2/13/08

            Many years ago, I was the skinny little Guntersville, Ala., second-grader with the big ears and the odd-shaped head – the perfect target for the schoolyard bully.

            Ralph Tedders was the schoolyard bully.  Both of us were only seven years of age – yet he towered over me by four inches and had at least a 25-pound weight advantage.

            I dreaded our 45-minute “play period” more than anything at school.  As a matter of fact, because I was a studious young lad, it was the only thing I hated about school.  “Play period” equated to a daily game of dodge ball at my elementary school and I knew the routine.

            I was always the little guy on the opposite team and the daily target for Ralph.  I knew that they were probably already loose, but I credited the gap of my missing upper teeth quite a bit to Ralph and his powerful throws.

            Ms. Eloise Platton was our teacher that year.  We had recess period just prior to going outside.  While we enjoyed our small snacks and chocolate milks, Ms. Platton went to work setting up my daily scene of execution.  She went to the front of the school building and moved four of the parking lot cones to the unpaved right side of the building where we played. Those cones marked the four corners where I lived in fear on a regular basis.

            Six weeks into our school year, for some reason beyond my control, I reacted like nobody ever imagined I could.  I had taken enough.  After getting blasted in the head by Ralph’s hardball throw, I got up and grabbed the parking lot cone that was behind me.

            I rushed at Ralph, swinging the cone like it was a baseball bat.  Before it was all over, Ms. Platton, Ms. Mary Beth King, Mrs. Alma Dodd – all teachers – and school principal Mr. Tim Hipp – were involved in pulling me off of Ralph.  The end result was me getting a paddling by Mr. Hipp.  I didn’t cry at all.  Ralph had to get five stitches above his left eye.

            Ralph never bothered me again after that day.  As a matter of fact, when we were in the fifth grade, he came to my aid when two junior high kids from neighboring rival school Albertville were picking on me outside the gym before a basketball game.

            It almost seemed like Ralph became my guardian angel during the junior high days.

            As a ninth-grader, I was still a scrawny guy – too small to play football and basketball.  I was determined to be involved in athletics in some way, however.  I proved to be so much into sports that football coach Hollis Collins and basketball coach Jackie Thrasher both made me their head manager.

            Ralph was so big that he actually started as an offensive guard on our high school football team.  He was to play forward in basketball, but two days before basketball season started that year, Ralph got killed when he got struck on his motorcycle on the way to school.

            I was the first person that Ralph’s family asked to be a pall bearer and I obliged.

            How this story is related to racing, I can’t really put my finger on it.  But for some reason, those days of facing the schoolyard bully and what all transpired in the years after that have been weighing heavy on my mind lately.