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When florist Debi Calonge's battle with breast cancer was at its worst, that was when Dale Earnhardt came into her life.
By JOHN ROMANO
© St. Petersburg Times, published July 1, 2001
DAYTONA BEACH -- She was a cancer patient, unsure if she would be a cancer survivor. This was one of those days when the distinction seemed irrelevant.
Her hair had long since fled her head. The combination of chemotherapy and radiation left her so ravaged and raw her body ached simply from the weight of clothes. And now a cold was settling in her chest, a scary thought for someone with weakened immunities.
So she sat at home, missing work at the flower shop, rubbing Vicks wherever she could stand it.
This was the moment Dale Earnhardt arrived at her door. A frequent customer at the Bellevue Avenue Florist because the Daytona 500 fell around Valentine's Day, Earnhardt had learned the day before of Debi Calonge's battle with breast cancer. Seeing a bandana on her smooth scalp, he promised he would return with hats the next day. When he found she was not at the store, Earnhardt brought the hats to her front door.
And all Calonge could think about was Vicks.
How do you embrace salvation when you smell this badly?
"I'm thinking, 'I've got Vicks all over my hands. What am I going to do?' But he couldn't have been sweeter," Calonge said. "We talked for a few minutes and he gave me a bunch of hats. He gave me some of (Dale) Junior's hats. So I asked him, 'Where's Junior?' He said, 'Aw, Junior ain't got him a girlfriend. He's got no one to send flowers to.'
"It just warms my heart when I think about him that way. He was so sweet. People think of him as the Intimidator. They think he was arrogant. But you have no idea how kind and caring he was."
NASCAR returns to Daytona this week and, for the first time in a generation, Earnhardt will not be along for the ride.
Days after leaving Calonge's door, Earnhardt was killed on the final lap of the Daytona 500.
They say racing never will be the same, and perhaps there is some truth to that. Earnhardt, 49, might have been the greatest stock-car driver and certainly was one of the sport's most forceful personalities.
But these days, it seems much more was lost when the infamous black car with the signature No. 3 hit the wall in the fourth turn. Along with his life, it feels like Earnhardt's humanity has been lost as well.
His autopsy photos have become a battle for public access rights. His death, a lightning rod for driver safety and NASCAR coverup allegations. His name, an excuse for selling every trinket imaginable.
But here, in a place where his career was defined and his life was taken, there are those who choose to honor the Earnhardt of their memories.
He was the media star who asked fellow driver Rusty Wallace to stop by a flower shop just to say hello to the lady wearing a new Goodwrench cap.
He was the millionaire who once admitted one of his greatest regrets was breaking his daddy's heart by dropping out of high school to race.
He would wear the mischievous glint of a child when he drove his car close enough to brush a friend's leg before speeding out of the garage area.
Max Helton, a long-time NASCAR chaplain and founder of the Motor Racing Outreach program, held Earnhardt's hand and prayed with him in the minutes before the start of his last Daytona 500.
Maybe Earnhardt squeezed his hand a little tighter that Sunday morning, Helton is not really sure. He prefers to remember his friend on other days.
When Earnhardt would win a race and literally pull Helton's head into the car for a quick prayer of thanks before going to Victory Lane. Or the moments when Helton would be trying to offer a prayer of inspiration and Earnhardt would creep closer and closer to the reverend until he was literally standing on the man's toes as he tried to preach.
"You miss him mostly because he was such a fun-loving person," Helton said. "He would grab you by the neck or stand on your feet, just to laugh or show you he cared. Everybody knew him as the Intimidator in a car, but I think a lot of people would be surprised by his warmth and generosity."
The selling of Dale Earnhardt's legacy continues to prosper if only because devotees want somehow to feel as if they share the loss. Earnhardt coffee mugs, shirts, stuffed bears, key chains and, heaven help us, a Monopoly game.
But along with the brand-name, store-bought memories are more personal gestures. Leo Strawn, an artist and part-time Daytona Beach resident, was in Alabama at the time of Earnhardt's death and felt compelled to return.
He was disturbed to find there were no immediate plans for an Earnhardt memorial, so he began nosing around and was hooked up with Rick Hilliard, an Earnhardt friend and owner of the First Turn Steakhouse in south Daytona.
Working off a photo taken days before the accident, Strawn painted an 8 1/2-foot tall portrait of Earnhardt on the front wall of the restaurant facing U.S. 1. It has become a daily occurence to see people having their photos taken in front of the painting.
"I'm running into people every day who tell me how they cried and missed work for days after the accident because they were so upset," Strawn said. "I keep hearing that this means something to them, especially for people coming back to town for the first time for the race."
It has been four months since the accident and the world, more or less, is moving on. Richard Petty, the only driver with more NASCAR success than Earnhardt, has suggested the time for mourning has passed. Racing has suffered losses before and continued. That mind-set is clear enough while watching Dale Earnhardt Jr. continue to drive across tracks once ruled by his father.
At times like this, drivers' lives seem to work in circles as round as the roads they drive. Stevie Waltrip, wife of former driver Darrell Waltrip, used to tape Bible verses to her husband's dashboard, along with Earnhardt's. Now she is taping them in Junior's car.
Calonge, meanwhile, is nearing the end of her treatment. Her hair is growing out; another month and she might manage a ponytail. The doctors tell her the test results are encouraging. She is looking like a survivor.
Calonge still follows NASCAR, but not with the same emotional attachment. Her devotion was toward a man, not a driver.
On the morning of the Daytona 500, knowing Earnhardt drove past on his way to the track, she placed a blackboard on the road:
Dale Rules! Go No. 3!
"I know he saw the sign because he beeped his horn on the way past," Calonge said. "At that moment, I just knew in my heart that he was going to be back in here Monday morning."