by Doug Draper
An older woman sitting behind the family tapped Ben on the shoulder and asked, “How old is that baby?”
“She’ll be two in December.”
“Wow! I guess your family believes in getting an early start on becoming race fans.”
“Not really. I only started coming a few weeks ago because we have a car in the race.”
“Is your pa a driver?”
“Yep, he drives Number Eight—the fastest car on the track.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember him from last week. He took home prize money. Didn’t he?”
Despite having heard from Joe that his father had finished in third place again, Ben paused, debating what to say. With his mother listening to the conversation, he didn’t want to break his promise to keep the prize money a secret.
“Well, I don’t know. I had to miss the race because of a problem at school,” Ben finally replied.
“I hope your pa gets the first-place prize this week,” the woman said. “With four kids to feed, I’m sure that money would come in handy.”
The woman stood up to let two men take seats in the middle of her row. The gap in the conversation allowed Rachel to lean over and ask Ben, “How much money did your dad win last week? Tell me the truth.”
Ben looked at Joe who frowned in return but said nothing. He understood. Joe didn’t want to be the one to break the news that No. 8 had already collected prize money twice.
“How much did he win?” Rachel repeated, expressing her agitation with Ben’s delay.
“I think it was three hundred dollars.”
“I appreciate you telling me the truth.”
After a few moments of silence, Rachel again leaned toward Ben and asked, “What does he get for finishing in first or second place?”
“Five hundred for first and four hundred for second.”
“Well, that’s good. We surely could use that money.”
The woman behind the Bakers had listened to the conversation and reached over and patted Rachel on the back. “Ma’am, I’ll be cheering for your husband to win the top prize. And by the way, I’m Gloria and this is my husband, Conrad.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you both. I’m Rachel and these are my sons Joe and Ben and daughters Debbie and Becky.”
“What a wonderful family. You’ll hear me cheering for your husband to roll all the way to victory. I want you to go home tonight with five hundred bucks in your purse.”
When the announcer introduced the cars, Ben jumped to his feet and cheered, especially when his father came onto the track in the third position. His past races had impressed the track officials and led them to give him a more favorable pole position.
After the prerace ceremonies, the race began with the deafening sound of supercharged cars when they headed for the first turn. During the early laps, the cars stayed in a tight pack and in the original order. The excitement began when Al took a low path through the near turn and shot ahead of the top two cars. The move caught the frontrunners by surprise, and Al zoomed ahead of them before they could block him.
Ben swelled with pride that his father had taken the lead even though he had only been racing a few weeks. And he made it happen in a car he built himself—with some help from his sons. Everything Derek had promised about racing suddenly appeared possible. Ben’s excitement grew as his father circled the track, holding the top position and looking invincible.
Al’s dash to the lead position paid off until the sixteenth lap. That’s when two cars in the middle of the pack bumped and spun out. The last-place car hit both, creating a tangled mess of cars. They ended up in a pile against the guardrail. None of them could drive away from the collision, so the red flag came out and the race stopped until tow trucks could clear the track. After about ten minutes, the race resumed.
Because Al had been in first when the red flag came out, he began in the lead position and held it without a serious challenge. With six laps to go, things changed. The driver running next to Al lost control of his car and smashed into him. The collision caused No. 8 to start skidding toward the outside of the track, but Al regained control of his heavily dented car and avoided hitting the guardrail.
Despite the hit, Al still held first place and accelerated to get away from the pack. When he came through the front straightaway, the entire grandstand crowd cheered for him. With five laps to go, Ben couldn’t imagine any possible outcome for his father besides victory and the $500 prize.
Al completed the next lap with a full car-length between him and the next two drivers. When the cars headed into the first turn, Ben noticed his father’s car slide more than normal. When going down the back straightaway, the other cars suddenly closed the gap and tried to pass, but Al blocked them.
As No. 8 entered the front straightaway, Ben shouted to his mother, “Four laps to go. He’s going to win it. We’ll be rich!”
With all the crowd and car noise, Ben didn’t hear her reply, but he suddenly lost his confidence when he turned back to the race and watched No. 8 pass. His father’s car continued to move at a high speed, but it shuddered. The chassis appeared to have a major problem. To keep his lead, Al accelerated when heading into the next turn—a risky maneuver even without a shaky car. The other cars accepted his challenge and picked up their speed.
When Al hit the turn, the front end of his car suddenly dipped, as if the front axle had snapped and the tires buckled. The nose of the car started plowing the track. Dirt flew over its roof, landing on the windshields of the cars behind. The plowing served as a brake, bringing No. 8 to a sudden halt and causing it to roll. The two trailing cars had no time to avoid a collision and slammed into the bottom of Al’s tumbling car.
The impact created a loud bang and crunching sound. Within a split second, another loud bang shot across the racetrack as No. 8 went airborne and its roof struck the outer guardrail. The fence behind the rail stopped the car’s flight and tossed it back onto the track. The cars that had rammed No. 8 spun around and hit the outside guardrail.
