listened to that song before she called it her favorite. I had heard the song lots of times — I was always someone who believed in playing entire albums and not just songs that I liked — but after Liz explained how “She’s the One” touched her, I listened to it and realized that it really is a great song. As another aside, I can also tell you that about 15 years ago, long before you could go on the Internet to find lyrics, I called Liz to ask her for a certain lyric in “Thunder Road.” I couldn’t get it exactly right in my head. The lyric was: “There were ghosts in the eyes of all the boys you sent away.”
You were always someone who, I felt, looked at sports through a more global prism — don’t know if that makes any sense. But since you have spent so much of your time writing about NASCAR and professional football, I’m wondering: Which of those do you believe best represents America?
A: I love this question. First, thanks for the phrasing, which I take as a huge compliment and hope I am worthy of your generosity. But I do try to view things in broad strokes. And I do wonder about many of our obsessions — whether football, stock-car racing, rock& roll, and dreck like Britney Spears, “Survivor” and “American Idol” — what do they say about our country?
To your question, this may seem odd, but I’d say NASCAR represents America moreso than professional football. And I say this for two reasons. Mainly because NASCAR, to me, is rooted in the fundamental myth that it’s a sport in which everyday people compete in everyday cars. We know the cars aren’t ’stock’ of course; they aren’t really the kind in the American driveway or showroom floor. But it is largely true that anyone could do it — NOT that it’s so easy, because it’s not. But it’s true that you don’t need an obvious physical attribute to play, as you do to be an NBA power forward or NFL lineman. You don’t have to be 6-feet-10; you dont’ have to weigh 300 pounds. The cars are the equalizer, which makes it a sport, at least in theory, for everyman…or every woman, for that matter. This is very American, to me.
On a second point, there is something undeniably militaristic and hierarchical about the NFL and football in general. It is rooted in authority. Teams only succeeed if everyone — all the players on the team — follow the specific script and plays. All wisdom resides in the game plan; the best coaches are referred to “offensive geniuses” or “defensive wizards.” The players’ role is to essentially be obedient, precise, effective wind-up dolls. To execute the plan. Now, I’m not diminishing what NFL players do; I have great respect for NFL players. And certainly players like Brett Favre, who have exceptional improvisational ability, blow my theory to bits. But in general, football is about following a script. And I don’t think that’s very American at all. The American spirit is about creating something from nothing–it’s about finding a better way to build a country, even if it means breaking the rules. And NASCAR is more like that–constantly reinventing the car, the rules, what’s acceptable in order to get ahead, to get to the lead, to win.
Back to the book: One of the things I really, really like about this book is the way you paint portraits of the older drivers like Richard Petty and, especially, Bobby Allison. Do you feel that the younger drivers have the same, I don’t know, spirit as those older drivers?
I’m loathe to say younger drivers have no personality. I suspect they do, and a few people I respect insist that they do. But the point is, they don’t show their personalities. It’s a pity, and it’s one of the things that’s ruining the sport. It’s hard to tell one driver from another these days, with very few exceptions. Again, I’m not saying they have no personality. But it’s as if they are in a straight-jacket, so programmed to mention all of their sponsors’ names, to not offend, to not do this or that. Also, there is such a crush of media covering the sport, both print and broadcast, that reporters don’t have much access to drivers any more. So it’s rare to be able to spend enough time with a driver to even figure out what they’re about.
These issues are common in major stick-and-ball sports, too. But it’s particularly troublesome in NASCAR, I think. For all the talk and blather about the racecars, stock-car racing didn’t become popular because of sheet metal or engines. It captured people’s fancy becuase of the cult of personality that grew up around Richard Petty, Fireball Roberts, David Pearson, Cale Yarbrough, the Allisons, Dale Earnhardt, Jeff Gordon. Each of these drivers stood for something in fans’ eyes–for specific values. And fans CHOSE them as their driver because of what they represented. I honestly can’t tell you what most of these guys racing today stand for or represent in a way that would compel a fan to climb on board. There are few drivers who are obvious jerks, and they’re easy to root against. But that’s not enough to build a sport around.
