He was “One Tough Customer” — the kind of storybook character you never counted out, even in the most daunting predicaments.
Somehow or another, you expected the window net to drop on that famed No. 3 Chevy — those mirrored shades and that scruffy mustache to come climbing out, to see him spitting concrete in disgust and jawing earfuls — again — about his distaste for restrictor-plate racing.
You expected the wall to back down from the smirkish grin that had taunted rear-view mirrors for so many years. You expected — you’re almost conditioned to believe — that Earnhardt was tougher than cement.
But this time he wasn’t, and immortality was replaced by the sudden realization that the magical ride was over. The white flag had fallen on a life’s last lap.
Less than a half a mile from the finish line, at the base of those treasured Daytona International Speedway high-banks, Dale Earnhardt was dead at the age of 49.
Doctors who scrambled to the scene and realized the inevitable fought back tears. They say he died instantly of a basal skull fracture. There was nothing they could do to save a man who had done so much. In the blink of an eye, NASCAR’s greatest driver had become a victim of the walls he disdained.
“I’m not sure you can measure the impact of what he meant to racing in this country, because when you picture the epitome of a race car driver, you picture Dale Earnhardt,” said Dan Davis, director of Ford Racing Technology.
The Intimidator, seven times a Winston Cup champion and 76 times a winner, was gone. “The Man in Black,” who had played an instrumental role in making NASCAR a mainstream entity, had sent millions of his fans into a period of mourning that is unrivaled in American racing.
“For a lot of fans, Dale Earnhardt was what they thought about when they thought about NASCAR racing,” said Kyle Petty, who lost son Adam to a racing accident at New Hampshire last spring. “(Earnhardt) could do so much and was so talented. He knew it, and he knew you knew it.
“That grin of his, a lot of times you wouldn’t know what he was thinking but you thought you did. And it might not mean a thing in the world, but he knew you were trying to figure it out.
“He was the last cowboy.”
Earnhardt died doing what his daddy had raised him to do — race hard to the finish.
He was, right to the tragic end, just a good ol’ boy from Kannapolis who turned passion and determination into his personal trademarks.
Earnhardt learned his trade from his father, Ralph, a hard-nosed racer himself in NASCAR’s early days. From his house on Sedan Street, Ralph Earnhardt prepared the cars he raced. From Winston-Salem to Monroe to the old Concord Speedway, the elder Earnhardt laid the framework of a hard-charging country boy whose mill town roots conditioned him as a survivor.
He taught his oldest son how hard work was the only way to get anywhere and how winning was the only thing that mattered.
Ralph Earnhardt was Dale Earnhardt’s hero. His son was 22 when he found Ralph slumped over his car in the garage — slain by a heart attack.
That event, in September 1973, likely led to much of Earnhardt’s tough-guy image. Suddenly, the father he had loved was gone, and now he, already a father of 3-year-old Kerry and 1-year-old Kelly, was left to support a family and climb the racing ladder with little money and little help.
His biggest supporter, his mother, Martha, always knew her son had inherited Ralph’s racing genes.
He worked as a welder, worked maintenance at a Denton mill and changed tires at Whitaker’s Tire and Wheel Alignment on U.S. 29 in Concord before deciding that he had to — at all costs — make a living racing.
After Earnhardt had gone into considerable debt to finance his racing, a wealthy Californian named Rod Osterlund, who fielded Chevrolets for Dave Marcis at the time, gave Earnhardt his break.
In 1979, as Richard Petty was winning the last of his seven championships, Earnhardt debuted as a full-time Winston Cup competitor for Osterlund and crew chief Jake Elder. He won in his 16th start, at Bristol, and claimed Rookie of the Year.
A year later, the 29-year-old hard-charger won the first of his seven championships. After Osterlund sold his title-winning team to J.D. Stacy, Earnhardt had a falling out and became a journeyman. He briefly drove for former driver Richard Childress’ upstart team before settling in for a short stint with veteran Bud Moore — a relationship that put Earnhardt, an eventual Chevrolet icon, into a Ford for the only time in his career.
In 1984, after three lackluster seasons, Earnhardt found his way back to Richard Childress Racing, which had gone from upstart to challenger since Earnhardt’s first stop. Childress, a racer himself in the late ‘70s who had given up driving to become a car owner, also owned the rights to the No. 3 — the number that would become synonymous with winning.
Childress put Earnhardt back in a Chevrolet with Wrangler sponsorship, and blue-and-yellow paint started to fly.
Together, Childress and Earnhardt built a dynasty from their headquarters in Welcome. They won six championships for sponsor GM Goodwrench, which jumped aboard after Wrangler dropped its primary sponsorship.
