OneDirt

Ok, you’re going to have to bear with me on this. Are you ready? For this story to make any sense, you need to know that I was born and raised my first ten years in New Mexico. Southern New Mexico, to be exact. Almost on the border in Carlsbad. My family picked up roots and moved to Illinois when I was 10-years old. A place called Peoria. Real big city surrounded by farming communities. The biggest thing in Peoria at the time was the Caterpillar Tractor company. The next biggest thing was dirt track racing.

The Month Of May

It seemed like dirt track racing happened from the last snow of winter to the first snow in fall. And May… my God, it was the only time that the Illini and Hoosiers got along. For the entire month, citizens of Indiana and Illinois were all focused on the Indianapolis 500. Not like today when the entire event takes place in two weeks. In the seventies, May was the Indianapolis 500.

Parnelli Jones and J.C. Agajanian in 1962 at Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Photo from IndianapolisMotorSpeedway.com

There were drivers trying new cars and new teams. The new cars were testing from the start of the month to just hours before the great race. Daily stories came out concerning who was doing what. Sundays, the radio was filled with Indy news. Right after the Sunday morning “Baptist Power Hour” sermon on the local radio station, race news began and we all gathered around to hear what was going on. Indianapolis was the center of the universe during that time.

I grew up idolizing many of these daring men that challenged the brickyard, but there were two that I wanted to grow up to become. Mark Donahue, who was known as “Mr. Nice” and Parnelli Jones, the fierce competitor. Donahue always seemed to have an ear to ear grin on his face as he raced. Parnelli always seemed to have an intensely focused look.

Mark Donohue winning at Pocono Raceway in 1971. Photo by racing photographer Ted Van Pelt.

The Death Of One Of My Heroes

Donahue loved to drive, and he was successful at it. Tragically, he died as a result of a crash overseas in foreign country called Australia in 1975. To this day whenever I hear Mark Donahue’s name, I mentally picture his ear-to-ear grin behind the wheel.

Parnelli still has that intense look of a competitor.

Parnelli Jones moved on to other types of racing in the late 60′s but it always seemed like he was at the brickyard every May. He was always so cool with that flat top haircut and piercing blue eyes. An American with an Italian sounding name. A name that just sounded fast. When Parnelli moved on and Donahue passed away, the excitement of Indy faded for me, but the love of my heroes didn’t. To this day whenever I hear Parnelli Jones’ name, my mind automatically adds ”a great American and childhood hero” behind it.

I’ve been lucky enough to build and own several dirt track cars throughout the years. Without fail, every time I buckled into the racing seat, I became Parnelli Jones. That is to say that I pretended to be the great driver and took on his personality. No-nonsense.

Pretending to be Parnelli allowed me to win some races and Championships. Nothing at the level or caliber of the real Parnelli, but it felt like it to me.

Jones laughs with fellow legends Ed Pink (l) and Ed Iskenderian (r).

Meeting Parnelli

Last Saturday night I was covering a charity event at Vic Edelbrock’s garage in Torrance, California, where I was able to meet many of the racing industry’s legends. As luck would have it, I met Parnelli Jones, a great American and childhood hero.”

There was no doubt about it, I was star-struck and not all the right words came out, but I was able to tell Parnelli that I pretended to be him whenever I was behind the wheel of a racecar, and that had helped me win a few races.

Meeting my heroes at Edelbrock's Legendary Gala on March 5, 2012. From right to left: George Follmer, Bobby Kimbrough and Parnelli Jones.

Mr. Jones was probably embarrassed that a fifty-something year old man was acting like a teenage girl at a BackStreet Boys concert, but for me it was like coming home again… at least in my mind.

This Memorial weekend, I’ll sit down and watch the Indianapolis 5oo. It won’t be the same as it was when the race was in its prime, but I’ll still think about the greats and the great races of the past. I’ll think about the time I met Parnelli Jones, “a great American and childhood hero.”