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dpkimmel2001
Team Owner
The link isn't working..... for me anyway. Maybe I'm clicking it wrong? 
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SlowNeasy
Guest
thanks for the link fastfordfan. good article.
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FlFlash
Guest
The link isn't working..... for me anyway. Maybe I'm clicking it wrong?
You have to hang your tongue out just right!
Speedweek Feb.1977. I was a junior in High School living in Ormond Beach, I remember skippin school with a couple buddies to go to the twins
and getting in FREE! Consumption age in Florida at the time was 18 but no one checked.
dpkimmel2001
Team Owner
CLICK. Nope, still nothing for me. Weird.
MRM
Team Owner
Didn't work for me either.
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FlFlash
Guest
Keep in mind this is from feb 1977 starts off with an interveiw with Richard Petty, Here ya go:
Back in my daddy's racing days—Lee Petty won the first Daytona 500 and was NASCAR champ three times—the drivers were more important than the cars: a good driver, sometimes, could win in a bad car. But now we have good cars and good tracks and the cars are more important. I can walk down the line before the start of any race, even Daytona, where there are 42 starters, and I can eliminate over half of the field because neither the cars nor the drivers are good enough. I can cross off another third simply because the cars aren't good enough. So that leaves only six or eight cars and drivers for me to worry about in a race and, depending on the track and what I've seen in qualifying, only three or four I have any real concern about. Unless they all break down, there is no way an outsider is going to sneak in. He can't even stay close.
Now that's all right. How many good teams have you got in football? Or basketball? Or baseball? If you got six or eight that can win it all, you got a lot. It's no different in stock-car racing. One thing, though, there's less room at the top because the drivers don't quit so fast—I'm 39 and so is Bobby Allison, Buddy Baker is 36, Cale Yarborough is 37 and David Pearson is 42. So most of the best drivers today are the same guys I've been racing for six or eight years.
I won't say I'm the best driver today, but I'll say that I'm as good a driver as there is in stock cars. I think David Pearson is a better pure driver than I am, probably the best ever, but I'm as good a racer because I work better within a team and put the combination of driver and car and crew together. That's what produces the results.
The fact is, I think I have more confidence or desire than anyone. Most drivers are beat before they begin; they think they're going to lose, so they're going to lose. Some of them may think they can win, but they don't expect to win. I know I'm not going to win every race, but I expect to win going into every race. When I put the hammer down, some of those drivers just scatter. They think, "Uh, oh, here comes No. 43." They've been waiting for my car to come along, and when it does they get out of there.
Back in my daddy's racing days—Lee Petty won the first Daytona 500 and was NASCAR champ three times—the drivers were more important than the cars: a good driver, sometimes, could win in a bad car. But now we have good cars and good tracks and the cars are more important. I can walk down the line before the start of any race, even Daytona, where there are 42 starters, and I can eliminate over half of the field because neither the cars nor the drivers are good enough. I can cross off another third simply because the cars aren't good enough. So that leaves only six or eight cars and drivers for me to worry about in a race and, depending on the track and what I've seen in qualifying, only three or four I have any real concern about. Unless they all break down, there is no way an outsider is going to sneak in. He can't even stay close.
Now that's all right. How many good teams have you got in football? Or basketball? Or baseball? If you got six or eight that can win it all, you got a lot. It's no different in stock-car racing. One thing, though, there's less room at the top because the drivers don't quit so fast—I'm 39 and so is Bobby Allison, Buddy Baker is 36, Cale Yarborough is 37 and David Pearson is 42. So most of the best drivers today are the same guys I've been racing for six or eight years.
I won't say I'm the best driver today, but I'll say that I'm as good a driver as there is in stock cars. I think David Pearson is a better pure driver than I am, probably the best ever, but I'm as good a racer because I work better within a team and put the combination of driver and car and crew together. That's what produces the results.
The fact is, I think I have more confidence or desire than anyone. Most drivers are beat before they begin; they think they're going to lose, so they're going to lose. Some of them may think they can win, but they don't expect to win. I know I'm not going to win every race, but I expect to win going into every race. When I put the hammer down, some of those drivers just scatter. They think, "Uh, oh, here comes No. 43." They've been waiting for my car to come along, and when it does they get out of there.
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FlFlash
Guest
In contrast, I think David Pearson wants to beat me so bad that he doesn't drive the same against me as he does against the others, and it takes something away from him. When he's in a position to win, he's the toughest driver I've ever had to beat. He doesn't always drive hard, but he drives smart. And he's strong, so he'll last. A lot of drivers may be tough for 20 laps or 50 miles, but David is one of the few you have to figure will still be tough after 200 laps or 500 miles. That matters as much as anything. He always knows what he has to do and when to do it and how to do it. He can handle a car so smooth it's a pleasure to see.
A.J. Foyt is the only driver I put on a par with Pearson on pure skill. Foyt can do anything any man ever could do with a car. He's as strong as any driver ever, yet he's got a light touch and he knows how to win races. If A.J. ran stock cars all the time instead of concentrating on Indy cars, I'm sure he'd be close to my record.
