Tag: role-models

Yeah, that was Willard

“Real winners don’t stand alone in the winner’s circle. They help others get there.”  —Author unknown but admired.

– – – – – –

“You should write that story,” a friend said.

“Maybe,” I replied.

More than just another one of my reminiscing diatribes about drag racing from “…a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…” this was a learning experience story. If loud and fast cars are not your thing, I totally understand. Simply substitute something that is “your thing,” but don’t miss the moral of the story.

I was drag racing before the ink on my driver’s license dried. At tracks like Stracner Drag Strip at Bettie, Texas. You’ve probably never heard of either unless you grew up in East Texas and loved loud and fast cars.

Working my way through college and supporting my loud and fast car addiction at Sandlin Chevrolet and Olds in Mount Pleasant, I was fascinated when Dick Smothers (of the well-known TV comedy duo) fielded a team of “ram air” high-performance Oldsmobile muscle cars.

The perfect storm emerged when I bought one of the Olds muscle cars and entered the 1970 National Hot Rod Association’s (NHRA) SpringNationals event at Dallas, competing in the same class with one of the Smothers Brothers cars. A professionally prepared example from California driven by Willard Wright, a drag racing champion in his own right before being recruited by the Smothers Brothers. True to his skill, Wright held the national record for the class and was a consistent winner in every event across the country.

Some might have called it “a bummer” to have been paired with the national record holder in final eliminations. It turned out to be a story still worth telling, however, with the bonus of a lesson I never forgot.

I harbored no fantasies of taking out the national record holder. Short of a million-to-one shot error on his part, like a “red light” foul start, or a mechanical problem with his car.

He pulled to the line in the left lane and I staged in the right. The starting line “Christmas tree” counted down to green and we both left strong. In less than 13 seconds, it was over. To no one’s surprise, Wright advanced to the next round, and I headed for the trailer.

To some, that might have seemed a great disappointment. But to this “working-my-way-through-college” kid who loved loud and fast cars, I got to play with the “big boys” at a national event—a long way from Friday nights at Bettie, Texas.

Back in the pits, good friend and race car mechanic Oscar Elliott was waiting. Our plan? Load up and watch the rest of the races as spectators. We came, we saw, we got to play, we had our moment on the big stage.

But wait, this story wasn’t over yet.

The smell of hot rubber and exhaust fumes still hung heavy over the car when I saw someone walking toward us. “There you are,” he hollered. Extending his arm for a handshake, he added, “My name’s Willard Wright.”

My 1969 Olds F-85 G/SA contender right before losing the race at Dallas in 1970, but earning the respect of class act championship driver who knew there was more to racing than just winning.

Momentarily astounded, I could do no better than stammering, “H-hello.”

“Great race,” he said. “Tell me what you’ve done to the car.”

I looked at the national record-holding driver who had just knocked me off on the way to another winner’s circle.

“Well, we started by ….”

Then I detailed everything I could think of about how we dismantled a new car and put it back together in compliance with NHRA’s deep rule book and my shallow pocketbook. After listening intently, Wright had questions. “Did you (do this), have you (done that)?”

After answering questions and me taking notes on his tuning tips for the unique Oldsmobile motors, he said, “Sounds like you’ve done all you can do without factory backing and sponsorship cash. Good job, though—you ran me as close as anyone — right there with me at the finish line. Not bad for a couple of ‘East Texas boys’ running as independents.”

With that, we shook hands again. “Good to meet you and good luck—you’ll do well.” Then he was gone as quickly as he had appeared. We stood in awe, watching him disappear into the crowd.

“That was Willard,” Oscar said calmly, finally breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” I drawled. “That was Willard.”

That was also more than a memorable racing experience. It was the day a national record-holding champion tracked down a loud-and-fast-car loving kid from a small town with a big dream to say, in essence, “Good job, how can I help you become better?”

And …well, that’s a story worth writing about.

—Leon Aldridge

(Photo at top of the page – The Smother’s Brothers 1969 Oldsmobile Cutlass G/SA national record holding car driven by Willard Wright. The same one that handed me a loss at a national event, but gave me a great story about a championship driver with more than just talent: one with class and with a desire to help others find the winner’s circle. The photo is not mine. I take no credit for it and am realizing no income from it. I use it strictly for editorial purposes. I found it on an Oldsmobile racing social media page several years ago that also listed no photo credit.)

– – – – – – –

Leon Aldridge is a veteran editor, publisher, and communications professional, currently enjoying semi-retirement while awaiting his next challenge. His columns appear in: The Center Light and Champion, The Mount Pleasant Tribune, the Rosenberg Fort Bend Herald, the Taylor Press, the Alpine Avalanche, the Fort Stockton Pioneer, the Elgin Courier, The Monitor in Naples, and Motor Sports Magazine.

