Fifty years ago, my father voted for and bet on Barry Goldwater, not to win the election but to carry South Carolina. He won. Goldwater lost. The election, not South Carolina. NASCAR’s greatest hero at the time, “Fireball” Roberts, was horribly burned at Charlotte Motor Speedway. He lived for more than two months, and every …
Tag: NASCAR
An Ode to Wallace Stegner, 1909-93
First must I admit I’m writing this blog principally because I wanted to accompany the sketch of Wallace Stegner I drew last night while passively watching the Boston Red Sox get pummeled by the Seattle Mariners again. My pride in this sketch enabled me to get through my almost nightly disappointment in the Red Sox. …
Between Short Stories
From whence do the short stories spring? The majority of the stories on this site began with songs I’ve written. “Facebook Friends,” for instance, began as a song. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FnmKXEPGCnU As a matter of fact, http://www.wellpilgrim.wordpress.com evolved into a depository for short stories. I split time between working on novels* – “Crazy by Natural Causes” is …
Golf Is Like (Privileged) Life
On the United States Open telecast, Sean McDonough just said that Jordan Spieth was “a revolution shy of a share of the lead,” and I thought, well, he’s in the same predicament as Castro in 1958. Then I heard another announcer say, “Once the ball has moved, you are deemed to have moved it,” and …
NASCAR Will Never Find Another Leprechaun
Clinton, S.C., Tuesday, June 10, 2014, 9:51 a.m. In many years of watching NASCAR and writing about it, I knew saints and sinners, workaholics and con artists, contenders and pretenders, but I only knew one leprechaun. I never saw Junie Donlavey dance, and I doubt he thought Lucky Charms were “magically delicious,” but he …
High, Wild, and Handsome
The boy showed up at the third-turn crossover gate in the coveralls he wore while racing his go-kart. The security guard recognized him and waved him across the track in the yellow ‘55 Chevy his dad had given him for his sixteenth birthday. Beau Farnsworth was feeling his oats, having won his 35-lap feature earlier …
High, Wild and Handsome, Final Part
On race mornings, Beau Farnsworth always walked pit road, long before gates swung open and fans, armed with their “hot passes,” streamed into the garage. The sun hadn’t long been up. A cool breeze fought in futility against the gathering heat. Down near turn one, Beau sat on the whitewashed pit wall. He knew but …
High, Wild and Handsome, Part Four
The Tuesday-night attendance at the Moose Lodge was nine. Five were sitting around in folding chairs, playing music. The weekly jam sessions were on Tuesdays. The music stopped when Beau Farnsworth and Waddy Adkinson walked in. Beau ordered Budweisers for him and Waddy. He curled a hundred into the bartender’s palm. “How about keeping a …
High, Wild and Handsome, Part Three
On the Monday after he won the all-star race, The Winston, for the third time, Beau was tied up and ornery. He taped a commercial that would be adapted to sell Chevrolets for dozens of dealerships, the worst part was customizing a few words for every damned one of them. “So stop on by …
High, Wild and Handsome, Part Two
As Beau Farnsworth reached middle age, he grew discontented and felt buried by the trappings of fame. An argument might be made that the prices were a mite high, but when a fan bought a tee shirt, he didn’t actually buy a piece of Beau. He just bought a shirt. Too many of them acted …
Nightrider's Lament 