Waid’s World: A Race at Richmond That Was Won by a ‘Famous French Driver’

In 1977, Richmond Raceway was a throwback to the pioneer days of stock car racing in the South.

By that, I mean that while it had progressed from dirt to asphalt, little else had changed at the 0.542-mile track. It had wooden grandstands and steel guardrails. The press box was small and decidedly primitive – a lack of telephones, for example. There was no media center and only a few suitable parking spots in the infield, or anywhere else, for that matter.

All this, along with a lack of fan amenities, wasn’t anything unique to Richmond. It was pretty much the same at North Wilkesboro Speedway, Bristol Motor Speedway and Nashville Fairgrounds Speedway, for example. And though they were not short tracks, let’s include Darlington Raceway and Rockingham Speedway.

However, this needs to be said: these tracks staged some of the most competitive, controversial and exciting races in NASCAR’s history. They have contributed greatly to the sanctioning body’s lore and tradition.

To list such events at these tracks would be a long process simply because there are so many. Besides, it is unnecessary. I daresay you know most of them anyway. Or perhaps you’ve attended a few.

As I’ve detailed in the past, there are two past Richmond races that I covered that are noteworthy to me.

The first is the 1984 Miller High Life 400, won by a battered and bruised Ricky Rudd, who suffered several injuries after a frightening, spinning crash in the Busch Light Clash at Daytona International Speedway two weeks earlier.

When Rudd came to Richmond, his bloodshot eyes were black and taped open, his bruised ribs were encased in a flak jacket and he looked more like a man who should have been in a hospital rather than a racetrack.

Remarkably, Rudd won the race. Fans and competitors were cheering; some were crying.

I’ve never forgotten it. And after a lengthy conversation with him a couple of weeks ago, I assure you Rudd hasn’t either.

The 1986 Miller High Life 400 had, up until that time, the most controversial finish in Richmond’s history. A battle raged between leaders Dale Earnhardt and Darrell Waltrip for the victory.

On the last lap toward the third turn, Earnhardt turned Waltrip and sent him plowing hard into the guardrail. Two other cars got involved and thus handed the victory to a startled Kyle Petty, who had just moved into the top five. The win was the first of Petty’s career.

Controversy raged and NASCAR took a dim view of Earnhardt’s actions. It initially fined him $5,000 and placed him on one-year probation but after an appeal that was reduced to $3,000 and the probation was dropped.

There is one other Richmond race that is memorable to me. It was the 1977 Capital City 400 and it was won by a young Neil Bonnett. It was the first victory of his fledgling career.

Bonnett was driving for maverick owner J.D. Stacy, who assumed ownership from Nord Krauskopf, who had been part of NASCAR for several years and who won the 1970 NASCAR Cup Series championship with driver Bobby Isaac.

Bonnett’s victory was hardly dramatic. He led most of the race and in the closing laps held off Richard Petty, who could do no better than finish second, seven seconds in arrears.

What spurned my interest was that I thought I might have been the only guy in the press box who knew Bonnett after several one-on-one conversations a year earlier.

After two years of limited NASCAR participation in his own cars, Bonnett caught a break in 1976 with enough sponsorship to compete in 13 races. He earned four top-10 finishes, one of them among the top five.

What piqued my interest in him was that he was from Hueytown, Ala., home to Bobby Allison, Donnie Allison and near-legendary driver Red Farmer. They formed what came to be known in racing circles as The Alabama Gang.

When I first met Bonnett I said, “Are you a protégé of Bobby or Donnie Allison?”

His eyes lit up. “Naw,” he said, “I’m a pipefitter who thinks he’s a racecar driver.”

Bonnett admitted that he got help from the Allisons and indeed worked for a time with Bobby.

“And I’m sure,” he said, “that’s what pretty much made folks assume he was my mentor. Sure, he helped me but Bobby had a lot of other things on his mind.

“I’m not sure people have any idea how hard Bobby worked, how much money he spent and how much he lost trying to do his own thing in these last couple of years.”

By the time he won at Richmond, Bonnett was an accredited member of The Alabama Gang – the youngest at the time.

After the race, I went to the nearby Virginia State Fairgrounds Administration offices to file my story. That’s where I had to work because it had typewriters and telephones.

My story was short, sweet and filed early. I was happy with it because I included my previous interactions with Bonnett.

I was done so quickly I thought I could make the two-hour trip back to Roanoke – no need to stay over another night.

Indeed, I was home in time to catch the 11 p.m. news on television and see its report on the Richmond race.

Hard to believe, but that broadcast ultimately cemented a friendship between Bonnett and me.

It being a Sunday night, the sportscaster was obviously a part-timer and I quickly learned he knew nothing about NASCAR.

“Today at Richmond,” he said. “the race was won by the famous French driver, Nyles Bonniere.”

I almost fell out of my chair laughing. I could hardly wait until I saw Bonnett.

When I did the next week, I came up to him and said, “Nyles! Nyles! You are ze great Nyles Bonniere!”

“What the hell is the matter with you?” he asked.

I told him about the television episode.

“You are kidding, right?” he asked. “Here I am some country boy from Alabama and I get mistaken for a Frenchman.”

Bonnett was delighted with his new moniker, so much so that after word got out about it, for a few weeks thereafter he wouldn’t respond to the media unless he was called Nyles.

It was seemingly nonsense, but at that time competitors and the media could share in such tomfoolery.

So much so that some of us decided to give other NASCAR drivers their own nom de guerre.

For example, there was the Italian champion Benito Parsoni. And the Polish stalwart Darrelus Waltripinsky. Not to mention the Spanish legend Ricardo Pettolis.

Well, guess you had to be there.