"Was it really years ago? It seems like only yesterday..." - "Old Friend" by Waylon Jennings.
This Saturday, July 13, will mark 20 years since the death of David Carl Allison. The son of NASCAR legend and Hall of Famer Bobby Allison, Davey left the racing world in tears, the result of a helicopter accident a day prior in the Talladega Superspeedway infield. He was just 32-years-old, only beginning to truly realize his limitless potential as a stock car racing great in his own right.
Of all the men our sport has lost in the last two decades, none are the subject of more "what if?" questions than Davey. How good could he have been? How would the scope of NASCAR racing have changed? Would Davey, car owner Robert Yates, crew chief Larry McReynolds, and sponsor Texaco gone on to form one of the all-time greatest racing dynasties? What would the guys who emerged in the decade after his passing, such as Jeff Gordon and Tony Stewart, been able to accomplish head-to-head with the Alabaman?
Dale Earnhardt, who joined his old rival in the Lord's kingdom in 2001, even admitted once that he might not have been a seven-time champion had Davey's helicopter not gone down that windy July day. Successor Ernie Irvan's performance in the '94 season prior his near-fatal crash at Michigan would seem to confirm that Earnhardt would have had his hands full with Allison as he sought the record-tying seventh title. Could he have denied Earnhardt? Who knows?
The answer to all these questions can probably be found in a motto of the Pettys, racing's first family and no strangers to tragedy themselves: "Never put a question mark where God put a period." Still, human nature makes it difficult to not wonder how different things would be after the cataclysmic lost of a young man on the brink of the great things to which Davey seemed destined.
I was six-years-old when we lost Davey, and in retrospect I didn't really understand the gravity of his loss. I was sad, of course, and it felt very strange to watch Robby Gordon, Lake Speed, and finally Irvan take the wheel of the No. 28 over the remainder of the '93 campaign. I sort of moved on, though, continuing to watch the sport and transitioning into rooting for my parents' favorite driver, Bill Elliott. I became a big fan of Dale Jarrett when he joined Robert Yates Racing in 1995, and he and Elliott were my co-favorites until 1999, when Stewart arrived on the Cup scene and became my favorite driver - which he has remained to this day.
Perhaps it was a blessing, being too young in 1993 to be as affected as my fellow Allison fans who were too distraught to watch another stock car race after his passing. Had I been 26 then, I almost certainly would have been among their numbers. Racing would have held nothing for me any longer.
It wasn't until the middle of the last decade, in the years after Earnhardt's own death, that I began to really understand what losing Davey had meant. I would see these message forum postings and chat room messages from devoted Earnhardt fans who were still grieving his death as though it were the loss of a close friend or relative. I was not an Earnhardt fan - quite to the contrary, in fact - but his death had shaken me to my core at the time. I'd been able to move on, same as my fellow Stewart fans, the Gordon fans, Mark Martin's fans, Jeff Burton's, Rusty Wallace's, and so forth. The Intimidator's fans, though, were still trapped in their devastation from February 2001.
I would ask myself, admittedly quite callously, why these people couldn't just get over it, just get with the times, just move on, just let Earnhardt's memory rest. I tried to put myself in their shoes, but I couldn't. Aside from one race, his final career victory the Sunday after my uncle had passed in October 2000, I had never lost much love on Dale Earnhardt. I had cried when he passed and I felt an immense loss in the days afterward. Racing, it seemed, would never quite be the same. However, I couldn't empathize with the plight of his followers. There was no way for me to understand what they were feeling - or so I thought.
Without much rhyme or reason, I found myself thinking about Davey quite a bit, about where he would have been and what he would have accomplished. I took to searching for Davey Allison items on Ebay, just to see what collectibles were available and how much my own collection of his cars would be worth (not that I would ever in five or six lifetimes consider selling it). I felt this empty, hollow feeling any time I would run across a hand-signed piece. I also felt a great deal of envy. The person selling the item (or whoever they had gotten it from) had met Davey, gotten his John Hancock on a diecast car or a trading card or a baseball cap, and experienced first-hand the warm, genuine nature for which he is so fondly remembered.
I never had that opportunity. I never even got to see him race in person. The more I thought about it, the more I felt I had been robbed of something very important, like a child who is born without grandparents to visit for the summer.
Anytime I see Davey's picture now, something grabs at my heart. Watching video of his races on Youtube is often difficult, and I can scarcely stand to watch his interviews and hear his voice without becoming emotional. Last year, for the first time, I watched the tribute special that ESPN aired the night of Davey's death and was moved to tears.
Just as seeing the black and silver No. 3 Chevrolet is jarring for Earnhardt fans, seeing the black, yellow, and orange No. 28 Ford Davey raced from 1991 until his death has a profound impact on me. Finally, having grown to understand my own profound loss, can I relate to the heartbreak of Earnhardt's legion.
Make no mistake. The emotions related above are not necessarily negative. Usually they are quite warm and fond. I beam inside anytime I see the Texaco Star on a sign at a gas station. If Chevron knew just what kind of impact that symbol has on my fellow Allison fans and I, they would cease their incendious phasing out the Texaco brand (did you know Havoline motor oil is now branded as Chevron Havoline? For shame).
As I think back on Davey's life and career and lament not having the opportunity to meet him, I'm sort of left to wonder if perhaps I actually haven't quite recently.