While furious with his father the previous day, Ben suddenly felt a sense of panic because he could be dead. He glanced at his mother who accepted a hug from Gloria while both cried. Joe took charge of attempting to calm Becky, who screamed because of the anxiety around her. Debbie stared at Ben as if he could provide answers about what had happened to their father. He decided to find out.
Ben ran to the back of the grandstand, down the stairs and to the door that led underneath the structure. After stepping inside, he hurried toward the front. By reversing his path from his first trip to the track, he reached the place where he had slid through the fence and did it again. He started running toward his father’s wrecked car. An older, heavyset security guard spotted Ben and charged from the infield to catch him.
Easily outrunning the guard, Ben headed for his father’s car, but he stopped abruptly when passing a white object on the track—his father’s helmet. He picked it up and then dropped to his knees, holding the helmet and crying loudly. The dirty helmet had several deep scratches, tire marks, and a splash of bright red blood. He also noticed the broken strap that failed to keep it on his father’s head.
The security guard kneeled next to Ben and, after struggling to catch his breath, asked, “Do you know this driver?”
“Yep, he’s my dad and we’ve got to save him.”
“We’re doing our best. You need to help by staying out of the way.”
The guard gestured toward the infield and asked Ben to follow him. Ben stood up, clutching his father’s helmet, and walked to the infield. He kept looking toward the wreck to see if he could spot his father in the swirl of activity around the mangled car. About a dozen men worked on No. 8, trying to pry open the door and using fire extinguishers on the engine.
The security guard allowed Ben to watch the rescue attempt from the infield. All the drivers had climbed out of their cars and stood in a pack next to the ambulance. While Ben and the guard watched the flurry of activity, Derek cam
e up from behind them.
“Hey, Ben, what are you doing here?” he asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the stands with your mom?”
“I came to find out what’s happening,” Ben said.
Derek shrugged his shoulders, pointed at No. 8, and said, “I’m sure he’s fine, but the car is in terrible shape.”
Offering to shake hands with the security guard, Derek said, “Sir, I’m Derek Dean, business partner of Al Baker, and that’s our car—Number Eight.”
“Good, then you can take charge of my little friend and keep him off the track,” the guard said, patting Ben on the head before leaving them.
Ben’s eyes remained fixed on the car and he ignored Derek when he began describing what he thought had caused the accident. Ben didn’t care about the cause. He only had one concern—seeing if his father had survived.
After what seemed like a long wait, the rescue team lifted Al out of his car. Medics with a wheeled stretcher hustled toward him. From what Ben could see, his father could be dead or alive. Al’s head was slumped on his chest, blood covered half of his face, and his arms hung limp at his sides. He showed no signs of life, but the urgency of the rescue team gave Ben hope.
When the medics placed Al on the stretcher, the grandstand crowd politely clapped and a few fans shouted out encouragement to No. 8. Within a minute, the men slid the stretcher into the ambulance and the vehicle sped toward the racetrack exit.
When the ambulance disappeared, Derek said, “I guess we might as well pack up the truck and get out of here. There’s not much more we can do.”
Ben scowled at Derek, feeling that his father could be dead or dying because of Derek’s racing idea. “This is your fault!” he shouted.
“Whoa, Benny, simmer down,” Derek said with a laugh. “Your dad is a big boy and makes his own decisions.”
Ben wanted to punch Derek, but he had no doubt that Derek would strike back and didn’t want to see the big man’s 666-tattooed fists coming at him.
A race official joined them, introducing himself as Rex and saying, “The medics will take Al to a hospital in Provo where he’ll receive excellent care. We’re going to tow his car to an area outside the infield gate and will let it sit there until you have time to haul it away.”
“Thanks for letting me know,” Derek said. “I’ll come get the car soon.”
“It’s a shame that car has run its last race,” Rex said. “But I have good news for the Baker family. We’re calling the race complete and awarding your team five hundred dollars for first place.”
Derek grinned and shook hands vigorously with Rex. “Thanks for your generosity!”
Rex looked at Derek with unveiled annoyance. “It’s the least we could do, and all the other drivers agreed with our decision.”
“That’s sporting of them and much appreciated,” Derek said, continuing to grin.
Rex asked Derek to follow him to his office where they would settle accounts. Before walking away, he looked at Ben. “Are you Al Baker’s son?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, he’s a tough guy. Don’t worry. I’m sure he’s going to be OK.”
“So, he’s still alive?”
“Yes, no thanks to that cheap helmet you’re holding. He’s knocked out right now, but I expect he’ll be back on the track with a new car soon.”
Ben took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, feeling an enormous amount of tension leave his body. He appreciated the man’s optimism. At the same time, he stood with his mother when it came to stock cars—racing is a bad idea.
CHAPTER 14
Derek took off with the race official and left Ben standing in the track’s infield even though he had promised the security guard to watch him. Ben suddenly thought about what his mother must be going through and headed back to the grandstand. As soon as he climbed over the inner guardrail, a security guard started shouting and running toward him. Ben decided to aim for the gap in the fence and tried to slip through before being caught, but he heard his mother’s sharp, piercing command over the crowd noise.
“Benjamin, stop right now!”
