Gentlemen, Start Your Engines

Every Sunday after church, my grandmother prepared lunch for our family, and if there was a Nascar race on the tube, it was in the background of conversation. I always wondered why we watched these races. The only checkered pattern in our house is the Courtly Check by Mackenzie-Childs. We are not a Nascar family, so one day I decided to get to the bottom of how I knew the name Mark Martin. I was driving home one day after work, and my mom called to tell me that she had decided to go to Chattanooga for the afternoon and the cleaning lady was at our house. I had picked up a late lunch at Subway, and I didn’t feel like getting in the way at home, so I passed our house and drove a mile through Lakeview Shores to my grandparent’s home. As I made my way to the back door, I could see my grandfather in the window sitting in his reclining chair watching television. He saw me and greeted me at the door before I had a chance to knock. He was surprised to see me because I usually call before I make a visit. As I ate my lunch, we talked about my trip to Dallas and his work with Christmas Charities. I knew my Mom had mentioned sitting in box seats at Talladega and meeting one of her favorite drivers in the 70’s. Growing up, I knew she had moved around a lot, so I began asking my grandfather questions about his career in the oil industry and the reasons they moved so often. He began talking about the days that he worked at Talladega. My grandfather’s company supplied the oil for the racecars. He worked the race, supervising the cars as they performed. He talked about meeting Richard Petty and Dale Earnhardt, and he shared family stories that I had never heard before. I will never forget that afternoon with him, and as my grandfather walked me to the door, he put his arm around my shoulders and said, “I thoroughly enjoyed this afternoon, Chas.”