photo: Jim Hunter, NASCAR communications exec who died last Friday of cancer at age 71.
TALLADEGA, Ala. – It’s Halloween at Talladega, and neither Jim Hunter nor Ed Shull is here.
Where are the grown-ups going to get their tricks and treats? Beats me.
Kids live in a Halloween world in which one night of the year, they get apples and candied corn and Zagnuts and all kinds of stuff that cost a penny when I was a kid and now runs at least a quarter.
Grown-ups live in a Halloween world all the time, and guys like Hunter and Shull made it bearable, doling out jokes and smart-alecky remarks, all of which, on balance, were enjoyable. Both could, when necessary, spew what seemed like acid from their tongues, sort of like unto a velociraptor, but the taste left in your mouth was never worse than dark, semi-sweet chocolate. Both could also charm a cobra without need of a flute.
Hunter, who died Friday night, was titular. He always held positions of influence: vice president of this or that, president of Darlington Raceway. Hunter never got sent out to a pasture that would hold him long. He could wield power and influence whether occupying the crown or just telling the despot in training what to do in order to keep the rabble in check. In terms of public relations, Hunter was the equivalent of what Jake Gaither said about Bear Bryant: He could take his’uns and beat y’ourn or take y’ourn and beat his’uns. I’d have liked a “flack-off” between Hunter and Humpy Wheeler. There’s no way the National Stock Car Racing Commission could have judged the outcome. The Supreme Court would have had to flip a coin.
The two men, Hunter and Wheeler, once played football, at the same time, at the University of South Carolina, on teams that weren’t notably successful. That’s almost certainly coincidental, but one can’t help but wonder what the Gamecocks had in the water coolers on the sidelines back in the late 1950s.
Wheeler said, via one of dozens of statements circulated on Saturday and one of the few that meant anything other than to meet perceived obligations, “Jim Hunter will be sorely missed because he knew more about pure media relations, and particularly how it relates to the fan, than anyone in motor racing. He was best in crisis, always giving sage advice behind the scenes. He also knew when to interject humor when everyone was ready to crack.”
That’s a fact. Several times he talked to me when I was ready to crack.
Not as many knew Shull, who passed away earlier in the week. A pity. I only had lunch with Hunter once, back in those confused days before NASCAR wrote guys like me off. Hunter and I didn’t dine more often because he probably had a purpose in mind any time he dined. It was in Michigan, back in the 1990s, and Hunter got me together with Jim France, probably because he suspected I had an aversion to anyone with that last name, and he wanted to preserve the reputation of at least one member of the ruling family in my jaded mind.
In one way, it worked. I enjoyed it. In another way, it didn’t. I don’t think Jim France and I have exchanged a word since. I’d be shocked if he has any idea who I am. I do think the quiet member of the family has a lot of sense, which may have something to do with why he doesn’t often traffic in sportswriters.
Shull and I had dinner many times, not because there was any notable reason but more because we enjoyed each other’s company. A typical Shull confab might include yours truly, David Poole, Ray Cooper, Dan Zacharias and a few others, and it might take the form of meeting at (a.) a restaurant that hardly anyone other than us knew about, or (b.) a ballgame, usually involving a pass to one of the luxury suites Gatorade used to have in most of the country’s venues. Shull once invited me to the World Series, which I turned down because I thought my presence alone would contribute to the likelihood of a victory by the New York Yankees. I didn’t go and the Yankees didn’t win, so I’ve no regrets even though it’s probably the only chance I’m ever going to have at seeing the World Series, given this infernal world I’m in.
That was a different century, and in terms of what I do for a living and what Shull did, a different world.
A man in my shoes can’t afford to compromise himself, and that was never an issue with either Hunter or Shull. I hardly ever go to dinner or ballgames or concerts anymore with any “official” who invites me. Then again, hardly anyone ever invites me.
Everything nowadays has to be for a purpose. Influence the media. Affect the outcome. Target the market. Grease the skids. Stuff the ballots.
Most of my dealings with Hunter and Shull were because I liked them, and they liked me. They knew I was too stubborn to be influenced, and I’m pretty sure I told both of them, “Now, you realize, just to make sure there isn’t an issue, I’m going to have to rip you.”
It was a point I didn’t need to get across. I was mainly kidding. They both laughed. Now they’re gone. So are Poole and Cooper. And I don’t laugh quite as often.
Source: http://nascar.rbma.com/on-track/general-motorsports/32742-back-before-things-got-rotten
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