Racing is a straightforward proposition. If one completes a set number of laps faster than the opposition, one is the winner. When points are tallied over the course of a season, one racer is declared as the champion.
However, when you peek behind the curtain there are often compelling stories at play. Even in a sport where technology matters, racing at its core is a human enterprise. It involves real people engaged in a shared activity that becomes deeply personal and meaningful.
While those involved feel this, it is often difficult to articulate to outsiders. So, in that spirit, let’s begin with the basic facts.
After several years of hard work, Lance Bennett captured this year’s Rocky Mountain Midget Racing Ass’n title. However, there are many layers to this tale.
Family is a key part of the club’s story, with the love of midget racing often passed from generation to generation. It can be argued that Bennett’s march to the championship began decades ago.
His father, Jerry, had racing in his blood. A.V. Bennett was an artist by trade and painted the marquees of famous Denver movie theaters and entertainment venues. Sadly, he died when Jerry was just six months old, but his mother, the former Agnes (Aggie) Carrillo, ultimately remarried. Her new husband, Albert Martinez, known by many as Junior, served in the U.S. Navy during World War II.
When he returned to the states, he was ready to pursue two hobbies. The first was relatively tame. He enjoyed playing the trumpet in a local band. The second was a bit bold. He loved the thrill of muscling a V8-60-powered midget around Denver’s Lakeside Speedway and Merchants Park.
Taking on Offenhauser-powered cars with a V8-60 was always a tall task, but Al Martinez loved it. Unfortunately, his love of speed was not universally shared. His wife and his mother, Juanita, felt his hobby was far too risky, especially with two kids in the household. Exasperated when their pleas went unheeded the women took drastic action.
“He went to work one day and when he came back the car was gone,” Jerry Bennett explained. “My mother and grandmother got together and sold it. I always heard they got 800 bucks for it, and it went back to Indiana. My dad left and was gone for three or four days because he was so mad.”
Jerry Bennett fell in love with the sport, too.
“When I was around 7 my dad took me to Lakewood (Colo.) and they raced quarter midgets there,” he recalled. “At that time Skyline Ford, which was downtown, had a deal where if you took a test drive, they would give you a raffle ticket to win a quarter midget. I think we went down there nine times a week. I would sit in the window and look at it because I wanted to run one so bad it wasn’t funny.”
With his racing dreams behind him, Bennett faced a far greater life challenge. When he was 16, the family relocated to California and in December 1969, Jerry was drafted.
In the combat zone, Jerry Bennett was a member of a unit of 30 men attached to a helicopter. His primary job was reconnaissance, but there were times his group was used as a decoy, and at other moments they were called upon to evacuate others in danger. Early on Bennett ran into trouble.
“We were going in my first or second time and I chose to sit in the center of the chopper,” he recalled. “One chopper went in before us and got to about six feet off the ground to drop people off and they started taking fire. I was in the second chopper and at about eight feet from the ground, guys started jumping out. Because we were taking fire the pilot wanted out of there. My sergeant said he was on the ground counting heads when he saw a pair of boots coming out.”
The problem was that he was 30 feet above the ground. Bennett fractured both ankles on impact. When it was clear he could not walk the chopper was called back. His ankles were fused and after 30 days of bed rest, he was back. To help him survive his parents sent black duct tape to wrap tightly around his boots.
Bennett received three Bronze Stars but as one would imagine the overall experience left other less visible scars. He received treatment for PTSD.
After 18 months of service, 13 of those in Vietnam, Bennett returned to California and met Vicki Sakamoto. A third-generation sansei, Sakamoto’s family spent time in Japanese internment camps during World War II. She was a source of stability he needed and given her family’s background she understood her husband’s mindset. She encouraged him to seek additional treatment for PTSD and worked with him during the process.