Racing with Faith

By Danny Burton

On the surface, auto racing and faith would not be two subjects that go together. But after reading Racing with Faith, one will see how the two can come together to offer readers different ways to look at racing and faith. The twenty-two stories that make up Racing with Faith end with Bible verses that join racing and faith together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Aug 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781973633679

Book preview

Loyalty Rewarded

All too often, being a country girl has meant a life of poverty and hard times. Too many girls growing up in southeastern Kentucky in the 1960s stayed in the area, carrying on in much the same way as their parents and grandparents did, eking out a hardscrabble living in an area dominated by the coal mining industry. This was good news only for those who owned one or more of the mines that dotted the mountainsides and ravaged the land. For the people who dug out the black gold, life consisted of one dreary day after another.

Most outsiders made the common mistake of looking down on the so-called ignorant hillbillies, the stereotyped perception of those living in this area, who were mostly of Scotch-Irish descent. By buying into this stereotype, they missed some admirable qualities of these people. These folks were unmatched in their bravery and courage, which they displayed day after day when entering the mines. Whenever the United States went to war—any war—these people sent their sons off to foreign lands to fight. And they fought well. Their courage and service led to a fierce loyalty to the causes they were devoted to, whether national or local.

This loyalty would eventually bring untold rewards to a young girl named Ruth Nichols, but it would be many more years before that would happen. She would endure pain and hardship, to be sure, but there would be joy and triumph as well. And racing would play a major role in her journey.

Ruth didn’t get to see many races in person while growing up—at least not the races contested on oval tracks. But she was very aware of a cousin who hauled moonshine and was considered a skilled moonshiner, eluding police as he negotiated the narrow and dangerous roads of the area. It was just as well that she never accompanied her cousin, for he met an unfortunate end when he swerved to miss a tree limb on a Kentucky back road and crashed to his death.

This didn’t faze Ruth, who was thirteen at the time of her cousin’s demise. Early death was no stranger to southeastern Kentucky, then or now. When her father finally purchased a television in the early 1960s, Ruth saw occasional NASCAR races—or, to be more accurate, highlights of various NASCAR races on the Wide World of Sports, on Saturday afternoons. The girl was hooked. She immersed herself in anything racing related, especially the stock cars that dominated the short-track racing scene in her part of the world. Resources were limited to racing-related newspapers received in the mail, along with the rare newspaper articles about racing. Before long, Ruth talked her father into going to the racetrack closest to their home to see a live race.

One of her trips to this track changed her life forever. Marlon Dunigan, the young man who had become her favorite driver was nineteen years old—only three years older than Ruth, who was now sixteen. Marlon raced on Saturday nights, at 171 Speedway, a three-eighths-mile dirt oval—and he was good. Folks talked about Marlon trying his luck at moving up in class, competing against people who did this for a living.

The last race of this particular year at 171, as the locals called it, was on a warm September night. Ruth usually went to the races with her parents, and on this occasion, they happened to sit near Marlon’s aunt and uncle. Introductions, followed by sporadic conversations, ensued. By night’s end, Marlon had won his eighth feature of the year in the dirt late-model class, and Ruth was invited by Marlon’s aunt and uncle to visit the pits and meet her favorite driver. Fortunately, Ruth’s parents were agreeable to this, so the young lady went to meet a young man who would play a major role in changing her life.

Ruth inwardly kicked herself for being so shy, but she didn’t know at first that Mr. Dunigan was smitten as well. By the time she rejoined her parents, she had shared her phone number and address—a post office box—with her favorite driver.

Over the winter, the couple kept in contact through a steady correspondence via mail and conversations over the phone.

Ruth learned that Marlon had plans to do some more traveling the following year. She wondered if her connection with Marlon would continue.

For his part, Marlon wondered the same thing about Ruth.

While Ruth worried about all the girls who would be cheering for Marlon and, perhaps, angling to see him either after or between races, Marlon worried that Ruth would become attracted to one of his racer buddies at 171. But their correspondence continued. What’s more, when Marlon called Ruth’s house, he would end up in conversation with her parents, establishing a bond with them as well. Ruth’s parents would have been pleased at this point to have the young couple marry, but they would have to wait a while.

Marlon’s success continued. He got a lucky break when a car owner who raced part-time in NASCAR’s second rung, the Busch Series, noticed him. Despite Marlon’s total lack of experience on pavement, this owner saw something in the young lion with an uncommon ability to control a car, adapt to different conditions, and face adversity.