But I don't think he'd be better, for two reasons. One, he feels he has to do it all himself. He builds and tunes his own Indy cars, and even though someone else builds and tunes his stock cars, he's always putting his finger in the pie. A.J. figures he can only count on A.J. I don't depend just on Richard Petty; I depend on Petty Enterprises. My daddy runs the team—not as much as he used to maybe, but when he's there he's the boss. My engine builder is my brother Maurice, and my crew chief is my cousin Dale Inman. I'm a team man and in the long run a team man will win more than an individualist.
The second reason is that Foyt—and Pearson, too—want to win too much. By that I mean they lose some races because they won't settle for second. A lot of times when I don't figure to finish first I'll still run hard for second or third, and sometimes I'll end up first because the car, or a couple of cars, in front of me will break down. Foyt and Pearson don't pick up many scraps like that.
From what I hear, Foyt was a great dirt driver. As strong as he is, I guess he really could wrestle his cars around. But he never drove stock cars on dirt against me. David did and he was sort of special on those old tracks, the best I ever saw. But we don't drive on the dirt much anymore. And David doesn't drive short tracks much anymore. He's just been driving the superspeedways the last few years.
There's some pluses and some minuses to racing that way. David and his team, the Wood brothers, get more time to prepare for the big races and they're fresher when they get to them. On the other hand, David may not be as sharp as I am just because he lays off so much. The Petty team races once a week, and I think it keeps me and my crew sharp. Plus, I get to know the other drivers better
A.J. Foyt is the only driver I put on a par with Pearson on pure skill. Foyt can do anything any man ever could do with a car. He's as strong as any driver ever, yet he's got a light touch and he knows how to win races. If A.J. ran stock cars all the time instead of concentrating on Indy cars, I'm sure he'd be close to my record.
But I don't think he'd be better, for two reasons. One, he feels he has to do it all himself. He builds and tunes his own Indy cars, and even though someone else builds and tunes his stock cars, he's always putting his finger in the pie. A.J. figures he can only count on A.J. I don't depend just on Richard Petty; I depend on Petty Enterprises. My daddy runs the team—not as much as he used to maybe, but when he's there he's the boss. My engine builder is my brother Maurice, and my crew chief is my cousin Dale Inman. I'm a team man and in the long run a team man will win more than an individualist.
The second reason is that Foyt—and Pearson, too—want to win too much. By that I mean they lose some races because they won't settle for second. A lot of times when I don't figure to finish first I'll still run hard for second or third, and sometimes I'll end up first because the car, or a couple of cars, in front of me will break down. Foyt and Pearson don't pick up many scraps like that.
From what I hear, Foyt was a great dirt driver. As strong as he is, I guess he really could wrestle his cars around. But he never drove stock cars on dirt against me. David did and he was sort of special on those old tracks, the best I ever saw. But we don't drive on the dirt much anymore. And David doesn't drive short tracks much anymore. He's just been driving the superspeedways the last few years.
There's some pluses and some minuses to racing that way. David and his team, the Wood brothers, get more time to prepare for the big races and they're fresher when they get to them. On the other hand, David may not be as sharp as I am just because he lays off so much. The Petty team races once a week, and I think it keeps me and my crew sharp. Plus, I get to know the other drivers better
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FlFlash
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I remember a thing that happened to David at Darlington a couple of years ago when Benny Parsons was going for his first win. Now Benny is such a sportsman he will move over for a faster car when he can't win, but he had a good shot at Darlington and there was no way he was going to pull over to permit Pearson to pass him. David was so surprised that Benny wouldn't let him by that he went into a turn tighter than he should have, trying to squeeze by Parsons, and he ran out of room and drifted right up into Benny. David's won a lot, but he does take a lot of chances. He's done some things I wouldn't do.
Like at Daytona in the 1974 Firecracker 400. Going into the last lap, I was drafting David, riding right on his bumper in the vacuum made by his car. I was all set to pass him for the win. He knew I could do it with a "slingshot"—that's when the car in back pulls out of the draft and actually gets sucked ahead by the air swirling around the lead car. I was where David wanted to be, so he just reversed things. We came down the front stretch at 190 or 200 mph, and when we went into the first turn of the last lap with me right behind him, David suddenly let off the accelerator and slowed. Now I was drafting him nose to tail, and I had to swerve as hard as I could to avoid running over him but couldn't help going right by him. Then he accelerated and got right on my tail and drafted me around until he made the slingshot pass I'd wanted to make on the fourth turn, and he won.
It was smart, I suppose, but it wasn't right. We have unwritten rules we live by, and he broke one of them and could have killed us both. I'd never known him to do something like that, but he wanted to win so much he did it then. He's lucky I didn't hit him or do the same thing back to him when he got behind me, or swerve over and knock him into the infield when he went past me. I was so mad I might have done anything...I was too mad to drive right or I might have had a chance to hold him off.
The thing that hurt is I trusted David more than any other driver. When I'm drafting him, he could make a right turn or run through a fence and I'd follow him. I trust him that if something—cars spinning or something like that—happens in front of him he'll make the right move, so I'll move with him. When he's drafting me, I know he'll work with me. That's the way a good draft works—the car in front sucks the car behind along, but the second car is still pushing some air in front of it and shoving the first car, so they both go faster than if they were out there all by themselves. David doesn't try to move around to mess you up or slow you down or any of that kind of stuff. We just get out there and run. That's what it's all about.
