Category: Historic Auto Races

In the early days of NASCAR’s Grand National Series, weather was also an unpredictable wildcard. Short tracks like Martinsville Speedway — the tight, 0.526-mile paved oval nestled in Virginia’s Blue Ridge foothills — tested drivers’ skill, car setup, and sheer grit more than raw horsepower. In April 1961, the historic venue hosted not one, but two races under the “Virginia 500” banner. The first was cut short by rain; the second became a legendary tale of comeback and old-school determination. Together, they delivered breakthrough moments for future Hall of Famers and highlighted why Martinsville earned its reputation as “The Paperclip.”

April 9: A Rain-Soaked First Win for “Fast Freddie” Lorenzen

The season’s 13th race drew 27 entries for the scheduled 500-lap, 250-mile grind. Qualifying put Rex White on the pole in his Chevrolet, with rising star Fred Lorenzen — a former USAC standout nicknamed “Fast Freddie” — starting second in the Holman-Moody #28 Ford.

From the drop of the green, White dominated, leading the first 118 laps. But on lap 119, Lorenzen made his move. The smooth-handling Ford sliced through traffic and took command for the final 31 laps. Then the skies opened. After just 149 laps (about 75 miles), officials waved the red flag. The race was called official under caution, with an average speed of 68.366 mph. Lorenzen crossed the line first — his maiden NASCAR victory — earning roughly $1,150 and a place in the record books.

The finishing order read like a Who’s Who of 1960s NASCAR royalty: White second, Glen Wood third in a Wood Brothers Ford, Emanuel Zervakis fourth, Ned Jarrett fifth, and Junior Johnson sixth in a Pontiac. Richard Petty finished eighth, Tim Flock ninth. Several big names — including Buck Baker and Cotton Owens — soldiered on but couldn’t challenge the leaders before the rain ended play.

The April 9th Virginia 500 was called after only 149 of 500 laps due to heavy rain — well short of halfway in terms of distance, though it was ruled official. Because it fell so far short of the advertised 250-mile event, NASCAR made the rare decision to schedule a full makeup race (the “Virginia 500 Sweepstakes”) at the same track three weeks later on April 30. The two races were treated as completely separate events for points and stats.

This kind of doubleheader at the same venue because of a severely shortened rain race was not standard practice, even in the 1960s. It happened occasionally in NASCAR’s early years when a race was drastically abbreviated and promoters/track owners pushed for a full-distance “make-good” event, but it was the exception rather than the rule.

April 30: Junior Johnson’s Epic Comeback — and a Sledgehammer Story

Thirty cars lined up under sunny skies for the rescheduled 500-lapper. Rex White again grabbed the pole, but the early story belonged to Fred Lorenzen. Starting second, the Holman-Moody Ford rocketed to the front on lap 32 and looked unbeatable, leading a commanding 334 laps (from lap 32 through 365).

Running mid-pack was Junior Johnson in the #27 Pontiac owned by Rex Lovette (founder of Holly Farms poultry). Starting 17th, Johnson — the former North Carolina moonshiner famous for his aggressive, flat-out style — had already earned a reputation as one of the toughest short-track racers. But early in the race he trailed Lorenzen by four full laps.

Then came the turning point. Lorenzen’s engine began to sour. The Holman-Moody crew made an extended pit stop to nurse the ailing Ford back to life. While Lorenzen sat helplessly on pit road, Johnson poured on the speed. Setting a torrid pace lap after lap, the Pontiac driver erased the deficit in stunning fashion — going from four laps down to four laps ahead. He ultimately led 135 laps and cruised to victory, finishing a staggering four laps ahead of runner-up Emanuel Zervakis. Fireball Roberts took third, Tommy Irwin fourth, Buck Baker fifth, and Ned Jarrett sixth. Lorenzen salvaged only 11th after his mechanical woes. The race averaged 66.278 mph.

