David

#1 in Michigan

Fifty-two years ago in August 1987, I was sixteen and was on my first ever “road-trip” with my best friend Randy. Randy was two years older, and we both had a few days off from our summer jobs, so we decided to get out of town in Randy’s beat-up Camaro. We traveled from Cleveland, to the Marlboro 500 race in Michigan. I was a huge race fan and Randy agreed to go. He wasn’t much of a race fan, but I agreed to stop at some amusement park during the trip, as Randy was a freak for roller coasters.
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Swear to God half of the Camaro’s trunk was filled with booze and beer, which we obtained with the help from an older friend before we left. One of the coolers we brought was a small Marlboro thermos that I received from my Uncle Joe when I was five. Uncle Joe smoked and was known to give gifts consisting of items he received from the cigarette company. In the 70s Uncle Joe smoked Marlboro, and cooler boldly displayed the brand’s name. I kept the cooler ever since because I liked the size, which made it easy to carry.
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Randy pulled his Camaro into the track’s parking lot, and we got out to stretch our legs. “I feel like gin,” Randy said. He opened the trunk, “Which is why I picked up more ice and tonic before we left. This will be perfect to mix the cocktails,” Randy said as he picked up my Marlboro cooler.
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“Sure,” I said. I knew from prior races that the people at the gate didn’t check coolers and didn’t really care what was brought in. “I’ll carry this one and you carry the beer cooler,” I said. Randy didn’t object as we walked toward the ticket window. Randy lit a cigarette and then managed to carry the cooler the thousand feet distance.
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We arrived before the race with enough time to buy a pit-pass and meet the drivers. Michael Andretti was driving and idolized him – probably due to the legacy of his family in racing. I couldn’t convince Randy to pay extra for the pit-pass, so it was me alone behind the scenes before the race began. At the pit entrance, we agreed where to meet before the start of the race.
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As I walked through and saw the cars and crews making final preparations, I was enthralled. I saw a few drivers and was lucky to pick up various flyers suitable for autographs along the way. After about a half hour, I saw Andretti’s car. My eyes scanned the pit area, but there was no sign of the driver. I looked back toward the inner part of the field and smiled. Andretti walked toward his pit area. I let him get a little closer and approached. “Mr. Andretti, could I get your autograph?”
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“Of course. But wait I have some photos over, closer to the car,” Andretti, said.
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I was beaming. I was going to get a signed photo of Michael Andretti. We walked about fifty feet over to pit area under an awning. Surprisingly, there wasn’t a crowd – probably because he just arrived. He noticed my Marlboro cooler, and I was worried the that he could smell the booze inside.
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“You smoke?” he asked.
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“Ah, not really.”
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“Not really? Yes you do or no you don’t.” he asked matter of factly.
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“I . . . I’ve tried a few,” I said.

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The driver reached for a photo and a sharpie. “What’s your name?” I told him my name and he wrote a note “#1 in Michigan” on the photo and said, “The reason I asked if you smoke I could see the brand on your cooler. And I can tell you it’s really stupid to start. If I can offer you any advice – don’t.” He handed me the signed photo, “You’ll be really happy if you take this advice. Trust me.”
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I assured my idol that I would and thanked him for the autographed photo. I began to walk away and turned back, “And Mr. Andretti thank you for the advice too.” He smiled, which made my day. After this encounter, I had my fill of pit-row and hurried back to the gate to locate Randy and find seats to watch the race. As I waited for Randy, I looked again at the photo “#1 in Michigan.” The race this year was called the Marlboro 500. In the previous years it was called the Michigan 500. I thought about Andretti’s advice, what he wrote, and laughed to myself.
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A few minutes later Randy approached. He put down the beer cooler. I showed him my signed photo of Andretti. “Great,” he said. “Let’s get some seats. I need a drink.” He grabbed and shook the Marlboro cooler, “How’s the ice? Sounds good. And look I found some cups,” Randy smiled, pulled out and light a cigarette.
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We walked toward the stands. “Randy how long have you been smoking?” He didn’t answer and I didn’t push the subject. It turns out that Michael Andretti won the Michigan, I mean, Marlboro 500. After the race, I looked at the photo, what he wrote and smiled.
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Now fifty plus years later I’m 69 and Randy is in his early 70s. But for a few cigars over the years I never took up smoking, likely due to the advice from my idol after he saw my cooler – buttressed by the fact that he signed “#1 in Michigan” and then proceeded to win that race. My friend Randy on the other hand is still alive, but he’s said that he doesn’t want to be. He needs to speak through a hole in his throat and his tongue and esophagus are gone – eaten away by cancer or disease caused by his habit. I’ve never asked Randy whether he heard my question as we walked to the raceway stands in August 1987.