Now David has outrun me before and he'll do it again. If he had just outrun me that time at Daytona it would of been fine. I would just try to outrun him the next time. But that was a dirty trick, and the only reason he had the guts to do it was because he trusted me so much he figured I could react fast enough to cut left and go around him rather than ram right into him. He took advantage of our trust. It really hurt, because when you think you know someone and you find out they're different, it's a hard thing to handle. I lost a lot of my liking and respecting of David that day. But he hasn't tried that again and my respect is beginning to come back.
As luck would have it, we wound up in the same situation at Talladega Raceway, about four or five weeks later, except I was leading and David was drafting. I didn't stop in front of him, but I slowed and he went on by. Then I picked up his draft and laid on him. When we came out of the last turn, I slingshotted around him. He moved over trying to use up as much track as he could to make me back off, but I didn't give. The sides of our cars scraped and sparks flew off, but there was no way I was going to give a foot. I just kept scraping past him and was four feet in front of him by the finish line. A lot of people said I had gotten even, but you never get even. The one you lost is lost forever.
Things are all right between me and David now. We aren't buddy-buddy, but we can talk to each other, we respect each other, we enjoy racing each other. And we don't do dumb things week after week in an effort to beat each other. It was something that happened and it hasn't happened again and it's history. You can't carry a grudge around with you and race the right way.
Even though I know that is a fact, I guess I have to admit to being a part of the best-known and longest-lasting feud. That was with Bobby Allison. He and I did bend some metal back around '71 and '72. It really started a few years before that, in 1967 as I recall, when Bobby was breaking in. One race, he had a quicker car but I was smoother, so I could keep up with him. He went to pass a slow car but he made a bad move and I went by him without touching him. There were only eight or 10 laps to go in the race and there wasn't any way I was going to let him get back in front. Then, the first thing I knew I was going into a corner sideways. I had let up to make the turn but he kept coming and rammed me right out of it. Maybe you do that with $5,000 Sportsman-category cars, but not with $40,000 Grand National cars. I wasn't too pleased.
After the race I was loading the car on the trailer when I realized Maurice and Dale were missing. There was a big crowd of people around Allison's rig, and then Bobby burst out of it and ran down the road and then out popped Maurice, who can't hardly run because he had polio when he was a youngster, chasing right after him. It seems like Maurice was so mad he'd gone over and thrown a punch at Bobby. By the time I got there Bobby's brother Eddie, who worked on his car, had said something to Dale, and Dale had thrown a headlock on him. I never got to take a punch at anyone. Maurice and Dale were fined for it. After that there were hard feelings between us, but nothing much came of it for a few years. We whopped one another in races from time to time, but I swear I never hit his car until he hit me first. Of course, that's my side of the story.
Then in '71 we wound up racing up front a lot and neither one of us would give the other any room. You can bend fenders in stock-car racing without killing one another, and we surely were bending fenders. One time we got into it at North Wilkesboro, a little five-eighths-mile track, and just beat on one another until our cars looked like they came from a demolition derby. A sort of angry group gathered around my car afterward. I had taken off my helmet and handed it to Maurice and he was holding it. Some cat put his hand on my shoulder and Maurice turned around and swung that helmet and hit that guy alongside his head and laid him low. Everyone scattered. So that ended it for that night.
I remember a thing that happened to David at Darlington a couple of years ago when Benny Parsons was going for his first win. Now Benny is such a sportsman he will move over for a faster car when he can't win, but he had a good shot at Darlington and there was no way he was going to pull over to permit Pearson to pass him. David was so surprised that Benny wouldn't let him by that he went into a turn tighter than he should have, trying to squeeze by Parsons, and he ran out of room and drifted right up into Benny. David's won a lot, but he does take a lot of chances. He's done some things I wouldn't do.
Like at Daytona in the 1974 Firecracker 400. Going into the last lap, I was drafting David, riding right on his bumper in the vacuum made by his car. I was all set to pass him for the win. He knew I could do it with a "slingshot"—that's when the car in back pulls out of the draft and actually gets sucked ahead by the air swirling around the lead car. I was where David wanted to be, so he just reversed things. We came down the front stretch at 190 or 200 mph, and when we went into the first turn of the last lap with me right behind him, David suddenly let off the accelerator and slowed. Now I was drafting him nose to tail, and I had to swerve as hard as I could to avoid running over him but couldn't help going right by him. Then he accelerated and got right on my tail and drafted me around until he made the slingshot pass I'd wanted to make on the fourth turn, and he won.
It was smart, I suppose, but it wasn't right. We have unwritten rules we live by, and he broke one of them and could have killed us both. I'd never known him to do something like that, but he wanted to win so much he did it then. He's lucky I didn't hit him or do the same thing back to him when he got behind me, or swerve over and knock him into the infield when he went past me. I was so mad I might have done anything...I was too mad to drive right or I might have had a chance to hold him off.
The thing that hurt is I trusted David more than any other driver. When I'm drafting him, he could make a right turn or run through a fence and I'd follow him. I trust him that if something—cars spinning or something like that—happens in front of him he'll make the right move, so I'll move with him. When he's drafting me, I know he'll work with me. That's the way a good draft works—the car in front sucks the car behind along, but the second car is still pushing some air in front of it and shoving the first car, so they both go faster than if they were out there all by themselves. David doesn't try to move around to mess you up or slow you down or any of that kind of stuff. We just get out there and run. That's what it's all about.