The first title came in 1986, followed by others in 1987, 1990, 1991, 1993 and 1994.
In their spare time, they hunted and fished and became inseparable as friends.
“Dale was my friend,” said Childress. “We hunted and raced together. We laughed and cried together. We were able to work side by side and have the success we had for almost 20 years because we were friends first.”
Along the way, Earnhardt shaped his image. He was the first to make his a brand name and market his own souvenirs. It led to immense wealth like no NASCAR driver had ever seen. He trademarked his call sign, “The Intimidator,” and lived up to his reputation.
Though respected by all, Earnhardt liked “frammin’ and bammin’,” as he called it, and left his share of tire marks through the years.
Whether he was trading paint with Darrell Waltrip, charging through the grass at Lowe’s Motor Speedway to get hold of Bill Elliott in The Winston, rattling Terry Labonte’s cage to win at Bristol or enjoying numerous run-ins with Geoff Bodine and Tim Richmond, Earnhardt was a tough competitor.
While legions of fans flocked to this modern-day Robin Hood, many others made it a point to shower him with boos every time P.A. announcers across the country mentioned his name.
“I hear boos and I hear cheers, and I don’t count to see which one I’m hearing most,” Earnhardt once said. “I just don’t worry about that. I am glad that the fans care enough to boo or cheer. If they did nothing, I would be in trouble.
“But, you know, the fans need a bad guy, and they need a good guy. They need them all. They are the ones who buy the tickets, and they would be pretty bored if they paid their money and then saw a bunch of damn taxi drivers out here, wouldn’t they?”
His image wasn’t tarnished by his will to succeed. In 1997, after his car had stopped turning, flipping, swerving and screeching down the backstretch at Daytona, emergency workers attempted to take Earnhardt to the infield care center. Instead, Earnhardt turned to look at his mangled Chevrolet, saw that it was still running and on four wheels, and climbed back aboard to finish the final five laps of the Daytona 500, supposedly telling track personnel to “give me my car back.”
It’s all a part of his legend. In the days following his death, mourning fans arrived from all over the country to grieve because, in so many ways, he was like a brother. For 20 years, he was in everyone’s living room for Sunday dinner. Office pools revolved around him on Monday.
He inspired others to work hard for 40 hours, so they could share a weekend with him. Earnhardt was a farmer, a sportsman, a heavy-machinery operator, a mechanic, a businessman, a conservationist, a builder, a racer, a father, a grandfather and a friend.
He was a North Carolinian who stayed true to his roots and didn’t — as the old-timers say — put on airs. Because of his wealth, he was afforded luxuries that most people will never know, but he managed to live the normal life of a fan while, at the same time, being a remarkable role model, providing incentive to many.
Ask most any kid wheeling around on a go-kart or skittering around a Carolina dirt track what they wanted to be when they grow up, and nine out of 10 wanted to be Dale Earnhardt.
Jeff Green, the 2000 Grand National Series champion, was one of those kids. When Earnhardt decided he’d had enough of racing Busch Series cars in 1994, he hired Green to drive the No. 3 Chevrolet in 1995 and 1996.
“Dale Earnhardt was to NASCAR what Elvis was to rock-n-roll,” said Green. “He meant everything to this sport. He’s my idol, what I want to be. I won’t be the only driver to tell you this, but I want to be as good as he was. That’s my focus … to get there.”
On a makeshift shrine erected this week at the Mooresville headquarters of Dale Earnhardt Inc., visitors left the following inscription: “We didn’t pull for you, but we pulled against you. Either way, we’ve all been pulled apart by tragedy, and racing will never be the same. You were one of us, and we’ll miss you.”
Humpy Wheeler, president of Lowe’s Motor Speedway and considered by many to be instrumental in NASCAR’s rising popularity, had this to say after hearing of Earnhardt’s death: “Behind that macho facade was a real sensitive individual who did a lot of things for a lot of people and didn’t want any publicity in return. He was part of a very loving family and was truly an extraordinary human being. To think he is not around anymore is incomprehensible.
“We will never fill the void left by the loss of Dale Earnhardt.”
For a kid from Kannapolis who just wanted to be “somebody,” Earnhardt was an icon — defined by principles that attracted so many to his side.
“As millions of race fans mourn the loss of the man they knew as ‘The Intimidator,’ the sport and the race that he truly loved have taken from me one of my best friends,” said Dale Jarrett. “I know I should feel fortunate that I had the opportunity to race with, tangle with, sometimes outrun, but, like most, finish behind the greatest driving talent NASCAR racing has ever seen. I am thankful for that opportunity, but more importantly, I am most grateful that I had the chance to know Dale Earnhardt in a way that so many people could only dream of knowing him.”
In a way, everyone did know him.
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