Memories of a special 500 in '79 (cont'd)

I had been a fan of Foyt since I was a little kid -- he had barrel-rolled in front of me the year before -- so I was hoping he'd at least wind up with a good finish, and maybe even more if something happened to the two cars in front.

With the laps winding down and tension building, Dad turned to me at some point and said, "Keep an eye on those other three cars, because I don't think the first two are going to make it to the finish."

Cale Yarborough and Donnie Allison were at odds both on and off the track at the 1979 Daytona 500.

Truer words were never spoken.

The leaders took the white flag and were in Turns 1 and 2 as the other three passed in front of us. I followed them to the start-finish line, then looked back the other direction just in time to see the most unreal sight -- the white and green No. 11 of Yarborough and the red No. 1 of Allison climbing up the banking in Turn 3, smacking the wall and skidding back down, out of sight.

As the fans around us began to realize the magnitude of what had happened, I quickly looked back to the opposite portion of the track. The crowd roared when Petty's No. 43 came into view, followed by Waltrip's No. 88 and then A.J.

I've never heard anyone ever ask Foyt about it, but I've always wondered if perhaps when the yellow came out, if instincts didn't cause him to lift for a split-second instead of racing back to the line, as per NASCAR rules of the day.

And that was the running order when they flashed beneath us for the final time. Like many of the people in our section, we hurriedly grabbed our belongings and headed for the parking lots once Petty made a slow victory lap. The thought of getting warm in the car precluded any long goodbyes.

I took U.S. 1 North to avoid the bulk of the race traffic and Dad did the same in the other direction. On the way, I passed the Hawaiian Tropic plant in Ormond Beach, and wondered to myself how big a celebration they might have had if Allison had been able to hold off Yarborough for the victory.

And neither of us knew anything about NASCAR's post-race mud-wrestling match. I cut out the photos from the paper the next morning and posted them on my bulletin board. They're still somewhere in a box in the basement.

Looking back, the one thing that stands out now from that race is that how it turned out to be the beginning of the changing of the guard. I remember watching a blue and yellow No. 2 that day and being impressed by the relative skill of the driver -- a kid named Earnhardt. He would win the first of his seven Cup championships the next season and usher in a new era.

Terry Labonte, Geoffrey Bodine and Ricky Rudd were also in that race, and would make their mark on the sport in the coming years.

My parents have since retired to Brevard County, and now live only a few hundred yards from the house where I stood in the front yard and watched men like Alan Shepard and John Glenn rocket into space during the Mercury program.

My mother has kept a record of our daily lives on her calendars for more than three decades. In the box for Feb. 18, 1979, it simply says "Daytona 500, 12:15; Duane soccer; Scott dishes." I don't know if Duane's team won -- or whether Scott completed his chores.

But I know how that particular Daytona 500 turned out.

The opinions expressed are solely of the writer.