I’m a fan of Jeff Gordon. I mean, not as a driver — I know nothing about driving, as you know — but I like him a lot personally because I see him as a different entity. He’s a Yankee, loves New York, never seemed comfortable being painted into the Red State image that NASCAR drivers inevitably embrace. Should I like Jeff Gordon?
Absolutely yes, though you’ll wear yourself out trying to explain it to the non-believers. In every sport I’ve covered with any depth, I’ve been struck by athletes who are misperceived by the public. In lots of cases, fans get it right. In a few cases, they’re wildly off base. (Deion Sanders, for example, was a fabulous teammate in his time with the Washington Redskins–an absolutely hard worker in practice, a mentor to younger players, a great guy who put in lots of extra time building chemistry on a team of ‘me-first’ free agents. Now Deion’s public image was all “me-first;” but it was an image. He was a terrific teammate.*)
So, the rap against Jeff Gordon–that he’s a silver-spoon baby who had everything handed to him–is all wrong. He busted his tail to make his way in racing, and his parents did, too. He has not changed on iota from the person he was when he showed up in NASCAR at age 21, driving the NO.1 Baby Ruth car for Bill Davis. He is polite, hard-working, patient, thoughful, caring and an incredibly talented racer. And yes, I think he does have a pretty broad view of things; he takes interest in the world around him. But again, most fans have their minds made up about Jeff and don’t want to hear anything that doesn’t fit.
*Let me reiterate this about Deion Sanders … I have no idea what he was like when he was on the Cowboys or Yankees or 49ers or whatever. But I can tell you that when I wrote about him with the Cincinnati Reds, he was one of my absolute favorite people. He was probably the hardest worker on the team; he often talked about how he was just trying to catch up with the other players. He was respectful, thoughtful … it’s good to hear a football writer saw those same things.
There is talk — especially lately — that NASCAR’s popularity has crested and it will fall off. Do you buy it?
Yes, I do think its popularity has peaked. I think it peaked about two, three years ago. The question is, has it leveled off? Are the current TV ratings, attendance figures going to stabilize, or will they continue to erode? I’m less clear on that. Some of what lies ahead is in NASCAR’s control; some is not.
If I were NASCAR, I would do the following: Encourage drivers to show their personalities more; standardize the starting times for races; shorten some of the races; maybe shorten the schedule; reduce TV commercials; and re-consider this standardized race car, the so-called Car of Tomorrow. Its gains in driver safety are hugely commendable; that’s terrific and overdue. But it’s ugly, ungainly, and appears to have taken creativity out of the sport. And while NASCAR claims it’s producing more competitive racing, I don’t see it.
Now, other things that may hurt NASCAR’s popularity are out of the sport’s control, such as the cost of gas (many fans travel hundreds of miles to attend races); an economic downturn-bordering on recession. There’s also the fact that many track owners over-built their grandstands, and so many empty seats telegraph a slump in interest when they’re shown on TV. You never want to have more inventory than you can sell. That’s what NASCAR has now at several tracks.
For the non-NASCAR fan — and I imagine there are quite a few on this site — what would you say is the reasons NASCAR is so compelling to so many people?
Oh, I think it’s twofold: That bond between drivers and fans, which is unlike anything I’ve seen in sport. The loyalty and connection fans feel with a specific driver. NASCAR needs to take care of this, because those bonds are fraying. And that bedrock myth that YOU could do it, too. That sense that because we all drive cars, we ALL could race cars, too, given the opportunity. And the last 10, 20 laps of a NASCAR race is just a terrific show, to be honest. No matter how great the slam dunk in the NBA All Star Game, none of us can honestly picture ourselves doing THAT!
OK, just a couple of more quick ones and we’re done: Favorite Martin Scorcese movie?
“Mean Streets.”
What television show — if any — do you watch every week?
“Jeopardy”
What CD is in your CD player right now — or what song is playing on your iPod?
Johnny Cash, “American V: A Hundred Highways.” As stated above, I have no iPod. A tragic shortcoming.
We have a couple of author interviews coming up in the next few days. So get out your cash. These are good reads.
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I first met Liz Clarke about 20 years ago, when I had just gotten my first job as a clerk at The Charlotte Observer. She was a new reporter there, hired in part to write about a future Charlotte NFL team (that would not arrive for another decade). I was still in college then; and she was the ... Read More
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