Post by Jim Fisher on Sept 1, 2010 22:51:49 GMT -6
"The Day the Buzzards Flew"
After a while, when you get to see enough racing, you can get the feeling that you've somehow seen it all. Of course, that's never the case. There's always something new.
Other than a few of my teenage years, just about every Saturday night on record (and lots of other nights as well) can be traced to a racetrack somewhere. I picked up a camera in the late 80s and a few years later became a "track photographer" for the first time. There are lots of funny stories from some of those days, but none that can equal the tale I'm about to tell.
Now I'm not going to name the track, I wouldn't want to hurt any feelings. I'll just say, it's not any of the present day tracks running sprint cars. That was the crazy part of me taking the job there anyway -- they didn't race sprint cars. Well anyway, weird things were always happening. I found a spot outside of the track that I liked taking pictures and proceeded to take warm ups shots. All of the sudden I looked up, and circling the track were several buzzards. I didn't know exactly what this all meant, but to me it was a sure sign that more crazyness was on the way.
It didn't take long for things to start happening. After taking photos I walked back to the stands only to see the announcer fly by and out the gate. His family also helped in the tower, and on the way out I grabbed the son following behind. "What's going on?" I can't remember exactly what he said, maybe something about not getting paid. He didn't stand still for long, and jumped in the car parked next to the gate and the family drove off.
I saw the flagman, who also happened to work with the announcer and I at another speedway at the same time. I didn't know what to say. "I'm following them," he said. Sure enough, he flagged a couple races, turned around and waved goodbye to the crowd, packed up his flags and walked out the gate. First no announcer, now we don't have a flagman. Could be serious. The call went out over the PA for anyone in the stands that had flagged before. No experienced flagmen came running.
In hindsight, I made a mistake at my next decision. But rather than let someone off the street climb on the flagstand, I volunteered. Afterall, I'd seen it all. Right? Well, maybe not. There were a couple of problems. First of all, in an effort to stall while trying to find a flagman, they had watered the track heavily. The drivers had been buckled in waiting to take the track and were wondering what in the world was going on. They were ready to race, but the track wasn't. It's then you understand it's a little different when you're holding the flags, and the decisions are yours to make.
It's all a blur now, but somehow I got through the heat races. I was still trying to do my duties as photographer, jumping down off the flagstand and running to take a picture of each heat winner. There was no way this was going to work.
"Get me off of here and get someone that knows what they're doing or I'm following the others," I said over the radio. I grabbed my camera walked out into the infield, and didn't know whether to laugh hysterically or cry. And of course, there was more fun in store. The night ended with a classic bang: The track owner took over as flagman and when he gave the leader the white flag in the feature, he missed him on the checker lap and the race went an extra lap. To add to the confusion, the leader slowed after he took what he thought was the checker and was passed. Both cars stopped in victory lane, wanting me to take pictures of them. Now imagine trying to handle that with a straight face.
I stuck it out at the speedway until one day there was a sprint car race on the calendar that I just had to attend that was on the same day I was supposed to be on duty at the track. I just had to go. I still kick myself today ..... man, I should have left earlier.
After a while, when you get to see enough racing, you can get the feeling that you've somehow seen it all. Of course, that's never the case. There's always something new.
Other than a few of my teenage years, just about every Saturday night on record (and lots of other nights as well) can be traced to a racetrack somewhere. I picked up a camera in the late 80s and a few years later became a "track photographer" for the first time. There are lots of funny stories from some of those days, but none that can equal the tale I'm about to tell.
Now I'm not going to name the track, I wouldn't want to hurt any feelings. I'll just say, it's not any of the present day tracks running sprint cars. That was the crazy part of me taking the job there anyway -- they didn't race sprint cars. Well anyway, weird things were always happening. I found a spot outside of the track that I liked taking pictures and proceeded to take warm ups shots. All of the sudden I looked up, and circling the track were several buzzards. I didn't know exactly what this all meant, but to me it was a sure sign that more crazyness was on the way.
It didn't take long for things to start happening. After taking photos I walked back to the stands only to see the announcer fly by and out the gate. His family also helped in the tower, and on the way out I grabbed the son following behind. "What's going on?" I can't remember exactly what he said, maybe something about not getting paid. He didn't stand still for long, and jumped in the car parked next to the gate and the family drove off.
I saw the flagman, who also happened to work with the announcer and I at another speedway at the same time. I didn't know what to say. "I'm following them," he said. Sure enough, he flagged a couple races, turned around and waved goodbye to the crowd, packed up his flags and walked out the gate. First no announcer, now we don't have a flagman. Could be serious. The call went out over the PA for anyone in the stands that had flagged before. No experienced flagmen came running.
In hindsight, I made a mistake at my next decision. But rather than let someone off the street climb on the flagstand, I volunteered. Afterall, I'd seen it all. Right? Well, maybe not. There were a couple of problems. First of all, in an effort to stall while trying to find a flagman, they had watered the track heavily. The drivers had been buckled in waiting to take the track and were wondering what in the world was going on. They were ready to race, but the track wasn't. It's then you understand it's a little different when you're holding the flags, and the decisions are yours to make.
It's all a blur now, but somehow I got through the heat races. I was still trying to do my duties as photographer, jumping down off the flagstand and running to take a picture of each heat winner. There was no way this was going to work.
"Get me off of here and get someone that knows what they're doing or I'm following the others," I said over the radio. I grabbed my camera walked out into the infield, and didn't know whether to laugh hysterically or cry. And of course, there was more fun in store. The night ended with a classic bang: The track owner took over as flagman and when he gave the leader the white flag in the feature, he missed him on the checker lap and the race went an extra lap. To add to the confusion, the leader slowed after he took what he thought was the checker and was passed. Both cars stopped in victory lane, wanting me to take pictures of them. Now imagine trying to handle that with a straight face.
I stuck it out at the speedway until one day there was a sprint car race on the calendar that I just had to attend that was on the same day I was supposed to be on duty at the track. I just had to go. I still kick myself today ..... man, I should have left earlier.
