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Monte Dutton, one of my favorite NASCAR journalists, wrote this piece a few weeks ago.
ONE MOHICAN, BY THE NAME OF HYLTON, STILL WALKS THE EARTH,
by Monte Dutton,
Gazette Sports Reporter
- HAMPTON, Ga. — The old man calls himself "the last of the Mohicans," and, by God, he’s not too far wrong.
The world, with a none-too-subtle assist from NASCAR, passed James Harvey Hylton by some time in the 1970s, and now no one knows who he is ... or was.
He is one of those men who wakes up one bright, clear morning and finds that, for all intents and purposes, he has become invisible. Hylton fell into disrepute, and now it is one of the hardest tasks imaginable to find anyone who will say much of anything nice about him.
NASCAR got tired of him and his complaining, and he wasn’t big enough for the ruling body of major-league stock car racing to humor him anymore. There are probably a hundred men like Hylton — promoters, crew chiefs, owners and drivers — who at one time or another slipped on to the NASCAR enemies list.
Hylton, the old independent, fought the good fight back in the old days, and he agitated with other stubborn old cusses to get a fair shake from NASCAR, which needed them to fill its fields. NASCAR, big money, changing times — call it what you will — but James Hylton became a symbol of what everyone seemed to want to eradicate.
He was a sheep farmer in land of cattle barons.
Funny thing is ... Hylton never went away. No one around nowadays knows what he was. No one pays him any attention. No one gives him his due. But he’s still out there, fighting what is, to him, the good fight.
Surviving ... that’s always been what life has always been about to Hylton.
On Saturday, Hylton’s No. 48 Ford Thunderbird — that’s right, a Thunderbird — finished 21st in the Pork The Other White Meat 400.
Hylton started 24th and completed 147 of the race’s 162 laps. James Hylton is 67 years old. There is a West Coast driver, from Oregon, named Hershel McGriff. McGriff is still racing at age 70 or so, and about once a year, a national magazine writes an article extolling McGriff’s virtues.
McGriff once won four NASCAR races. Hylton has won two, and one of
Hylton’s was the Talladega 500, in 1972. Hylton, in a Mercury, outran Ramo Stott, in a Ford. Bobby Allison was third, Red Farmer fourth and Buddy Arrington fifth.
Hylton won his other race, a 500-lapper, at Richmond in 1970. As recently as 1972, Hylton finished third in the Winston Cup points standings. He was second three times. People talk about drivers now who are consistent. Nobody every beat James Hylton in that category.
I visited Hylton before the race Saturday. He looked great. He stood around, posing for photos with the handful of fans in the ARCA RE/MAX Series garage who knew who he was. I asked him if he was making a living. He told me, yeah, but it wasn’t getting any easier. I reminded him that most of the people in the country have to be satisfied with just making a living, and Hylton said, yeah, he tried his best not to ever forget it.
Hylton brought his red race car down to Atlanta Motor Speedway in one of those enclosed trailers that one normally sees at first tracks. It trailed a fairly late-model Ford, extended-cab truck. Hylton had a look on his face that said he was wondering why I was poking around. I told him I was looking to see if he still had the 1969 Dodge pickup he used to use, the old faded white one that Hylton claimed to have driven 1,000,000 miles.
"It’s over there in the parking lot," he said, puffing on his cigar. "I expect it’s got a million and a half by now."
Then I saw old Junie Donlavey, the man who has been owning NASCAR Fords for six decades, and in all those years, won only a single race back in 1981.
I told Junie I’d just been visiting with James Hylton, and Donlavey laid his head back and got a laugh out of it.
"Is James still plugging away?" Donlavey asked.
"That he is," I replied, and I told Donlavey, who has the personality of a leprechaun and almost the brogue, that I had a soft spot for dinosaurs.
"You’re a dinosaur, too," I said to Donlavey. "Only the world has passed James Hylton by, and you stay up with it, only a straightaway or so behind."
And Donlavey scratched his head and said he reckoned I was right.
"As long as I can been this," Donlavey said, "I’ve always managed to keep the leaders in sight."