Why Johnson Won: Relentless Pace, Team Tension, and Classic Short-Track Magic

The victory wasn’t just about speed — it was about Johnson’s refusal to back off when everyone else told him to. This was one of the first NASCAR races to experiment with two-way radios (adapted from Holly Farms’ chicken-truck fleet). Car owner Rex Lovette of Holly Farms and crew chief Fred Johnson (Johnson’s own brother) used the radio to urge Junior to “take it easy” and protect his huge lead. Johnson simply turned the radio off and ignored the pit-board messages that read “E-Z” (for ease off).

As he later explained, backing down would upset the Pontiac’s handling on Martinsville’s tight corners. He ran the car “just as fast as it would go” — the same wide-open style he used outrunning revenuers on mountain roads. Lovette grew so frustrated he once grabbed a sledgehammer during a pit stop, jokingly (or not) threatening “great bodily harm.” Johnson just grinned, gave a thumbs-up, and kept hammering the throttle. He crossed the finish line four laps ahead, turning a potential disaster into one of his most memorable wins.

The 1961 season was already shaping up as a changing of the guard. Lorenzen’s rain-shortened triumph at Martinsville was his first of what would become 26 career victories; he followed it with another win at Darlington the next week. Johnson, already a short-track terror, would notch seven wins that year and go on to 50 as a driver before becoming one of NASCAR’s most successful team owners (six championships). Richard Petty, still early in his career, finished respectably in both April races but was learning the lessons that would make him “The King.”

These two April Sundays at Martinsville captured everything fans loved about 1960s NASCAR: unpredictable weather, mechanical heartbreak, fearless driving, and larger-than-life personalities. The rain gave Lorenzen his breakthrough; the makeup race gave Johnson a story for the ages. More than six decades later, the Paperclip still delivers that same brand of short-track magic — but few weekends have ever matched the drama of those two rain-soaked, redemptive Virginia 500s.

On an October afternoon in 1915, the roar of racing engines echoed across Brooklyn as automobiles surged past 100 miles per hour on a track built entirely of wood. What spectators ultimately witnessed was not just a race, but the unveiling of one of the most ambitious speedways ever attempted in American motorsport. The origins of the Sheepshead Bay Speedway stretched back decades earlier, when the site had been home to the celebrated Sheepshead Bay Race Track, a premier Thoroughbred venue. That era ended abruptly after New York outlawed gambling in 1910, leaving the property idle and financially stranded. By 1915, however, a powerful group of investors recognized its potential. Organized under the Sheepshead Bay Speedway Corporation, the ownership included Cleveland businessman Harry Harkness and Carl G. Fisher, the visionary co-founder of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Their aim was bold and deliberate: to bring world-class automobile racing to the nation’s largest city and to create a speedway capable of surpassing anything seen before.

Construction moved at a breathtaking pace. At a staggering cost of $3.5 million, the abandoned horse track was transformed into a two-mile wooden board speedway, requiring an estimated 3,200,000 feet of lumber. The engineering was revolutionary. The massive turns were 80 feet wide and banked at 17 degrees, designed to sustain extreme speeds far beyond those possible on dirt ovals. Easy rail access from Manhattan and expansive grandstands positioned Sheepshead Bay as a true metropolitan showplace, and promoters openly predicted it would rival — or even eclipse — Indianapolis. The track’s design delivered exactly what was promised: speed. Yet that same speed exposed the dangers of board track racing, a reality underscored when veteran driver, and two-time Vanderbilt Cup winner, Harry Grant was killed in a crash during preliminary running. It was a sobering reminder that innovation and risk were inseparable in this new era of racing.

To christen the speedway, organizers selected the Astor Challenge Cup, donated by Vincent Astor, whose name lent both prestige and social stature to the event. The AAA-sanctioned Astor Cup, run over 350 miles (175 laps), was scheduled as the first race ever held on the newly built Sheepshead Bay Speedway, but inclement weather forced a postponement, delaying the highly anticipated debut by a week. When the race was finally run on October 9, 1915, the track delivered on its promise. During the race, Dario Resta recorded the fastest lap at 115.756 mph, a staggering figure that illustrated the breathtaking potential of the two-mile board oval under full race conditions. Yet sheer speed alone did not decide the outcome.