Marlon was headed to NASCAR the following year. Even though it was not the top rung, his future looked bright.

So did Ruth’s. Always a good student, she graduated near the top of her class and won a scholarship to Berea College, where she would major in elementary education.

Of equal importance, the couple’s correspondence continued, with occasional visits when their schedules permitted.

Soon after Ruth graduated, at Marlon’s insistence, she met his parents. Both had been supportive of his racing efforts, helping as much as a self-employed mechanic and a librarian could. The first meeting was nerve-racking for the young lady, and she nearly lost her lunch on the way to their house. But she got a lucky break. Orval and Nadine Dunigan were a happy couple devoted to each other and their children: Marlon and his three younger sisters. They accepted Ruth in rapid fashion after hearing so much about her from their son.

After Marlon spent two years in NASCAR’s second rung—the Busch Series—he and his car owner, Ben Marsden (who also owned a furniture store), found a sponsor to run the Winston Cup schedule. It wouldn’t be for the whole season, but Marsden kept on the lookout for more sponsors, in the hope that they could run all the races on the schedule.

Now having a degree of financial security, Marlon Dunigan asked Ruth to marry him, and she answered as soon as he said the word me. They were married in the church where Ruth had grown up, and it was the social event of the year in Parker County. The young couple would spend their honeymoon in—where else?—Daytona Beach, Florida, where Marlon Dunigan would make his Winston Cup debut.

The season’s opening Daytona 500 went well for the rookie. He stayed out of trouble, finished twelfth, and, even more important, won the respect of his peers. The young man was off and running. But the good times were about to turn sour.

In mid-April, on a rain-slicked mountain road, Ruth’s parents were killed in an automobile accident when their car struck a fallen rock. Ruth’s grief was unbearable. She felt unable to go on, but go on she must. Day by day, she worked her way through the heartache. Then, she caught a break.

Ruth had always had a good relationship with her still-new mother-in-law. Soon after the funeral, Marlon’s parents made Ruth a generous offer to move out of her and Marlon’s two-bedroom apartment and into the Dunigans’ house, a rambling four-bedroom split-level just west of Charlotte, North Carolina. For the rest of Marlon’s rookie year, they would live there. The relationship between the two women, always good, blossomed into true friendship. When the time came that Marlon and Ruth decided to move, they found a suitable house about five miles away, near King’s Mountain.

On track, Marlon didn’t win any races his rookie year, but he had enough good finishes to place tenth in the point standings and easily win rookie-of-the-year honors. He and Ben Marsden picked up a quality sponsor, a fast-food chain that was prominent in the southeastern part of the United States. They now had the resources to make it possible for Marlon to win races and championships.

The race wins began to occur with increasing frequency as Marsden assembled a group of hardworking, and sometimes hard-partying, young men who were motivated to win—as was their driver. The team was flying high, and Marlon was their guy, the one who told them every chance he could how much he appreciated their efforts.

Marlon’s tenth Winston Cup win came in his third season. It was close to home, at the Charlotte Motor Speedway. Also of note, Ruth gave birth to Samuel Charles Dunigan, named after his maternal grandfather. He was born while his father was qualifying for the six hundred-mile race he would win two days later.

The next few years were like a lovely dream that seemed to have no end. Another child, a girl named Mary Alice Dunigan, was born nearly three years after her doting big brother. This was on a cold day in February, in Charlotte. Daddy Marlon had flown up from Daytona to be there. Once mother and daughter were doing well enough for Marlon to leave, he did. The following Sunday, weary and short of sleep, Marlon Dunigan won his first Daytona 500.

Countless media invitations came to the seemingly ideal young couple. TV shows, magazines, and newspapers all vied for an exclusive story. Marlon’s agent, a fast-talking New York City street kid named Izzy Horowitz, sifted through the requests for interviews and/or photos, the would-be sponsors, and the charity organizations that wanted Marlon to endorse them. Izzy and Marlon, the odd couple of NASCAR, were a great team. They constantly exchanged good-natured insults to hide their love for each other. Marlon’s children grew up calling him Uncle Izzy. It wasn’t totally inaccurate.

The years passed, and Marlon completed his seventh season of Winston Cup racing. The still-young man seemed to have it all. He had success on the track, was a perennial contender for a cup championship, and had the potential to win any race he entered. He had a great wife and two fine children, and a dedicated race team led by a quietly determined owner who treated his employees like his own family. Perhaps most important of all, Marlon Dunigan had the respect and admiration of his peers.

