Well, it's been a month since my surgery, and I've been trying to do a little introspective look at my life. You know....where am I right now, where am I going, how the *(&^ did I let myself get into this predicament...the usual questions.
Where am I right now? I'm 10 years off from being able to retire with full benefits, I'm very much overweight and a Type 2 diabetic with less than ideal eating habits. I just got through with a really big surgery that I'm STILL trying to recover from and am pretty much disgusted with life in general right now.
Perhaps it's because of the surgery, or maybe it's because this coming Sunday will be the last race of the season out at Eagle Raceway where I work during the racing season. I am supposed to be there at noon for the beauty contest judging and then help stuff "goodie bags" for the drivers. Then, at 3:30 get the things we need to sell pit passes and head to the pit shack.
For the next 2 1/2 hours I need to be at the "Pre-approved" window to take care of the tow truck folks, push truck drivers, fire and rescue helpers, etc. Then go and watch the evening's racing so that I can write a recap of it for the website. After the races, I need to interview the evening's winners and include said interviews into the recap.
The problem is, I'm hurting. Last weekend I managed to make it through the night (without interviewing the winners) and got the story put up on the website the next day. Now, when I said that I "managed to make it" I meant with great effort. The wife and I headed home, I took 2 hydrocodones and then hit the hay because I was wiped out and in significant pain as well.
God, give me the strength to make it through this one last evening of the season and live up to my expectations and those of my employer.
Speaking of my writing, someone posted on another writer's blog that I "should have quit a long time ago!". Wow!! What a great ego booster THAT was. I'm not sure if I'll do some writing over the winter or not, since evidently it's not any good. The problem being that since I was off for 3 weeks from work and then on 1/2 days for a bit my pockets don't even have lint in them. I need the paltry amount that getting a story published provides. It's enough for 1 of my wife's medications, and that's truly something.
I had to stand for my (and my wife's) insurance for basically a month, plus pay the normal household bills and put food on the table. So, here I am...back at work full-time even though I probably SHOULD still be on 1/2 days. Ah well, what doesn't kill us only makes us stronger, right??
Speaking of that other writer's blog; it seems to me that his attempt this year at helping out as a quasi-promoter out at Eagle has led to some hard feelings on his part. His latest post said "I will bet every penny in my bank account, in my 401(K), and that I can borrow that you NEVER see me writing anything for Eagle, and very little about the place." The harsh reality of what sometimes happens with a big show has turned him back into the curmudgeon the he used to be, going back to his Bruton personality.
This is where the title for this blog comes from; not just "Bruton", but a bunch of others including myself. It seems to me that the postings on our local message board (dirtdrivers.com) are still running about like they always have. Some people whining or complaining about this and that, but more and more I see the older guard being downright NASTY on there. The above mentioned writer is a perfect example; such a shame. Add to that the constant blogs by "Bruton" about how there's only 1 dirt track in the state worthy of even being in business truly irks me. I thought that true dirt track fans would support any and EVERY dirt track, not just those that haven't done something to tick you off.
The real shame is I see myself slipping into that same vein of being grouchy about the current state of dirt track racing more often than I care to. Of course, I wouldn't post anything bad about any track or racer or promoter, no matter what I may perceive that they've done to me personally or the general dirt track community. Not just because I am one of the faces of Eagle Raceway (a very public one on the internet in fact), but because I have no right to question anyone or anything I am not personally involved in. I will defend Eagle, it's racers and promoter however. It's nigh onto impossible to resist the temptation to lambast some 3-toothed drunken bleacher creature who posts something on a message board that's filled with not only blatant lies but also horrendous spelling and punctuation. I've managed so far, but my will power is waning even as we speak.
So, that's where I see myself right now. I hurt, I'm constantly tired, I can't eat the foods that I so badly want to and I need to get my fat old hiney up and get going!! Hopefully I'll find the strength to do so.
Thank you to everyone who stopped by to read my little introspective.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Tadd Holliman
It's been awhile since I blogged anything; okay, it's been a REALLY long time since I have actually. With everything else going on in my life I just don't seem to find the time to do it often enough. I swear that I will try to do better.
This blog is for all of those who don't have a subscription to Flat Out magazine. As most of you know, I write for the magazine off and on (more off than on, rather like my blog). Since you can only get Flat Out through a subscription there are a lot of people who never get to see the magazine.
Well, recently I had the great pleasure to do an article on someone I consider to be a good friend. Tadd is a local sprint car driver who goes out every Saturday during the racing season at Eagle Raceway and does something that he loves. Racing isn't his life, it's his passion; and it's that passion that I wrote about. For people to not get a chance to read about Tadd would be a tragedy; because he is one of the good ones, on and off of the track.
Here is the article, which appeared in the June 2010 issue of Flat Out magazine. Now, go out and buy a subscription so I can get a raise and you won't miss any of my contributions.
"An All-American football player, a soccer coach, a basketball coach and a sprint car driver walk into the pits at Eagle Raceway". No, this isn't one of 'those' jokes; it happens every Saturday night during the racing season. And the football player, the coaches and sprint car driver are really just one person; Tadd Holliman.
"I grew up racing the street of Hamburg, Iowa in a lot of different cars. Mostly it was Dad's '79 Bronco for snowy street racing, but I even tried my mom's Corvette. But that was only when she was out of town, and then only until one rain slickened street sent my buddy Al and I over the curb and spinning out until we came to a stop 2 feet from a house. We slowly drove it home and I never got behind the wheel of it again because if it didn't kill me, Dad sure as hell would have if I wrecked it".
"I wanted to move my racing to the track as soon as I graduated High School, but Mom put the stops to that. So, my next step was attending McPherson College in Kansas where I played free safety on the football team." Tadd's education came as the result of a full-ride football scholarship. Obviously the school's faith in him was well-placed as he garnered many honors in his years on the team, culminated by being named All-American in his senior year. In fact, he still retains the NAIA record for the most return yardage.
Having graduated with his teaching degree, Tadd was free to pursue his next competitive challenge; racing. "I always knew I wanted to be a racer, but I thought it might be in Late Models since that was what dad was racing when I was younger, and he was kicking ass". By the time he was ready to actually strap in however, Tadd's father Terry had moved back to sprint cars. "So, I decided that it was my time to get a sprinter".
