I’m not sure when my love for racing was ignited. The first races I remember going to were in Quincy, IL when a friend of ours, Ronnie Monroe of Hamilton, IL, raced every Sunday night. We got to know a few of the other guys who raced, including John Miller of Keokuk, IA. It was in the early 1980’s. My daughter Brandy was about 6 and my son Ben was 4. Brandy spent her time with some other little girls she made friends with who all brought their Barbies and played behind the bleachers. It was safe to let your kids out of your sight at the racetrack; everyone watched out for each other. My son Ben had a white racing suit I bought from the JC Penney Christmas catalog, that he had worn for Halloween and wore every week after. He sat on the front row of the bleachers just past the start-finish line and never moved unless he needed a food or bathroom break.
The fact that the races were on Sunday night made it a little more difficult to go every week once school started and it was almost an hour’s drive from our home in Warsaw, IL.
As the kids got a little older and were playing sports of their own, going to the races did not happen any longer. Instead it was replaced by softball and little league; swimming and playing with friends; and then in 1986 a little sister, Brittany came along, and in 1988 the final sibling, Breanne. A family of 6 kept me busy enough I didn’t miss the racing, and was involved in the community as the owner of the weekly newspaper and ceramic shop; yearbook sponsor; cheerleading coach; and sports booster president.
But in 1996 my son graduated from high school and against my insistence, he and his dad purchased a race car. It was in the garage one day when I came home and I’m pretty sure I flipped out…at least for a few weeks they tell me I didn’t speak to either one of them. Ben had found a guy in Colchester, IL that was a racing guru and he took pity on him and helped him get the car ready to race at a dirt track in Macomb, IL.
The first night he raced, my youngest daughter, Breanne, was only 8 years old. She sat on my lap and covered her ears with her hands and cried. I wanted to do the same thing but had to keep my cool for her sake!
One of the older guys who raced at the track every week thought he would show the new kid who was boss…in the feature he ran Ben into the wall. Ben didn’t know to let go of the wheel and broke his hand. #Lesson1learnedthehardway
His had ended up in a cast, but he and his buddies took a hand saw and cut it off so he could race the next week. He had a beautiful, colorful car, with his favorite #30 on the side. This was always his jersey number in basketball and baseball, and later on would remain his number for the enduro car, street stock, and late model. I think of him every time I see that number.
I moved to Michigan in 1999 with my first husband; we divorced, I survived chemo and radiation for breast cancer, and lost my mom all in 2002, and then lost my dad in 2006. I met a wonderful man in 2002 who I married in 2004. Ben moved to Michigan in the early 2000’s, and raced at Galesburg, Springport, and Kalamazoo mostly. The late model era didn’t go as well, and even though he traveled to tracks outside of Michigan first as the driver, then as the car owner with Ben Raber and Justin Claugherty as the drivers, it was a short travel era. He did win races at all three of his favorite tracks in the same year, which was one of his proudest accomplishments. Unfortunately, we lost Ben in November of 2018, just six months after losing my other “son”, Ben Raber. Going to Kalamazoo Speedway has never been the same.
END OF EPISODE ONE.