But no one on earth is immune from the down times, and Dunigan and company were no exception. Marlon’s father, Orval, was at home one January afternoon, changing the oil in his favorite truck, when he died suddenly of a heart attack. Marlon was at Daytona, testing for the following month’s 500, when he heard the news. As expected, this hit Marlon hard. His father had been his first and biggest supporter as Marlon moved through each level of competition. By the standards of many, Marlon’s eighth season would have been a success, but Marlon didn’t see it that way. He carried his grief all season, finishing ninth in points and winning only two races—his worst season since his rookie year.

Marlon’s mother, Nadine, decided to sell her house. It was a given that she would look for a smaller house located even closer to her grandchildren and her eldest daughter, Lydia, who lived in nearby Shelby. Lydia was expecting her first child in early July—or, as she put it, During the Daytona race on the Fourth. Nadine found a nice two-bedroom house that could accommodate grandkids of any age. It was only a few miles from where Marlon and Ruth lived. Nadine would visit Ruth frequently, especially when Marlon was off racing, anywhere from New Hampshire to California. Nadine was content now, despite the loss of her husband. She pondered the events of the past few years that had brought her to where she was. The losses of people who meant much to her still pained her, usually at night when she was home alone. But she had faith and knew that when the morning came, it was time to get up and face living for another day.

Occasionally, Ruth would reflect on her own life. She knew how fortunate she was to have such a wonderful family and all the material blessings she and hers enjoyed. But she also knew how fleeting the good times were, and how it could all disappear in a heartbeat. She intuitively knew that it would be good to be prepared for the worst, as those closest to her could be taken; she had seen that happen too many times.

Sadly, that day would come much sooner than Ruth ever thought it would. Marlon Dunigan, age thirty-seven, was fatally injured in a vicious crash in Atlanta. His car was hit on the driver’s side by another car, which plowed into his stationary Chevrolet. The reports said that Marlon died instantly.

The racing world mourned. The outpouring of sympathy from family, friends, racing people, and fans overwhelmed Ruth, her children, and Nadine. Though she had been prepared as well as anyone could be, the sudden loss stretched Ruth’s willpower to its limit. She wanted to disappear, but that was both unlikely and impractical. She still had her children to care for. And there was also her mother-in-law, dealing with her own grief.

Then came the day when Nadine invited Ruth over for lunch. Nadine intended to tell her daughter-in-law that she would understand if Ruth wished to move back to Kentucky with the kids, to be close to her own family. Ruth sat stoically as her mother-in-law spoke, not indicating how she felt. Finally, Nadine finished and asked Ruth what her thoughts were.

Ruth said, Momma (her usual way of addressing Nadine), you must be kidding. This is home for me and the kids. King’s Mountain is the only home they know, and it’s become mine too. I have no thoughts of leaving, and I’ll give you another reason why. It’s you. I cannot turn my back on you; when I think of my family, I think of you. If you were to move, why, I’d pack up the kids and move with you. And if you stay here, the kids and I will too. Face it, Momma. You’re stuck with us.

Nadine felt the tears but could not verbalize her feelings. She didn’t need to do so. Nadine’s tears told Ruth how her mother-in-law felt. After much discussion and soul searching, they decided that Naomi would sell her house and move in with Ruth. Their friends and acquaintances enjoyed telling them that they acted like mother and daughter, or even like sisters. They carried on.

The years passed, and the youngest of Marlon and Ruth’s two children went off to college. When she was in first grade, Mary Alice told her daddy that she wanted to be a teacher, just like her mommy had once been. Mary Alice followed through on pursuing elementary and secondary education, making it plain that she wanted to go where her mother had gone to school: Berea College. Ruth drove to the campus while Mary Alice slept, then helped unload her belongings. After a tearful but hope-filled good-bye, Ruth headed back to King’s Mountain.

A widow with no children at home, she toyed with the idea of going back to school herself, but it was years since she had taught, and she wasn’t sure that she would be up to the challenges of present-day teaching.

One day, while in casual conversation with Nadine, one of them spoke of gardening. Ruth’s interest was piqued. She began doing some homework on gardening. The property around their house had plenty of room for a garden. When the springtime came, she was ready. Some local gardeners had banded together to come up with a community garden. Each member of the club had a certain area to plant anything of their choice. Ruth, along with Nadine, joined this club. They found themselves enjoying the experience more than they had believed could be possible, despite the effort involved in maintaining two small gardens.