Tadd's first sprinter was his own #19 which he purchased from Jeff Griffis and Brent Morris. "That was Grandpa Sam's number when he had Dad and uncle Dan driving for him. I'm actually a third-generation racer. Grandpa drove some and my Grandma even drove in powder puff races at the old Hamburg Speedway". He ran his own car for the first few years, mostly at Eagle Raceway and I-80 Speedway in addition to running with the NSCA. Then, in 1997 his father suffered badly burned legs after an engine expired in his racer and car owner Eldon Rhoten asked Tadd to take over the #23 until Terry could heal.
When Terry was ready to return to driving, a second team car, the #23R was added to the team; and that has been Tadd's ride ever since. Two A Feature wins, countless heat race wins and the 1995 Most Improved award at Eagle are a few of the highlights of Tadd's career thus far. However, when asked what his best night at the track was, Tadd simply replied "Any time I can beat my Dad".
It was unneccesary to ask what his worst night was. That came on July 29th, 2009. Tadd was flying full speed down the back stretch at Eagle, when an incident in front of him caused another sprinter to come to a halt at the bottom of turns three and four. The 23R barreled head-long into the stalled racer, leaving Tadd with 6 broken ribs, a bruised lung, a badly broken arm and a concussion. During his recovery and throughout his therapy Tadd swore that he would be recovered in time for this year's Chili Bowl. And true to his word, he was there in his mother-in-law's midget. "I like to say that she fired Dad and hired me for the ride. After a dismal Chili Bowl this year, including blowing a motor in practice, the team has decided to update the midget program and is currently looking at many options".
It's obvious that Tadd loves racing the moment that you speak to him. I inquired as to what was special to him about racing, and he replied "Adrenalin. Competition! I've been in sports my whole life, so mostly the competition". That spirit saw him through what was arguably the lowest point in his life, and brought him back to his current sports challenge; piloting a sprint car.
Tadd's wife of 9 years, Darla, will be in the stands cheering him on this season at Eagle. She'll be accompanied by their two daughters, as well as Tadd's step-son and step-daughter. They'll be joined by a throng of fans, cheering on the 23R sprinter with it's redesigned paint scheme. And that is Tadd's latest victory; the fact that he is back racing in front of the fans and the ones who love him.
This blog is for all of those who don't have a subscription to Flat Out magazine. As most of you know, I write for the magazine off and on (more off than on, rather like my blog). Since you can only get Flat Out through a subscription there are a lot of people who never get to see the magazine.
Well, recently I had the great pleasure to do an article on someone I consider to be a good friend. Tadd is a local sprint car driver who goes out every Saturday during the racing season at Eagle Raceway and does something that he loves. Racing isn't his life, it's his passion; and it's that passion that I wrote about. For people to not get a chance to read about Tadd would be a tragedy; because he is one of the good ones, on and off of the track.
Here is the article, which appeared in the June 2010 issue of Flat Out magazine. Now, go out and buy a subscription so I can get a raise and you won't miss any of my contributions.
"An All-American football player, a soccer coach, a basketball coach and a sprint car driver walk into the pits at Eagle Raceway". No, this isn't one of 'those' jokes; it happens every Saturday night during the racing season. And the football player, the coaches and sprint car driver are really just one person; Tadd Holliman.
"I grew up racing the street of Hamburg, Iowa in a lot of different cars. Mostly it was Dad's '79 Bronco for snowy street racing, but I even tried my mom's Corvette. But that was only when she was out of town, and then only until one rain slickened street sent my buddy Al and I over the curb and spinning out until we came to a stop 2 feet from a house. We slowly drove it home and I never got behind the wheel of it again because if it didn't kill me, Dad sure as hell would have if I wrecked it".
"I wanted to move my racing to the track as soon as I graduated High School, but Mom put the stops to that. So, my next step was attending McPherson College in Kansas where I played free safety on the football team." Tadd's education came as the result of a full-ride football scholarship. Obviously the school's faith in him was well-placed as he garnered many honors in his years on the team, culminated by being named All-American in his senior year. In fact, he still retains the NAIA record for the most return yardage.
Having graduated with his teaching degree, Tadd was free to pursue his next competitive challenge; racing. "I always knew I wanted to be a racer, but I thought it might be in Late Models since that was what dad was racing when I was younger, and he was kicking ass". By the time he was ready to actually strap in however, Tadd's father Terry had moved back to sprint cars. "So, I decided that it was my time to get a sprinter".
Tadd's first sprinter was his own #19 which he purchased from Jeff Griffis and Brent Morris. "That was Grandpa Sam's number when he had Dad and uncle Dan driving for him. I'm actually a third-generation racer. Grandpa drove some and my Grandma even drove in powder puff races at the old Hamburg Speedway". He ran his own car for the first few years, mostly at Eagle Raceway and I-80 Speedway in addition to running with the NSCA. Then, in 1997 his father suffered badly burned legs after an engine expired in his racer and car owner Eldon Rhoten asked Tadd to take over the #23 until Terry could heal.
When Terry was ready to return to driving, a second team car, the #23R was added to the team; and that has been Tadd's ride ever since. Two A Feature wins, countless heat race wins and the 1995 Most Improved award at Eagle are a few of the highlights of Tadd's career thus far. However, when asked what his best night at the track was, Tadd simply replied "Any time I can beat my Dad".
It was unneccesary to ask what his worst night was. That came on July 29th, 2009. Tadd was flying full speed down the back stretch at Eagle, when an incident in front of him caused another sprinter to come to a halt at the bottom of turns three and four. The 23R barreled head-long into the stalled racer, leaving Tadd with 6 broken ribs, a bruised lung, a badly broken arm and a concussion. During his recovery and throughout his therapy Tadd swore that he would be recovered in time for this year's Chili Bowl. And true to his word, he was there in his mother-in-law's midget. "I like to say that she fired Dad and hired me for the ride. After a dismal Chili Bowl this year, including blowing a motor in practice, the team has decided to update the midget program and is currently looking at many options".
