Column: An inside look at racers

Drivers weren’t always what they appeared to be when I covered racing in the 1990s and early 2000s.

Dale Earnhardt could be funny, rude, bawdy or, horror or horrors, nice. If I pulled out my notebook for an interview, he’d walk away. Otherwise, we’d talk for a few minutes. Sometimes he’d sneak up on me, grab my arm and make me jump, something he apparently did to a lot of people.

Bill Elliott always came off as the friendliest driver on TV, but writers hated to do Elliott stories for magazines or track programs. Bill was not an awesome interview … unless the TV cameras were rolling. My best interview with him came one day on the media tour. I started talking to him, and some TV guys eased forward. Great interview, Bill.

A lot of reporters hated Davey Allison; he could be surly if preoccupied. With me, he was funny. We’d stand around in the corner somewhere, tell stories and laugh or giggle a lot. He gave me his home number, and he’d call back quickly.

Bobby and Terry Labonte were always cooperative, and Bobby was downright funny. Sterling Marlin tried to go unnoticed in the media center at Daytona, but if he saw me he’d come over and we’d talk for 20 minutes.

Matt Kenseth was one of the best guys for phone interviews. He had a dry wit like Terry Labonte’s, and we’d talk for what seemed like hours.

Geoff Bodine was one of the best interviews, and he was always cooperative. Brett and Todd were talkative, too, but didn’t have Geoff’s sense of humor.

Jeff Gordon was cooperative, respectful and funny. Jimmy Spencer could be hilarious. Among the Hickory boys, Harry Gant was quiet, and Morgan Shepherd was friendly and a talker.

I never interviewed Dale Earnhardt Jr. one-on-one. I remember when Dale Sr. was bringing Jr. up as a Busch driver, maybe in ’98, and we were on the media tour. TV guys were interviewing one of them, and newspaper reporters ringed the other. I watched Dale Sr. watching Dale Jr. Sr. would answer questions calmly while Jr. looking absolutely miserable with tape recorders ringed around his face.

He’s changed a bit in the 13 or so years since.

The best of the lot for interviews? Maybe Darrell Waltrip. Or Kyle Petty. DW was great in groups, and his phone interviews were something else. I had Kyle’s phone number when he kept a second home in Charleston, S.C. When I called, I’d say “Kyle,” and he’d say “Tom.” He recognized my voice. Those two were great interviews.

My favorite? Probably Mark Martin. The first time I tried to talk to Mark Martin, it didn’t go too well. We were in the garage at North Carolina Speedway in Rockingham, and Mark was standing behind a racecar. I’d go one way, and he’d go the other. Back and forth we went. When I made a last-ditch effort to get to him, he cut across the garage and ran to his trailer. I had to settle for a chat with Alan Kulwicki, who was no DW. Sigh.

But Mark suddenly changed. The rumor was that Ford Motor Company held an offseason seminar in 1989 to teach drivers how to deal with the media. Apparently, it worked.

The next time I saw Mark, NASCAR had just docked him something like 40 points and $40,000 for an illegal engine part during a win somewhere. A pretty PR lady was questioning Martin for a Q&A, and I stopped by to listen. When they finished, I asked Mark if he’d miss the points or the money the most. He said he didn’t want to say something and hurt his relationship with NASCAR. I was persistent, offering that NASCAR officials probably didn’t read the Charleston (S.C.) News and Courier. Besides, I said, they wouldn’t mind him answering that question.

Mark was wonderfully patient with me. Finally, he said he could make up the money, but he couldn’t make up the points. In the end, he lost the season championship to Dale Earnhardt by 26 points. If he’d had those 40 points, Martin wouldn’t be considered perhaps the greatest driver without a Cup championship.

Then the Fourth of July weekend that year in Daytona Beach, I asked Mark if he could talk about a story I was doing for Winston Cup Scene. He sat on a tire, and I sat on the ground, and we talked for 20 minutes in the Florida swelter.

Martin’s been a pleasure to work with. Once, I asked him for an interview at Charlotte, and he said to come by his hauler at 2:30. At 1:30, I was walking between two haulers, and a strong hand grabbed my shoulder. “Come in,” Mark said, and we talked happily for 45 minutes.

It’s funny, though; Mark may be the most pessimistic great athlete I’ve ever seen. He’d never pull a Joe Namath and guarantee a victory; he always has said he didn’t want to set a goal and have his heart broken.

But, to me, he’s the best.