In the 1955, my Grandmother purchased a house near the Broadway racetrack. On Friday and Saturday nights you could see the bright lights from the track and see the long line of cars turning onto the little dirt road that led to the track. You could hear the racetrack announcer over the din of the cars from her back porch. Clearly this was a very big and exciting event going on in my own backyard, or my Grandmother's backyard anyway. I wanted to go, I needed to see this big event for myself! After some discussion, my parents agreed to take me. This was probably because my Daddy was a fan of racing.
One Saturday night, my Mother, Daddy and I walked to the track because it was just a quarter mile or so from the house. The track lights gleamed in the distance and we walked past cars lined up at the gate. We found seats in the wooden bleachers and waited for the race to begin. This was a dirt racetrack, with local drivers handing older cars that they had modified in their own garage or backyard with the help of their friends. The noise was much louder at the track. The dust choked my throat and made made eyes itch, but I didn't care because I felt safe sitting between my parents. When there was a wreck, the men would push the broken car off the track. All the men scurrying around to move the car off the track before the cars came around again was the most exciting part of the race.