It's obvious that Tadd loves racing the moment that you speak to him. I inquired as to what was special to him about racing, and he replied "Adrenalin. Competition! I've been in sports my whole life, so mostly the competition". That spirit saw him through what was arguably the lowest point in his life, and brought him back to his current sports challenge; piloting a sprint car.
Tadd's wife of 9 years, Darla, will be in the stands cheering him on this season at Eagle. She'll be accompanied by their two daughters, as well as Tadd's step-son and step-daughter. They'll be joined by a throng of fans, cheering on the 23R sprinter with it's redesigned paint scheme. And that is Tadd's latest victory; the fact that he is back racing in front of the fans and the ones who love him.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
A day of reflection
43 years ago today, a 13 year-old boy lost his father to a criminal's pistol shot. I was that boy. Every year on this day I have to stop and think about it all, and this blog will be about those reflections.
A little background for those of you who don't know or remember the story is in order.
My father, Frank Soukup, was in his 10th year of service with the Lincoln, Nebraska Police Department. He had advanced through the ranks to the rank of Detective Sergeant through 10 years of walking beats, graveyard shifts and putting his life on the line for all of us.
He was the first officer on the scene at the home of Carol Ann Fugate, Charles Starkweather's girlfriend. Little did he know that her parents were dead and hidden in the chicken coop behind the house, or that Charlie was waiting inside the house. That encounter ended safely for him, thank God; but not the one on the night of December 16, 1966. On that day, he was another first; the first officer killed in the line of duty for the Lincoln Police Department.
A check forging ring had been operating in Lincoln for a couple of weeks, and the officers received a tip to visit a local motel. My dad, his partner and another detective knocked on the door of the unit where they had been sent.
After being allowed in, they found 3 males and some females also. While questioning the occupants one of the other officers instructed the man laying on the bed to get his hand out from under the pillow he was laying on. The man did, brandisihing a weapon which he fired. The bullet struck my father's aorta. One of the other men rushed past my father and towards the bathroom. My dad's last official act was to draw and fire his revolver, fatally wounding the fleeing man. The other two officers also drew their weapons and saved the taxpayers a large sum of money by killing the man who had slain my father.
Later, interrogations revealed that the one who ended my father's life was an escaped convict who had vowed that he would never go back to prison. He got his wish, but took away one of the finest men on the face of the earth.
All of his life my father had helped those in need. Although his salary was small, he was more than willing to give until it hurt wherever it would do some good. A testament to that fact was the outpouring of donations to a fund to help see my mother and I through the tough times to follow. Nickels and dimes from people who probably didn't have a whole dollar to their names, but who had been aided by Dad. There was no big insurance policy, no huge settlement with the city. But, the good people of our town saw us through.
All these years later I still remember an officer coming by and saying that Dad had been wounded and was rushed to the hospital. He took my mother to be with him, but there was no hope. I was awoken very early in the morning to find my 2 brothers and mother in my room. The younger of the two said the words that will be with me until I shuffle off this mortal coil; "Daddy won't be coming home".
A thirteen year-old is not capable of understanding such things, and I'm not sure that I do now. Why would anyone kill him? He helped anybody and everybody he ever came into contact with; criminal and victim alike. This wonderful man was gone forever, taken away from the family who loved him. And why? Because he was doing his duty.
A friend e-mailed me a story about the funerals for the 4 fallen officers from Lakewood, detailing their funerals. Over 20,000 people were on hand for either the procession or funeral, or both. That included officers from all over the country and even Canadian Mounted Police. That too brought back a flood of memories. After the funeral, a scrapbook was made up by the local newspaper with photos of my father's funeral. One picture shows the casket being brought into the church flanked by officers on both sides. Another is of the procession that took my dad from Lincoln to his final resting place 62 miles away. That procession was over a mile long, filled with cruisers as far as the eye could see.
I remember kissing my father good-bye for the last time. I recall the 21-gun salute as he was laid to rest. I recall the wonderful lunch provided by the local ladies, and going to the bar to toast his life. Memories come flooding home every year on this day, even 43 years later.
But the strongest of them is the wondering. Why did this have to happen? What drives people to do such horrendous things? What would my father think of what I've become? Would he approve of the way I turned out? How can I possibly be more like him? How can I help out more; reach out to those in need?
I only wish my wife and sons could have known him; and my neice and nephew also. I wish that he were here now, to pull some silly joke on them so that they could see that side of him. He was a good father and a good husband; but most of all he was my father. And we all miss him more than words can convey.
A little background for those of you who don't know or remember the story is in order.
My father, Frank Soukup, was in his 10th year of service with the Lincoln, Nebraska Police Department. He had advanced through the ranks to the rank of Detective Sergeant through 10 years of walking beats, graveyard shifts and putting his life on the line for all of us.
He was the first officer on the scene at the home of Carol Ann Fugate, Charles Starkweather's girlfriend. Little did he know that her parents were dead and hidden in the chicken coop behind the house, or that Charlie was waiting inside the house. That encounter ended safely for him, thank God; but not the one on the night of December 16, 1966. On that day, he was another first; the first officer killed in the line of duty for the Lincoln Police Department.
A check forging ring had been operating in Lincoln for a couple of weeks, and the officers received a tip to visit a local motel. My dad, his partner and another detective knocked on the door of the unit where they had been sent.
After being allowed in, they found 3 males and some females also. While questioning the occupants one of the other officers instructed the man laying on the bed to get his hand out from under the pillow he was laying on. The man did, brandisihing a weapon which he fired. The bullet struck my father's aorta. One of the other men rushed past my father and towards the bathroom. My dad's last official act was to draw and fire his revolver, fatally wounding the fleeing man. The other two officers also drew their weapons and saved the taxpayers a large sum of money by killing the man who had slain my father.
Later, interrogations revealed that the one who ended my father's life was an escaped convict who had vowed that he would never go back to prison. He got his wish, but took away one of the finest men on the face of the earth.
All of his life my father had helped those in need. Although his salary was small, he was more than willing to give until it hurt wherever it would do some good. A testament to that fact was the outpouring of donations to a fund to help see my mother and I through the tough times to follow. Nickels and dimes from people who probably didn't have a whole dollar to their names, but who had been aided by Dad. There was no big insurance policy, no huge settlement with the city. But, the good people of our town saw us through.