Now David has outrun me before and he'll do it again. If he had just outrun me that time at Daytona it would of been fine. I would just try to outrun him the next time. But that was a dirty trick, and the only reason he had the guts to do it was because he trusted me so much he figured I could react fast enough to cut left and go around him rather than ram right into him. He took advantage of our trust. It really hurt, because when you think you know someone and you find out they're different, it's a hard thing to handle. I lost a lot of my liking and respecting of David that day. But he hasn't tried that again and my respect is beginning to come back.
As luck would have it, we wound up in the same situation at Talladega Raceway, about four or five weeks later, except I was leading and David was drafting. I didn't stop in front of him, but I slowed and he went on by. Then I picked up his draft and laid on him. When we came out of the last turn, I slingshotted around him. He moved over trying to use up as much track as he could to make me back off, but I didn't give. The sides of our cars scraped and sparks flew off, but there was no way I was going to give a foot. I just kept scraping past him and was four feet in front of him by the finish line. A lot of people said I had gotten even, but you never get even. The one you lost is lost forever.
Things are all right between me and David now. We aren't buddy-buddy, but we can talk to each other, we respect each other, we enjoy racing each other. And we don't do dumb things week after week in an effort to beat each other. It was something that happened and it hasn't happened again and it's history. You can't carry a grudge around with you and race the right way.
Even though I know that is a fact, I guess I have to admit to being a part of the best-known and longest-lasting feud. That was with Bobby Allison. He and I did bend some metal back around '71 and '72. It really started a few years before that, in 1967 as I recall, when Bobby was breaking in. One race, he had a quicker car but I was smoother, so I could keep up with him. He went to pass a slow car but he made a bad move and I went by him without touching him. There were only eight or 10 laps to go in the race and there wasn't any way I was going to let him get back in front. Then, the first thing I knew I was going into a corner sideways. I had let up to make the turn but he kept coming and rammed me right out of it. Maybe you do that with $5,000 Sportsman-category cars, but not with $40,000 Grand National cars. I wasn't too pleased.
After the race I was loading the car on the trailer when I realized Maurice and Dale were missing. There was a big crowd of people around Allison's rig, and then Bobby burst out of it and ran down the road and then out popped Maurice, who can't hardly run because he had polio when he was a youngster, chasing right after him. It seems like Maurice was so mad he'd gone over and thrown a punch at Bobby. By the time I got there Bobby's brother Eddie, who worked on his car, had said something to Dale, and Dale had thrown a headlock on him. I never got to take a punch at anyone. Maurice and Dale were fined for it. After that there were hard feelings between us, but nothing much came of it for a few years. We whopped one another in races from time to time, but I swear I never hit his car until he hit me first. Of course, that's my side of the story.
Then in '71 we wound up racing up front a lot and neither one of us would give the other any room. You can bend fenders in stock-car racing without killing one another, and we surely were bending fenders. One time we got into it at North Wilkesboro, a little five-eighths-mile track, and just beat on one another until our cars looked like they came from a demolition derby. A sort of angry group gathered around my car afterward. I had taken off my helmet and handed it to Maurice and he was holding it. Some cat put his hand on my shoulder and Maurice turned around and swung that helmet and hit that guy alongside his head and laid him low. Everyone scattered. So that ended it for that night.
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FlFlash
Guest
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But Bobby kept coming after me, race after race. I think the reason was that he was king of the Modifieds and I was king of the Grand National circuit, and the guy coming up wants to knock off the champion. He had a Petty complex, but he didn't mean anything to me. I never had any trouble with anyone else, so why should I pick on him unless he started it? But once he started it, I had to retaliate. I couldn't let anyone run me off the racetracks. So, race after race, we started to bump and bend metal. It was fun for a while, but then it got to be plain pitiful. I think we both got scared. Someone was bound to get hurt if we kept it up.
Don't get me wrong, I'm no saint and never pretended to be. I've drafted cars that slowed down on me, and I've had to shove them a spell to get them going better. And a bunch of times I've come up behind somebody I've lapped maybe 10 or 15 times, and deliberately tapped him or maybe run him down off the track because he didn't belong out there racing. Now, you should be ashamed of doing something like that, because that poor fellow probably is running as good as he can and he'll get out of your way. But I do it, we all do. With our big old cars we can get away with it. But what Bobby and me were doing wasn't safe. It was becoming clear we couldn't get away with it forever. We were trying to knock one another right off the track at top speed and that's dumb. We could both see it, I'm sure.
But every time the two of us would cool down, the press would write something and it would heat up again. Finally, at Riverside in '72 or '73, Allison told his side to a writer, and it came out in the newspaper like he was all innocent. Maurice and I read it and it teed us off.
That night we ran into Eddie and Bobby Allison at a restaurant, and both sets of brothers went at it, mouthing off. Until then I never had said anything to the Allisons or anyone else about what was going on. This time I did. I said, "I'm not the sort of person who argues a lot and I don't intend to get into any arguments now. But I got something to say and I'm going to say it. I'm sick and tired of leaning on Bobby out there, and I think he's sick and tired of leaning on me. I think we both want to get back to racing. And we sure don't neither one of us want to get hurt. The next time I hear one word about Bobby and me beating on one another, I'm going to kick the hell out of whoever said it, and I don't care if it's Bobby or Eddie or Maurice or Dale." And I just turned around and walked off.
