Waid’s World: In 1977, Darrell Waltrip Rose to Stardom & Two Writers Began a Lifelong Journey

The 1977 NASCAR Cup Series season was the one in which Darrell Waltrip finally arrived.

He moved from an occasional winner to a driver victorious in some of NASCAR’s most noteworthy races on some of its most difficult – and respected – speedways.

He became established not just as a star, but also as one with the potential to win championships.

“I’ve spent five years doing this,” Waltrip said at the time. “Sure, I won a couple of races. But in my mind, I wouldn’t say I made it unless I won on at least one superspeedway. Now I’ve done that.”

The 1977 season was also significant for another reason. It was the first in which motorsports journalists Tom Higgins of the Charlotte Observer and Steve Waid of the Roanoke World-News traveled together.

What quickly emerged, and lasted for decades afterward, was a lifelong friendship based upon a mutual dedication to NASCAR, its competition and its people – and to their readers.

Waltrip entered NASCAR in 1972 and didn’t compete on the full schedule until 1975. It was during that season that he opened a few eyes with his accomplishments and his vocal disdain for several successful competitors who came before him.

Waltrip wasn’t outright disrespectful to the likes of Richard Petty, David Pearson or Cale Yarborough. He just delivered the occasional remark that described them as
somewhat less than god-like. He colorfully insinuated that they were no better drivers than he.

Fans who perceived Waltrip as a rude smart alec with a distinct lack of respect for his predecessors let him know their feelings with rousing boos during driver introductions. They also cheered loudly when he experienced misfortune on
the track.

But there were those who viewed Waltrip as a breath of fresh air that NASCAR needed. He was a promising young talent who could be the future of NASCAR. They supported him even if some of the signs they hoisted in the grandstands read, “Go Darryl Waldrop.”

Waltrip won twice in 1975, first with his own team and crew chief Jake Elder, at Nashville Fairgrounds Speedway. That did not come as a big surprise. Waltrip, a resident of Franklin, Tenn., had been routinely successful at his home track.

But late in the season, he joined the fledgling Digard Racing Co. as the replacement for Donnie Allison. With the team, he won his second race of the season on the short track at Richmond Raceway.

In 1976 with Digard and crew chief David Ifft, Waltrip won at yet another short track, Martinsville Speedway. It was his only victory of the season.

Waltrip knew the occasional short-track victory wasn’t going to be the needed backup for all his bravado. If he was going to be considered the equal of his elder peers, he’d have to come up with much more competitive evidence.

He got it in 1977. First, he won the Rebel 500 in April at Darlington Raceway, NASCAR’s oldest, most venerated and – as many have maintained over the years – most difficult superspeedway.

Waltrip was fourth among a pack of cars leading late in the race, including those of Petty, Pearson and Bobby Allison.

An accident triggered by Dick Brooks‘ collision with J.D. McDuffie scattered the leaders. Waltrip seized the advantage by racing through the melee to become the leader when the caution flag flew, ending the race.

“I saw the wreck, and I knew it would take a long time to clean it up,” Waltrip said. “So, I just powered my way through. I was taking a chance, but I knew it was the only way I was going to win. And I needed a superspeedway win really bad.”

In late April, Higgins and Waid made their second trip of the season together. They were going to the Winston 500 at Talladega Superspeedway (then known as Alabama International Motor Speedway). At 2.66 miles in distance, it was NASCAR’s largest and fastest track.

Their first journey had come in February, an eight-hour trip from Charlotte to Daytona Beach for the Daytona 500. During those eight hours, Waid was enthralled by Higgins’ storytelling skills.

Born and raised in the mountains of North Carolina, Higgins regaled Waid with tales of his father’s days as a North Carolina game warden, stories about such colorful friends and characters as Jiggs Briggs, l.G. Deaton, Jerry Haas and Mumsey Melloway, his days as a basketball player at Brevard College (during which a rival player named Waddell Wilson hit him in the mouth) and his attempts to go parking with his dates atop something called “Bocatcher Mountain.”

He also infused Waid with a wealth of motorsports knowledge gathered from his years covering the sport.

“Don’t worry boy,” Higgins said, “When we get to the track, I’ll make sure you are on the right path.”

At Daytona, he also made Waid aware of the intricacies of dog racing and jai alai. Those lessons weren’t free.

It was much the same during the six-hour journey to Talladega. Higgins, who could carry on a conversation with a cigar store Indian, was his usual jovial, loquacious self.

Until the two left the interstate for the hotel in Anniston, Ala.

Higgins grew strangely quiet. He stared through the front windshield, as if transfixed by something on the road ahead.

Before Waid could ask what was wrong, Higgins said, “Boy, I don’t like this track. It is very, very fast and speeds are higher with each race.

“The cars race so close together. There is no room for error. And things happen so quickly. It’s the only track where I really, really worry about a driver’s life.”

Higgins recalled the 1973 Winston 500.

“I saw the largest, most frightening wreck of my career,” he said. “It happened after just a few laps. Twenty-one cars were involved as the infield grass was torn up, car parts flew everywhere and you couldn’t see much of anything due to the smoke.”

He added that he was scared to death that at least one driver, maybe more, had been severely injured – or worse.

“I found out later that several drivers had actually hugged each other after things calmed down,” Higgins said, “They were so grateful to be alive.”

Higgins spoke of another, more personal incident in the Talladega 500 in August of 1975.

South Carolina driver Tiny Lund, one of Higgins’ closest fishing buddies, died after a crash with Terry Link on the sixth lap. The impact caused severe chest injuries that took Lund’s life.

“Tiny was a good friend,” said Higgins, who was also the observer’s outdoor editor. “He was always full of life and a joy to be around.

“It just broke my heart when he died.”

The 1977 Winston 500 didn’t have a spectacular accident, but it did have something no one had ever seen.

Over the last 11 laps, Waltrip led a squad of four cars racing for the victory.

“Darrell is a dead duck if he stays in the lead,” Higgins said. “In the draft here, it’s the second-place car that holds the edge. He came move out in the ‘slingshot draft’ and easily pass the leader.”

But before that happened, Waltrip dove low on the track, down to the apron. The move broke the draft and allowed Waltrip to earn his second superspeedway victory in four weeks.

“Boy, I’ve never seen a move like that,” Higgins said.

“Darrell was lucky to win,” said Yarborough, who finished second. “He had the fourth-fastest car here.”

“Well,” Waltrip responded, “I guess it was a case of superior driving that won this race.”

He was still tweaking noses.

Waltrip added two more superspeedway wins in 1977 along with a couple on short tracks. His six victories and fourth-place finish in points were career highs.

As has been well-chronicled, Waltrip went on to a career highlighted by achievements and notoriety.

And it was much the same for Higgins and Waid.