All these years later I still remember an officer coming by and saying that Dad had been wounded and was rushed to the hospital. He took my mother to be with him, but there was no hope. I was awoken very early in the morning to find my 2 brothers and mother in my room. The younger of the two said the words that will be with me until I shuffle off this mortal coil; "Daddy won't be coming home".
A thirteen year-old is not capable of understanding such things, and I'm not sure that I do now. Why would anyone kill him? He helped anybody and everybody he ever came into contact with; criminal and victim alike. This wonderful man was gone forever, taken away from the family who loved him. And why? Because he was doing his duty.
A friend e-mailed me a story about the funerals for the 4 fallen officers from Lakewood, detailing their funerals. Over 20,000 people were on hand for either the procession or funeral, or both. That included officers from all over the country and even Canadian Mounted Police. That too brought back a flood of memories. After the funeral, a scrapbook was made up by the local newspaper with photos of my father's funeral. One picture shows the casket being brought into the church flanked by officers on both sides. Another is of the procession that took my dad from Lincoln to his final resting place 62 miles away. That procession was over a mile long, filled with cruisers as far as the eye could see.
I remember kissing my father good-bye for the last time. I recall the 21-gun salute as he was laid to rest. I recall the wonderful lunch provided by the local ladies, and going to the bar to toast his life. Memories come flooding home every year on this day, even 43 years later.
But the strongest of them is the wondering. Why did this have to happen? What drives people to do such horrendous things? What would my father think of what I've become? Would he approve of the way I turned out? How can I possibly be more like him? How can I help out more; reach out to those in need?
I only wish my wife and sons could have known him; and my neice and nephew also. I wish that he were here now, to pull some silly joke on them so that they could see that side of him. He was a good father and a good husband; but most of all he was my father. And we all miss him more than words can convey.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
A great night of racing, a scary night of racing
Last Saturday night was the annual Kids Bike Night at Eagle Raceway. A huge crowd was in attendance as many youngsters received a brand new bicycle, thanks to "Saint Rhonda of Eagle".
The Bryan Race Team, led by "Saint Rhonda" Bryan, puts their hearts and souls into this event every season. It was started after Bernie (Rhonda's husband) had to undergo heart surgery. A young man who was a racing fan was suffering a terminal illness at the same time, and the Bryans wanted to do something in his memory. So, Eagle's annual Kids Night became Eagle's annual Kids Bike Night. A few bikes that first year quickly became a few HUNDRED bikes, passed out to young fans such as the one who lost his life.
At intermission 3 semi-trailers filled with bikes were driven into the infield and then unloaded by a group of volunteers. After they were all lined up on the frontstretch, the lucky children who were selected at random and their parents were led down to receive their prize.
The total count of beaming, happy faces was a record in the history of the give-away. 354 bikes were donated thanks to racers, race teams, fans and Roger Hadan and his wife Michelle. Roger and Michelle, who promote Eagle Raceway, purchased 1 bike for every 2 that were payed for by others.
I can't believe how many people who have commented on Bike Night to me in just the 4 days since it was held. That night, as I prepared to leave the track after interviewing the evening's Feature winners, a lady came up to me and related this story.
She and her son came out to Eagle every Saturday night and had never missed a Bike Night since her son was old enough to attend. Her son, named Dylan, had never managed to be one of the lucky ones to win a bike. After Saturday's racing was completed, they made their usual trip out to the pits to see her son's favorite driver Dylan Smith. As they young man approached the elder Dylan, he saw the big smile on the driver's face. Now, Mr. Smith had reason to not be cheery that night, given the fact that his race car had been disabled very early in the A Feature that night. But, he had a better reason TO grin as the younger Dylan neard the trailer.
As young Dylan approached him, the driver asked if he'd won a bike that night. The boy replied "No, not this time". Smith's grin widend as he said "Well, we can't have that" and went into his hauler, emerging shortly after with a bike he had purchased for Dylan.
The younger Dylan's mother wanted EVERYONE to know about Smith's deed, and asked that I use my writing to pass it along. After hearing about it, I wanted to shout it from the rooftops, let alone just passing it along. I made sure that it was related in my write-up of the evening's events, have been mentioning it to friends and acquaintenances ever since and of course am including it in this blog.
Today, while returning home after taking my wife to an appointment, we stopped at Subway for lunch. They young lady who served us was a casual acquaintence from Eagle Raceway, and she also had a story to share.
As she was standing in the area above the grandstands, a young boy using a walker was heading to be a part of the festivities on the front stretch of the track. She told me that the young man looked like "Christmas morning". She also wanted me to let everyone know what a great thing Bike Night was.
I can personally testify that I witnessed every one of the kids bringing their new bikes back to the grandstands, as I was one of the Eagle employees assigned to assist in routing them. And, if you could harness the smiles on their faces, you could light the world. I know that my heart was filled with joy; their glee was THAT contagious.
Thank you Rhonda, the whole Bryan Racing Team, all of the volunteers who helped load and unload the trailers, everyone who donated their hard-earned cash for the bikes, and Roger and Michelle for keeping the tradition alive at Eagle Raceway. "Blood, Sweat and Tears" isn't just a horn rock group from my younger days, it's a reality for those involved with Bike Night, especially Rhonda and her family.
Rhonda, you've earned a rest, but I'd bet a dollar to a dime that you won't. I know you all too well to ever entertain such a thought.
After intermission, the night's feature races began. In the 360 Sprint Car A Main, there was a terrible accident shortly after the race began. One young driver, Trevor Grossenbacher was forced into the wall on the back stretch. The contact sent his car flipping violently, eventually coming to rest at the bottom of turn 3. Tadd Holliman came roaring up and ran into Trevor's racer full speed. After several long, terrifying moments, Tadd was released from the wreckage and loaded into an ambulance and taken to a Lincoln hospital.
I've been going to dirt track races for a LOOOONG time, and have sadly been in attendance when three drivers met their demise. Most fans have seen innumerable incidents where cars were completely destroyed and the driver emerged relatively unscathed to take the long "Walk of shame" as it's known, back to the pits.
