[Jerry Shaw]

One particular season that I remember is the Summer of 1972. I was there every Saturday night. In order to get there, we had to drive down miles and miles of country highway. When we turned and passed the drive-in theater you knew it wouldn’t be long. When the railroad tracks were running right alongside the road, we were just about there. Then, when all a sudden, we turned off the highway, but only had to veer slightly, instead of making the standard right angle, here we were. The place I’d been thinking about all week.

To some, it may have just been “another hole cut in the side of a hill”, but not to those who knew what they came there to see. It was so much more than that. The view from the top of the hill was stunning. Like a picture postcard. An oval of orange clay, an island if you will, surrounded by a vast sea of green. And with all the movement, different shades of green and levels represented, it had the appearance of an angry sea. The fields of corn and beans were low to the ground and rolled with the wind. And the forests of trees reached for the sky and swayed, to a lesser degree. But, the overriding theme was serene. It sucked you in and made you feel calm, just to look at it. And it seemed to go on forever.

Little by little, the hillside started to fill up with those that had came here to experience what had made this place famous. They were a light-hearted, happy lot, obviously glad to be where they were. It was colorful crowd, with many real characters in it’s ranks. And the type that welcomes newcomers and that knows no strangers. It was still early, so the radio was playing over the public address system. WACF, the Paris, Illinois country station was the official background music for the Golden Age of this track. So, while you were watching the crews getting their race cars ready, on the other side of the track, you were listening Buck Owens singing “I’ve Got A Tiger By The Tail”, Charlie Pride was doing “Kiss An Angel Good Morning” or you were hearing Donna Fargo wailing away on “Happiest Girl In The Whole U.S.A.” Stopping only, from time to time, for the track announcer to give recognition to the many local businesses that were sponsors of the track.

All of this was all part of the process that ramped you up for what was about to happen. The crowd grew anxious as that time approached. It was palpable. You saw them, one by one, getting pushed out to the push off area. When you heard the first motor fire, it was time. And before the age of the internet or cell phones, when these guys rolled out one by one for their wheel pack, you got to see for sure, for the first time, exactly who was here on this particular night. For a eight year old race fan, this part was like Christmas morning, to me. Even better in some ways, because their were no socks or dorky looking shirts under this tree. It was stellar every week. Some of the best in the nation, right here, right now, to duke it out and see who is the best. And on top of that, once the green was flying, this was a place that really separated the men from the boys, as far as being able to handle a car is concerned. Long straightaways, with tight turns, so you got to see which ones could just go flying into the turns, throw his sprinter in there, make it do what he wants and get the hell out of there just as fast as he can. A real stage, for not only the ability, but also the character of each individual driver. And the racing was intense, so much so that it often spilled over into the lap following the checker. By the time that a full program at this place was over, everybody left feeling something. Some drivers left happy because they had done well, others unhappy because they hadn’t. Others unhappy with one another. And the fans would all leave tired and happy, knowing that they had gotten their money’s worth and then some.

Fast forward nearly forty years later, to the summer of 2011. It had been one or the two or three toughest weeks of my life. I knew that I needed to go to a race, to help my healing process start, since I was missing the person I had shared more racing experiences with than any other. I gave a lot of thought to where I needed to go, but there was only really one choice, on this night. I needed to go back there.

After exiting the interstate, we snaked through miles and miles of Putnam and Owen County highways. When we turned and passed the drive-in theatre, I had that familiar feel that it wouldn’t be long. When we passed the place that the railroad tracks ran alongside the road, I knew we were just about there. And when we veered off of IN-67 onto Old St. Rd.67, there we were. The view from the top of the hill is still just as awe inspiring and calming. The track regulars are still just as warm and friendly, with no shortage of characters. If you didn’t look at the upper rows of aluminum bleacher benches that have been added since and replace WACF with a classic rock station, this place has been completely untouched by time. On this night, just as in 1972, some of the nation’s best were here to prove that they were the best. And the field and the racing was stellar, just as Paragon Speedway had been when I was a boy. And I left feeling I had gotten my money’s worth and then some. And it was a “and then some” that I appreciated more than the one when I was a child.

Jerry

[dirtnonwingfan]

Jerry, thank you. This is a classic. It brought back some great memories of my own youth.

[Keith Ford]

Thanks Jerry, you are a true friend, from Keith & Judy Ford & Family

[Flatrightrear]

Keep healing,Jerry.

[Danny Burton]

You speak for many of us here, sir. We can relate, especially those who have lost loved ones who were our biggest influence, in racing or in life.

Be it Paragon or any other Hoosier bullring, they are shrines to those of us who frequent Bill's little invention here.

[TQ29m]

Well done, Mr Shaw, and I'm sure, some relief came with each letter and word. I knew, or thought I knew, where you were going, when you began, and I waited til the name came up. I hadn't been there all that often, mostly in the 60's-70's, then again about 10 years ago a few times, but no matter, the route is the same, Boom Boom Cannon, Orville Yeadon, Alan Barr, I did help some on Alan's car, when he drove for Jack Cookson, then later with JL Brewer and his dad, Jerry, who over the years, had had a lot of Kinser's in their #14, Brewer Heating and Cooling Spl, Jerry was a Cadillac man, no substitute for cu in was his moto. Jerry and his dad, Pete, were quite a team to reckon with, in the day, Jerry always said, "we had the number 14", long before AJ did. Thanks for the memories, I feel better, hope some of your pain has left, also. Bob!

[davidm]

Jerry, that is something special you have writen there! Thanks for share that with us.

I only discovered Paragon about 7 or 8 years ago, but I'm drawn to it each time I have the pleasure of traveling to Indiana. It is a special place! Take care.