About Lincoln College

Racing Legends
Bobby Irving

It’s a beautiful early summer day in May. The racing season is about to start and Bill is heading down to his old stomping grounds where he raced for many years on the local dirt track in Lincoln before he made it to Winston Cup. As he approaches the track in his old ‘55 Chevy all he sees is a weed filled infield. The track has been partially covered in areas by grass. The grandstand is rust covered. The wooden benches are brittle, grey and old. He gets out of his car and starts to walk around what is left of the old track. He walks over and sees an old poster sign telling of the big race that was a staple every year. The sign is faded and tattered, but as his mind wanders he dreams of the inaugural event.

The track comes alive and he is in his race car. He is running great and the dirt is flying. The announcer is announcing, “Here they come out of the last turn. Bill wins. Bill wins.”

The wind picks up a metal shingle and, bang, Bill startles and is back to the present smiling. As he is walking back to his car he sees Cliff’s garage. It is still running and operating twenty-four years later to this day. He says to himself, “Boy, I wonder if he’ll remember me?”

He gets in his car and fires her off. A bang and a puff of smoke and he is off to the garage. As he approaches he remembers all the great times after a race shooting the bull with Cliff his crew chief and friends.

Bill gets there and sees Cliff working on a race car, and gets out of his car.

“Hey, is that a 454 or 396?” Bill says, walking to Cliff.

“Bill, is that you?” Cliff says in amazement.

“Yeah it’s me,” Bill says.

“Huh,” Cliff says. “It’s been a long time.”

“Well, is it a 454 or 396?” Bill says looking at the car.

“A 396, of course. You know that’s what we used in yours,” Cliff says as he cranks on the carb bolts.

“You saw the race Sunday,” Bill says. “Was a good Daytona 500.”

“Yeah, I saw. Your favorite driver number 8 caught fire. That was as sorry sight him scramblin in all,” Cliff says. “You had many in your career.”

“Darn, man, don’t remind me,” Bill says looking at the old trophies on the dusty yellow wall.

“Is that one of the reasons you retired after the one at Daytona?” Cliff says. He is putting the hood down now.

“Kind of. It made me realize that I had more to do in life and having a bad back and leg didn’t help either,” Bill says.

“You could have come back, you know,” Cliff says.

“I’m back now,” Bill says.

“We got a new track down at the fairgrounds. Puts on a good show,” Cliff says as he washes his hands.

“I read about it in your letter,” Bill says.

“Oh,” Cliff says.

“I can still remember those races. They were great ones, but I had good success in Cup as well. Won six races including the Southern 500,” Bill says.

“You sound as if you want to still go for a couple miles even though you haven’t raced since ’95,” Cliff says. He starts to sit down. “Take a load off.”

Bill sits down. “Comfy,” Bill says.

“Didn’t answer my question,” Cliff says.

“Yeah, I still may have an itch that needs to be scratched,” Bills says. “Don’t get me wrong, I did the right thing then, but I’ve healed up. Feel like I am thirty.”

“Forty-eight I believe to be exact,” Cliff says laughing.

“Yeah. Yeah. Very funny,” Bill says.

“I got this car right here and a crew to boot if yer ready to go,” Cliff says.

“I don’t know,” Bill says.

“It’ll be fun tearing the snot out of those whippersnappers.” Cliff says. “Teach them a lesson or two about respect.”

“Is she fast?” Bill says.

“Very fast,” Cliff says. “Put on a new coat and your number with a fresh overall.”

“Alright, when is the race?” Bill says.

“Friday and it’s the big one,” Cliff says.

“The big one?” Bill says with a smile on his face.

“Yep,” Cliff says.

“Well I better get ready. Tomorrow’s Friday,” Bill says.

“Yeah, you better,” Cliff says. “I didn’t build her for nothing.”

“Alright, see you Friday,” Billy says. He starts to run toward his Chevy giddy with excitement.

“Bye, Bill,” Cliff says.

“See ya,” Bill says.

“Oh wait here is a letter for you. Never got a chance to send it out. ‘Bout this race car.”

The night seems to go fast for Bill and he gets to the track early. Cliff is there with the car and no crew.

“Where’s the crew?” Bill asks.

“They’ll be here. Just get ready. Tonight’s your big night to be a legend again,” Cliff says.

The crew arrives an hour later with Cliff MIA. The crew is from his old team. They are amazed it’s him because all they were told is an old timer needed some help getting his groove back tonight. They whole crew asks, “I thought you retired.” Bill gives them the explanation except about Cliff.

Night approaches fast. The crew gets the car set up as fast as they can. The pace is intense. Almost like everything is on fast forward. The crew and Bill get out on the line ready for the start. There’s Cliff waiting.

“What took ya so long?” Cliff says.

“Where have you been?” Bill asks.

“Been right here,” Cliff says. “Get in the car, the lady is about to sing the Star Spangled Banner!”

Bill gets in and gets his helmet on. The usual commencements begin. The marshal for tonight’s big race gives the command, “Gentlemen, start your engines!” The crowd roars. Bill lets out a sigh. Starts the engine and grabs the shifter and pulls into first gear getting the car going at a crawl for the pace laps. The flagman waves the green flag. He is off.

Bill sweating with fear is in the back of the pack. He is panting afraid of what might happen to him. Then he sees Cliff in the pits nodding his head and yelling, “Go, man, go!”

Bill then calms down and his fear is somehow gone. He floors it and terrorizes the field just like he used to when he was a kid racing on the old quarter mile dirt. The laps wind down and Bill is soon fighting for the lead. Beating and banging with the leader. It comes down to the final lap. Out of turn four Bill lets out, “This is for Cliff,” and moves the black car up the track just like an Earnhardt would do winning the race as they battle side by side across the line.

Bill wheels the car into victory lane. He and the crew are celebrating. The fans are cheering. Then he sees Cliff with a smile on his face.

“You did good, Billy Boy. Real good,” Cliff says and then turns and starts to walk away into the crowd vanishing away.

Bill still smiling jumps off the car into the crowd trying to catch Cliff, but reaches the end and no Cliff in sight. He runs back to his crew and is somewhat spooked because he can’t find his friend and mentor.

“ Where is Cliff!” Bill says. “I got to tell him thanks.”

“ He’s gone,” Bill’s friend Darrel says.

“ What? Gone where?” Bill says with astonishment.

“ He’s been dead for about three years. Right about the time you left he was diagnosed with a heart ailment. Gave up the sport and just ran the garage,” Darrel says.

“ Then what was I driving?” Bill asks. He is now pale white trying to remember what date Cliff had written the letter to him.

“ That’s the last car he built. They found him next to it dead of heart attack. Had a letter in his overhauls when he died. No one ever knew who to send it out to,” Darrel says.

“ Thanks,” Bill says, now holding the letter Cliff just gave him.

“You alright,” Darrel asks. “Looks like you just seen a ghost.”

“I’m okay,” Bill says now opening the letter and tears starting to well up.

Dear Bill, Hope you enjoy the car and it has your number on it. Three of course. I just hope it can bring some joy into your life like it did building it for me.

P.S. Hope to see you someday.

Sincerely, Cliff.

Tears rolling now, Bill thinks of all the good times he shared and looks towards the old dilapidated garage.

“ See you around, Cliff,” Bill says with smile as a star streaks across the night sky.

About the Author:
Bobby wrote this short story, a ghost story set in Lincoln, Illinois, for his Creative Writing class at Lincoln College.

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