"Where were you when John Kennedy died?" Many people ask from time to time.

The idea is that everyone remembers where they were when they heard such important news.

Now I suppose the new cry will be, "Where were you when Dale Earnhardt died?"

Well, maybe I shouldn't admit it, but I was sitting on the couch at a friend's house and cussing about his driving. Right before the wreck, Earnhardt was boxing in the Dodge piloted by Sterling Marlin, a much faster car (in my opinion) than his Chevrolet was.

In typical Earnhardt fashion, he had already bumped someone coming into the pits earlier in the race and had a few other close calls on the track. He drove right through a giant smash-up involving 17 cars. Earnhardt didn't even get a scratch. He was invincible.

Then somebody gave him a minor bump on the back bumper and he turned straight up to the right and struck a wall. The collision was fairly boring to watch in comparison to the earlier wreck, which had one driver flying through the air in dramatic fashion.

I kind of cheered when I found out his trickery hadn't given him first second and third place. I was glad he wrecked. But he wasn't supposed to die.

As aggravated as I was at him for boxing in my driver, I was even more aggravated at him for dying.

I just couldn't believe it. Sometimes a great antagonist is a hero of sorts to his enemies. In that way, I guess he was my hero. I made him bigger than life, which he really never was. I respected his ability, I cheered for every driver that gave him competition and I was usually happy if someone gave him a tap.

With seven championships and something like 76 career victories, who could deny his awesome skill? His tactics sometimes made enemies, but even his enemies were his friends when the race was over. When the Daytona 500 was over, I don't think he had one enemy left in the country.

When I saw him taking Terry Bradshaw on a hell-ride around the Daytona track in a pace car, I have to admit that I kind of liked him. I enjoyed watching him scare Bradshaw and then make him get on the hood of the pace car and jump up and down like he had won a race.

Bradshaw was a man out of his element and the fright was clear on his face after going about 140 in a pace car with Dale Earnhardt. Who wouldn't have been scared other than a NASCAR driver?

I know a lot of people really liked him, including some of the people who were watching the race with me. My mother was a huge fan. Then again, I must question her taste as she is also a Dallas Cowboys fan. Every Steelers fan knows better than to like the Cowboys.

At any rate, I still felt sorry for her on Sunday night. When I talked to her that night, she was crying. "Did you hear about Dale?" She asked between sobs, as if Dale was our neighbor or a real-life friend of the family.

I guess he was in a way. He visited the family every time a race was held, his name was called out at the dinner table, and there were more pictures of him on the walls than anyone else in the family. Heck, he had everything but a plate at the table and the same last name as the rest of the family.

I never have identified with any celebrity in a stronger way than I did with Earnhardt - a bad guy incarnate. To me, he was like J.R. on Dallas: While a lot of people loved him and others just loved to hate him, the show just wouldn't have been the same without him.

Get more tongue in cheek commentary this week's issue of the Alleghany News!

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