It was late morning, July 13, 1993. I sat on the floor of my boss’ office, my back against the wall, my knees pulled up to my chest and my head bowed.

“Are you OK? Do you want to take the rest of the day off?” my news director at WBRC TV in Birmingham asked me.

“I want to stay at work,” I said. “I need to do this for Davey.”

It’s still hard for me to believe he is gone. Davey Allison was 32 when he died, while I was still a young TV sports anchor at 35. Today the memories come flooding back, for on this day 32 years ago, that 32-year-old race driver went to Heaven.

He was 28 years old when I met him. It was 1989, and I was drawn to his down-home likeability.

Just 10 years after graduating from Hueytown High School, driving race cars at Birmingham International Raceway and building race cars with his buddies, the former member of the “Peach Fuzz Gang” was an official member of “The Alabama Gang.”

“He was the fan’s racer,” Liz Allison, who married Davey in 1989, told me. “Davey was kind of goofy, but in a good way. He made everyone feel special, whether it was an HVAC guy asking for an autograph or talking with the president of the United States, Davey made everyone feel special.

“He always made eye contact with whoever was in front of him, and he gave that person his undivided attention.”

Said Davey’s sister Bonnie, “Davey was always a practical joker, but he was also a perfectionist. Everything he did he had to do right.”

NASCAR racing’s down-home country boy drew me in. After winning his first Cup Series race at the 1987 Winston 500 at Talladega, Davey was off and running, his sleek black Robert Yates Ford race car with the orange number 28 seemingly always near the lead.

Davey officially arrived in America’s homes when he finished second to his father Bobby in the 1988 Daytona 500. And as Davey’s success grew, his loyalty to family and friends remained.

“We’re having a big paintball tournament, and I want you to take part in it,” Davey told me back in the early ‘90s. I was shocked and impressed when Davey presented me with official paintball fatigues, complete with my name stitched across the top.

“This guy is serious about paintball,” I thought. That was proven during the first round of the tournament when Davey hit me with a paintball on the top of my noggin, the only part of my head that was exposed.

I was in pain for a month. I might still have egg on my head to this day.

It was quite a sight to see: The sport of NASCAR was flourishing. Bobby and Davey were star race drivers. Davey’s brother Clifford was an up-and-coming race driver. Alabama Gang members Neil Bonnett and Red Farmer and Hut Stricklin were talented drivers, too. Bobby’s brothers Donnie and Eddie were nearby and ready to sit behind the wheel or build another engine, right down Church Street in Hueytown.

They were big-time stars in a small-town operation.

“C’mon on over and eat with us,” said Davey’s sister Bonnie. It was the spring of 1989, and the Allison family Talladega ritual of putting out a big food spread in the ‘Dega ARCA garages was in full swing. The Allisons grilled and cooked and served up great food, hours before Sunday’s Winston Cup race was held.

Bobby and Davey often ate standing in their race suits, while Bobby’s wife Judy and their daughters Bonnie and Carrie helped serve food.

“We also fed the crew members,” Bonnie told me. “After the race we would take home the leftover food and have a pool party at our house in Hueytown.”

A big-time racing family remembering its roots. I can only imagine a star racecar driver would invite a media member to eat alongside them today. I’ll forever cherish those pre-race meals.

It was February 1992, and Davey Allison’s fame was about to grow. The Daytona 500 is one of the biggest racing events in the world. Davey won the 500 that year. It was the beginning of what the Allison family thought would be years of joy.

 Instead, it marked the beginning of years of sorrow.

“Everything was right in our world when we stood in victory lane in 1992,” said Liz. “But then…”

The victory lane celebration wound down the evening of Feb. 16, 1992. I was a 34-year-old TV sports anchor sent to Daytona to follow Davey. I approached the Daytona 500 winner and asked him if he would join me live on the evening news on WBRC Channel 6.

“Well, ESPN and CNN already have me slated to join them,” Davey told me. Davey paused and said, “Let me go back to the hauler and change clothes.”

I was 10 minutes from going live back to Birmingham from victory lane. My earpiece installed and my microphone in hand, I went over my scripts so as to be prepared for the live hit. I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“You said you wanted me to join you live?” asked Davey. I smiled, tossed away my scripts and ad-libbed a live TV interview with Davey even before ESPN and CNN conducted their own interviews. Great memories. A fan’s racer, for sure.

