Daily Dose of Sultnpapper 10/13/17 > .......my old friend, who almost shot Michael Jackson…..

Often I find myself reflecting back on things in the past, I’m pretty sure you do as well. Last weekend while cutting up a fallen tree from hurricane Harvey I got to thinking about a good friend of mine. I haven’t stopped and visited with him for about six months now. Let me tell you the story of how I met this friend.

Since the age of 11 I’ve been a fan of auto racing, which you might already know if you read my post on being a racist. Anyway, my friend has a legendary history in auto racing; one could make the argument that he may be the best race car driver of all time. I’d make that argument but then some might call me a prejudice racist and that is just too many damn adjectives to be labeling me with, so I won’t. I’ll leave that argument for others to take up.

In the fall of 1992 I had the pleasure of meeting my friend through his son, Jerry. I was invited by Jerry to go hunting at their family ranch down in southwest Texas, right along the Mexico border. Jerry and I had been friends for a couple years at that point in time, but I had never met his father. The hunting party consisted of Jerry and four of his guests, of which I was included, along with Jerry’s father and four of his associates from Indiana.

Jerry was a racer too and we met through a mutual friend named Mike, who was Jerry’s racing sponsor and my employer at the time. Mike was on the hunting trip as well.

Mesquite grilled steak and bake potato was the evening meal and I have to tell you Jerry’s father is one hell of a cook when it comes to steak cooked on mesquite. Big and thick juicy rib eye cooked to perfection, no A1 sauce for that meat. The baked potatoes were about the size of pee wee league footballs cooked on that fire as well. There is no better cooking wood than mesquite in my opinion. Texas is so proud of mesquite we have not one, but two towns named Mesquite. Ranchers have a love hate relationship with that tree; they hate that it can take over a pasture because it grows as fast as a weed, but it is hard wood. The thorns it produces on its branches grow to about three inches in length and will flatten a tire if you run over them, but I don’t know a rancher that doesn’t love the flavor it adds to beef.

After the meal and the chores done, we sat back down at the long table to visit and sip on a cold beer. Jerry had already called it night and had gone to bed; Jerry’s father, Mike and I were the only ones at the table. The other guests were in an adjacent living room watching a college football game on the T.V.

I couldn’t wait to hear some racing stories from the legend, Jerry’s father. Very much to my surprise the “’old man” as he is referred to by Jerry and his siblings was interested in my racing background. We conversed a little about my racing and how I ended up meeting Jerry and eventually doing the chassis set up on his race car. I believe he was giving me a little IQ test on racing based on the questions he was asking. The conversation then took a turn to the current period of time and how Jerry’s racing season had gone.

“What happened with Jerry this year? the old man asked, but before I could answer he followed up with “wasn’t he leading the points race?

Jerry’s racing season started off pretty well, and he won a few races. The competition was minimal early in the year because it was the first season for the IMCA modified class at that track. As the season progressed more cars and better drivers started showing up and things got a lot tougher. Midway through the season Jerry was leading the point championship, but finished the season in 3rd place of the final standings. Don’t get me wrong, Jerry was a decent driver but he wasn’t the caliber of his old man. In all fairness though, motor problems plagued his efforts as well.

I explained to his old man about the increase in the competition level toward the end of the season and that it was all we could do to keep the motor in one piece towards the end and allow Jerry the opportunity to race.

This is where the truths come out and trust me it wasn’t a pretty conversation.

Jerry’s old man tells me he knew the situation about the motor and that he has plenty of motors at his race shop that were more than adequate for the level of racing Jerry was competing in. Whoa partner… you already knew and now you are asking me what happened? Is this some kind of a test of my honesty? I wasn’t sure but I did know one thing, I was pissed he didn’t help Jerry and things were fixing to get ugly.

“Well if you knew then why you didn’t get off your ass and give him a motor?” was my question for the old man. I think I got the old man’s attention with that question, and if looks could kill I wouldn’t be here telling this story now.
“Jerry doesn’t need to be racing, he needs to be selling cars at my Honda dealership.” the old man barked back at me.
At this point neither of us was speaking in our normal voice levels, we hadn’t gotten into shouting match yet, but it wasn’t chit chat either and according to Mike, the folks in the other room had taken notice. Mike said every person in that room was now focused on what was taking place at the table.

The old man has a reputation of being a hot head and in his youth he would fight at the drop of hat. I didn’t know how he was going take what I had to say, but he was going to hear it, along with everyone else in the lodge.
He and I were seated directly across from each other; Mike was on my side of the table seated to my right.

Looking his old man square in the eyes I delivered my response, “Seems to me some famous race car driver I’ve read about and followed in the news all my life credits his success to the support of his father, to bad for Jerry you feel the way you do.”

Then there was silence, according to Mike it was dead silent, the guys in the other room even had muted the sound on the T.V. so they could be sure they were hearing it all as the old man and I exchanged words. The old man and I were now locked in a staring battle, in reality it lasted about 10 or 12 seconds, but it seemed much, much longer.

I didn’t know what was going to be said next, but the ball was in his court now and it was his turn. Given his reputation I wasn’t sure if he and I might be headed to more than just an exchange of words. Then his old man made his declaration, “Enough of this racing talk, let me tell you about the time I almost shot Michael Jackson in the guest room of our house on Memorial.”

I was raised better than how I acted but sometimes you make mistakes. Luckily for me his old man kept his composure and decided to take things in a totally different direction. I was relieved he came back with the Michael Jackson response. It was a damn good story too, and when he finished the story we called it a night and went to bed.

The next morning at breakfast I started to tell Jerry but there was no need to, he had gone to bed but wasn’t asleep. He said “Let it go… he (the old man) needed that, nobody ever tells him what he needs to hear, just what he wants to hear.”
I felt the need to apologize to the old man but I never got around to it that morning as we never crossed paths and I wasn’t going looking for him. Later that afternoon the only words exchanged were about the hunting.

Over the course of time we became good friends and this fall marks the 25th year of that friendship. A friendship built on mutual respect for each other. How do I know that it is built on that, you ask? A month after the hunting trip I stopped by the old man’s race shop to pick up some decals. When I introduced myself to the receptionist she said,”so you’re Jack, I’ve heard a lot about you, my brother really thinks highly of you.” She went on to say “he said you aren’t one of those kiss ass kind of people.” I had never met this woman so I asked her, “Who is your brother?”
“A J, the “old man” as Jerry refers to him” she replied, followed by a big smile.

So next week, when I am headed to Austin, I’ll stop off and see the old man at his race shop. Drink a glass tea and visit a while, maybe even get him to tell that Michael Jackson story again. The old man has some good racing stories, but I’ve heard them numerous times in the last 25 years, I’ve only heard the Michael Jackson story once.
Until next time,
@sultnpapper