MILLER: Cheering Sammy

Sammy Swindell wasn't real popular with a lot of his fellow drivers and usually greeted with more boos than cheers at a World of Outlaws race. But, as polarizing as he could be, nobody who watched him drive a sprint car for the past 43 years could dispute the fact he was something special.

The quiet little guy who usually let the loud pedal do his talking made people care and made them watch.

"He was the best there ever was on a short track," declared Doug Wolfgang who, along with Steve Kinser and Swindell, barnstormed the USA in the late 1970s and turned WoO into a must-see racing series that is still going strong.

"He knew what he wanted and he wanted to win bad – he hated second place," said Bubby Jones, one of the best sprint shoes of all time who helped Swindell as he was starting his career.

"To do it for as long as he did and to do it that well is amazing," said Tim Coffeen, a longtime open-wheel mechanic who spent 30 years in Indy car racing but got his start stooging for Jan Opperman in the disorganized days of sprint cars.

After 294 WoO victories and three championships, the 58-year-old native of Tennessee abruptly announced earlier this week he was quitting except for the Chili Bowl midget race.

Kinser, the all-time WoO king, is also retiring at the end of the season.

In a career that began at age 17 in West Memphis, Ark., Swindell was an instant dynamo on the dirt, if not a villain.

"Everybody hated him," recalled Jones. "Here was this kid, a little, bitty $%&^%$, and he was kicking their ass. I took him to Little Springfield [a fast, high-banked quarter-mile track] and I think it was his first trip away from home. After hot laps, all the regulars protested that he was too young to race so I signed as his legal guardian.

"I won and he ran second and they weren't too happy with us but he caught on REAL quick."

Coffeen's first glimpse was at the Knoxville Nationals in 1975.

"Here's this 18-year-old kid with long hair wearing red Converse All-Stars driving an old car with a chrome roll cage. But the first time he whistled by, he was fast and he only got faster."

Wolfgang remembers going to West Memphis and encountering this teenaged terror.

"It seemed like everyone in the infield was mad at him," he said with a chuckle. "I remember him putting his tear-offs on before the feature inside his truck with the door locked so nobody could get him.

"Sammy didn't pull punches and he hit people. I did, too, but he was really good at moving you out of the way and he'd be gone. Whenever he hit me, he was usually going forward. Like I said, he was the best run and gun I ever saw. He could start 24th, hit everyone and everything and still win the feature."

Jones said everybody ran into Sammy, too, and he returned the favor but believes his knowledge was a huge part of his success.

"He paid attention, he was very smart about what he wanted to feel and how to get his car working good. He was a helluva mechanic too."

"I gave him the finger on his way by," said Swindell, relaying the story a few years ago.

He damn near qualified an underpowered, under-funded, stock-block Pontiac in a year-old chassis at Indy in 1987 but wound up as the first alternate.

He and Kinser both gave NASCAR and Indy car racing a quick shot but they gravitated back to their roots and spent the past 20 years fighting on and off the track. To think they are still pounding down the highway and running 75-100 races a year is as amazing as the fact they were still winning A-mains as they sped toward age 60.

"I can understand that and if I hadn't been hurt I'd probably still be there with them," admitted Wolfgang, who was horribly burned in a 1992 testing accident. "They lasted a long time but sooner or later your light switch is going to shut off.

"Sammy and I were never buddies, never had more than two or three conversations, and he was one of the few guys that could beat me who could get under my skin. But he was a helluva race driver."

Jones says there's no doubt in his mind that both Swindell and Kinser could still be winning if their equipment was better but just wishes more people could appreciate his pal away from the track.

"If they got to know him they'd have a whole different opinion," said the former USAC and CRA frontrunner. "He's a good guy with a great sense of humor. And nobody was better than Sammy and Steve."

The annual Chili Bowl midget race attracts almost 300 entries and the cream of the short-track crop. Swindell has won it five times, and yet a few years ago, during driver introductions, Sammy was booed long and loud.

The late, lamented Gary Bettenhausen stood up and screamed at everyone within earshot: "You idiots don't know anything about racing! You're booing one of the best drivers ever!"

Swindell walked slowly out to his car with the boos raining down and grinned as he gave the packed grandstands a little wave. Then he went out and shut them all up with a masterful drive.

Kind of a microcosm of his career.