This time it was different, especially from my point of view. This was my FRIEND, and he didn't walk away. As soon as the races were over, I went directly to the pits where some of his family and friends were in order to get a shred of news. What I heard eased my tension slightly, because at that time I was told he had suffered a broken arm and a rib injury. Feeling a little better, I went about the task of collecting interviews.
The next afternoon I headed to the hospital to check on him. I got there in time to be met by his wife and son, who informed me that they were moving him to a different room. As we followed them they said that it was a little worse than I was originally told.
Tadd had suffered a broken right arm, and the surgeon had placed a rod in it to stabilize it. His other injuries were a bruised lung and 6 broken ribs, as well as a concussion. A CAT scan was performed, and was thankfully negative. But, as his crew chief said to me "What would you expect?? They DID take a picture of Tadd's brain after all".
Tadd was wheeled in finally and put into bed. Now, I've known Tadd a lot of years, and very seldom is he not smiling. Even on a bad night, there's a little lifting of the corners of his mouth as he despairs over a showing not up to his standards. This time though, it was obvious that the smile was not there in the least. His race car was destroyed, his nearly new helmet cracked in two places making it unusable, and one of the straps that his son bought him for Christmas had been cut to assist in extricating him. Throw in the fact that he would be unable to race, and more importantly might have to put off preparing for his daily job of teaching school, and you can see that he had a right to be a little down.
Thankfully, I had the forethought to pick up a card and a gift to give him. I handed the card to his wife to hold so Tadd could read it. A little smirk was my reward, but after I gave him his gift it was even better. As I handed it to him, I told him "I bought these for you to play with to pass the time" and handed him a bag of toy soldiers. That big grin brightened his face, and lightened my heart.
I went up and visited him again this morning. No smile, because he was hurting, upset that he was still in the hospital, told he couldn't go home until at least tomorrow, and wanting to get home and back to his wife and children. No doubt he just wanted to return to his normal life. I felt for him, but I wasn't too worried because as he said "I'm where I need to be and getting the care I need".
No, he probably won't be racing at Eagle again this year. Yes, he is determined to compete in the Chili Bowl. And I don't doubt that he'll do not only that, but be back to instructing our nation's youth very soon.
Most importantly, he's still with us. I thank God for allowing Tadd to stay with us and brighten our lives with his smile.
I've said for years now that "Any night at the races is a great night", and I stand by that statement. Sometimes, such as last Saturday night, I question the sentiment. But, with every bad, such as Tadd's injuries, there's something good, like the bike give-away.
"Any night at the races IS a great night". Some just scare us a little.
The Bryan Race Team, led by "Saint Rhonda" Bryan, puts their hearts and souls into this event every season. It was started after Bernie (Rhonda's husband) had to undergo heart surgery. A young man who was a racing fan was suffering a terminal illness at the same time, and the Bryans wanted to do something in his memory. So, Eagle's annual Kids Night became Eagle's annual Kids Bike Night. A few bikes that first year quickly became a few HUNDRED bikes, passed out to young fans such as the one who lost his life.
At intermission 3 semi-trailers filled with bikes were driven into the infield and then unloaded by a group of volunteers. After they were all lined up on the frontstretch, the lucky children who were selected at random and their parents were led down to receive their prize.
The total count of beaming, happy faces was a record in the history of the give-away. 354 bikes were donated thanks to racers, race teams, fans and Roger Hadan and his wife Michelle. Roger and Michelle, who promote Eagle Raceway, purchased 1 bike for every 2 that were payed for by others.
I can't believe how many people who have commented on Bike Night to me in just the 4 days since it was held. That night, as I prepared to leave the track after interviewing the evening's Feature winners, a lady came up to me and related this story.
She and her son came out to Eagle every Saturday night and had never missed a Bike Night since her son was old enough to attend. Her son, named Dylan, had never managed to be one of the lucky ones to win a bike. After Saturday's racing was completed, they made their usual trip out to the pits to see her son's favorite driver Dylan Smith. As they young man approached the elder Dylan, he saw the big smile on the driver's face. Now, Mr. Smith had reason to not be cheery that night, given the fact that his race car had been disabled very early in the A Feature that night. But, he had a better reason TO grin as the younger Dylan neard the trailer.
As young Dylan approached him, the driver asked if he'd won a bike that night. The boy replied "No, not this time". Smith's grin widend as he said "Well, we can't have that" and went into his hauler, emerging shortly after with a bike he had purchased for Dylan.
The younger Dylan's mother wanted EVERYONE to know about Smith's deed, and asked that I use my writing to pass it along. After hearing about it, I wanted to shout it from the rooftops, let alone just passing it along. I made sure that it was related in my write-up of the evening's events, have been mentioning it to friends and acquaintenances ever since and of course am including it in this blog.
Today, while returning home after taking my wife to an appointment, we stopped at Subway for lunch. They young lady who served us was a casual acquaintence from Eagle Raceway, and she also had a story to share.
As she was standing in the area above the grandstands, a young boy using a walker was heading to be a part of the festivities on the front stretch of the track. She told me that the young man looked like "Christmas morning". She also wanted me to let everyone know what a great thing Bike Night was.
I can personally testify that I witnessed every one of the kids bringing their new bikes back to the grandstands, as I was one of the Eagle employees assigned to assist in routing them. And, if you could harness the smiles on their faces, you could light the world. I know that my heart was filled with joy; their glee was THAT contagious.
Thank you Rhonda, the whole Bryan Racing Team, all of the volunteers who helped load and unload the trailers, everyone who donated their hard-earned cash for the bikes, and Roger and Michelle for keeping the tradition alive at Eagle Raceway. "Blood, Sweat and Tears" isn't just a horn rock group from my younger days, it's a reality for those involved with Bike Night, especially Rhonda and her family.
Rhonda, you've earned a rest, but I'd bet a dollar to a dime that you won't. I know you all too well to ever entertain such a thought.
After intermission, the night's feature races began. In the 360 Sprint Car A Main, there was a terrible accident shortly after the race began. One young driver, Trevor Grossenbacher was forced into the wall on the back stretch. The contact sent his car flipping violently, eventually coming to rest at the bottom of turn 3. Tadd Holliman came roaring up and ran into Trevor's racer full speed. After several long, terrifying moments, Tadd was released from the wreckage and loaded into an ambulance and taken to a Lincoln hospital.
