When the subject of NASCAR greats is discussed, the name Jimmy Pardue rarely
enters the conversation. After all, Jimmy only won two events, and died
tragically during a 1964 tire test at Charlotte Motor Speedway. Like many
drivers of that era though, Jimmy was limited to a standard of track
performance based on the quality of his equipment, and unfortunately he
rarely had cars capable of winning.
Like all contenders who never seem to be able to win consistently in
independent cars, Jimmy waited for his break when the call from a quality team
with factory sponsorship, a big time budget, a stellar pit crew, and a very
fast car would come. Finally after years of struggling, Jim's break came.
The year was 1963, and the firm of Holman-Moody, NASCAR's premier car
builders, had found themselves with an extra car for the World 600 in
Charlotte. The driver they tabbed to drive the car was Jimmy Pardue.
Jim was a local boy from nearby Wilkes County, and like another Wilkes
County driver named Junior Johnson was a lead footed charger.
Perhaps the main difference in Jim and Junior's win totals was equipment.
Perhaps not. In either case this would be a race that Jimmy Pardue could
showcase his talents to the elite of the stock car racing world.
If he could pull off a win at Charlotte, or
even a top five finish, he might be offered a permanent ride.
Eager to appear a team player, Jim offered his services to make the
plethora of personal appearances prior to the big race on Memorial Day
weekend. He attended an autograph session at Scenic Motors in Mt. Airy,
North Carolina, the home of the dealership that would provide the "factory"
car which Holman-Moody would re-build into a 160 mile per hour firebrand.
During the week before Jim's arrival, area radio stations announced that
Holman-Moody driver Jimmy Pardue would appear in person to sign autographs
and talk to fans, just a few days before the race.
I was a resident of the tiny southern town at the time, and like many
youngsters growing up in the south, the thought of meeting a NASCAR driver
was exciting. I convinced my father to take me to the dealership to meet
Mr. Pardue. The trip was about a 10 minute drive from my home and I
remember thinking there must be at least a thousand people that would be
there. I mean how often does a "real" NASCAR driver come to such a small
town? And a Holman-Moody driver at that!
It seemed to take an hour to drive the five or so miles from my home to
Scenic Motors that day, and I kept asking myself what to ask Mr.
Pardue when I arrived. When we finally got there I was stunned. There was
no line of traffic, no people, and no parking problem. We drove right in
and pulled up to the dealership door. I looked inside and saw three men. Two
standing and one sitting. The man seated was Jimmy Pardue. As we walked
through the door I approached Jimmy. He was wearing a light jacket and was
smoking a cigar. Well half smoking, half chewing. He never could
keep it lit, and that didn't seem to bother him. Jimmy was a slender dark
haired man. Some would say skinny. His hair was short and combed back in a
style more popular a couple of years earlier. As I entered the room I
introduced myself and began to barrage him with questions. The kind you
would expect a 12-year-old to ask. How fast do you go through the tri-oval
at Charlotte? Do you ever lay back and then charge at the end of the race?
Is Fred Lorenzen really that much better than everyone else? He handled the
questions like a college professor, carefully explaining each answer in
terms a 12-year-old could understand.
He spoke with confidence, and smiled just slightly as he emphasized the important parts of his answers. "You
drive through the tri-oval wide open. "Anytime you make even a slight
turn, even though you don't lift the accelerator, your car slows just
slightly," he said. "As far as laying back. No, I never lay back.
If the car is going to blow, It's going to blow.
It doesn't matter how hard you drive it."
"Now on Fred Lorenzen. He's a great driver, but if you ask me, Freddie
is just a little bit conceited," Jimmy said as he laughed.
I immediately defended Lorenzen by pointing out all the races he had won.
Jimmy, realizing he had trampled ever so slightly on a kid's idol, began to
agree with everything I said. "He does have a lot to be conceded about.
You're right. He's one of the best," Jimmy said. "If you see Fred Lorenzen
at the shop would you tell him I said hello," I asked.
"I won't promise, because I'm not sure I'll see him. But if
I do see him, I'll tell him you said hello," Jimmy responded.
I've thought many times about the sincerity in his voice. You had the
feeling that if Jimmy Pardue told you something, he fully intended to do it.
Our conversation finally drew to a close, and Jimmy Pardue walked out the
door and stepped into a Scenic Motors courtesy car, by himself, for the
drive back to Wilkesboro. As he opened the door, one of the Scenic
employees yelled, "Give 'em hell at Charlotte, Jimmy." He smiled, and
then looked stern. "I'll do it," he said.
I never had the opportunity to speak to Jimmy Pardue again, but I did see
him race a few more times. His Holman-Moody Ford would not finish the race
at Charlotte. Maybe because he drove it too hard. But maybe because nobody,
not even Fred Lorenzen, could have made it finish.
I'll always wonder just how many races Jimmy would have won if he had that
Holman-Moody Ford throughout his career.
Sadly, that is a question that will never be answered.
A year later I was sitting in my den when I heard on the radio that Jimmy
Pardue had been killed. Ironically at the same Charlotte track where he had
gotten the ride of his life, in a Holman-Moody Ford. A few minutes after
hearing the report, my father entered the driveway and I ran out to deliver
the news. "Dad, Jimmy Pardue was killed today at Charlotte running tire
tests," I said. My father, a man of few words and little emotion looked
back. With a poker face he said, "Oh hell. Nice guy. Skinny little guy
always chomping on a cigar." Then he paused and stopped walking for a
moment. He frowned and shook his head. "That's a shame," he said.
Coming from my dad, that was a tribute.
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