J. D. McDuffie 12/5/38-8/11/91
Just a quickie today folks. 38 years ago a young man came out of Sanford, NC to join the fun on the NASCAR circuit. Didn't have a lot of money, didn't have a "big money" sponsor, didn't have a rich or famous daddy to get him in the door. All he had was a love for speed and a huge heart that was, unfortunately, bigger than his whole career. He ran for 28 years and only collected one pole position to show for all his hard work. When the huge 18 wheelers pulled into the garage with their two race cars, 3 or 4 engines and enough equipment to run 3 low dollar teams, they dwarfed the infamous "Ol' Blue", that open bed one car and a tire rack hauler.
But despite the years of futility, the years of struggle, this Man (and that's capital M man) persevered for the love of what he did. I was lucky enough to have met him, even to call him friend. I would watch as one of his pit crew would step over the wall on every pit stop with a freshly lit cigar to replace the well chewed stub he clenched in his teeth. And I admired him for the work ethic, the "down-home" friendliness and that familiar wide smile.
Ten years ago today I can still see it like it was yesterday. At the end of that long back straightaway at the "Glen", just before where they have installed that little "inner loop", the #70 LC Whitford Pontiac didn't slow down for that sharp hairpin turn. He collected Jimmy Means as his car literally flew over the large sand pit that was supposed to slow down off track cars. His blue and white Pontiac hit the tire barrier and wall hard, lifting the rear tires off the ground as Means' car got airborne and came down on the roof of the #70.
I sat in stunned disbelief as Jimmy frantically rushed around the two cars. I knew from his movements, his demeanor that this was not just another racing incident. I began to pace the floor, waiting for the announcers to tell me that he was OK, maybe just a concussion and a trip to the hospital. Shortly before the end of that race I heard the news that made me break down and cry. This Man that had been a racer, a husband, a father and a friend had lost his life. Never again would I see that cigar chewing smile, receive that firm but friendly handshake.
Today, like every August 11th since, like every trip to the "Glen" reminds me, my heart weeps. Many drivers before, and many after have lost their lives on race tracks around the world. But none have touched me like that day and that death. John Delphus McDuffie, here's to you. I miss you good buddy!