Ben hit the brakes and looked for his mother. She stood in the grandstand’s first row with his brother, sisters, and a pair of security guards. They all frantically waved to get his attention. The guard chasing Ben caught up and grabbed his left arm.
“Bring him to the ticket office,” one of the guards near Ben’s mother shouted. “We’ll meet you there.”
The guard delivered Ben to the ticket office where Rachel received directions to the hospital and the Bakers left for it immediately. When they arrived at the emergency department, Joe and Ben took charge of the girls while Rachel sought information about her husband’s condition. Equipped with a few details from a nurse, Rachel gathered her children in the waiting room and said, “Your father is alive but in a coma. It’s serious.”
“But the man at the track said he was only knocked out,” Ben said.
“A coma is a bigger problem than what that man said,” Rachel said. “That’s why I’m going to stay here tonight, but your grandparents will be coming soon and take you to their house. Please make me proud of you by being on your best behavior.”
The Baker kids liked staying with their grandparents, so they didn’t complain about the plan. They also looked forward to getting away from the uncomfortable hospital, but leaving their mother alone bothered them. She had red eyes from crying and her hands trembled.
After delivering her brief update, Rachel gestured for Ben to follow her as they walked a few steps away. “What else did that man at the racetrack say?” she asked.
“That Dad won the race and gets five hundred dollars.”
“Oh, that’s a miracle because we’re going to need every penny to pay for the hospital bill.”
The kids’ grandparents soon met them at the hospital. When saying goodbye to her children, Rachel took Al’s helmet from Ben and tossed it into a nearby trash can.
“Wait! Dad can put on a new strap and it’ll be like new.”
“No, that helmet is a piece of garbage and will never be worn again.”
Anticipating Ben’s interest in keeping the helmet as a souvenir, she added, “And I don’t want to ever see it again.”
Getting rid of the helmet saddened Ben because he viewed it as an important part of his family’s history, but he silently let it go and remained quiet all the way to Alma.
In the morning, Grandma Thorne gently woke the children by filling the house with the smell of buttery cinnamon rolls baking in the oven. Ben slid out of the bed he shared with his big brother and shuffled into the kitchen.
“Good morning, Ben, would you like to taste one of my cinnamon rolls to make sure they’re all right?”
“Sure, but your rolls are always delicious,” Ben said, watching his grandmother use a spatula to lift a roll out of the baking pan and place it on a small plate for him. She handed him the plate and a fork, which was the only way to eat her cinnamon rolls without getting the sugar coating, cinnamon, and butter all over hands, clothes, and furniture. Ben dove in, taking a big bite and showing his pleasure with a satisfied grin.
Soon, Joe joined the sugary breakfast buffet and then Grandma Thorne received a phone call. After a brief conversation, she hung up and announced, “That was your mom calling to say that your father is still in a coma, but the doctors are seeing signs that he might wake up soon. So, that’s good news and something we can share with the bishop at church this morning.”
“Oh, do we have to go?” Ben asked.
“Yes, there’s never a more critical time to go to church,” Grandma Thorne said. “We’ll ask the church members to pray for your father. Now, I need you to get your sisters out of bed and try to clean up your shirt.”
Ben looked at his shirt, remembering how he had hugged his father’s bloody, dirty helmet after the crash. Following his grandmother’s instructions, he hurried to his sisters’ bedroom, woke them up, and then went into the bathroo
m to try cleaning his shirt. He failed to make an improvement and went to church with dirt and bloodstains on it.
While attending his Sunday school class, Ben had to explain his dirty clothes, which led to a long story about the race and his father’s first-place finish. All the kids liked the story, but his teacher, Sister Peterson, said that she didn’t understand why Ben’s father would do “something so dangerous and risky.”
After church and lunch, Ben asked his grandmother if he could walk to the service station to make sure the doors and gas pumps were locked. “That’s fine,” she said, “but don’t stay too long. We need to drive to your house this afternoon and pick up clean clothes for you kids and your mother.”
Upon arriving at the station, Ben noticed Derek’s motorcycle and his dad’s truck behind the building. He knew that Derek drove the truck back to Alma after the race, but he found it odd that Derek would be at the station on a Sunday. When Ben approached his father’s truck, he could hear voices inside the station. They included Derek’s unmistakable drawl. He peeked inside the open back door to see what was happening.
“Hey kid, get away from there!” a man behind Ben shouted.
Ben flinched and spun around to see Denny Siegen, one of Derek’s friends—a small man about thirty-years-old with long hair, a beard and squinty eyes. He recognized him as one of Derek’s friends who received free gas at the station.
Denny quickly approached Ben. He looked agitated instead of flashing his usual sly grin—the same one that Derek used when trying to give the impression that hey, we’re all friends here, and friends take care of friends.
When Denny recognized Ben, he quickly switched to his “friends” routine and said, “Oh, it’s you—Al’s kid. I thought you were some punk trying to break into the place.”
“It’s just me, Ben Baker.”
“Hey, I’m so sorry to hear about your old man busting up his car last night. That was a tough way to end a race.”
“What are you guys doing here? The station is closed.”
“I’m helping out a friend of mine in his time of need,” Denny said, reaching for Ben’s left arm.