Waid’s World: The Talladega Curse — Part of NASCAR Lore or Perhaps Something Else?

This is an old story, retold many times. But a good tale is always worth retelling.

About four decades ago, several events and incidents associated with Talladega Superspeedway were compiled by various media sources under an intriguing title – “The Talladega Curse.”

It was a widespread collection of the strange, unexplained and unusual happenings at NASCAR’s largest speedway, which was known for speed and some mayhem.

Specifically, the curse was about mysterious occurrences that defied logic and were not part of any other speedway, and they were not pleasant.

During early America and Alabama’s pioneer days, the legendary Andrew Jackson drove the Talladega Native Americans out of the valley now occupied by the 2.66-mile superspeedway.

As the tribe marched up the hills, the medicine man stopped, looked down the valley and spread his arms. He then spoke, placing a curse on his former homeland. He declared that all who dwelled there from that point on would experience spells of misfortune and sorrow.

Well, it makes for a good story, anyway. I have no doubt there were natives in that valley at the time, but the only ‘Talladega Indians’ I know were an Alabama minor league baseball team.

So, it seems the best thing is to simply take the curse as a tall tale that is part of NASCAR lore. However . . .

During the 1970s, there were a series of events at the speedway that defied logic. They weren’t easily explained or understood, and they certainly weren’t pleasant.

It wasn’t difficult for several media outlets – yep, I was one of them — to proclaim, with tongue in cheek, that what was going on was indeed the result of a curse. Consider the facts:

The 1973 Talladega 500 NASCAR Cup Series race was one of the most melodramatic and tragic events held in the history of Talladega.

Just 14 laps into the race, 1972 Rookie of the Year Larry Smith smacked the wall in the first turn after his No. 92 Oldsmobile suffered a cut tire.

The impact didn’t seem to be hard. In fact, it was very mild; milder than most at Talladega.

But after a few tense moments and an inspection inside the car, Smith was pronounced dead, the victim of massive head injuries and a basilar skull fracture.

The accident was a mystery. Smith’s helmet was unbroken. It stood to reason that what happened should not have been enough to cause a fatality.

“It just didn’t look that bad,” said television analyst Ken Squier. “I tell you, it didn’t look that bad.”

Some observers said Smith had been racing on the inner liner of his right tire, foolishly desperate to remain in the race. It was said he took the chance because executives from his sponsor, Carling Brewing Co., were on hand to watch him, and Smith hadn’t been doing well up to that point.

Later, it was widely reported that Smith cut out most of his helmet’s padding to make room for his pompadour. If true, then by doing so, he greatly compromised head safety – too much so, as it turned out.

Several laps later in that same race, something occurred that has defied explanation for all these decades. It remains one of the most puzzling episodes in NASCAR history.

Bobby Isaac, the 1970 Cup champion, moved on from team owner Nord Krauskopf and was driving for veteran Bud Moore in 1973.

Isaac was the caliber of driver expected to do well at Talladega, more so after he qualified in the fourth position.

But something inexplicable happened. On the 90th lap, Isaac radioed Moore and told him, “Get another driver. I’m getting out of the car.”

Moore, obviously, was startled. He asked Isaac to repeat his message, but nothing was forthcoming. Moore had no choice but to find a relief driver.      

Coo Coo Marlin was sitting close by, the victim of an early mechanical failure. 

Marlin was standing by when Isaac entered the pits and walked away with Moore, who had still not been given a reason for Isaac’s actions, and as far as anyone knows, he never was. 

“Something told me to quit,” Isaac said later. “I don’t know what it was, but I had to abide by it.” 

He said that Smith’s death had nothing to do with his actions. “I never knew he was dead,” he added.

Isaac released a statement that said he knew how to win, how to lose, “And now how to quit.”

He added he had no doubts about his actions and didn’t have anything to prove.

I explored the issue further. I went to Isaac’s best friend, David Pearson, because I figured Isaac would have confided in him.

Pearson wasn’t talking.

Isaac died of a heart attack during a late model race at Hickory Motor Speedway in 1977.

The late Buddy Arrington of Martinsville was the first NASCAR driver I ever interviewed. We became good friends, and he was a trusted source.

So, you can imagine how I felt when, in 1975 – as best I can remember – I learned he had been injured in a crash during practice for the Winston 500.

I wasn’t able to make the trip to Talladega, so I had to use the telephone and whatever contacts I had to try to get in touch with Arrington. 

He was not only a friend; he was also one of the most familiar drivers in The Roanoke Times circulation area.

I learned that the wreck itself was a highly unusual one. According to various sources, Arrington and, reportedly, part-time independent driver Dean Dalton, had the only two cars on the track at the time.

But they weren’t close. One of them spun in the first turn while the other was coming out of the fourth turn. I never learned which was which.

There should have been plenty of time and distance for the incident to involve only one car. But, reports said, the one in the first turn stopped at the outside wall and then began a slow slide down the banking to the bottom of the track.

The other came roaring down the frontstretch – did he not see the yellow caution lights? — and could not avoid contact with the slower vehicle. 

Arrington was taken to a Birmingham hospital. I knew he was pretty beat up. I learned something else.

I didn’t know who divulged what was, reportedly, Arrington’s most serious injury. Nor did I know if it had been confirmed. I knew only that the word was Arrington’s manhood had been severed.

There was only one way to find out.

As luck would have it, my call to Birmingham went through to Arrington almost immediately.

“Yes?” came a voice after just one ring.

“May I speak to Buddy Arrington?”

“He is having his bath,” came the answer. “Who is this?”

I told him.

“Oh, Steve,” Arrington answered in a strained voice. Obviously, he was in pain. “I’m sorry, but I can’t talk right now.”

“Just one question, Buddy. Er, well, is it…?”

“Yeah,” Arrington interrupted. “It’s still there. Don’t know where that came from.”

I realized that if it were true, I would have never been able to contact Arrington with a single phone call – if at all.

He recovered quickly and thereafter, we never failed to share a smile or two over the incident, but I never found out who started the rumor. Not to say I haven’t always had my suspicions.

Without a doubt, the darkest incident included in the story of the curse happened in the Winston 500 on May 1, 1977.

Independent driver David Sisco raced down pit road, apparently to make a stop.

As soon as his car stopped, Sisco scrambled out and started running toward the garage area and beyond. He disappeared into the paddock.

Observers in the press box couldn’t figure out why Sisco had made such an abrupt and fast exit from the race.

Later, it was learned that his mother had been struck and killed by a pickup truck in the paddock.

Other happenings could easily be credited to powers beyond reason. Such as the time a black tornado dissipated just moments before it struck the Talladega backstretch while an ARCA Menards Series racecar was still on the track.

Or the Ultralight that went skyward from the next-door airport and cleared the rickety press box by five feet, frightening the wits out of a roomful of media who watched it come directly toward them.

Indeed, it seems best to consider “The Talladega Curse” as no more than a part of the robust NASCAR lore.

Still ……