Next thing I know, Maurice has his arm around Bobby and they're just buddy-buddy and Eddie is talking to Dale about something. That's all it took to end it.
Still, it's not exactly like all the drivers are friends. Some of us are friends. Some of us aren't. Like in any group. When a bunch of guys are competing with one another, friendship goes just so far. You can't like someone so much or feel so sorry for him you don't want to beat him. When you get in a guy's way he's bound to be upset by it. When you beat him he's not going to like it. And if you're one of the good ones and he's not, he's going to be jealous of you.
But, we are all "close" because we are sort of set apart from other people. The things we feel about this sport, no outsider could know. So we sympathize with one another and we understand one another and we stick together a lot. I feel like I have buddies in this sport but no close friends. I just try to treat everyone decent. Not just drivers. Even writers. They call me King Richard and that's fine if that's the way people see me, but I don't feel like King Richard. I don't feel like I'm any better a person than anyone else just because I may be on top of this sport and he may not be. He may be a better person than I am. And I think David and Bobby both treat people decent. They're good to the other drivers and I don't see them lord it over the others. But I don't know what they think of me. What do they say?
DAVID PEARSON
When I'm racing Richard, I'm really racing. I don't know which one of us is better, but I'd rather be me than him. The last 10 years or so I've won my share. Since I signed on with a top team, I've won more superspeedway races and more of those close finishes between us than he has.
I don't take him for granted, so there's no reason for him to take me for granted. If he trusts me, fine. I trust him. But you don't trust an opponent to the point where you don't watch him every turn of the way.
But Bobby kept coming after me, race after race. I think the reason was that he was king of the Modifieds and I was king of the Grand National circuit, and the guy coming up wants to knock off the champion. He had a Petty complex, but he didn't mean anything to me. I never had any trouble with anyone else, so why should I pick on him unless he started it? But once he started it, I had to retaliate. I couldn't let anyone run me off the racetracks. So, race after race, we started to bump and bend metal. It was fun for a while, but then it got to be plain pitiful. I think we both got scared. Someone was bound to get hurt if we kept it up.
Don't get me wrong, I'm no saint and never pretended to be. I've drafted cars that slowed down on me, and I've had to shove them a spell to get them going better. And a bunch of times I've come up behind somebody I've lapped maybe 10 or 15 times, and deliberately tapped him or maybe run him down off the track because he didn't belong out there racing. Now, you should be ashamed of doing something like that, because that poor fellow probably is running as good as he can and he'll get out of your way. But I do it, we all do. With our big old cars we can get away with it. But what Bobby and me were doing wasn't safe. It was becoming clear we couldn't get away with it forever. We were trying to knock one another right off the track at top speed and that's dumb. We could both see it, I'm sure.
But every time the two of us would cool down, the press would write something and it would heat up again. Finally, at Riverside in '72 or '73, Allison told his side to a writer, and it came out in the newspaper like he was all innocent. Maurice and I read it and it teed us off.
That night we ran into Eddie and Bobby Allison at a restaurant, and both sets of brothers went at it, mouthing off. Until then I never had said anything to the Allisons or anyone else about what was going on. This time I did. I said, "I'm not the sort of person who argues a lot and I don't intend to get into any arguments now. But I got something to say and I'm going to say it. I'm sick and tired of leaning on Bobby out there, and I think he's sick and tired of leaning on me. I think we both want to get back to racing. And we sure don't neither one of us want to get hurt. The next time I hear one word about Bobby and me beating on one another, I'm going to kick the hell out of whoever said it, and I don't care if it's Bobby or Eddie or Maurice or Dale." And I just turned around and walked off.
Next thing I know, Maurice has his arm around Bobby and they're just buddy-buddy and Eddie is talking to Dale about something. That's all it took to end it.
Still, it's not exactly like all the drivers are friends. Some of us are friends. Some of us aren't. Like in any group. When a bunch of guys are competing with one another, friendship goes just so far. You can't like someone so much or feel so sorry for him you don't want to beat him. When you get in a guy's way he's bound to be upset by it. When you beat him he's not going to like it. And if you're one of the good ones and he's not, he's going to be jealous of you.
But, we are all "close" because we are sort of set apart from other people. The things we feel about this sport, no outsider could know. So we sympathize with one another and we understand one another and we stick together a lot. I feel like I have buddies in this sport but no close friends. I just try to treat everyone decent. Not just drivers. Even writers. They call me King Richard and that's fine if that's the way people see me, but I don't feel like King Richard. I don't feel like I'm any better a person than anyone else just because I may be on top of this sport and he may not be. He may be a better person than I am. And I think David and Bobby both treat people decent. They're good to the other drivers and I don't see them lord it over the others. But I don't know what they think of me. What do they say?
DAVID PEARSON
When I'm racing Richard, I'm really racing. I don't know which one of us is better, but I'd rather be me than him. The last 10 years or so I've won my share. Since I signed on with a top team, I've won more superspeedway races and more of those close finishes between us than he has.
