by Doug Draper
A couple of men with bushy beards and hunting caps stood next to the boys. When Ben shouted, they looked at him and grinned. The man nearest to Ben tipped his beer can at him and said, “Son, you must be crazy cheering for that driver. He’s never raced before.”
“I’m not crazy. That’s my dad and there’s nobody on that track with a faster car. I know because I helped him build it.”
“Is that really your dad?”
“Yes, sir,” Ben said with pride.
“Then, we’re cheering for him too. I’m Curtis and this here’s my buddy, Tom.”
Curtis and Tom switched their attention to the track and cheered for the rookie driver. When No. 8 went high on a turn to pass another car, Curtis splashed beer on Ben as he waved his can in the air to salute the move. As beer dripped from Ben’s hair and soaked the front of his shirt, he stood on his toes to watch his father avoid spinning out when a car bounced off his rear bumper.
When the pack sailed past the grandstand, the inside car in the front row surged ahead. With that move, the pack broke apart and the race’s first wreck occurred. No. 8 ran into the passenger’s side door of a car that had spun out in the turn. Ben watched in horror as his father’s car started to slide after the collision and ended up stopped and facing the wrong way on the track. Somehow the two cars behind No. 8 raced by without hitting it head-on. After they passed, Al turned his car around and continued the chase—in last place except for the car he had hit and pinned against the guardrail. When Al tried to catch up with the pack, his car’s engine showed off, surging ahead with a mighty roar.
“This kid built that car!” Curtis shouted while pointing at Ben. A few spectators turned to look at Ben and sneer with barefaced skepticism.
While the rest of the cars shot through the back straightaway and into the far turn, the damaged car remained next to the guardrail. The driver signaled with his hands that he couldn’t continue. A race official waved a red flag to stop the race when the cars approached the grandstand. With the cars halted, a truck entered the track and towed away the damaged car.
The race resumed, with No. 8 at the back again. The cars stayed together for the next six laps with only a little bumping in the turns. When one of the front-row cars pulled ahead, it kicked off a series of moves that resulted in the cars circling the track single-file.
“This will help Dad,” Ben said to Joe. “He has the fastest car out there and can start passing the others now.”
“We’ll see,” Joe said.
Ben grinned when his prediction came true. Al passed cars in the straightaways through aggressive maneuvers that put him in fourth place. His progress stalled there because the driver of the third-place car blocked him every time he tried to pass. Nothing changed until only a few laps remained, and that’s when the second-place driver spun out and fell behind No. 8.
“Lucky move for your dad,” Curtis shouted. “If he can hold onto third, he gets three hundred bucks.”
Thinking big, Ben asked, “How much will he get for first place?”
“Five hundred bucks, but I can’t see that happening,” Curtis said.
The race continued, and Al made another attempt to move up, but the other driver swerved to keep Al behind him. The checkered flag came down with No. 8 in third place.
“Third place for a rookie isn’t bad,” Curtis said. “Congratulations! If you were a little older, I’d give you a beer to celebrate.”
Within a few minutes, the top three finishers received prize money. Al earned $300 for driving thirty laps around the short track. To Ben, it seemed like a fortune that would help pay the bills and fill the refrigerator with groceries.
When the ceremony ended, Joe and Ben said goodbye to Curtis and Tom, letting them know that they couldn’t stay for the next race. While walking out of the grandstand, Ben started chatting about the race, focusing on the $300.
“Mom will be thrilled!” he shouted.
Joe shot down Ben’s enthusiasm with a stern command. “Keep your mouth shut about the money. Do you really think Mom is going to see any of it?”
Joe’s downbeat view reminded Ben of past times when their father and his money were soon parted. And he didn’t argue when his brother added, “Dad has a better chance of making the long drive home with ice cubes in his pocket than three hundred dollars.”
CHAPTER 7
Five trucks towing race cars passed Joe and Ben before their father and Derek showed up at the exit. No. 8 had gone from beautiful to battered in less than an hour, with dents, scrapes, and dirt all over it. Ben walked around the car, groaning as he noticed more and more problems until his father’s patience ran out.
“Get into the truck—pronto!” Al shouted.
Joe had already climbed into the back and gave his little brother an urgent wave to join him. Ben jumped in and Al sped away from the track—still in race mode.
“Do you think Dad will get to start up front at the next race?” Ben asked, shouting over the road noise.
Joe shrugged his shoulders and stared into the darkness along the highway. As he often did, Joe showed no excitement because he didn’t like to get too high when things went well. It helped him deal with the disappointment when everything plunged downhill.
Before going home, Al dropped Derek off at his apartment in Alma, which made room for Joe and Ben to climb into the truck cab. Ben finally had a chance to talk to his father about the race.
“Fantastic job, Dad!”
“Thanks! Were you surprised to see me nearly win?”
“No, I knew you could do it. You had the fastest car out there and would’ve won if you had started in the front row.”
“Yep, but starting in the back is the way it goes for first-timers.”
“Will you get moved up to the first or second row the next time?”
“I don’t know. They didn’t make any promises.”
“And what are you going to do with the three hundred dollars?”
