Originally Posted by
Master Oil Racing Team
I had a lot of road time yesterday on the way to & from Chihuahua (Texas, not Mexico), & I thought about the Memorial Day race at Highlands, Texas in 1975. Couldn't believe it was 30 years ago. I stuffed my D Hydro on the back straight doing about 90 or 95. Spent 10 days in the hospital and was out for the season except for the last race at our house in October. There were three funny stories that came out of that crash.
I came to in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. I had been chewing Dentene gum and decided to take it out of my mouth. I reached in, pulled it out and handed it to one of the attendants. Instinctively he reached for it then suddenly recoiled, pulled his hand away and had a look of horror on his face. My face had blood on it and there was a big gash on my chin. I said to him "I don't feel like chewing this anymore." Then he calmed down and got a cup or something for me to put it in. I guess at first he thought it was a piece of jawbone or something.
My Dad had one of our pit men drive him to the hospital. He had a Chrysler with a big 440 engine---lots of power. They were on the access road behind a guy driving a step van. He was putting along about 20 or 25 mph oblivious to everything else. Jim was honking his horn and flashing his lights, but the guy wasn't paying any attention. My Dad was cussing, & he told Jim to drive around him on the dirt. Jim pulled over into the bar ditch and gassed it. That Chrysler started trenching the grass and they took off. There was a loaf of bread on the dash board and my Dad was going to bash the driver with it as they passed. He was angry, frustrated and worried all at the same time. Just when they got even with the driver, my Dad slung the loaf but it hit the doorframe of the car and split the bottom open. Here is this guy just Groovin' along having a wonderful time when suddenly he is pelted with about 20 slices of bread and dirt and rocks bouncing off his windshield. The poor guy was startled and swerved to the right, probably wondering what that was all about.
After about a week in the hospital, they made me get up and start walking down the hall. It was a Catholic hospital, so there were nuns frequently in the hallway. I had long hair then parted down the middle, and I had just started growing my beard because I couldn't shave. I was barefoot and wearing one of those hospital gowns. My Dad used to like to joke that whenever I passed one of those nuns in the hall, they would cross themselves.
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