I don't take him for granted, so there's no reason for him to take me for granted. If he trusts me, fine. I trust him. But you don't trust an opponent to the point where you don't watch him every turn of the way.
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FlFlash
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The thing about that Daytona race is you do almost anything to beat the other guy, and you do different things in different races. Which is what I did that time all the fuss started: I made Richard pass me so I could draft him and slingshot around him coming off the fourth turn to win...and it worked.
Richard was mad because he got beat. And maybe because I did the unexpected. It's no good if he knows what to expect from me every time. I haven't done it since, because I know he's looking for it.
In a race when one of us has a car that is a lot better than the other's, it's no race. But in a race when one of us is just a little better—well, to win the race you have to outfox the other guy and that's what I did. I slowed when he wasn't expecting it, and he had to go around me. Nothing wrong with that. The situation doesn't come up a lot anyway. There are only a couple times a year maybe that there is just the two of us together at the end.
I don't know if you could say he got back at me at Talladega. My car was a mess and my back window was coming out. I couldn't keep up. I took advantage of the one chance I had to pass him. He didn't trick me into passing him. Instead of a slingshot, I thought my best chance was to try to hold him off. I couldn't. So he won that one, that's all there was to it.
That race was five weeks after Daytona, but Richard was still so mad he didn't just drive by me, he scraped by me. But, I'll tell you, I'd rather rub fenders with Richard than compete clean with some of those other cats, they are crazy at times. If Richard was scraping the side of my car, it was because he wanted to. He always knows what he's doing.
To tell the truth, I'm more relaxed running close to Richard than anybody else. He is smooth. He'll run the same groove at the same speed all day long if he can. He's consistent. He'll take the turns the same way all day. A lot of those other drivers, you don't know what they'll do. They'll go in hard one time, back off another time. Not Richard.
But when we get down to the last laps, I don't take anything for granted. One thing for sure, he's just not going to let me get past him. He can use up a lot of track. And if he wants to pass me, he will go low one time and high another. He'll put the pass on in a turn one time and on a straight another.
I don't think he's physically as strong as some of us, but he's mentally as strong as any of us. He just makes up his mind he's going to race 500 miles and at the end he's there. Other drivers may be better on a given day, but it seems like Richard is there every day. He drives smart and hard and he has to be one of the best ever. And you have to respect his record, which is the best ever.
But Richard's like the rest of us. He isn't perfect. None of us are. We all take chances at times. We all go where we shouldn't go. We all make mistakes. But you shouldn't be racing if you aren't willing to take a chance and go at times, if you're afraid of making a mistake.
I've made a couple of moves in races that I wish I hadn't. They cost me a lot. But that doesn't mean I shouldn't have made them. It just means they didn't work. I had to take a chance to beat Richard at Daytona that day. There'll come another day when Richard will take a chance to beat me, you'll see.
The thing about that Daytona race is you do almost anything to beat the other guy, and you do different things in different races. Which is what I did that time all the fuss started: I made Richard pass me so I could draft him and slingshot around him coming off the fourth turn to win...and it worked.
Richard was mad because he got beat. And maybe because I did the unexpected. It's no good if he knows what to expect from me every time. I haven't done it since, because I know he's looking for it.
In a race when one of us has a car that is a lot better than the other's, it's no race. But in a race when one of us is just a little better—well, to win the race you have to outfox the other guy and that's what I did. I slowed when he wasn't expecting it, and he had to go around me. Nothing wrong with that. The situation doesn't come up a lot anyway. There are only a couple times a year maybe that there is just the two of us together at the end.
I don't know if you could say he got back at me at Talladega. My car was a mess and my back window was coming out. I couldn't keep up. I took advantage of the one chance I had to pass him. He didn't trick me into passing him. Instead of a slingshot, I thought my best chance was to try to hold him off. I couldn't. So he won that one, that's all there was to it.
That race was five weeks after Daytona, but Richard was still so mad he didn't just drive by me, he scraped by me. But, I'll tell you, I'd rather rub fenders with Richard than compete clean with some of those other cats, they are crazy at times. If Richard was scraping the side of my car, it was because he wanted to. He always knows what he's doing.
To tell the truth, I'm more relaxed running close to Richard than anybody else. He is smooth. He'll run the same groove at the same speed all day long if he can. He's consistent. He'll take the turns the same way all day. A lot of those other drivers, you don't know what they'll do. They'll go in hard one time, back off another time. Not Richard.
But when we get down to the last laps, I don't take anything for granted. One thing for sure, he's just not going to let me get past him. He can use up a lot of track. And if he wants to pass me, he will go low one time and high another. He'll put the pass on in a turn one time and on a straight another.
I don't think he's physically as strong as some of us, but he's mentally as strong as any of us. He just makes up his mind he's going to race 500 miles and at the end he's there. Other drivers may be better on a given day, but it seems like Richard is there every day. He drives smart and hard and he has to be one of the best ever. And you have to respect his record, which is the best ever.
But Richard's like the rest of us. He isn't perfect. None of us are. We all take chances at times. We all go where we shouldn't go. We all make mistakes. But you shouldn't be racing if you aren't willing to take a chance and go at times, if you're afraid of making a mistake.