One warm May afternoon, Nadine visited the community garden without Ruth, which wasn’t unusual. But on this day, she noticed a man, a few years younger than she, silently working at pulling weeds. Nadine tried not to stare, but this gentleman looked vaguely familiar. As she was finishing her work, it came to her. She was sure the gentleman was a distant relative of her late husband, Orval.

Beauregard Beau Thibault was a man who had been part of the NASCAR scene off and on for the past twenty years, mostly on the West Coast. Beau had driven for a while but found his calling in the behind-the-scenes duties, working as a promoter, a PR person, and even serving as a flagman more than once. Beau had been around.

Nadine approached the man cautiously, even though he had a friendly and affable demeanor.

He looked up, quizzical at first, then offered a friendly smile.

Nadine spoke first. Hello. I’m Nadine Dunigan. My husband’s name was Orval.

That did it. Beau’s smile grew wider, and he said, Well, I’ll be. I remember you, Nadine. How have you been? I know it’s been really tough for you these past few years.

Nadine smiled bravely and said, It’s been tough at times, yes, but we’re getting by.

The next fifteen minutes or so were spent catching up. Beau had been divorced for thirteen years. He was semiretired, worked part-time for one of the Winston Cup teams, and was enjoying himself. He broke out the obligatory pictures of his children (three daughters and two sons) and grandchildren (eleven and counting). One of the grandsons looked enough like Nadine’s late husband Orval to make her heart skip a beat. She told Beau this. He could only smile some more and say that he understood.

Just before their meeting ended, Nadine decided to tell Beau that she lived with her daughter-in-law, Ruth, Marlon’s widow.

Beau smiled and shared a memory he had of Marlon back in the day.

Nadine decided to take a chance. She invited Beau to come over someday, for dinner or at least to visit.

Beau was noncommittal, not wishing to meet any single women for the time being.

They said their good-byes and went to their respective homes.

A few weeks later, Nadine persuaded Ruth to accompany her to the community garden to help with the weeds. As if by design, Beau was there, tending to his tomatoes. Nadine, reveling in her role as matchmaker, marched up to Beau. Ruth followed her mother-in-law somewhat reluctantly. Beau didn’t notice either of the women.

Good morning, Beau. Nadine opened the introductions with prudence.

Beau looked up and answered, Hi, Nadine. Nice to see you.

Nadine continued, Beau, I’d like you to meet Ruth, my daughter-in-law. Ruth, this is Beau. He’s a distant relation to Orval.

Beau stood up and wiped his hands on his pants. He stuck out his hand and said, Hello, Ruth. Nadine has spoken well of you.

Ruth blushed a little but was able to answer without stammering. Hello, Beau. Nadine has spoken well of you too.

A brief but uneasy silence commenced.

Nadine came to the rescue, piping up, Ruth, why don’t you help Beau with his tomatoes? Maybe he will have some pointers on how to raise them. I’m going over there to visit with Mrs. Sheldon for a bit before I check on my garden.

With that, Nadine was gone before either Ruth or Beau could speak. They stood there awkwardly for a moment, and then Beau broke the silent spell.

She is sure a smooth operator, isn’t she Ruth? He grinned.

Ruth had to smile. But she means well, Beau. Ever since Marlon was killed, she has watched me like a hawk. But she does it in a way that I can’t say I mind. I know how she feels, and maybe that’s what is important.

From there, the two began talking about a variety of subjects, including Ruth’s late husband (whom Beau had met a few times over the years) and Beau’s ex-wife. An hour later, Beau left the community garden, but not before obtaining Ruth’s phone number.

Two weeks later, they went on their first date. Nadine beamed as Ruth left with Beau for a nice restaurant over in Charlotte. From there, things blossomed. Eleven months later, Ruth became Mrs. Ruth Thibault. Nadine was the proud, though nervous, matron of honor. Sam Dunigan, the image of his late father, gave the bride away. Mary Alice Dunigan, engaged to a member of one of the top Winston Cup teams, was also in the wedding party.

Ruth would not be living with her friend/mother-in-law anymore. But the friendship stayed true to the end. Through the good times and the bad, they had each other.

Don’t urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if even death separates you and me.

—Ruth 1:16–17

David Takes the High Road

Life had been one struggle after another for David Teeter. But the young man had overcome more than one obstacle and always soldiered on until the next one came along.

His father had deserted David and his mother eighteen years before, when David was only three. But his mom was made of stern stuff, and she and her son persevered. Finally, when David was seven, he and his mom caught a break. She remarried, and David’s new stepdad, Marv Willis, was a keeper. He formally adopted David and raised him as his own.