I've been going to dirt track races for a LOOOONG time, and have sadly been in attendance when three drivers met their demise. Most fans have seen innumerable incidents where cars were completely destroyed and the driver emerged relatively unscathed to take the long "Walk of shame" as it's known, back to the pits.
This time it was different, especially from my point of view. This was my FRIEND, and he didn't walk away. As soon as the races were over, I went directly to the pits where some of his family and friends were in order to get a shred of news. What I heard eased my tension slightly, because at that time I was told he had suffered a broken arm and a rib injury. Feeling a little better, I went about the task of collecting interviews.
The next afternoon I headed to the hospital to check on him. I got there in time to be met by his wife and son, who informed me that they were moving him to a different room. As we followed them they said that it was a little worse than I was originally told.
Tadd had suffered a broken right arm, and the surgeon had placed a rod in it to stabilize it. His other injuries were a bruised lung and 6 broken ribs, as well as a concussion. A CAT scan was performed, and was thankfully negative. But, as his crew chief said to me "What would you expect?? They DID take a picture of Tadd's brain after all".
Tadd was wheeled in finally and put into bed. Now, I've known Tadd a lot of years, and very seldom is he not smiling. Even on a bad night, there's a little lifting of the corners of his mouth as he despairs over a showing not up to his standards. This time though, it was obvious that the smile was not there in the least. His race car was destroyed, his nearly new helmet cracked in two places making it unusable, and one of the straps that his son bought him for Christmas had been cut to assist in extricating him. Throw in the fact that he would be unable to race, and more importantly might have to put off preparing for his daily job of teaching school, and you can see that he had a right to be a little down.
Thankfully, I had the forethought to pick up a card and a gift to give him. I handed the card to his wife to hold so Tadd could read it. A little smirk was my reward, but after I gave him his gift it was even better. As I handed it to him, I told him "I bought these for you to play with to pass the time" and handed him a bag of toy soldiers. That big grin brightened his face, and lightened my heart.
I went up and visited him again this morning. No smile, because he was hurting, upset that he was still in the hospital, told he couldn't go home until at least tomorrow, and wanting to get home and back to his wife and children. No doubt he just wanted to return to his normal life. I felt for him, but I wasn't too worried because as he said "I'm where I need to be and getting the care I need".
No, he probably won't be racing at Eagle again this year. Yes, he is determined to compete in the Chili Bowl. And I don't doubt that he'll do not only that, but be back to instructing our nation's youth very soon.
Most importantly, he's still with us. I thank God for allowing Tadd to stay with us and brighten our lives with his smile.
I've said for years now that "Any night at the races is a great night", and I stand by that statement. Sometimes, such as last Saturday night, I question the sentiment. But, with every bad, such as Tadd's injuries, there's something good, like the bike give-away.
"Any night at the races IS a great night". Some just scare us a little.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Memorial Day weekend
This past weekend was one to remember our fallen heros and the loved ones that we have lost, and as I have nearly every year since I can remember, I made the trek to Milligan Nebraska to do so for both in one.
My father was born between Milligan and Friend on my grandparents' farm. Although we made many trips down there, both just to visit and to hunt the surrounding areas, Memorial Days were always my favorites.
Each year until my father's death, as we drove down the day before the actual Memorial Day, my dad would turn the radio over so that we could listen to the Indianapolis 500. We would listen as famous names such as Parnelli Jones, AJ Foyt, Graham Hill and Rodger Ward drank the winners quart of milk after earning the victory at the famous Brickyard.
Then the next day, after spending the night at my grandparents' home in Milligan, we would make the trek to the cemetary south of town. We would decorate the graves of lost relatives before watching the ceremonies in one of the prettiest cemetaries I've ever seen. The entire grounds were ringed with huge cottonwood trees, and the lanes through it were also. And on Memorial Day the beautiful flowers adorning the graves themselves showed that spring had definitely sprung.
At last it was time for the ceremony. The sermon/speech was filled with pleas to never forget those who had served and made the ultimate sacrifice as well as the others who were interred there at the cemetary. My young heart and mind couldn't quite grasp what was being talked about, but the solemn atmosphere made me understand that what was being addressed was indeed something that needed to be taken to heart. The 21-gun salute quickened my heart nearly as much as the wail of Taps being played from the distance saddened it.
As my wife and oldest son and I drove to Milligan this past Sunday, I automatically reached for the radio tuner and sought out the broadcast of the 500. As much as I tried, I just couldn't recapture the thrill that I felt so many years before. And the old feelings were further driven from my heart as we approached the cemetary.
Long gone were the huge trees, felled so many years ago due to disease, wind and lightning. As we approached my father's final resting place, I noticed that the peonies next to his slab had not yet bloomed. We had planted them there because they were his favorite. Were he still with us, and these were some relative's flowers, I could hear him swearing at the fates that let this happen. I admit that I echoed those sentiments silently.
We dutifully cleaned his slab and the marker, and after stopping at the graves of my paternal grandparents, I asked my wife and son to give me a few moments.
I stood at the foot my dad's grave, and silently told him how much I loved and missed him. I related how much I wished that he were still here with us, and asked his guidance to help me through the every day trials and tribulations that life presents to us all. I also said that I was afraid that I had failed to be the man that he wanted me to become, but that I would do my best to try and do better; to attempt to be 1/2 of the person that he was. This has become my mantra, every time that I thought about him, which is daily; striving to fulfill his wishes and mine.
I know that I have done well by my children, my wife and those others who's lives I've influenced. But, as always happens when we try to compare ourselves to our heros, we fall short. And my father is, always has been and always will be my hero.
Dad, we love and miss you. Although you were taken from us over 45 years ago, you are still here in our hearts every day.
I hope that your peonies are blooming today.
My father was born between Milligan and Friend on my grandparents' farm. Although we made many trips down there, both just to visit and to hunt the surrounding areas, Memorial Days were always my favorites.
