Mom always said that if she hadn’t married Dad, he would have become a penniless stock car driver. She considers herself the influence that kept him from devoting his life to, as she saw it, dirty, dangerous, and costly stock cars.
Dad’s non-racing career was teaching business courses at the high school, as well as coaching and officiating sports. For us kids, Dad was the homework checker, the packer of lunch boxes, and the math tutor who made his children safe and warm with bedtime stories and good night hugs. He worked all day — and evening — with other people’s kids and came home to his own with time and love to spare.
Dad, by nature, is a helper. As a coach and sports official, his devotion was not to the game but to cultivating the talents of young people.
Dad passed along to me, at a young age, the love of a car. He owned a red 1969 Corvette. The highlight of summer days was climbing in the makeshift backseat without car seats or seat belts, stopping for ice cream, and taking a drive on the open country roads at over 80 mph. Many Sunday afternoons were spent with Dad, a chest of tools, a pan of dirty oil, the Corvette, and an AM radio with Barney Hall calling a NASCAR Winston (now Sprint) Cup race.
One spring, Dad convinced Mom that he was going to take me, at the tender age of 8, to my first NASCAR race; we would travel to the Irish Hills of Michigan to Michigan International Speedway. That first trip was filled with such anticipation. The three-hour drive to our overnight stop in Toledo felt like a week’s journey across the Sahara Desert. The next morning when the track came into view I experienced chills of excitement that I had never experienced before. I had to catch my breath as the vast grandstands came into view.
With one exception, I now remember that first day at the speed-way only as impressions of sounds and smells and the images I piece together from looking at the collection of 35 mm photos that Dad took that day.
Dad took my hand and we approached a semi-truck trailer. A pleasant man stopped his work, and asked if he could help us. My dad gently pleaded on my behalf (and secretly his own) for a look inside.
The magic of what I saw inside has stuck with me, consistently, since that first day. That view inside the CBS Sports mobile production facility sparked my interest and imagination about all that made the sport possible. Suddenly, NASCAR was bigger than my affection for Awesome Bill Elliott and the No. 9 car. It became more than drivers, crew chiefs, and television personalities. NASCAR became a community of broadcast technicians, mechanics, sponsors, concessionaires, officials, volunteers, front office staff, and sales executives. And this was a community that I wanted to join.
For a few more years my dad would take me back to Michigan in June for our pilgrimage, but eventually other things were getting in the way — sports, boyfriends, and summer jobs. Deep down, I always kept that strong connection with that circle of asphalt in the Irish hills and the people who visited there every summer.
I went to college and studied hard. I chose to play sports and to major in Sports Marketing. I wanted to work for NASCAR, but had no idea how to make it happen. My business school advisor was not impressed with this aspiration and offered little encouragement or assistance.
Late in my time in college, as I was paying my last parking fee at the university, the motherly figure behind the counter commented on my NASCAR-motif personal check. “My son would love these,” she said. I replied, “Oh, does your son like racing”? She said with a smile, “Yes, he is the Marketing Director at Michigan International Speedway.” I hesitantly asked for his name.
I knew right away the potential for this little moment of serendipity. The first person I called was my father. Dad, in addition to his own unselfishness, also believes in the intrinsic good nature of others. He encouraged me to call and express my genuine interest.
In the next year, I was given the opportunity to interview and was offered an internship. Soon, I was welcomed into the NASCAR family as a corporate sales executive at Michigan International Speedway.
During my first NASCAR event, Dad was ready to come to the race as a spectator. He was thrilled to use my employee tickets in the center grandstand tickets — better than any seat he had ever purchased for himself.
A few days before the race a volunteer service group had to withdraw from helping in the information booths, and our Director of Guest Services was looking for volunteers. I called Dad right away and asked if he would like to help us out. Unable to resist lending a helping hand, he gave up his center grandstand seats to assist other race fans at the guest service tents. He even convinced my skeptical mother to come along. They enjoyed every minute.
Every year since, Dad’s role at the speedway has grown. A year later he was a supervisor for a group of guest service tents; a year after that he was in charge of all the guest service tents; later, he was promoted to Assistant Guest Service Supervisor. He takes this part-time job more seriously than many people treat their full-time jobs.
During this time, Mom would spend the week in Michigan and help at the track as needed, but preferred to spend the days at my apartment to make sure Dad and I had clean and ironed clothes, hot food on the table in the evenings, and travel mugs of coffee prepared for our pre-dawn departures.
Later, after six years of working at the speedway, I changed roles in the industry and began work for a major sponsor of a race team based in Kansas City. However, there was no chance of Dad resigning just because I was moving on.
Dad, without a place to stay, purchased a camper and prepared to spend the week living at the speedway. Surprisingly, Mom agreed to go back that first year. In the infield for those three weeks that summer, Mom’s appreciation of the event, the culture, and the people grew. And now, Mom is in her sixth year of assisting at the Michigan International Speedway credentials office. They have met some of their dearest friends at the Speedway and rate those weeks there as among their most favorite times of the year.
I view every aspect of my job as helping. Whether it is helping a fan find their seat, helping a sponsor to increase their product recognition, or helping someone set up their hospitality tent, our work is about making everyone’s experience enjoyable. It is this goodwill, not the fast cars, which defines the NASCAR experience and community. Every day I thank my father for showing me that helping is a gift.
Now that I am back “at the track” working for Kansas Speedway, I still call my dad up before every race and ask, “Dad, would you like to help us out for the race”? He, as always, still jumps at the chance, eager to help. Mom, once the skeptic, has found a home in NASCAR and now includes herself wholeheartedly in this community.
In the 27 years since my first visit to the speedway, I have found a family in NASCAR. More and more, I find my own family and my NASCAR family are one and the same.
Комментариев нет:
Отправить комментарий