Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, April 4, 1993 TAG: 9304040187
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: C1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: BOB ZELLER STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: BRISTOL, TENN. LENGTH: Long
PART OF KNOWING KULWICKI WAS GETTING TO KNOW HIM
I stood in the tiny gravel parking lot of Valley View Baptist Church at dawn Friday - a cold, miserable morning - and peered across Island Road toward the tangled wreckage where Alan Kulwicki died.The plane had come down in a Tennessee pasture a few hundred yards from the oldest wagon road in the state. This twisty thoroughfare was built by colonists in 1761 to open the American wilderness.
And if Kulwicki had to leave us, I thought, there was some solace that it happened near a special place because he was a special person. He, too, was a pioneer.
As I stood, the traffic began getting heavier on Island Road.
Stock-car fans - descendants of the Tennessee settlers - were arriving in their cars and pickup trucks, one after another, to see the scene for themselves.
One might regard them with contempt and call them rubberneckers. I do not believe they came for that. Some shook their heads in disbelief. Their grim faces showed that slightly distorted look of pain.
These were good ol' boys and girls paying tribute to a Wisconsin-born Yankee who had packed his bags, headed south and pioneered his way into their hearts.
I don't know what these people thought of him when he first arrived on the Winston Cup circuit in 1985, but they sure had come to like him.
How true this was for me, too.
Less than a year ago, I thought he was one of the biggest jerks in the garage. He was right there near the top of the list of drivers I least wanted to deal with.
Preparing for a one-on-one chat with Kulwicki was like preparing to touch an electric fence.
He could be standing next to his car, pausing between tasks, and if he saw you coming, he might turn on his heel and walk away. If you caught him anyway, he would sigh a sigh of disgust and resignation, put a hand on his hip and say, "Yes?"
Winston Cup protocol demands that drivers cooperate with the media, so he would answer a question. Having done that, he would whine, "OK????" and the interview was over.
It was all the more frustrating because you knew that when he wanted to be, he was one of the more articulate drivers on the circuit.
But Alan Kulwicki had the soul of a champion.
He was interested in champions and how they became champions. He read books about champions. He watched championship games in other sports and studied how the winners acted.
"I've tried to study other people," he said, "because I like to observe they way they handle those situations."
As the 1992 Winston Cup championship battle heated up, Kulwicki came into his own. The tension and pressure made him more, not less, cooperative.
Last fall at Rockingham, during a break in Friday's activities, Kulwicki was the only one of the six drivers in the championship hunt who failed to show up for a lunchtime news conference.
Ten or 15 minutes after it was over and another practice session was about to begin, Kulwicki appeared in the media center. He was walking his characteristic walk, with that slight slump in his shoulders. And he had that characteristic half-smile on his face.
He said he had to miss the news conference because of a previously scheduled personal appearance. He sat at a table, paused for a breath and said, `OK, shoot.' "
He gave thoughtful answers to every question. He showed again why he was one of the better interviews - when he wanted to be interviewed. And he stayed there, even as his competitors fired their engines and drove out of the garage to practice.
After several minutes, he excused himself and went to his car. And I thought, "This is not the Alan Kulwicki I thought I knew."
The hotter the championship battle became, the better Kulwicki got. He actually was becoming congenial.
It was as if God had told his soul beforehand that he was going to win this championship and had given him the inner strength to act like a champion.
On the night of his Winston Cup triumph in Atlanta, I became friends with Alan Kulwicki.
I cornered him at his victory party and told him he deserved it the most because he had risen to the challenge.
"Who do you work for?" he asked.
I told him.
"Oh," he said. "I thought you were some local reporter for a paper in Wisconsin or something."
I broke through his barrier that night, but I didn't know it until the 1993 season started at Daytona.
One day, I headed to the garage to ask Kulwicki a question. I was ready for the Kulwicki treatment. I was so ready for the Kulwicki treatment that I started to break off the one-question interview before he finished his initial reply.
Then he kept talking. He expounded on my question and added a few extra thoughts. He gave me more than I needed.
I am sure part of the reason for this was that he had come to know me. But I also could tell Kulwicki had found contentment with his championship. He had reached the mountaintop.
True, he never had enough time to fully enjoy it, but he did get to enjoy it. He had that dreamy night in New York last December - the night of his life. And he made the most of it, as he made the most of everything.
Alan Kulwicki is gone, but at least he was the champion when he left us. This is how he would want to be remembered. This is how he will be remembered, now and forever.
Keywords:
AUTO RACING FATALITY