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TIME: Almanac 1995
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TIME Almanac 1995.iso
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<text id=90TT2005>
<title>
July 30, 1990: Real-Life Days Of Thunder
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1990
July 30, 1990 Mr. Germany
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
SPORT, Page 55
Real-Life Days of Thunder
</hdr>
<body>
<p>A Southern folkway no more, stock-car racing revs up nationally
</p>
<p>By David E. Thigpen
</p>
<p> Like many Americans, Rusty Wallace likes to take the car for
a spin on a Sunday afternoon. But Wallace is hardly your
typical Sunday driver out on a jaunt in the countryside.
Helmeted, buckled up and clad in a fireproof jumpsuit, he
averages about 150 m.p.h. in his 670-horsepower gold-on-black
Pontiac and is usually hotly pursued by a roaring pack of
heavily decaled Chevys, Fords and Chryslers. A Wallace outing,
in short, is like a scene from the current Tom Cruise movie
about stock-car racing, Days of Thunder. And no wonder: Wallace
is the world-champion stock-car driver, and his weekend driving
last year earned him six victories and a record $2.2 million.
</p>
<p> Days of Thunder has focused new attention on an old sport
that is undergoing rapid transformation. Once a passion solely
for the male tank-top, tattoo and feed-cap set in the rural
South, stock-car racing is now going nationwide and upscale.
This year more than 3 million fans in 16 states from Florida
to Michigan to California will attend 29 races staged by the
National Association of Stock-Car Auto Racing. That is more
spectators per event than is averaged by pro football and major
league baseball combined. Nearly 40% of audience members are
women, up from 25% eight years ago. Televised coverage of this
year's Daytona 500, the biggest race of the nine-month
circuit, drew a higher rating than the National Basketball
Association play-offs.
</p>
<p> All of which is a long way from stock-car racing's roots in
moonshining. During the 1930s and '40s, drivers running corn
whisky from backwoods stills to thirsty customers needed their
cars to be a little lighter and quicker than the sheriff's in
order to remain in business. Bootleggers like the legendary
Junior Johnson of Ronda, N.C., took to tearing out the radios,
door handles, glass and backseats from "stock" cars (i.e.,
directly off showroom floors) and muscling up the engines in
their own garages. Although Johnson had to take an enforced
break from driving to serve a 10-month bootlegging sentence,
his road skills won him 50 races on the NASCAR circuit. A cult
developed around him and other cavalier drivers who flouted the
law, pocketed good money, spit tobacco and always had great
tales to tell.
</p>
<p> But what was fascinating and colorful about stock-car racing
also helped keep the sport provincial. "People used to think
of stock-car driving as the kind of thing where you roll your
cigarettes up in your sleeve and go out for a Saturday night
bash-up," recalls Wallace, 33, whose fresh face suggests a
fast-track Wall Street trainee rather than a fast-lane white
knuckler. "The side of your car usually had something like
JOE'S GARAGE on it."
</p>
<p> Big advertisers were the first to notice the changing
audience and begin pumping money into the sport. The $6 million
aggregate winners' purse of a decade ago has ripened into a
juicy $21 million. Racing teams now have 30 full-time employees
and budgets of $2 million a year. Four drivers besides Wallace
topped $1 million in earnings last year, a record. The profits
have helped expand the circuit. A $30 million track has just
opened in Loudon, N.H., and others are planned for Palm
Springs, Calif., and Albuquerque. Improved engine technology
and better drivers have pushed straightaway speeds over 210
m.p.h., making stock-car racing one of the most fast-moving and
dangerous sports in the world. Daredevil driving aces like
Wallace, Richard Petty and Dale Earnhardt think nothing of
going bumper-to-bumper while hurtling down the speedway at
upwards of three miles a minute.
</p>
<p> Fans gladly pay anywhere from $3 to $63 for an afternoon of
racing, which, as in the sport's earlier days, often entails
lawn chairs, coolers and daylong family picnics on the track
infield. "Going to a race is like going to a carnival," says
Michael Daly, 24, a grocery bagger from Wakefield, Mass. "You
can get passes to pit row before the start and meet the drivers
and the crews. Try getting them to let you into the locker room
at a football game." Karen Caywood, 34, a housewife in Mount
Sterling, Ky., attends four to six races a year with her
husband and daughter. "I don't come to see any bang-up
crashes," she says. "I like the close racing and the battle of
those guys trying to get around each other at 180 m.p.h. In
baseball and football it's two teams against each other, but
out here it's one driver against 40 others. And the cars look
just like the ones people come to the track in." Well, yes.
Sort of the way the spectators look just like Tom Cruise.
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>