And I walked slowly back to my Winston Cup world, thinking how much more fun and interesting was the life the other half lived.
ONE MOHICAN, BY THE NAME OF HYLTON, STILL WALKS THE EARTH,
by Monte Dutton,
Gazette Sports Reporter
- HAMPTON, Ga. — The old man calls himself "the last of the Mohicans," and, by God, he’s not too far wrong.
The world, with a none-too-subtle assist from NASCAR, passed James Harvey Hylton by some time in the 1970s, and now no one knows who he is ... or was.
He is one of those men who wakes up one bright, clear morning and finds that, for all intents and purposes, he has become invisible. Hylton fell into disrepute, and now it is one of the hardest tasks imaginable to find anyone who will say much of anything nice about him.
NASCAR got tired of him and his complaining, and he wasn’t big enough for the ruling body of major-league stock car racing to humor him anymore. There are probably a hundred men like Hylton — promoters, crew chiefs, owners and drivers — who at one time or another slipped on to the NASCAR enemies list.
Hylton, the old independent, fought the good fight back in the old days, and he agitated with other stubborn old cusses to get a fair shake from NASCAR, which needed them to fill its fields. NASCAR, big money, changing times — call it what you will — but James Hylton became a symbol of what everyone seemed to want to eradicate.
He was a sheep farmer in land of cattle barons.
Funny thing is ... Hylton never went away. No one around nowadays knows what he was. No one pays him any attention. No one gives him his due. But he’s still out there, fighting what is, to him, the good fight.
Surviving ... that’s always been what life has always been about to Hylton.
On Saturday, Hylton’s No. 48 Ford Thunderbird — that’s right, a Thunderbird — finished 21st in the Pork The Other White Meat 400.
Hylton started 24th and completed 147 of the race’s 162 laps. James Hylton is 67 years old. There is a West Coast driver, from Oregon, named Hershel McGriff. McGriff is still racing at age 70 or so, and about once a year, a national magazine writes an article extolling McGriff’s virtues.
McGriff once won four NASCAR races. Hylton has won two, and one of
Hylton’s was the Talladega 500, in 1972. Hylton, in a Mercury, outran Ramo Stott, in a Ford. Bobby Allison was third, Red Farmer fourth and Buddy Arrington fifth.
Hylton won his other race, a 500-lapper, at Richmond in 1970. As recently as 1972, Hylton finished third in the Winston Cup points standings. He was second three times. People talk about drivers now who are consistent. Nobody every beat James Hylton in that category.
I visited Hylton before the race Saturday. He looked great. He stood around, posing for photos with the handful of fans in the ARCA RE/MAX Series garage who knew who he was. I asked him if he was making a living. He told me, yeah, but it wasn’t getting any easier. I reminded him that most of the people in the country have to be satisfied with just making a living, and Hylton said, yeah, he tried his best not to ever forget it.
Hylton brought his red race car down to Atlanta Motor Speedway in one of those enclosed trailers that one normally sees at first tracks. It trailed a fairly late-model Ford, extended-cab truck. Hylton had a look on his face that said he was wondering why I was poking around. I told him I was looking to see if he still had the 1969 Dodge pickup he used to use, the old faded white one that Hylton claimed to have driven 1,000,000 miles.
"It’s over there in the parking lot," he said, puffing on his cigar. "I expect it’s got a million and a half by now."
Then I saw old Junie Donlavey, the man who has been owning NASCAR Fords for six decades, and in all those years, won only a single race back in 1981.
I told Junie I’d just been visiting with James Hylton, and Donlavey laid his head back and got a laugh out of it.
"Is James still plugging away?" Donlavey asked.
"That he is," I replied, and I told Donlavey, who has the personality of a leprechaun and almost the brogue, that I had a soft spot for dinosaurs.
"You’re a dinosaur, too," I said to Donlavey. "Only the world has passed James Hylton by, and you stay up with it, only a straightaway or so behind."
And Donlavey scratched his head and said he reckoned I was right.
"As long as I can been this," Donlavey said, "I’ve always managed to keep the leaders in sight."
And I walked slowly back to my Winston Cup world, thinking how much more fun and interesting was the life the other half lived.