Each year until my father's death, as we drove down the day before the actual Memorial Day, my dad would turn the radio over so that we could listen to the Indianapolis 500. We would listen as famous names such as Parnelli Jones, AJ Foyt, Graham Hill and Rodger Ward drank the winners quart of milk after earning the victory at the famous Brickyard.
Then the next day, after spending the night at my grandparents' home in Milligan, we would make the trek to the cemetary south of town. We would decorate the graves of lost relatives before watching the ceremonies in one of the prettiest cemetaries I've ever seen. The entire grounds were ringed with huge cottonwood trees, and the lanes through it were also. And on Memorial Day the beautiful flowers adorning the graves themselves showed that spring had definitely sprung.
At last it was time for the ceremony. The sermon/speech was filled with pleas to never forget those who had served and made the ultimate sacrifice as well as the others who were interred there at the cemetary. My young heart and mind couldn't quite grasp what was being talked about, but the solemn atmosphere made me understand that what was being addressed was indeed something that needed to be taken to heart. The 21-gun salute quickened my heart nearly as much as the wail of Taps being played from the distance saddened it.
As my wife and oldest son and I drove to Milligan this past Sunday, I automatically reached for the radio tuner and sought out the broadcast of the 500. As much as I tried, I just couldn't recapture the thrill that I felt so many years before. And the old feelings were further driven from my heart as we approached the cemetary.
Long gone were the huge trees, felled so many years ago due to disease, wind and lightning. As we approached my father's final resting place, I noticed that the peonies next to his slab had not yet bloomed. We had planted them there because they were his favorite. Were he still with us, and these were some relative's flowers, I could hear him swearing at the fates that let this happen. I admit that I echoed those sentiments silently.
We dutifully cleaned his slab and the marker, and after stopping at the graves of my paternal grandparents, I asked my wife and son to give me a few moments.
I stood at the foot my dad's grave, and silently told him how much I loved and missed him. I related how much I wished that he were still here with us, and asked his guidance to help me through the every day trials and tribulations that life presents to us all. I also said that I was afraid that I had failed to be the man that he wanted me to become, but that I would do my best to try and do better; to attempt to be 1/2 of the person that he was. This has become my mantra, every time that I thought about him, which is daily; striving to fulfill his wishes and mine.
I know that I have done well by my children, my wife and those others who's lives I've influenced. But, as always happens when we try to compare ourselves to our heros, we fall short. And my father is, always has been and always will be my hero.
Dad, we love and miss you. Although you were taken from us over 45 years ago, you are still here in our hearts every day.
I hope that your peonies are blooming today.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Welcome to "Views from the Pit Shack"
Thanks for visiting my blog.
As you can see from reading the main page, I've been around racing for a long time. Here's a little bit of background information so that you can gain some insight into my background.
First of all, I should introduce myself. My name is Greg Soukup, sometimes better known (for better or for worse) as The Eagle Pit Shack Guy. I’ve been going to races for over 56 years now. My first experiences were as a baby at Capitol Beach Raceway, here in Lincoln, Nebraska. My father loved racing, and we went every weekend.
Of course, I didn’t really appreciate the racing the first few years that we went. BUT!!! There is no doubt that I wanted to go all the same. You see, they had an amusement park there on the grounds also!! I got to ride the rides to my heart’s content, right up until race time. Then we went to watch the likes of Lloyd Beckman run their “hoodoos” around that little track. What’s the old saying? “If only I knew then what I know now”? Well, I think that one applies to me in every way. I wish that I’d spent less time on the merry-go-round and more time watching the races.
I also was fortunate enough to be taken to the IMCA races at the Nebraska State Fairgrounds each and every fall. Those sprints, or super-modifieds, or whatever you want to call them were something to see. Sleek monsters of chrome and sheet-metal, flying around that track, throwing dust and dirt everywhere!! That’s where I developed my ever-lasting love for racing. The old hoodoos were fun, but these beasts were so far above them that I can’t to this day describe the joy which I felt while sitting there on the boards of the stands.
Unfortunately, my father was killed in the line of duty as a police officer in 1966. I still went to the State Fair every fall, and watched the racing, but it just wasn’t the same. Racing just isn’t as much fun if you don’t have someone to share it with.
Shortly after Capitol Beach fell victim to development, I started going to Eagle Raceway and Midwest Speedway and for a short time Lincoln Speedway before it also closed. What a double punch!! Saturdays at Eagle, Sundays at Midwest!!! This had to be heaven, or pretty darn close to it. Kenny Gritz, “Little Joe” Saldana, Lloyd Beckman and Gordon Wooley were a few of the A feature winners at Eagle in 1968. How’s that for name-dropping?? In the ensuing years, I would get to see other greats at Eagle, such as Thad Dosher, Dick Sutcliffe, Jan Opperman and Lonnie Jensen. Those are but a few of the all-time greats that I remember seeing. I apologize for any others I may have forgotten.
Midwest had a few of the travelers come and try out the local talent there also. Every so often Ray Lee Goodwin Jr., Ed Bowes, the 3 Drouds (Senior, Junior and Rodney), Lloyd Beckman and many others would get to test their mettle against the likes of the legendary Jan Opperman, Doug Wolfgang, and even Steve Kinser. Again, my sincere apologies for any omissions.
Probably my most profound memory of Midwest (of so many) was the night Jan Opperman pulled in, unloaded and proceeded to lap all but 1 or 2 of the cars in the A Feature. I rushed to the pits, wanting to get a peek at the man who’d performed this miracle. I’d never heard of Jan Opperman!! But, then again, I wasn’t very worldly. Remember, I’d spent my entire life in Lincoln, Nebraska.
I managed to get my first look at this scruffy, long-haired, easy-going man who’d made monkeys out of all the local big boys. I managed to overhear him as he told someone “we’d have been faster, but I dropped a cylinder in the heat race”. Makes you wonder what would have happened if he’d had all 8, doesn’t it??
Approximately 6 years ago, I got the opportunity to actually get into the races at Eagle for FREE!!! Well, I hesitated no more than the infamous New York minute before I accepted. Then I found out that they’d actually PAY me to go!! Okay, had I died and passed to the great beyond?? Nosirreebob. I found out that they actually expected me to work, but all things considered, it was still a good deal.
