First I must compliment Ms. McCrumb on a masterful job of research for one who is not a NASCAR fan. Had I not read the Author’s Note I would never have guessed she is not “one of us”.
Yes, I am an old school die-hard NASCAR fan – even though I was never much of a Dale Earnhardt fan (Sr. or Jr.). – my sentiments ran to the “gentlemen” of the sport, first, The King (Richard Petty), and then Harry Gant. When Richard drove his last race, I began watching rookies, knowing that Harry’s retirement couldn’t be far behind. I chose a bright young fellow who really knew how to move a racecar around – Jeff Gordon. We all know how that turned out. Mind you, they take many a swing at my boy in this book! But us Gordon fans are used to that. Actually, I think ol’ Dale kinda liked “Wonderboy”, as he called Jeff.
All the NASCAR gossip aside, this is a wonderful read that will go a long ways towards initiating even the most uninterested into the mystique of stock car racing. The stories of several very different people along on the Earnhardt memorial tour for different reasons, as well as anecdotes from the good old days of racing are woven into a single tapestry of life. Everyone finds their own miracle, even if they were not really sure they were looking for one. Anyone reading this book, NASCAR fan or no, will find something to touch their heart.
Ms. McCrumb, in the Authors Note, tells us she wrote the book from an interest in the canonization of “popular saints”. It is a very interesting premise, well deserving of a book, and she does it very well. Speaking for myself, I think that the people the public chooses as their saints – Elvis, Princess Di, Dale Earnhardt – are as valid, if not more valid, than those few that the church may choose to canonize. I don’t really think God cares if the church recognizes them or not – I’m sure He does. What is important is that they personify something in each of us and remind us that we can become something more than we think we are.
Of course, Dale was hardly cold in the ground before people were telling about Dale sightings and miracles. I would hardly think of Dale as a saint myself (he was entirely too much in the habit of bumping drivers I liked better into the wall), but I always respected him as a talented and aggressive driver. Like so many people, I was drawn to the life story of a man who was a jr. high school dropout and worked his way into being one of the forty richest men in America through guts, determination, and the sheer will to succeed. Sadly, even in NASCAR, that success story is not likely to be repeated in these days of corporate ownership. But, as far as Dale as a saint is concerned, I like to think that if he walked through the Pearly Gates and God said, “Hey Dale – how about…” Dale would smile that possum grin and say “okay”.
After all, he died helping his son and his team to a win.