It has been more than 25 years since I collected my first paycheck as a sports writer, I have written for publication well over 2,000 articles, and I can truthfully say that my “Doug Worthing File” means as much to me as any collection of my stories.
“Joey and the Junkyard Jet” was written in the summer of 1993, and tells the story about the time Doug took a lonely foster child under his wing, let him sit in his racecar prior to departing for the track, proceeded to win the feature, then invited the star-struck 12 year-old to hold the checkered flag and sit in the car in the Winner’s Circle. It was a life-changing experience for the boy.
A few years later, I wrote about Doug’s battle with cancer and the support he received from friends, family and fans. Old # 63 straightened ‘er out after that challenge, and got back out on the track.
A few years after that, I would write about Doug’s transition to Elder Statesman status, and the guidance and wisdom he brought to the team as his son, Byron, took his place among the most popular dirt track drivers in the region.
As many race fans already know, Doug climbed into the driver’s seat for the first time in a dozen years this August. He would pilot an antique Sprint car around the half-mile horse track at the Tioga County Fair, and a mechanical malfunction turned a seemingly harmless little exhibition into something entirely different.
“Antique – that’s a good term to use,” Doug told me as I sat in his living room last week. “The car is a 1951, and I am a 1952, so I guess we’re both antiques.”
Despite the fact that I have known the Worthing family for over a half-century, and I have had at least a hundred conversations with Doug over the years, I had to lean in close and listen carefully to hear what he was saying. His shattered jaw was wired shut, and his words were at times difficult to decipher.
Doug was also wearing loose-fitting sweatpants, and anyone who has ever had second-degree burns on his or her legs will understand why. Doug’s face was – for the first time in his 64 years – covered with whiskers, but I could still see that there was a bit of misalignment after reconstructive surgery to straighten out his face and put a few teeth back where they belonged. Doug hadn’t consumed any solid food in four weeks, so he had lost a few pounds, and I did numerous double takes, struck by how closely he resembled his late father, the beloved Barney Worthing.
John, Doug’s older brother was there, Shelly (Doug’s wife and the once and present Queen of the Dirt Track), all three kids, a son-in-law, all three grandkids and two or three friends; it was the proverbial “revolving door” scenario. Indeed, the Worthing Compound has never been described as a lonely place.
“I hadn’t been in a race car in twelve years,” Doug said, “and a friend asked if I wanted to take a few laps in an antique car.” Doug said “sure,” and soon he and a three other guys were tearing up the track at about 40 miles-per-hour (which is about a third as fast as he usually went in a race car).
“I didn’t think anything could ever go bad,” Doug told me. “It was more innocent than you driving home.”
The cars had no roll bars or windshields, and to make it “era appropriate,” Doug wore an open-face helmet, a very good fire suit and eye protection. Doug also wore a leather mask (which, ironically, was adorned with scars and stitches, like some scary Slipknot stage prop).
Shelly showed me a video she shot with her phone, and I saw Doug going down the straightaway in front of the grandstand, in total control, as usual, albeit moving like a turtle by Junkyard Jet standards. As he passed the grandstand, there was a puff of smoke, and the video ended.
“I just thought the engine blew,” Shelly offered.
What had blown was a radiator hose, and Doug found himself being sprayed with boiling fluid.
“I had all that smoke and steam coming into my face, and I couldn’t see a thing,” he recalled, “and I realized it was burning my legs.”
He blacked out, and the car veered through the fence that circled the track. Doug’s face smashed into the 2” x 6” rough-cut board that served as the top rail of the fence, and rearranged his face in ways that would necessitate the aforementioned reconstructive surgery. The car came to a stop up against a kiddy ride on the midway, thankfully missing everyone.
Shelly and Byron sprinted about 70 yards, and were the first ones to reach the car. Shelly – as an E.M.T. – said, “What I ‘knew’ had to kick in, and I had to set aside what I was feeling. I knew we had to get a get a collar on him, get him out and get him into an ambulance. He said he was okay, but I knew that was the shock talking.”
The on-call ambulance crew was at the fair cooking chicken, but given the antique car race was seen as low-risk compared to the Demolition Derby that would take place later, an ambulance was not on-site. It took but five minutes for them to arrive, and when Doug was being unloaded at the E.R. in Sayre, he looked at ambulance crewmember, Benny Goodrich, and asked, “What are you doing here?”
Doug spent two weeks in the hospital, and given the shattered pallet, cheekbone and broken nose, and the amount of damage to his face and airway, he experienced moments of pure panic like he had never felt before.
“I couldn’t breathe with all the swelling,” Doug said. “It was the only time in my life I thought I was going to die.”
Well, Doug didn’t die, and when he was finally able to get home and be with his family and friends – and especially his grandkids – the ol’ Jet started to feel like the ol’ Jet.
His two-year-old granddaughter, Coraline, likes to apply lotion to help heal Grandpa’s burns, and anyone who knows Doug can just imagine how badly he wanted to leave the hospital.
True to form, Doug told me, “I don’t really want any story about me – I just want to express my heartfelt thanks to everyone. What happened to me was minor compared to what could have happened. There was a lady near the spot I went through the fence, and she had her 8-year-old granddaughter with her. By the time I went through the fence, I had blacked out. The good Lord was steering the car then.”
Given he went four weeks without any solid food, Doug added, “I can’t wait to get this jaw unwired and go to KFC and get some mashed potatoes, and I know Shelly will make me a meatloaf. After that, I just want to get back to driving a truck and drawing a paycheck.”
As I was leaving, Doug said, “One more thing, and this is the most important thing – people have been so incredibly generous with their time, their thoughts and prayers, their concern, they have brought food; it has really been overwhelming. I want them to know that I love every one of them.”
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