Waid’s World: When Dave Marcis Was Poised to Rise into NASCAR’s Championship Ranks

I always thought that when it came to NASCAR competition, Dave Marcis was the sports “Everyman.”

He wasn’t ultra-successful. He wasn’t stylish or flashy. He didn’t have the outlandish personality or magnetic charm that lured public attention or made headlines.

But he was comfortably familiar.

He was like your favorite uncle or the ultra-friendly guy who ran that small grocery store down the street and knew what went into your shopping bag, or the gas station attendant who never needed to ask you how many gallons.

They knew your name and never shied away from making conversation laced with smiles and laughs.

Yeah, you knew those guys, didn’t you? I certainly did. I shared a friendship with Marcis that began so very early in my career and lasts until this day.

As a driver, Marcis was never recognized as a champion or winner. His appeal to fans lies with his work ethic. He seldom had the kind of sponsorship dollars it took to be successful, but he was always on the tracks, doing his absolute best year after year.

He never publicly suffered his fate. He never complained that the sport plotted against him or that the sanctioning body was unfair to him – or anything of that nature.

Instead, he spent years doing the best he could with what he had, and over the course of time, that, along with the type of person he was, endeared him to fans.

I have always maintained that the biggest reasons fans have appreciated the so-called independent drivers over the years is that they admire “losers” who try hard, work hard, complain little and whose conduct in their presence is dignified and respectful.

Years ago, a veteran NASCAR fan described it to me thusly: “I’ll take a driver like Dave Marcis, who does the best he can with what he’s got and remains a decent man, over a guy who wins a lot and turns into a cocky SOB.”

Marcis certainly wasn’t the only driver thus appreciated. Others included Richard Childress, Buddy Arrington, Jimmy Means and James Hylton, who, it must be said, gained notoriety by tweaking NASCAR’s nose from time to time.

Now, it must be said there was a time when Marcis wasn’t recognized so much as a hard-working independent was. He was an up-and-coming competitor who was, perhaps, on the verge of stardom.

From 1969-74 Marcis competed mostly in cars he owned, save for a few runs in Roger Penske’s AMC Matador.

During that same time, Nord Krauskopf’s K&K Racing Team ascended to NASCAR stardom. Bobby Isaac became its driver in 1969, and over the next two years, he won 28 races and the Grand National championship.

Isaac split the ride with Buddy Baker through the 1974 season, and the duo won eight more races.

But in 1975, there came a dramatic change. Baker and Isaac were gone and Krauskopf’s replacement choice was a surprise: Marcis.

Not many could understand why Marcis was selected. He certainly hadn’t attained the level of achievement reached by Baker or Isaac. He hadn’t displayed enough on the track to indicate he was poised to be a breakthrough competitor.

But the K&K crew chief, the irascible but talented Harry Hyde, indicated he saw something in Marcis.

I joined him and Marcis in a Rockingham motel room in February of 1975, where Hyde said in the midst of a conversation:

“Sometimes when a guy has to race the way Dave did, you discover something when that changes,” Hyde said. “What happens if all he had to do is drive a car? 

“I’m thinking that when he doesn’t have to worry about anything else, there’s a tremendous loss of pressure. That’s a good thing.”

Marcis, sitting on a bed and polishing a pair of wing-tips, said, “All I have to do now is stay in shape and drive Harry’s race car. I have never had that before.”

It turned out to be almost everything Hyde and Marcis hoped. Marcis won the first career NASCAR Cup Series race of his career at Martinsville Speedway (Hyde was actually jumping and cheering from his pits when Marcis took the checkered flag).

Marcis earned 16 top-five finishes and 18 more among the top 10 to finish a remarkable second in points to 1975 champion Richard Petty, who scalded the competition with 13 victories.

It seemed obvious that Marcis could do the task to which he had been entrusted. 

Indeed, he won three more races in 1976, at Richmond Raceway, Talladega Superspeedway and Atlanta (now known as EchoPark Speedway). Otherwise, his production fell off to nine finishes among the top-five and 16 among the top-10. But he still finished sixth in points.

Despite four wins, 25 finishes among the top five and 34 among the top 10 and points results of second and sixth in two seasons, Marcis was gone from K&K after 1976. He was replaced by Neil Bonnett.

To be abandoned after displaying such promise seemed harsh. But it’s likely there was more to it than that. 

Krauskopf’s days as an owner were numbered. In fact, Bonnett drove in only 11 events before K&K ceased to exist in 1977.

“Nord’s sponsorship was his own insurance company,” Marcis said. “Sooner or later a guy might just think spending his own money wasn’t worth it.”

The fact is, many observers wondered how Krauskopf did it as long as he did, me included.

For the remainder of his career, with rare exceptions, Marcis raced his own cars and earned his fifth, and last, career win at Richmond in early 1982.

Through it all, Marcis never changed who he was or altered his beliefs and personality – to the delight of fans.

He always wore his full leather wing tips as driving shoes, even during the advanced technical age of lightweight, flame proof sporting foot gear.

“These are heavy duty shoes,” Marcis said. “I’ve never been burned in them, they last and are very comfortable. So why spend money on something else when they work?” Marcis proclaimed.

Marcis could out-eat nearly every other man. That he didn’t swell up like a human balloon is a testament to his metabolism, which surely is the equal of a hummingbird.

The story, or the urban legend, goes that Marcis and his crew went to an all-you-can-eat smorgasbord in Dover. After they digested a huge amount of Alaskan King Crab legs, they were thrown out by the management.

“I can’t say if that story is true or not,” Marcis said. “But I have been told to leave an all-you-can-eat restaurant.”

Then there is Marcis’ blue Goodyear cap. Some say he was born wearing it. But it’s a darn good bet it’s been associated with him as long as he’s been part of NASCAR. The photos of him and his hat are virtually uncountable.

Marcis will tell you it’s a matter of loyalty, something that means a great deal to him.

It seems that over the years and for whatever reasons, Goodyear has seen fit to pay Marcis favors. It has, in his opinion, graciously done things for him – in many forms – it was not required to do.

When Goodyear entered into the “Tire Wars” with Hoosier in the late 1980s, Marcis never wavered. He remained true to its product – and made that known by wearing the cap.

He has never abandoned his loyalty. He’s 85 years old, made 883 career NASCAR starts (fourth all-time) and still wears the Goodyear cap.

And the “Everyman” still appreciates a well-stocked buffet.