I’ve been there nearly every race since, greeting the racers and fans. Meeting new “racing friends”, and renewing old acquaintances from time to time. I hope that one day, you and I will have a chance to meet and become friends. So, if you’re ever at Eagle Raceway, stop by the Pit Shack and say hello. I’m always looking forward to meeting others who love this sport as much as I do.
Around that same time, I was contacted to write for a now defunct website about sprint car racing. It was very enjoyable, and I found that I had a small knack for writing. I'll try and put up a couple of the things that I wrote for the website to fill in my "writer's block" moments.
A year or so ago, an aquaintence by the name of Ron Meyer convinced me to try my hand at writing for Flat Out magazine and Justin Zoch has been gracious enough to print a few of my interviews. The first time I read my name as the byline in a national magazine about sprint car racing was indescribable!! Thanks Justin, for giving me the chance to make a couple of bucks while doing something I love.
Currently I am still working in the Pit Shack at Eagle Raceway, and doing interviews with the night's winners each week. Then I write up the story of the evening's events for posting on the website. You can keep up with all of the goings on at http://www.eagleraceway.com
I hope you enjoy my blog, and that you check back often to see what's new at Eagle Raceway. I'll also try to keep you all advised as to some of the goings-on in the world of dirt track racing.
As you can see from reading the main page, I've been around racing for a long time. Here's a little bit of background information so that you can gain some insight into my background.
First of all, I should introduce myself. My name is Greg Soukup, sometimes better known (for better or for worse) as The Eagle Pit Shack Guy. I’ve been going to races for over 56 years now. My first experiences were as a baby at Capitol Beach Raceway, here in Lincoln, Nebraska. My father loved racing, and we went every weekend.
Of course, I didn’t really appreciate the racing the first few years that we went. BUT!!! There is no doubt that I wanted to go all the same. You see, they had an amusement park there on the grounds also!! I got to ride the rides to my heart’s content, right up until race time. Then we went to watch the likes of Lloyd Beckman run their “hoodoos” around that little track. What’s the old saying? “If only I knew then what I know now”? Well, I think that one applies to me in every way. I wish that I’d spent less time on the merry-go-round and more time watching the races.
I also was fortunate enough to be taken to the IMCA races at the Nebraska State Fairgrounds each and every fall. Those sprints, or super-modifieds, or whatever you want to call them were something to see. Sleek monsters of chrome and sheet-metal, flying around that track, throwing dust and dirt everywhere!! That’s where I developed my ever-lasting love for racing. The old hoodoos were fun, but these beasts were so far above them that I can’t to this day describe the joy which I felt while sitting there on the boards of the stands.
Unfortunately, my father was killed in the line of duty as a police officer in 1966. I still went to the State Fair every fall, and watched the racing, but it just wasn’t the same. Racing just isn’t as much fun if you don’t have someone to share it with.
Shortly after Capitol Beach fell victim to development, I started going to Eagle Raceway and Midwest Speedway and for a short time Lincoln Speedway before it also closed. What a double punch!! Saturdays at Eagle, Sundays at Midwest!!! This had to be heaven, or pretty darn close to it. Kenny Gritz, “Little Joe” Saldana, Lloyd Beckman and Gordon Wooley were a few of the A feature winners at Eagle in 1968. How’s that for name-dropping?? In the ensuing years, I would get to see other greats at Eagle, such as Thad Dosher, Dick Sutcliffe, Jan Opperman and Lonnie Jensen. Those are but a few of the all-time greats that I remember seeing. I apologize for any others I may have forgotten.
Midwest had a few of the travelers come and try out the local talent there also. Every so often Ray Lee Goodwin Jr., Ed Bowes, the 3 Drouds (Senior, Junior and Rodney), Lloyd Beckman and many others would get to test their mettle against the likes of the legendary Jan Opperman, Doug Wolfgang, and even Steve Kinser. Again, my sincere apologies for any omissions.
Probably my most profound memory of Midwest (of so many) was the night Jan Opperman pulled in, unloaded and proceeded to lap all but 1 or 2 of the cars in the A Feature. I rushed to the pits, wanting to get a peek at the man who’d performed this miracle. I’d never heard of Jan Opperman!! But, then again, I wasn’t very worldly. Remember, I’d spent my entire life in Lincoln, Nebraska.
I managed to get my first look at this scruffy, long-haired, easy-going man who’d made monkeys out of all the local big boys. I managed to overhear him as he told someone “we’d have been faster, but I dropped a cylinder in the heat race”. Makes you wonder what would have happened if he’d had all 8, doesn’t it??
Approximately 6 years ago, I got the opportunity to actually get into the races at Eagle for FREE!!! Well, I hesitated no more than the infamous New York minute before I accepted. Then I found out that they’d actually PAY me to go!! Okay, had I died and passed to the great beyond?? Nosirreebob. I found out that they actually expected me to work, but all things considered, it was still a good deal.
I’ve been there nearly every race since, greeting the racers and fans. Meeting new “racing friends”, and renewing old acquaintances from time to time. I hope that one day, you and I will have a chance to meet and become friends. So, if you’re ever at Eagle Raceway, stop by the Pit Shack and say hello. I’m always looking forward to meeting others who love this sport as much as I do.
Around that same time, I was contacted to write for a now defunct website about sprint car racing. It was very enjoyable, and I found that I had a small knack for writing. I'll try and put up a couple of the things that I wrote for the website to fill in my "writer's block" moments.
A year or so ago, an aquaintence by the name of Ron Meyer convinced me to try my hand at writing for Flat Out magazine and Justin Zoch has been gracious enough to print a few of my interviews. The first time I read my name as the byline in a national magazine about sprint car racing was indescribable!! Thanks Justin, for giving me the chance to make a couple of bucks while doing something I love.
Currently I am still working in the Pit Shack at Eagle Raceway, and doing interviews with the night's winners each week. Then I write up the story of the evening's events for posting on the website. You can keep up with all of the goings on at http://www.eagleraceway.com
I hope you enjoy my blog, and that you check back often to see what's new at Eagle Raceway. I'll also try to keep you all advised as to some of the goings-on in the world of dirt track racing.
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