Victory went to Gil Andersen, driving a Stutz, who balanced pace with mechanical sympathy and endurance to win at an average speed of 102.59 mph. Tom Rooney finished second, just 57 seconds behind, with Eddie O’Donnell third. The event also produced disappointment, most notably for Barney Oldfield, whose car suffered a broken connecting rod, making him the first retirement and leaving him classified 20th. The 1915 Astor Cup proved both triumphant and cautionary — a dazzling demonstration of what modern engineering and daring drivers could achieve, and a stark illustration of the dangers that accompanied such speed. Although Sheepshead Bay Speedway would operate only briefly before closing in 1919, its legacy endures. The Astor Challenge Cup survived long after the wooden boards were torn down, eventually becoming the championship trophy of modern IndyCar racing, linking today’s champions directly to the men who first raced at unimaginable speeds on the Brooklyn boards in 1915.

---

The 1961 Festival 250 at Atlanta International Raceway exists largely because of a sudden and controversial withdrawal by the United States Auto Club (USAC) just days before the event was scheduled to run. Originally planned as a USAC-sanctioned race, the event unraveled approximately 36 hours before practice, when USAC officials abruptly pulled their approval. Contemporary newspaper accounts indicate that the decision stemmed from serious safety concerns, particularly regarding the high sustained speeds expected on Atlanta’s fast 1.5-mile oval and doubts about tire durability under race conditions. USAC driver Eddie Sachs voiced public reservations, warning that the pace would leave drivers physically exhausted and questioning whether Firestone tires supplied for USAC competition would withstand the demands of the track. The late timing of the decision left promoters scrambling and threatened to cancel the event entirely.

The reaction from stock car racers was swift and angry. Fireball Roberts, one of the sport’s most respected veterans, criticized USAC’s handling of the situation, saying the last-minute withdrawal was “terrible” for Southern promoters and should “eliminate USAC from the South forever.” Joe Weatherly was even more blunt, stating that organizers “should have known better than to be doing business with USAC,” adding that the organization “had never done right by anybody.” These comments reflected a broader cultural divide at the time, as many NASCAR competitors believed USAC neither understood nor respected stock car racing, particularly in NASCAR’s Southeastern stronghold.

With the event on the brink of collapse, NASCAR president Bill France Sr. moved quickly to preserve the race, stepping in to sanction the Festival 250 as a NASCAR Grand National points event. The decision not only saved the weekend for fans and teams but also underscored NASCAR’s growing dominance in American stock car racing. What had begun as a USAC experiment ultimately became a uniquely NASCAR affair, remembered less for its original intent than for the circumstances that forced its transformation. The Festival 250 remains a rare example of a race reshaped by sanctioning politics, illustrating both the fragility of motorsports promotion in the early 1960s and NASCAR’s ability to capitalize when opportunity — and controversy — presented itself.

With USAC’s abrupt withdrawal and NASCAR’s quick intervention still fresh in everyone’s minds, the 1961 Festival 250 finally took the green flag on Sunday, July 9, 1961, at Atlanta International Raceway. Originally conceived as a showcase event, the race drew an enthusiastic crowd — reports from memorabilia and race programs suggest around 18,000 spectators packed the grandstands to see how the newly sanctioned NASCAR Grand National event would unfold in the Georgia heat.

Once underway, the 167-lap, 250-mile contest proved to be all NASCAR from start to finish. Fred Lorenzen, driving the No. 28 Ford for Holman-Moody, delivered a commanding performance. Starting fifth on the grid, Lorenzen led 52 laps and ultimately lapped the entire field, crossing the finish line with a full circuit advantage over his nearest rival.

Bob Welborn, piloting a Pontiac, was credited with second place, finishing one lap down, while Richard Petty brought his Plymouth home third, further cementing the race’s place on NASCAR’s Grand National map.

In this way, what began as a sanctioning controversy and logistical scramble became a memorable chapter in early 1960s stock car racing — a race that rewarded adaptability and speed, seized by NASCAR’s rising momentum and defined by one of the era’s most dominant drivers.