I've made a couple of moves in races that I wish I hadn't. They cost me a lot. But that doesn't mean I shouldn't have made them. It just means they didn't work. I had to take a chance to beat Richard at Daytona that day. There'll come another day when Richard will take a chance to beat me, you'll see.
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FlFlash
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Page 5:
BOBBY ALLISON
The root of the situation that developed between Richard and me was it came at a time when we were the only two people who were totally competitive race after race. He was established, the top guy, and I was just coming on. He seemed to take the attitude he shouldn't be challenged. But I go into every race with the intention of doing whatever it takes to win, and so does he. And our talent is close enough so, if our cars are about equal, sometimes he'll win and sometimes I'll win. We got to leaning on each other for a while, but I still respect him and I think he respects me.
For a few years there we did bend each other's cars. Some races were worse than others. In that race in North Carolina where it all started, I had led almost all the way. Then he took the lead coming out of the pits after a caution flag, but I was quicker so I was ready to repass him. When I came up behind him, I hit him on the back bumper, twice. You can decide for yourself if it was misjudgment on my part. The fact is, he slowed down in front of me both times. You know the fuss about Pearson braking in front of Richard at Daytona? Well, that's what Petty did to me. The third time I tried to get by Richard, he went one place to block me and I went another place to pass him and it surprised him. I made my pass and won. True, I side-swiped him going by but he hadn't given me the room I needed to make a clean pass. Every driver feels he has a right to a certain place on a track, and when another driver tries to take it from him, he may get mad. That was 1967, the year Richard won 27 races, and I don't think anyone had really raced him on a short track all year. It just upset him to get competition.
The next year we had another rough race, at Islip, N.Y. on what we used to call the Northern Tour. He had the field beat bad and I was way back in second. But I was still running hard in the hope that something would happen to him that would let me win. I was passing a slower car on this one-fifth-mile track, so we were running two abreast in tight quarters but this guy wouldn't move over for me. Then Richard came up to lap me and I wouldn't move over for him. The officials gave me the move-over flag, but I decided I'd gotten there first and I was as entitled to make my pass as Richard was to make his. Well, Richard ran right into me and bent his fender in on his tire. He had to pit and I won the race. I feel like he decided to hit me that time. I don't think it was supposed to be tap-tap-tap; it was supposed to be a cah-LUNK. So, after that, I didn't hesitate to cah-LUNK him when the opportunity arose. We got to looking for each other, if you know what I mean. It just went on and on. Not race after race, but year after year.
Then there were those fights. But remember, they weren't between Richard and me. They were between Richard's crew and me. Not his crew and my crew, but Richard's crew and me. Maurice and some other members of the Petty team were always shouting stuff. One time Maurice said he wanted to talk to me and the talk turned out to be a swing. I can accept that, but he knocked me down and while I was down another member of the crew kicked me. Actually, Maurice knocked me down two times and this other guy kicked me the other time, too. I don't recall ever running, but I have never pretended to be a fistfighter. I'm not afraid to fight, but it's not the way I want to earn my living. I sure don't think it settles disputes on the track.
Of course the press built it up bigger than it was. I remember after one race when we didn't do anything but pass each other three or four times, the stories made it seem like we were firing from machine guns mounted on our cars. And on more than one occasion, we raced each other straight up and then laughed later when they wrote it up like it was war. It wasn't as bad as it seemed.
The thing is, I think it was the third parties steamed Richard up. Right after races Richard would act like maybe he'd made a mistake or maybe there wasn't much to what had happened, but by the next week he'd be angry and making a lot of it.
It all came to a head when a story in the Los Angeles Times steamed things up. A writer had asked me for the inside information on "the feud," in confidence. I told him my side, as you would to a friend. To my surprise it came out in the newspaper.
Well, facts are facts and you know everybody's got a little history that's unpleasant. But Richard felt enough was enough. I kind of agreed with him when he stood up in the restaurant and said his piece. So that was that.
I'm going to say this straight out: I never distrusted Richard. I felt some of the things he did as he went along were wrong, but I never felt that he was going to go too far or cross over the line to where it got touchy.
BOBBY ALLISON
The root of the situation that developed between Richard and me was it came at a time when we were the only two people who were totally competitive race after race. He was established, the top guy, and I was just coming on. He seemed to take the attitude he shouldn't be challenged. But I go into every race with the intention of doing whatever it takes to win, and so does he. And our talent is close enough so, if our cars are about equal, sometimes he'll win and sometimes I'll win. We got to leaning on each other for a while, but I still respect him and I think he respects me.
For a few years there we did bend each other's cars. Some races were worse than others. In that race in North Carolina where it all started, I had led almost all the way. Then he took the lead coming out of the pits after a caution flag, but I was quicker so I was ready to repass him. When I came up behind him, I hit him on the back bumper, twice. You can decide for yourself if it was misjudgment on my part. The fact is, he slowed down in front of me both times. You know the fuss about Pearson braking in front of Richard at Daytona? Well, that's what Petty did to me. The third time I tried to get by Richard, he went one place to block me and I went another place to pass him and it surprised him. I made my pass and won. True, I side-swiped him going by but he hadn't given me the room I needed to make a clean pass. Every driver feels he has a right to a certain place on a track, and when another driver tries to take it from him, he may get mad. That was 1967, the year Richard won 27 races, and I don't think anyone had really raced him on a short track all year. It just upset him to get competition.
