He died bitter.
Not toward friends or family. Only NASCAR.
John D. “Jack” Lawrence II hated everything about NASCAR, even though he was a driver for 15 years.
What he hated most was how they forgot about him and others like him. He felt used and minimalized.
Last July, I wrote a column about Lawrence, who died Oct. 3 in his Bradenton trailer of natural causes. He was one of the most colorful people I’ve ever met. For hours, he regaled me with tales of moonshinin’ and hard drivin’.
It was clear then that Lawrence once deeply loved and respected NASCAR. The same guy whose teeth gritted at the mention of founder Bill France was the same one who drove after blowing out his retina in a race in Richmond in 1953 — drove with broken wrists and without any brakes. He even disobeyed his businessman father and raced under the pseudonym, Johnny Wynn.
When Lawrence couldn’t race anymore, he discovered a painful truth. NASCAR did not love him as much as he loved it.
Of the major sports, NASCAR is the only one that doesn’t offer a pension plan for its athletes. That’s archaic for someone who flips burgers for a living, let alone a person who drives cars at speeds hovering near 200 mph.
A pension plan isn’t a big deal to drivers such as Kyle Petty and Jeff Gordon — established stars bathing in millions.
But for drivers such as Lawrence, who put their lives on the line for an $800 purse and drove without fire suits or window nets, a pension is the least NASCAR could do to pay proper respect.
“They did so many dangerous activities,” said Lorri Lawrence, one of John’s six surviving children. “That made the sport safer and everyday driving safe.”
On Lawrence’s Web site, www.hearseinthepits.com, he listed the names of all the drivers he knew who were killed so NASCAR could thrive today. It is not a short list. And a lot of the drivers died testing equipment that eventually would save lives.
Many of the old-timers who were fortunate enough to survive those wild days struggled financially much in the way Lawrence did before his death.
Lawrence, who was legally blind, lived in a 30-year-old trailer that cost $1,000. He got by on a monthly veteran’s check of $1,432.
He was in poor health — a testament to the unsafe lifestyle he led as a driver. He was hooked up to three oxygen tanks because of an ailing heart. His body was implanted with three stents, tiny metal coils that forced the artery in his heart open and restored blood flow. His arms were badly bruised from the blood thinners he took — one of his 14 daily medications.
He died with more memories than money. With more hurt than health.
Petty told the Sentinel last February, “If I’m not smart enough to keep up with my own money, then I ought to be broke. I’m sorry. It’s not a welfare state.”
Unsympathetic words from a wealthy man.
If the NFL, a sport that is just as dangerous as NASCAR, can take care of its own, then NASCAR has no excuse.
This isn’t about charity. It’s about a fraternity looking out for its founders.
Lawrence wasn’t just another old guy with a sob story. All he wanted was to be appreciated and recognized.
Lawrence was in 15 wrecks during his career. He saw many of his friends die.
Sadly, Lawrence died believing they all died for nothing.
