We used to tease honorary starters, adding further to their apprehension. You've got to understand that these people are nervous to begin with and have no idea what to expect. They don't like the idea of hanging over the flag stand with cars speeding underneath them.
Chief starter Harold Kinder and I, his backup, had a little ritual we'd go through after the honorary starter came to the stand, too late for him to make any changes.
At a race in Atlanta, we had an extraordinary honorary starter, President-elect Jimmy Carter. Mr. Carter reported and we introduced ourselves. Harold asked me if Mr. Carter was equipped with his safety gear. I told Harold I was sorry, but that I couldn't get access to Mr. Carter to tell him.
Harold explained to Mr. Carter, already visibly concerned, that starters were required to wear a metal cup and a jockstrap over their private parts to protect them against an aerodynamic vacuum created by the cars at high speed. Mr. Carter asked what he should do, and Harold told him to cross his legs as high as he could before he waved the green flag.
Harold had arranged for a photographer to capture Mr. Carter standing with his legs crossed, but the photographer wasn't the only one to see him. (NASCAR President) Bill France had seen it, too. France called on the radio and told Harold he wanted to see him in the NASCAR office as soon as the race ended. France asked Harold if he had done to the president-elect of the United States what he thought he had. Harold responded that he didn't know what France was talking about. France asked why Mr. Carter started the race with his legs crossed. Harold burst out laughing and confessed. France said he would not tolerate belittling the next president like that, and if he did that to any other honorary starter, he might as well apply to Indianapolis Motor Speedway, because his flagging days in NASCAR would be over. That ended the ritual.
Fingered
We were racing at Talladega in the '80s. Buddy Baker was driving car #88, which he co-owned with a partner, Danny Schiff. Buddy was leading the race. I noticed something hanging from the back bumper of Buddy's car, but given speeds then in excess of 200 mph, neither Harold nor I could distinguish what it was. The race director ordered Harold to black-flag #88. He did several times with no response. Finally, under the threat of disqualification, Buddy pitted. His crew removed a piece of plastic from the bumper. I don't know why it was there, because back then bumpers were metal, not fiberglass.
When Buddy reentered the track and got around to the flag stand, he flashed us the finger. Harold and I had no desire to get a driver in trouble, so we laughed it off. However, the race director had seen his gesture from the tower-and it wasn't one bit humorous to him. Baker was ordered to report to France after the race. I didn't know at the time what the outcome of the meeting was.
At the next race, in Charlotte, Buddy went up to me and grabbed me by the arm like he was really mad. He said to come with him, he wanted to show me something. Considering Baker's physical size, I had little choice. When he got to his garage stall, he opened a drawer of the team toolbox and pulled out a pair of ordinary mittens. Laughing, he said that his car "owners" were requiring him to wear the mittens (so he couldn't isolate one finger) for the rest of the season because they couldn't afford to pay any more $500 fines for obscene gestures.
Flagman's Nightmare
All starters have their most embarrassing moment-a dropped flag. At the '94 Charlotte 500, Jimmy Cox, a longtime NASCAR official, and I were handling qualifying. His job was to send the cars off the line on the white flag, which meant that two cars were on the track at the same time-one coming for the checkered, the other for the green.