When we left the Maranatha Baptist Church in Plains, Georgia around 12:15pm on Sunday July 14, 2019, the three of us were still intoxicated from our Jimmy Carter experience. It didn’t take long, however, for Hurricane Barry to sober us up. As we headed out of town, we heard on the radio that The Rolling Stones had postponed their Superdome concert for that night in New Orleans. Instantly, my photographer made the decision to alter our agenda and avoid the northern parts of Alabama and Mississippi. Tom figured that it was safe to visit the famed racetrack in Talladega; but instead of us travelling West from there and into the heavy rain and flooding caused by the storm, we would drive South to the Gulf Coast after our Superspeedway tour.
It was a noneventful 170-mile drive from Plains to the Talladega Superspeedway, which was closer to Lincoln, Alabama than it was to Talladega. My photographer and his wife broke up the boredom by stopping at several antique shops along the way. Visiting the state of Alabama was a big deal for the three of us as we had never been there before. As a matter of fact, when we crossed the Georgia/Alabama line just North of West Point, I heard my camera buy break into a sour-note version of ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ – which made me laugh to myself and cringe at the same time. Although we gained a Time Zone hour at the border, we arrived at the International Motorsports Hall of Fame located next to Talladega Superspeedway at 4:30pm; which was the same time the passenger van departed to the track for the last tour of the day. With little to see until morning, Tom and Vicki decided to use the remainder of the afternoon to relax, which they did once we were registered and unpacked at the Comfort Inn that was roughly three miles from the racetrack. My photographer placed me next to the television set while he and his wife had dinner at a nearby place called ‘Montana Saloon & Grill’. When they returned from their meal, Vicki watched TV while Tom worked on his NASCAR report for his fantasy league. When the lights in the room went off around 10:00pm, I spent the night thinking about our time with President Carter and the feeling I had being so close to him. It was definitely an experience I will never forget.
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Monday July 15, 2019 began when the alarm clock rang at 6:30am. Tom set the clock a half-hour later than normal because of our close proximity to the day’s first destination; plus, the racing hall of fame didn’t open until 9:00am. My companions packed the car and made the short trip to the International Motorsports Hall of Fame; and as usual, my photographer got us there early. The primary reason for our visit was to tour Talladega Superspeedway; the Hall of Fame museum was an added bonus. After my companions purchased their tickets, we had a half-hour to kill in the museum before we boarded the bus that would transport us to the track for a tour. The motorsports museum turned out to be pretty cool as we saw dozens of race cars. Perhaps the car I enjoyed seeing the most was the #26 Wonder Bread Chevy Monte Carlo used in the movie ‘Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby’. Although I never posed near any of the historic race cars, Tom left the top of the camera case open so I could see the artifacts on display.
While we were walking around the museum, the call came out that the van was loading for our tour of the race track. The three of us boarded the 12-seat passenger van and headed for Talladega Superspeedway. While it would have been cool for the van to have gone 200mph and hit the 33-degree banking on the turns at full throttle, that never happened. As a matter of fact, the van travelled very slowly and stayed on the apron. Unfortunately, we were never allowed out of the van and onto the track; which was an alleged safety rule. My guess was the Hall of Fame didn’t want to spit in the eye of the “Talladega Curse”. Numerous strange occurrences at the track have led to rumors of Talladega being cursed. It’s been said that the track was built on an old Native American burial ground, while another legend stated that an Indian chief was killed there when he was thrown from his horse on the land. The story that I found interesting came during the 1973 Talladega 500 when the ’72 NASCAR Rookie of the Year Larry Smith was killed in a solo crash at the track. Later in the race, Bobby Isaac parked his car and quit – Isaac stated: “Something told me to quit. I don’t know anything else to do but abide by it.” During our slow-speed lap around the Superspeedway, I didn’t hear any voices and never felt close to experiencing “The Big One”. I knew for sure that my photographer, his wife, and I enjoyed our tour of Talladega Superspeedway; even from the friendly confines of an air conditioned van. Take a look at the nine images taken by my photographer during our tour of Talladega.
When our tour group was returned to the Hall of Fame, the three of us went inside to finish our tour of the museum. I thought the museum was good, but I was ready to leave as there were only a handful of race cars that interested me; plus, NASCAR has nothing to do with the Presidents. I surely didn’t think Jimmie Johnson was related to Lyndon nor was Kyle kin to George W. Bush. Thanks to Hurricane Barry, we headed due South at 11:30am instead of going Westward towards Huntsville; which put us in Montgomery, Alabama two and a half hours later. I was excited to be in Alabama’s Capital City because I heard Tom planned to photograph a couple of Presidential sites there. What I didn’t realize, however, was the sites were associated with the Confederate President Jefferson Davis instead of a U.S. President. I was okay with that – after all, I had been to Davis’ gravesite, as well as his Confederate White House in Richmond only two months earlier.