© Leon Aldridge and A Story Worth Telling 2026. Feel free to use excerpts with full and clear credit given to Leon Aldridge and ‘A Story Worth Telling.’

Silent role models; just doing without saying

Sunday is Father’s Day.

Previous pieces occupying this space have waxed eloquent on Father’s Day and Mother’s Day, more often when my parents were still living. Partially because I knew they both read Number One Son’s column faithfully. Which saved me from struggling to get a card in the mail on time.

Something at which I never excelled for any occasion.

Dad’s earthly journey ended in 2007, and Mom followed him in 2010. Thinking about role models on Father’s Day, my parents were the pinnacle of examples I held in highest esteem. Simply living by their own goals and standards, just being silent role models for my sisters and me, instead of talking about it.

How that usually plays out didn’t sink in on me, however, until years later. Growing older before fully realizing just who our heroes and role models were, and why. Sort of like hindsight. You know, turning on the porch light after we’ve already stumbled up the steps.

My first role model and hero was always my dad. He worked hard all his life, demonstrating how to love and care for a family, run a business, and treat others with kindness and courtesy. Every day since, I’ve thought about how he faced difficult decisions. Asking myself at times, “How would he have handled what I’m facing now?”

Alongside Dad, Mom added her own lessons by example. Watching her, I learned about silent stability, taking care of the home front, and the grounding effect of enjoying a mid-morning coffee break. Most importantly, however, I learned from her the strength of an unyielding faith in God to get through the challenges in life whenever fastballs fly without warning, and to be thankful when they aren’t.

Beyond my parents, I was blessed with other role models—some were sort of “alternate moms” who helped shape me in ways I likewise did not fully understand until later in life.

“Granny”—Dad’s mother—was unbelievably stern in matters of honesty, hard work, and frugality, but she was equally soft in the areas of love and patience. She never hesitated to claim “helping raise” any youngster she spent more than a couple of hours with. And somehow, a couple of hours’ worth of her wisdom and philosophy stayed with you like the smell of her homemade biscuits in the morning.

“Alternate Moms” also influencing me were two of my best friends’ mothers. David Neeley, Oscar Elliott, and I were always into something together while growing up in Northeast Texas. So much so that we also often shared moms.

Oscar’s “Momma,” Bobbie Jean Elliott, was a small, quiet woman with an easygoing but strong influence on neighborhood kids who passed through her house. We all knew what she expected of us. And she also let us know what she wouldn’t stand for with just one of her looks and a few words—economical but effective—and always served with a smile.

David’s mother, Doris Neeley, had roots in “Old North Dallas,” back when most of Big D was inside Loop 12, and the White Rock Lake area was the nicest place to live. An invitation to join her and David for a Saturday trip to Dallas was a unique treat, whether for shopping at NorthPark or for a taste of culture at Fair Park Music Hall.

She was refined, elegant, and just classy enough to laugh when I ordered a hamburger with catsup in a five-star North Dallas restaurant.

My silent role models… all gone now. I sometimes wonder if they knew they were leaving their fingerprints on the wet cement of my young life? I sure didn’t.

I doubt they did either, really. I suspect they were like all silent role models, just doing without saying a word. Silently handing down family recipes for a rewarding life written in good examples rather than with fading ink.

I know it’s Father’s Day, but I tend to celebrate my silent role models of all types these days: fathers, mothers, and more, on every occasion I can.  

Wishing they could read my “cheap card columns” about how much I miss and appreciate them all.

—Leon Aldridge

• (Photo at top) Three generations of Aldridge men in a painting my daughter, Robin Osteen did from an old black-and-white photo and presented me with about ten years ago … I think it was. Left, my grandfather Sylvester Aldridge (1888-1967), right, my father, Leon Aldridge (1923-2007), center, yours truly. Date of that photo (judging from my youthful appearance) would have been late 1949 to early 1950.

– – – – – – –

Leon Aldridge is a veteran editor, publisher, and communications professional, currently enjoying semi-retirement while awaiting his next challenge. His columns appear in: The Center Light and Champion, The Mount Pleasant Tribune, the Rosenberg Fort Bend Herald, the Taylor Press, the Alpine Avalanche, the Fort Stockton Pioneer, the Elgin Courier, The Monitor in Naples, and Motor Sports Magazine.

© Leon Aldridge and A Story Worth Telling 2026. Feel free to use excerpts with full and clear credit given to Leon Aldridge and ‘A Story Worth Telling.’