Thursday, January 11, 2007, 1:55 PM
I first met Bobby Hamilton when I interviewed him for the radio show I was doing at the time, "Gasoline Alley", out of Chicago on WJJG 1530 AM. Don't read more into that than it was, I was working full time in construction and through a stroke of luck ended up on-air for four years doing a two hour broadcast every week. No money involved, I just loved the sport.
We had gone down to Chicagoland Speedway for the inaugural run of the then Tropicana 400, on the first day of practice, in the garage area, in 90+ degree heat. We talked (Host Dane Neal and Engineer Skip Kubicki) to a great many drivers, as always, and had split up to get drinks, take a break and regroup for the next practice session.
I happened to see Bobby Hamilton sitting outside his trailer, under a canopy, sipping a soda all by himself. I wandered over and and asked if it was okay to ask him a few questions, I always asked first, some of the drivers never get a break from the fans or media, and he smiled big and said "Sure."
He offered me a seat on a tire, which I took and then, shaking my head with mild embarrassment, I said, "Bobby, I'm sorry to have to ask you this, I know you've talked about it a millions times, but..." He finished my sentence for me, "...What do I think of the new track here in Chicago?" He grinned ear to ear.
"Yeah, that's what the fans want to know."
"No problem," he replied, taking a long pull on his soda and setting it down next to him. He went on to talk about the track, its surface, the long constantly bending back straightaway and a few other things.
Soon a small crowd of reporters started milling around, over my shoulder, pushing their tape recorders and mics in between us. After a few questions that were asked by mainstream sports reporters who had been pushed there by their editors, I got up, letting the rest of them in and stepped to the side, still under the canopy in the shade, and leaned up against the trailer. Soon the rest of the reporters had left, leaving him sitting there, alone again. He looked up at me and again, with a small grin, white teeth flashing, said "Thanks a lot!"
"No problem," I replied, and then in a low conspiratorial tone I whispered, "Just so you know, I'm not, you know, like a full time radio guy or anything. I just do this as a lark."
"What do you do for a living?"
"Construction. My Dad used to race the bullrings here in Chicago when I was a kid, loved the sport all my life. I just do this for fun."
He visually relaxed then. "Want a soda pop?"
I was surprised but thankful, "Sure, thanks." And with that he went inside and brought out two Pepsi's, and we sat and sipped and talked for a few more minutes, about his life as a driver, his Son as a driver, how hard it was to be a mentor and a Dad in this sport, all off-the-cuff. And then the next wave of reporters came by.
I stood up then and told him "Good luck with the next group."
He laughed out loud. and shook my hand. "Have a good one," he said.
Please don't get me wrong. I didn't "know" Bobby Hamilton, but for just a few minutes, at a track in Chicago on a searing hot day, he offered me a soda and talked with me as though we were sitting in the backyard of his home on a lazy summer afternoon.
We would have him on the show again, the following year, laughing as he told us that he wished he could "get his hands on the guy who made that movie and burn every single copy of the tape!" This was in reference to "Days of Thunder", a horrible movie, in which Bobby had been the real driver of the Cole Trickle car that was filmed in the race sequences.
I haven't been involved with the radio show for sometime now. I don't miss it much, a lot of work for no money, but I still love the sport. So when I heard Bobby Hamilton had passed away, I gazed out my window at home here in the western burbs of Chicago, at the cold, bleak day, the leafless trees bending in the wind, clouds the color of gunmetal racing across the sky, and I thought back to that warm, sunny afternoon at the track.
No, I didn't "know" Bobby Hamilton, but I thought it was nice of him to bring me inside the walls that the drivers build up between themselves and the media, if only for a few minutes.
For that I say, Thank you Bobby.
Godspeed.
We had gone down to Chicagoland Speedway for the inaugural run of the then Tropicana 400, on the first day of practice, in the garage area, in 90+ degree heat. We talked (Host Dane Neal and Engineer Skip Kubicki) to a great many drivers, as always, and had split up to get drinks, take a break and regroup for the next practice session.
I happened to see Bobby Hamilton sitting outside his trailer, under a canopy, sipping a soda all by himself. I wandered over and and asked if it was okay to ask him a few questions, I always asked first, some of the drivers never get a break from the fans or media, and he smiled big and said "Sure."
He offered me a seat on a tire, which I took and then, shaking my head with mild embarrassment, I said, "Bobby, I'm sorry to have to ask you this, I know you've talked about it a millions times, but..." He finished my sentence for me, "...What do I think of the new track here in Chicago?" He grinned ear to ear.
"Yeah, that's what the fans want to know."
"No problem," he replied, taking a long pull on his soda and setting it down next to him. He went on to talk about the track, its surface, the long constantly bending back straightaway and a few other things.
Soon a small crowd of reporters started milling around, over my shoulder, pushing their tape recorders and mics in between us. After a few questions that were asked by mainstream sports reporters who had been pushed there by their editors, I got up, letting the rest of them in and stepped to the side, still under the canopy in the shade, and leaned up against the trailer. Soon the rest of the reporters had left, leaving him sitting there, alone again. He looked up at me and again, with a small grin, white teeth flashing, said "Thanks a lot!"
"No problem," I replied, and then in a low conspiratorial tone I whispered, "Just so you know, I'm not, you know, like a full time radio guy or anything. I just do this as a lark."
"What do you do for a living?"
"Construction. My Dad used to race the bullrings here in Chicago when I was a kid, loved the sport all my life. I just do this for fun."
He visually relaxed then. "Want a soda pop?"
I was surprised but thankful, "Sure, thanks." And with that he went inside and brought out two Pepsi's, and we sat and sipped and talked for a few more minutes, about his life as a driver, his Son as a driver, how hard it was to be a mentor and a Dad in this sport, all off-the-cuff. And then the next wave of reporters came by.
I stood up then and told him "Good luck with the next group."
He laughed out loud. and shook my hand. "Have a good one," he said.
Please don't get me wrong. I didn't "know" Bobby Hamilton, but for just a few minutes, at a track in Chicago on a searing hot day, he offered me a soda and talked with me as though we were sitting in the backyard of his home on a lazy summer afternoon.
We would have him on the show again, the following year, laughing as he told us that he wished he could "get his hands on the guy who made that movie and burn every single copy of the tape!" This was in reference to "Days of Thunder", a horrible movie, in which Bobby had been the real driver of the Cole Trickle car that was filmed in the race sequences.
I haven't been involved with the radio show for sometime now. I don't miss it much, a lot of work for no money, but I still love the sport. So when I heard Bobby Hamilton had passed away, I gazed out my window at home here in the western burbs of Chicago, at the cold, bleak day, the leafless trees bending in the wind, clouds the color of gunmetal racing across the sky, and I thought back to that warm, sunny afternoon at the track.
No, I didn't "know" Bobby Hamilton, but I thought it was nice of him to bring me inside the walls that the drivers build up between themselves and the media, if only for a few minutes.
For that I say, Thank you Bobby.
Godspeed.
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