
Junior Johnson listens to the question, and when he answers, his voice carries all the blunt-force impact of a sledgehammer.
This isn't just another cliché-riddled reply. It's a reaction that's felt to the very depth of his being, and in its simplicity, there is strength and conviction. There's absolutely no doubt that Johnson believes what he says. He should, because it's the gospel truth.
Looking back on your career, the interviewer asks Johnson, how do you want to be remembered by race fans?
"I gave it all I could," Johnson begins, his voice thick with emphasis. "I didn't leave nothing laying on the table. ... I took it all with me to the race track."
Johnson's legacy has been well chronicled through the years -- moonshine runner, a stretch in prison, the 1965 Esquire article naming him "The Last American Hero," his discovery of the draft en route to winning the 1960 Daytona 500, 50 wins as a driver, six Cup Series championships as a team owner. That's the Junior Johnson resume, the surface look at one of the first five members of the NASCAR Hall of Fame.
Yes, what Johnson did in this sport is a large part of what makes him such an all-encompassing, nearly mythological figure. Still, how he went about his business might very well be an even bigger piece of the puzzle. He was the tough-as-shoe-leather country boy who did things his way, and by gosh, if somebody didn't like it, they were you-know-what out of luck.
He wasn't a self-promotional wiz along the lines of, oh, say Darrell Waltrip, who won three Cup titles in Johnson-owned machines. That's not to say that confidence didn't all but ooze out of Johnson, far from it. He knew he could do the job better than most anyone else and he would tell you about it if asked, but he never went out and looked for the opportunity to do so.
Just watch him. That was enough. (Continued)