The Empty Parking Spot Next to Mine

By Darrell Waltrip

When a driver steps into his car, he knows, but doesn't necessarily believe, that accidents happen. That's true of any athlete entering his arena. He approaches his task confidently, understanding its risks, eyeing its rewards. What may cause awe or fear in others is, for the professional athlete, eased by the mundane ritual that accompanies the job, and an obligatory nod at danger. We all accept that.

There are moments, though, when it takes more than a nod to acknowledge danger. In February 1994, Neil Bonnett died on a practice run a week before the Daytona 500. Neil was a good friend--and Dale's closest. Dale had qualified fourth that year, but I was in the back of the pack. We talked before the race, and Dale spied my wife Stevie slipping me a card with a note written on it. He asked her about it. She told him that for years before every race, she would write out some biblical verse--whichever she found most fitting for that day--and hand it to me for good luck, for protection, for confidence. With the shock of Neil's death heavy on our minds, Dale asked if she would do the same for him. She did.

Dale didn't ask for much else, though. In fact, love him or hate him, as the patriarch of NASCAR racing he was often the one who provided the good luck, protection or confidence. He enjoyed his on-track persona as the Intimidator, and, yes, he liked to push people to their limits--or to the side of the track, if necessary. All the same, he was the standard-bearer for professional drivers. On the day he died, he spoke his last words to the pit crew, telling them to relay advice to his teammates--my brother and his son--who were ahead of him in spots one and two. He must have realized toward the end of the race that his car wasn't capable of winning, so he just kind of sat there and blocked the pack from gaining on Michael and Dale Jr. He played the shepherd, an uncharacteristic role for him.

I knew Dale for 30 years, and saw him grow from an eager but sloppy novice to a consummate success. As his career reached higher and higher plateaus, he became our connection to the past, to the way NASCAR and its drivers used to be. Dale had started out with nothing. In fact, when I met him in 1973, just about the only two things he had in place were his mustache and his ambition. At that time he was racing on dirt tracks in Concord, N.C., looking for a way out or a leg up and often feeling discouraged about his lack of opportunities. His father-in-law at the time, Robert Gee, built race cars, and I happened to turn to him after I wrecked mine at Daytona in 1973. I came to know Dale through Robert.

Once I told Dale that if he'd finish repairing my car for me, I'd let him take it to Nashville to race in a 200 lapper. He was good: he could drive the wheels off anything, but young Dale also had a reckless streak. He did go to Nashville, where he proceeded to wreck not only my car but the rest of the field as well. He nearly got me banned from the track.

That streak, though, hardened over a short number of years into smart, unapologetic professionalism. By 1979 he had won NASCAR's rookie-of-the-year honor, and just a year later captured his first Winston Cup championship. And with every victory he slowly overcame considerable shyness, learning to speak for himself rather than let his car do the talking.

Today I'm sitting here on the infield in Rockingham, N.C., where we park our motor coaches. Dale parks next to me, always has. Now there's just an empty spot over there with a wreath laid over it. I'll always regret that I never got to say goodbye to Dale. In some ways, it took Daytona to make me realize how much he meant to me.

Dale wasn't sure if my wife Stevie was going to make it down to see him before the green flag on Sunday. But, as she had for seven years to the day, she had gone through the Scripture and picked out an appropriate message for Dale to take with him on the road. Since race day was the 18th, she picked the 18th Proverb, and settled on verse 10: "The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous run to it and are safe." Stevie handed him the note. He read it, kissed her on the cheek and headed to his car.

Darrell Waltrip, in orange jumpsuit, winner of 84 Winston Cup Series races, is a NASCAR racing analyst for Fox TV