THE BENNY PARSONS STORY THAT HASN'T BEEN TOLD By David Joseph In the sixties, my father was a traveling salesmen based in Northeastern Ohio. Road trips often took him to exotic locales like Buffalo, NY, Detroit, MI, and Dayton, OH. And while colleagues might have been apt to spend their evenings at local pubs and watering holes, my father would always look for the local race track. There are local tracks all over the Midwest, and my dad frequented any and all that he could uncover and discover. After one evening at Dayton Speedway, my father went to grab a bite on his own at a local diner. At the track, he would write down all of the car numbers and driver names on yellow legal pad and chart them through the race in order to seewhich drivers managed to make their way through the field, and it wasn't uncommon for him to stop off for something to eat and literally "digest" the evening's races before heading back to the motel. On this night, he noticed that a group of men at a nearby table were dressed in the grease and grime of low budget racing fire suits and race team windbreakers. When he was finished eating, my father walked over to their table and exclaimed, "Looks like you've been at the same place I've been!" "Where's that?" they inquired with some skepticism, looking at my father in a business suit and dress shoes. "Dayton Speedway" remarked my dad, and the men all introduced themselves and spent a few moments of polite conversation. One of the men at the table was a young driver named Benny Parsons. Six months later, my father happened to be in Detroit on business and was browsing at an Auto Parts store during his lunch hour, when a young man in street clothes approached him and said cautiously, "Bob Joseph?" "Yes?," replied my dad. The young man extended his hand warmly and said, "Benny Parsons" and reminded my dad that they had met that night months ago at the diner just outside of Dayton Speedway. The two men spoke for some time, and a friendship that would last a lifetime was born. Soon after that, my dad began strategicallyscheduling his business trips in an attempt to coordinate his work schedule around the racing schedule of this young driver with aspirations to make it to racing's top level. Early on, my father recognized that Benny was not only a driver with enormous talent and ability behind the wheel, but also a person of the highest moral character. He was warm and affable and greeted everyone he came across with an easy, respectful manner that was totally authentic. From the moment they met, their lifelong dedication to that friendship began to take shape. Despite theobvious differences in their backgrounds, their lives would be tied by a number of remarkable similarities. Both men were happily married. Both men had two children and a fierce dedication to family. Both men had been raised, in part, under the watchful eyes of dedicated grandmother (great-grandmother in Benny's case) in addition to loving parents. But most of all, both me shared a genuine love of two things---race cars.and people. These connections would carry them through good times and trying ones, as both men lost their wives unexpectedly at relatively young ages (Benny, of course, remarried to his Terri and spent many wonderful years together). But through it all, the friendship endured. Years later, when Benny performed the ultimate act of service as a pallbearer at my dad's funeral, he informed my sister and I that our father had contributed thousands of dollars towards his racing career in those earlier days. Although we never knew about the resources dad contributed, we were well aware of his efforts to land Benny a major sponsorship. And somewhere, heaped among stacks of old mail and keepsakes, we have a wonderful letter from Bill France Sr. saying that he was sure "my dad's friend Benny was a good race car driver" but that there was "nothing he could do to help him withsponsorship at this time." It is a deliciously small note that made my father chuckle every time he revisited it. Not long after this time, Benny would indeed receive his opportunity, and what followed is now the stuff of NASCAR legend and lore. Benny would go from a boy raised by his great-grandmother in a North Carolina house with no heat or running water to a Detroit Taxi Cab driver to the only driver in racing history to win an ARCA Championship and a Winston Cup. The final resume would also include a Daytona 500 victory, 21 Cup Wins, an induction into the International Motorsports Hall of Fame, and a remarkable 199 top 5 finishes that helped earn him a place among NASCAR's 50 Greatest Drivers of All Time. And since he retired in 1988, he has been firmly stationed in the broadcast booth, where the warmth of his voice has emanated over the airwaves and brought joy to NASCAR viewing households week after week for nearly twenty years. But what makes this story so remarkable isn't that two men became friends in the early days of Benny's career, but that the friendshipsustained a lifetime separated by geographic distance, varied backgrounds, and Benny's life as a public personality in contrast to my dad's as a private one. And the credit here really goes to Benny, and the fact that he never for one moment lost site of who he was or where he came from. If my dad had indeed helped him out in the early days of his career, Benny surely never forgot any efforts that were made. This humble quality brought Uncle Benny to our Cleveland home many times over the years----following my birth in 1973 to visits to play golf with my mom to his trip to Cleveland for the IROC Race(my bedroom door still has a tiny hole in it where Benny hooked himself up when he was in traction) on the CART road course at Burke Lakefront Airport. Along the way, Benny also managed to arrange for my father to ride around in the pace car at Michigan for his 50th birthday before the fall race at MIS and even found a way to convince track owner Roger Penske to allow my grandfather to turn laps at Michigan in my Aunt Eva's Buick under Benny's supervision. And this was all part of the kind of friend he was. Nearly a decade ago, my sister and I threw a surprise 70th Birthday party for my dad that included 152 invitations. We knew that Benny's schedule was absolutely wild in the fall, but we hoped he might somehow be able to make it. And make it he did. Not only did Benny fly in that evening for the surprise party, but he brought his dad as well, all the while knowing that he needed to fly back after the party so he could return for his show the next morning! The evening was filled with old stories of funny moments, short tracks, ARCA triumphs, and Benny's dad Harold even remarked that my father was there alongside him before "anyone evenknew who he was." He went on, "Remember Benny.Bob wrote that article about you called From Out of Nowhere." Benny nodded warmly and just shook his head in appreciation. And as if Benny's attendance alone wasn't enough, he presented my father with an incredible birthday gift----a framed photo of his induction into the International Motorsports Hall of Fame with an inscription that read, "Dear Bob,..Without the help of people like you, I never would have been inducted into the Hall of Fame by Richard Petty." And while the night was a tribute to myfather, the presence of this NASCAR Champion spoke volumes about the man the racing world has come to know as BP. But, of course, this isolated friendship is just one small piece of the Benny Parsons story that existed away from the engine shops, Super Speedways, cameras, and microphones. And just as my dad's life was interwoven with Benny's, that same fact could be said for nearly every person that met Benny Parsons (or invited him into their home each weekend). He has always had that wonderful, disarming quality that could make just about anyone feel like they were the only person in the room, likethey had been old friends for years that were only now having the chance to catch up. It was a genuine gift, and Benny didn't have to make an effort to make you feel that way. It was just a central part of who he was. If consistency marked Benny's legacy on the track, then class defined it off it. For as great a driver as Benny was, even his skills behind the wheel couldn't measure up to the type of person he was off it. My father referred to him more than once as simply "good people" and consistently reminded methat Benny was really the "salt of the earth." And while my dad's opinion could have been biased, the fact remains that I have never met anyone that had a negative thing to say about one of the sport's finest gentlemen. Last fall, when I attended the race in Fontana (which Benny was unable to make because of his treatment coupled with the long cross-country flight), I inscribed a "GET WELL BP" on the start finish line. Before I had even completed the inscription with my sharpie, fans were inquiring if that was for Benny and they instantly launched into sharing their own personal stories about meeting him and what a great guy he was. When I spoke to him on Christmas Eve, he remarked that the support he had received from the entire NASCAR community during his illness was just overwhelming. And while I am sure this is true, I tried to convince him that all the well wishes that were being sent his way weren't the result of charity, but rather the offspring of something much deeper----something that was well-earned. Because although Benny Parsons was a larger than life racing personality, he rose to the top of his profession by never making anybody else feel small. |
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