In July 2010, days before the 17th anniversary of Davey's passing, I made my second trek to the International Motor Sports Hall of Fame at Talladega. The first had come in June 1993. We skipped out on seeing Earnhardt win at Dover that day to visit the place that, until the NASCAR Hall of Fame's opening, served as the preeminent shrine of motorsports greatness. A No. 7 Hooters T-Bird driven by Alan Kulwicki was on display in honor of the recently fallen champion. In the gift shop, my brother and I were each allowed one purchase. He picked out a wooden Indy-style racer. I, of course, grabbed a 1/64 Texaco T-Bird and tossed it on the counter with glee.
My return visit was with an ex-acquaintance and one of her friends, neither of whom were fans during Davey's all-too brief career. As they casually looked at some of the other cars on display, I found myself spending a lot of time near a car known as "Superstar." The 1987 Ford T-Bird is the car Davey raced that year to his second Winston Cup win at Dover (the final top-tier victory for a rookie until Tony won at Richmond in September 1999). It features his most famous scheme, the white/red/gold/black colors he used from his rookie campaign in '87 through 1989. A couple of wood tributes had been placed next to it in the years since I had previously seen it.
As I began viewing some of the other cars on display, I kept feeling this odd connection to Superstar. I'd look back at it ever so often, turn back to what I had been viewing or reading, and then repeat the process.
At one point I entered this one room of exhibits, actually a hall known as Flathead Alley as a tribute to Ford's famous engine. As I was inspecting the old Flathead V8, I had this strange sensation that I was being watched - and not by the acquaintance or her friend. I looked to one end of the hall. Nothing there. I looked to the other end. Peeking around the corner of the exit, as though it were keeping an eye on me, was Superstar. It was somewhat eerie, straight out of a Hitchcock picture, but moreso comforting.
After leaving the museum (which included a tour of the track itself, during which I spent several moments staring at the infield where Davey's chopper went down), we went to the Texaco Davey Allison Memorial Park and Walk of Fame, located in downtown Talladega. The Walk is a traditional oval lined with plaques of the various drivers who have been enshrined over the years. I was pretty emotional after reading the dedication to Davey at the entrance to the park and looking at the giant bronze Texaco Star that - if you're thinking of the Walk as a race track - serves as the start-finish line. I decided to take a few moments to compose myself, walking alone and viewing the plaques while trying to reconcile everything I was feeling.
As I "entered the third turn," I heard the sound of footsteps behind me. I assumed it was the acquaintance, coming to check on me and make sure I was okay and not about to break down and cry, so I turned to greet her.
There was nobody there.
I was probably just hearing things, mistaking a sound from the police headquarters adjacent to the park or something, but I can't help but wonder - given the earlier events with Superstar - if my old hero hadn't come down from Heaven for a few minutes to be with one of his biggest fans.
It's amazing how much our sport has changed since July 13, 1993. Neither Texaco nor Robert Yates Racing are even still active in the sport. Robert won just a single championship, with Jarrett in 1999, while the famous Texaco Star never got closer to the title than Davey's near-miss in 1992. Larry McReynolds, Davey's crew chief and close friend, retired from the pit box after the 2000 season and has served as a beloved analyst for FOX Sports ever since.
Most of the men against whom Davey battled have retired, their places on the grid taken by today's superstars like Jimmie Johnson, Carl Edwards, and Kyle Busch. Those who did race against him are certainly on the backside of their careers, with many more checkered flags in their rear view mirror than green flags remaining in their windshield. Heck, the rookie everyone (even a six-year-old like myself) was calling "Wonder Boy" in 1993 is now a four-time champion showing some gray in his hair as he bounces two young children on his knee.
Had Davey lived to fulfill his potential at the wheel of a stock car, it's likely that he too would now be on the sidelines, or at least in the twilight of a career that had seen him eclipse many of racing's all-time icons. Perhaps he would be a team-owner, fielding championship-caliber race cars that would quite possibly bear the No. 12 of his father's race team. Maybe he would be like his old friend Mark Martin, continuing to perform at a high level well into his fifties.
Those are all just more what-ifs, more question marks being raised in the face of the period God put on the life of one of the finest men He placed on this earth and one of the best to strap into a race car.
Racing has gone on for two decades without Davey. It will go on long after you, me, and anyone else who will be tuned in to Sunday's race at New Hampshire (the venue, believe it or not, where Davey ran his final race a day before his helicopter accident) have all gone to join him, Earnhardt, and the rest of our old heroes. Racing lives on, and so does Davey Allison in the hearts of those who loved him. I am proud to be among them.
God Bless, Davey. We love you.
The following lyrics are taken from the closing of the ESPN tribute that aired on July 13, 1993. The special can be viewed in three parts on YouTube. Follow this link to part one.
Race car driver on a burning track
Engine's turning, don't look back
Voices calling from far away
Anticipating, living for today
Wheels of thunder in your hands
Bound for glory your heart demands
One mistake could take it all away
You don't look back
You live for today
You can feel the power, you can hear the sound
Race car driver, come back around
Drive for glory, try to make your name
Head for the black and white and the champagne rain
Race car driver, you don't look back...
Race car driver, running free
Win for yourself
Don't look back, don't look back
Live for today
