“Whooo, go Duke!” came another voice. “I‘m for Duke, man. But if he can‘t win, I‘ll cheer for you!”
Jimmy gave the guy a thumbs-up, and they rolled on to the sign-in window.
When they arrived at their pit the Premier Tires of Allentown machine was gleaming in the morning sun. Harvey was sitting in a lawn chair talking with the team owner, Gregg Richards, and Gregg‘s mechanic, Mike Stapleton.
“Hey, I need your opinion,” Gregg said quickly, reaching into the seat of the race car to retrieve a big decal. “I made a deal with a guy to put his decal on our car for today‘s race. Should we put it on the tail, above our number, or maybe on the nose?”
Jimmy examined the sticker. It was pretty big, probably 12-inches by 12. It had the logo of Young Chevrolet, a big car dealer on the north side.
“Just curious,” Jimmy quizzed. “How much did they give you?”
“A hundred bucks,” Gregg replied.
Jimmy looked at him and tried to conceal his surprise. Gregg was a great guy, with a heart of gold, but sometimes he was hopelessly naïve on stuff like this.
“That‘s not very much money,” Jimmy said diplomatically. “Who did you talk to? Sam Young?”
“Yeah, that‘s right. Do you know him? Seemed like a nice guy.”
“I do know him. How long ago did you talk to Sam? Is he still here?”
“Just a few minutes ago. He said he was going down to talk to the USAC guys. There he is, down the way! In the white shirt…see him?”
“I‘ll be back in a minute,” Jimmy said, and he began walking that direction. A few moments later Sam Young saw him coming, and offered a friendly wave.
“There‘s the man of the hour!” Sam said, shaking Jimmy‘s hand and slapping him on the back. “It‘s a great day, Jimmy! In a couple of hours you‘ll be wrapping up the Champ Dirt title, and all of us at Young Chevrolet are proud to stand with you!”
“Thanks. Listen, you horse trader. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
Sam laughed, and from his eyes Jimmy could see that Sam knew exactly what he was referring to.
“What? Why would I be ashamed?”
Jimmy just stared, shaking his head, a scolding smile on his face.
“Oh, the money,” Sam said, nodding. “Well, Jimmy, I‘m a businessman, and I have to make the best deal I can. Our dealership, you know, we‘re a high-volume dealer and our margins are very small. But we want to support you guys, especially if you can beat that Ford.”
Jimmy continued to stare, shaking his head.
“I asked Gregg how much he wanted to put that small little decal on your car,” Sam continued. “And he said a hundred bucks. What was I supposed to do?”
“Give me a break,” Jimmy laughed. “Gregg is new to this deal and he doesn‘t know any better. C‘mon, Sam. This is the Hoosier Hundred! A hundred bucks for a big decal on the championship car? You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”