“Well, boys, I hope we can keep that money a little secret between the three of us,” Al said, glancing at Joe to make sure he paid attention. “I had to pay track fees and give money to Derek for helping me. So I barely have enough left to get the car ready for the next race.”
When turning into their driveway, Al asked a pair of questions that Joe and Ben took as firm orders. “Do we have a deal about the money? Is it our secret?”
They both mumbled “Yes” and then Joe elbowed Ben in the ribs. He didn’t need to say a word. As always, Joe had predicted the future. No money for their mother.
Al left No. 8 hitched to his truck, telling his sons that he planned to take it to the service station in the morning. With the station closed on Sundays like most businesses in Alma, he could make the repairs without customers interrupting him.
“Can I help you?” Ben asked, still excited about his father’s racing career.
“Sure, I could use assistance from both of you.”
Joe faked a smile to indicate his status as a cheerful volunteer.
“Of course, your mom will drag us off to church first. But we’ll go right after lunch and get the car running smooth.”
When the race team approached the back door, Rachel came out of the house carrying Becky with Debbie following her. From a distance, she looked toward No. 8, but Al had parked near the barn where the lights from the house didn’t reach. The darkness concealed the damage.
“How did it go?” she asked.
“We’re all still in one piece,” Al said. “And I took third place. Not bad for a rookie.”
“Dad had the fastest car on the track,” Ben said. “You should have seen him fly.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Rachel said.
“I heard a lot of good things about the car,” Al said. “People who know this business think I have a future in racing.”
“It’s true!” Ben shouted with enthusiasm. “Curtis and Tom said that Dad had the fastest car on the track.”
“Who are Curtis and Tom?�
� Rachel asked as the family entered the house. Before Ben could answer, Rachel sniffed and then moved closer to Ben and sniffed again.
“Oh, Ben, you smell like beer and cigarettes. What have you been up to?”
“Nothing. Curtis got a little excited is all and spilled some beer on me when cheering for Dad. And everybody smokes at the track—except for me and Joe, of course.”
“Oh, Al, what kind of people did you let our boys hang out with?” Rachel asked with a pained expression before pulling Joe closer to smell his clothes.
She didn’t wait for Al to respond, attacking the odor issue instead. “Boys, take off your clothes and leave them on the back porch to air out. And then you will need to get into the bathtub and scrub with lots of soap. I don’t want our house smelling like a bar.”
Joe and Ben obeyed and then quietly slipped into the front room to watch TV even though their normal bedtime had already passed. Rachel let them watch for a few minutes while she sat with her hands clenched in front of her. Al had dozed off on the couch.
Being exhausted, Joe and Ben didn’t protest when she led them to their room. She usually told the boys to go there by themselves, but this night she went in to make sure they settled down.
“Mom, you would have been proud of Dad,” Ben said.
“I’m glad,” Rachel said, gently touching Ben’s head. “It’s good to be proud of your father.”
“Do you think he’s proud of me and Joe?”
“Sure, your dad might not show it when he loses his temper, but he’s proud of both of you and loves you very much. I hope you remember that when things don’t go as well as they did today.”
She quickly left, wiping her eyes and whispering “Good night.”
Sleep came slowly for Ben as he thought about crawling under the grandstand, listening to the cars roar and seeing his father take third place. The night had more excitement crammed into it than any he could remember.
CHAPTER 8
Fourth grade began two days later, with Ben receiving the same day-one greeting that he had heard from his teachers since kindergarten. “Oh, you’re Joe’s little brother,” Mrs. Adamson said with a beaming smile. “I’m so excited to have you in my class. Joe was my best student last year.”
Ben grinned nervously. By this time he had learned that Joe, a truly gifted student, had created lofty expectations that Ben would fail to match. Joe impressed his teachers by being smart, hardworking, and polite, but Ben struggled to pay attention, especially during math class, and fell below the class average.
As in previous school years, Julie Winters sat next to Ben and smiled as soon as she saw him. Since first grade when Julie’s family moved to Alma, Julie and Ben sat next to each other on the classroom’s front row. Their teachers placed them there because they were the shortest kids in the class and needed to be in the front to see the chalkboard.
While the other boys preferred the back row, Ben never complained about his seat because it placed him next to Julie, who he regarded as an angel and the prettiest girl in the school. She always added a spark of hope to his day with encouraging words and her kind, gentle spirt.
Alma didn’t have any wealthy families, but some did better than others and Julie belonged to one of them. She came to school in clean clothes that never looked old and tattered like the hand-me-down stuff that most of the other kids wore. Her beautiful brunette hair always appeared clean and carefully brushed, and she adorned it daily with a pretty bow. Despite Julie being tiny, the other kids considered her size an asset. It made her cute and adorable. Every boy in the class loved Julie.
When Julie mentioned having seen his father’s stock car at the station, Ben beamed with pride and explained how hard he worked all summer to help build it. He also shared an exaggerated story of the trip to the racetrack.
“Wasn’t it frightening to see your dad in a crash?”
“Oh no, he wears a helmet and the car has a steel cage to keep him safe,” Ben said. “His next race is on Saturday. Do you ever go to the races?”
“No, that’s not something my family would do.”