The next year we had another rough race, at Islip, N.Y. on what we used to call the Northern Tour. He had the field beat bad and I was way back in second. But I was still running hard in the hope that something would happen to him that would let me win. I was passing a slower car on this one-fifth-mile track, so we were running two abreast in tight quarters but this guy wouldn't move over for me. Then Richard came up to lap me and I wouldn't move over for him. The officials gave me the move-over flag, but I decided I'd gotten there first and I was as entitled to make my pass as Richard was to make his. Well, Richard ran right into me and bent his fender in on his tire. He had to pit and I won the race. I feel like he decided to hit me that time. I don't think it was supposed to be tap-tap-tap; it was supposed to be a cah-LUNK. So, after that, I didn't hesitate to cah-LUNK him when the opportunity arose. We got to looking for each other, if you know what I mean. It just went on and on. Not race after race, but year after year.
Then there were those fights. But remember, they weren't between Richard and me. They were between Richard's crew and me. Not his crew and my crew, but Richard's crew and me. Maurice and some other members of the Petty team were always shouting stuff. One time Maurice said he wanted to talk to me and the talk turned out to be a swing. I can accept that, but he knocked me down and while I was down another member of the crew kicked me. Actually, Maurice knocked me down two times and this other guy kicked me the other time, too. I don't recall ever running, but I have never pretended to be a fistfighter. I'm not afraid to fight, but it's not the way I want to earn my living. I sure don't think it settles disputes on the track.
Of course the press built it up bigger than it was. I remember after one race when we didn't do anything but pass each other three or four times, the stories made it seem like we were firing from machine guns mounted on our cars. And on more than one occasion, we raced each other straight up and then laughed later when they wrote it up like it was war. It wasn't as bad as it seemed.
The thing is, I think it was the third parties steamed Richard up. Right after races Richard would act like maybe he'd made a mistake or maybe there wasn't much to what had happened, but by the next week he'd be angry and making a lot of it.
It all came to a head when a story in the Los Angeles Times steamed things up. A writer had asked me for the inside information on "the feud," in confidence. I told him my side, as you would to a friend. To my surprise it came out in the newspaper.
Well, facts are facts and you know everybody's got a little history that's unpleasant. But Richard felt enough was enough. I kind of agreed with him when he stood up in the restaurant and said his piece. So that was that.
I'm going to say this straight out: I never distrusted Richard. I felt some of the things he did as he went along were wrong, but I never felt that he was going to go too far or cross over the line to where it got touchy.
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FlFlash
Guest
and Page 6:
We're not best buddies, but I think when we quit racing we will be. I don't like all the people around him, but I don't dislike them all, either. And he's good people.
Richard had the best opportunity of anyone in racing. What with his father racing before him, and even against Richard for a couple of years, people knew about him right from the start. Racing has been the Pettys' business for a long time. But the fact is Richard has taken it and multiplied it a hundred times, whereas many others would not have made nearly as much of it. Richard has been champion three times and has won the Daytona 500 five times. He says he's not the best driver? Well, I'm not sure he's not. At least he's as good as the best of us. Of course, I'd have liked to have had a go at it with his equipment.
It's hard not to be jealous of him, but he's put everything he has into it and I admire him for it. If he's in front of you, all you can do is chase him and hope. If he's behind you, you keep looking in your rear mirror because you know sooner or later he'll show up.
We're not best buddies, but I think when we quit racing we will be. I don't like all the people around him, but I don't dislike them all, either. And he's good people.
Richard had the best opportunity of anyone in racing. What with his father racing before him, and even against Richard for a couple of years, people knew about him right from the start. Racing has been the Pettys' business for a long time. But the fact is Richard has taken it and multiplied it a hundred times, whereas many others would not have made nearly as much of it. Richard has been champion three times and has won the Daytona 500 five times. He says he's not the best driver? Well, I'm not sure he's not. At least he's as good as the best of us. Of course, I'd have liked to have had a go at it with his equipment.
It's hard not to be jealous of him, but he's put everything he has into it and I admire him for it. If he's in front of you, all you can do is chase him and hope. If he's behind you, you keep looking in your rear mirror because you know sooner or later he'll show up.
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FlFlash
Guest
Pretty neat insight into what those guys where thinking back then with no media whitewash.
Sure Wish they would have interveiwed Cale Yarborough but he never did like that kinda stuff.
Oh by the way Cale Yarborough Won one qualifyer Petty the other.
Cale Yarborough DOMINATED the race itself led the most laps for sure and Won the Daytona 500 in 1977. The chicken wagon was Fast that day!
Sure Wish they would have interveiwed Cale Yarborough but he never did like that kinda stuff.
Oh by the way Cale Yarborough Won one qualifyer Petty the other.
Cale Yarborough DOMINATED the race itself led the most laps for sure and Won the Daytona 500 in 1977. The chicken wagon was Fast that day!
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fastfordfan
Guest
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FlFlash
Guest
I dont know why they work for us but not udders?
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fastfordfan
Guest
actually it didn't work for me earlier was getting 504 time out or some bull chit
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Topgear
Guest
Great article, thanks for posting it !