Victory lane in Daytona was what the Alabama Gang wanted, and Davey’s family was on top of the world.

“I held my 3-year-old daughter Krista and 1-year-old son Robbie in victory lane next to Davey. We had no idea what was to come. So much joy, and then so much heartbreak,” added Liz.

It was Aug. 13, 1992, when the call came. Just seven months after Davey’s Daytona 500 win, Davey’s brother Clifford died in a practice run at Michigan International Speedway. He was 27 years old.

Eleven months later, Davey Allison decided to fly his helicopter to the Talladega Superspeedway to watch his friend Neil Bonnett and Neil’s son David test a race car. Davey invited his friend, race legend Red Farmer, to fly to the superspeedway with him.

It was July 12, 1993. Davey attempted to land the chopper inside a fenced area near the media center in the Talladega infield.

The chopper went nose up.

Neil Bonnett pulled Red Farmer from the wreckage, while first responders freed Davey, who was flown to Carraway Methodist Medical Center in Birmingham. Davey had suffered a critical head injury.

He was pronounced dead the following morning at 7 am.

The funeral at St. Aloysious Church saw 2,000 people attend. The procession to get to the church was 5 miles long. While my memories of Davey and The Alabama Gang are fond, the image of Bobby Allison being carried from the church, inconsolable after losing two sons in a span of 11 months, stays with me to this day.

It was an unthinkable stretch. Clifford in 1992. Davey in 1993.

And then Neil Bonnett in 1994.

Bobby Allison’s best friend died at Daytona International Speedway during a Daytona 500 practice run on February 11, 1994.

Since the 32 years that Davey left us at the age of 32, so much has happened.

Davey’s mother Judy passed away on Dec. 18, 2015. His father Bobby died on Nov. 9, 2024.

Davey’s grandparents passed on: “Pop” Allison died at the age of 86 and Kittie died at the age of 101.

Davey’s sisters Bonnie and Carrie live in Hueytown and China Grove, N.C., respectively.

Bobby’s brother Donnie Allison was inducted into the NASCAR Hall of Fame last fall, joining Bobby, Davey and Red in the Hall.

Bobby’s brother Eddie, who built engines, lives in Hueytown with his wife Penny. Red Farmer will be 93 this fall. He’s still tinkering with race cars and attending events at short tracks across America.

Liz Allison lives just south of Nashville in Brentwood, Tennessee, with Ryan Hackett, her husband of 25 years. Liz’s daughter Krista is now 35, while son Robbie is 33.

“It’s amazing to think Robbie and Krista are now older than Davey when Davey passed,” said Liz, now a grandmother of four.

Thirty-two years after Davey Allison died at the age of 32, memories of the Allison family’s golden age remain.

“It’s hard to believe it’s been 32 years,” Bonnie told me. “Certain things remind me of Davey today, of course, his children Robbie and Krista, the old racing shop, pictures and more.”

Davey’s resting place is at Highland Memorial Gardens in Bessemer, right off the interstate. Perhaps Davey can hear the rumble of car and truck engines that whiz by his grave.

As I stop at the grave every July 13 to honor my friend, I chuckle when I think of his mischievous grin, his sparkling eyes as he dropped his window netting and drove into the NASCAR garage, the three deer heads mounted in his Hueytown home’s living room, knots on my head and food spreads at the Talladega Superspeedway.

I think of how much more Davey would have accomplished in his life had he lived. He owned 19 Cup Series wins when he died. Today he would be 64, likely a car owner and broadcaster, a husband, a father and a grandfather.

I also think selfishly of myself. I think of how blessed I am to have known Davey and his entire family.

While I can’t help but think back today to the bad times, I am trying my best to think only of the good times.

The good times when the fan’s racer made me feel special.

The great memories I’ll never surrender.

Rick Karle, who writes a weekly ‘Good News’ story, is a 25-time Emmy winner and a 43-year veteran of broadcast news who has lived and worked in Alabama for 35 years. You can find his work on Facebook at Rick Karle Good News. Send your story suggestions to: [email protected]