Ben wanted to share more details, but Mrs. Adamson shouted “Class!” and fourth grade began. When announcing her plans for the school year, Mrs. Adamson mentioned publishing a monthly magazine that her students would help create by writing articles. Ben immediately made plans to write an article about his father’s racing career.
When school let out, Ben looked for his brother because they planned to walk to the station to help their father until closing time. He looked for Joe in the fifth-grade classroom, but he had already left. So he searched the playground and found Joe being shoved and taunted by two boys from his class. They insulted him about being a “grease monkey” and living in “a shack with pigs and chickens.” It surprised Ben to see his big brother being picked on because he thought everybody liked Joe.
When Joe noticed Ben watching, he asked, “Where have you been?”
Joe then turned away from the boys and started walking briskly toward the station. Ben ran to catch up and asked, “Why are those guys giving you a hard time?”
“Shut up and walk faster.”
Joe increased his pace so that Ben needed to run to keep up with his brother’s longer stride. Joe remained silent and focused on the sidewalk in front of him while Ben peeked over his left shoulder and spotted the two boys following them.
“Those guys are right behind us,” he said, anticipating an attack based on his years of experience with bullies. “Should we run?”
“No, and don’t look at them again.”
Ben resisted the urge to look back, but his ears warned him of an attack. The boys charged forward, pushing Joe and Ben in the back. The push caused Ben to fall and drop his books and lunch box. Joe stumbled, but he kept his footing and took off at a fast run toward the station.
Knowing that Joe usually had the right idea about what to do in all situations, Ben scrambled to pick up his stuff and then sprinted for the station. Joe always outran Ben and most other kids his age, so Ben knew he would be left to deal with the bullies. This realization motivated Ben to move his short legs as fast as they could go.
The bullies quit trying to catch Joe, but they continued to follow Ben while laughing and making squawking sounds like chickens. Ben tried to run faster, but the boys stayed with him until they passed a large hedge that had blocked their view of the station. As soon as they saw the station, the bullies stopped.
“Nice run for a little girl,” one of them said. “We went easy on you today, but we’ll catch you tomorrow and you’ll be sorry. Tell your chicken brother that we’ll be looking for him too.”
The boys turned and walked away laughing and calling Joe and Ben cowards. Ben had been through many similar incidents, but this time it was different. Seeing Joe picked on bothered Ben more than when it happened to him.
Ben walked into the station where Joe sat behind the office desk and Derek stood nearby. The station had no customers at that moment. Ben dropped his books and lunch box on the desk. He asked Derek, “Where’s my dad?”
“He’s gone to the auto parts store for a carburetor to put on that old Buick,” Derek said, pointing at a large car parked in the far service bay. “Why? Need something?”
“No, I was just wondering where he is,” Ben said, wanting to tell his father about the bullies. His body shook with anger, and he shouted an obscenity in frustration.
“Hey, cowboy, what’s up?” Derek asked. “Is there something you aren’t telling us?”
Taking the lead, Joe answered, “Nothing’s wrong. Ben needs to learn to keep his big mouth shut. That’s all.”
Message received. Ben stopped talking and picked up a broom to sweep the service bays. They weren’t dirty, but he needed a distraction.
Joe continued to sit behind the desk and act like a whipped dog. Ben hated his brother looking that way and the rage kept building inside him. He swung the broom with all his force hitting the empty oil barrel being
used as a garbage can. Derek stormed into the service bay and snatched the broom out of Ben’s hands.
“Man, get yourself under control or you’re going to break something,” Derek said, tossing the broom into a corner.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he said. “Joe, watch the place. We’ll be back soon.”
Then Derek used Ben’s shoulder to guide him out of the service bay and toward the road. He remained silent until about thirty yards away. Releasing Ben’s shoulder, he asked, “Are you having some trouble with your big brother? Is he roughing you up?”
“No.”
“Come on, you can be honest with me. What’s happening?”
Ben wanted to remain compliant with Joe’s no-talk rule, but he blurted out the story about the bullies. Derek listened and then calmly said, “Your problem is something that every guy runs into at times. There’s always someone bigger, stronger, and tougher than you. That’s when you need to be meaner to take care of yourself.”
He told Ben to follow him back into the station where he sorted through Al’s massive tool collection. After a few minutes, Derek pulled out a steel pipe about three feet long and an inch in diameter. Al used it to slip over the handle of a wrench to give him more leverage when trying to loosen a rusty bolt.
“This here is what I call an equalizer,” Derek said. “Use this piece of steel to drop someone bigger than you to his knees. When you bring him down to your level, then you’ll be equals and can win the fight.”
Ben looked at the pipe and thought that he wouldn’t be able to hit somebody with it. He mumbled about it being a terrible idea and started to walk away from Derek.
“Hey, kid, come back here and do exactly what I tell you,” Derek said with a touch of anger.
Ben turned around and faced Derek, being worried about what might happen if he refused.
“Take the pipe in your hands. Remember how you felt when those jerks chased you—and then think of them as you hit that barrel. Give it all you got.”
Ben did it, and the pipe stung his hands and the noise caused Joe to yell. “Knock it off, dummy. You’re going to get us into trouble.”