Vicki found a parking place along the street one block east of the Capitol Building; which was where we headed to on foot. Tom wanted to place me on the marker where Jefferson Davis took the Confederate Oath of Office beneath the Capitol’s West portico. Just as we neared our intended site, my photographer’s wife noticed a historical marker that identified the Confederate White House. I was confused because I had been inside the White House of the Confederacy in Richmond back in May. It turned out that the mansion in front of us was the first residence of Jefferson Davis after he became President of the Confederacy. Following the inauguration of Davis on February 18, 1861, the President and his family moved into the house three days later. The First Couple held lavish parties in their new mansion that was furnished to the nines; they lived the lives of royalty. Jefferson Davis’ stay was short-lived, however, as he and his family resided in the mansion for only three months. When the Confederate Capital was moved to Richmond, the Davis’ vacated their Montgomery home on May 27, 1861 and moved to the Executive Mansion in Virginia.
After our photoshoot in front of the Confederate White House, the three of us made the five-minute walk to the front of the Alabama State Capitol Building. The first Capitol burned down in 1849, just two years after it was built. The current structure was constructed in its footprint and was first occupied in 1851. As I stood in front of the Capitol and gazed up at the magnificent dome with its huge clock, I was awestruck by the overall beauty of the building. In my mind, I thought it was one of the most beautiful Capitol buildings that I had seen. After I posed for several photos at the base of the front steps, Tom carried me up those steps to a spot on the front portico. There, embedded into the marble surface, was a brass six-sided star that was inscribed with the historic event that occurred on that site. On February 18, 1861, Jefferson Davis stood on that exact spot as he took the Oath of Office as the first and only President of the Confederate States of America. As I stood alongside the commemorative brass star, it was as though I could hear President Davis as he recited the oath. It was ironic to me that the Confederate oath was nearly identical to the one used by the United States. I wondered to myself why the rebels couldn’t write something unique?
After we finished our photos at the Capitol Building, we had little time to lollygag as the sky grew darker and there was a definite threat of a storm. From my camera case, I could hear thunder in the distance; I wondered if this storm was conjured-up by Barry that was still dumping moisture along the Mississippi River as it headed North. Although it began to sprinkle as we approached the Highlander, the storm didn’t unleash its fury until we were safely inside the vehicle. The relentless deluge pummeled the car while I could see lightning flashes from the opening in my camera case. Then the rain stopped. As quickly as the storm arrived, it was gone. As the sun tried to emerge, we left Montgomery and continued our journey to the Gulf Coast.
When our route was switched due to Barry, Vicki had requested that we visit Pensacola, Florida to see the Blue Angels. That idea was spawned in Greeneville, Tennessee a few days earlier when Amber Emmette suggested that we stop there to see the aerobatic flight demonstration team. Amber mentioned that Pensacola was the Blue Angels’ home base, and the public are permitted to watch their practices, which are exactly like their shows. It was roughly 6:30pm when we arrived in the Florida Panhandle city, and we easily found the Suburban Extended Stay Hotel that Vicki had reserved during our drive South. That hotel was in the perfect location; situated only four miles from the Blue Angels’ Navel Base. Once we were unpacked, the three of us headed for dinner; which was at a recommended place called The Oar House. After we were seated and my companions had their meal, we could easily see why the hotel’s desk clerk had suggested that restaurant.
My companions were exhausted when we returned to our hotel. After all, we began our day at the Talladega Superspeedway and it ended nearly 260 miles away in Pensacola, Florida. I was thrilled to finally set foot in the Sunshine State for the first time; even though that visit would likely be void of any Presidential sites. That was alright, though, as I looked forward to seeing the famous Blue Angels practice the following day. From my position alongside the television set where I stood throughout the night, I had hoped that the weather would cooperate. Due to the safety of the Naval pilots who fly the aerobatic jets, there needs to be very good visibility during the practice – the rule of thumb is the pilots must be able to see at least three and a half miles. There are times the pilots travel at speeds up to 700 mph and as close as 18 inches from each other; lack of visibility could be deadly.
As the rhythmic rumbling of snores emitted from Tom and Vicki’s beds, the lyrics to Cheap Trick’s song ‘Mighty Wings’ kept rolling through my resin-filled head. “There’s a raging fire in my heart tonight; Growing higher and higher in my soul. There’s a raging fire in the sky tonight; I want to ride on the silver dove, far into the night.”
When daylight breaks, I’ll be flying high on the mighty wings of the Blue Angels – and I couldn’t wait!