It just so happened that Marv was a serious auto-racing fan, and he was only too happy to take the little guy to the races, usually at the Lawrenceburg Speedway. Soon enough, David Willis was hooked. Most every time his dad went to a race, David was there with him.

The years passed, and David never outgrew his love of racing. Though his parents loved him, it was clear that if he wanted to go racing, he’d be pretty much on his own. This would be a challenge, even an obstacle, but David was already used to such trials.

A year or two after graduating from high school, David enrolled in a vocational school and found his calling. He had always enjoyed tinkering with any kind of machine. Thanks to his dad, he was a racer in the making. With encouragement from his parents, he began buying a pit pass at Lawrenceburg and hanging around various race teams. He had been saving his dollars from his first job and quietly asked around about buying a race car.

Lacy Pulaski had a very different upbringing. Her parents had been married for more than thirty years, and her father was the small city’s mayor. She was a bit of a rebel, but a good-natured one—a rare quality in rebels. Her choice of continuing education after high school was unconventional for a so-called well-born young lady. But she was a promising artist and found herself in the same vocational school as David. They met in the cafeteria and soon found common ground.

It soon became evident that David would only have the bucks for a mini stock car, an ideal start for a low-buck racer. But he found a car after hearing that one of the guys was selling out. A family friend gave David a trailer. Lacy was a creative painter and did a quality job of lettering and numbering the car. David’s dad had a friend who scrounged up some tires.

Soon it was April: time for David’s debut in the mini-stock class at the Lawrenceburg Speedway. Lacy and his parents would be the pit crew.

His first heat race went well, all things considered. The promoter quietly suggested to David that he start last, seeing that this track was a challenge for even the most-experienced racers. After some gentle persuasion from his dad, David agreed. And from the back row, he finished fifth, passing two cars after a third dropped out.

Between races, David, his parents, and Lacy did what they could to get the car ready for the feature. About all they could do was make sure there was enough fuel in the tank and check the tires. With no B Main, David’s fifth place finish in his heat race had put him in the eighth row. David was boosted by the promoter, who ambled over to tell him he wouldn’t have to move to the tail; his smoothness in his heat had earned him the beginning of some respect.

David’s debut was going well until he became a victim of the dreaded racer’s luck. He had come from thirteenth to eighth when the engine started making terrible noises midway through the fifteen-lap feature. Quickly he decided to pull into the infield. From there, he watched the rest of the race. As people are fond of saying, That’s racin’.

He sat out for three weeks while making repairs to the engine. Progress was slow but sure, as David’s rookie season was a summer school of sorts. By the end of May, he had earned his first top-five feature finish. He was starting to get attention—for all the right reasons. He stayed out of trouble on and off the track. His quiet but friendly demeanor won him new friends and acquaintances. Most nights, his pit crew consisted of him and Lacy, with his friend Jonny showing up once in a while.

As July rolled around, David was a contender to win a feature. But a crash on a hot July night changed things. Repairs were expensive, and David missed two more races. It was looking bad for David Willis Racing … at least for a while.

In the meantime, the mini-stock point leader, Goran Herakovich, was having his way most weekends. At one point, he won four features in a row. The more the strapping young man won, the fans started to boo him.

Goran Herakovich was quite a story himself. Born in war-torn Bosnia, he came to America as an infant with his parents. His English was nearly accent-free, but it was foreign enough for race fans to have another reason to root against an indifferent villain. Goran happened to be a husky young man, and, for whatever reason, some folks didn’t like that either. But the rumors that swirled around the talented young racer were the most damning. The talk in the pits was that he was cheating, though this had yet to be proved.

Labor Day weekend rolled around, and, finally, David, with a little help from his parents, Lacy, and Jonny, had fixed the car. The Lawrenceburg schedule included a special race for the mini-stock class, one that would pay double. At the time, five hundred dollars was nothing to sneeze at. Quite possibly, some cherry pickers would show up, hoping to outrun the regulars.

The Saturday night before Labor Day saw thirty-five mini stocks sign in, including the Willis team. As David and Lacy parked the trailer, a few competitors and others waved.

David exited the truck. He began to get the car off the trailer when he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Goran Herakovich. The two young men had not exchanged more than a dozen words all summer. Usually, that was just mutual hellos.

Welcome back, David.

David was taken aback somewhat.

Thanks, Goran. David managed to add, "Good luck