Skynyrd proves you can’t teach humility, genuine sincerity

FLEMING ISLAND – Richard Petty never took a Dale Carnegie Professional Development Course, but racing has never had a better spokesman.

Petty never refused an autograph or photo opportunity. If he doesn’t remember meeting you in the past, he simply says, “Hello.”

If he remembers talking with you, he refers to you as “buddy.”

For a very lucky few – and I wasn’t one – he calls you by name.

I was a “buddy.”

But no matter who you were, Petty made you feel special. He always made eye contact – maybe an educated assumption since his greatest trademark is his dark sunglasses, along with his cowboy hat and North Carolina drawl.

The King always took a moment to ask how you’re doing. He smiled. Most importantly, he thanked you for sharing a moment with him. And he meant it.

It’s estimated Petty has signed more than two million autographs. I believe it. While covering NASCAR for over 40 years, I’ve witnessed him signing thousands of autographs. Heck, I have a couple.

What’s impressive is the care in his penmanship. His famous signature is legible and as vibrant as the red and blue paint job on his No. 43 stock car.

Even if the encounter lasted less than 10 seconds, Petty made sure it was the most important 10 seconds of his life.

I know another acclaimed driver who’s won races in NASCAR, Formula One and IndyCars. I remember how he held a marker in one hand and a chicken sandwich in the other. He never looked up, never said a word to the line of fans who had waited for hours. Upon being handed a hero card, he scribbled a name, pushed it down, moved the conveyor line along and took another bite.

Legend has it that a North Carolina State Fair girl asked The King to sign a live duck, and there’s a photo of him in 1992 signing the fickle fowl’s back: “Richard Petty 43.”

You can’t teach that. A Madison Avenue polish doesn’t work with people who prefer Pabst over champagne, a pickup truck over a sports car.

I got to Whitey’s Fish Camp shortly after it opened, more than six hours ahead of the Florida launch of Hell House Whiskey. Fans were already in the restaurant, eager to buy their bottle and have it signed by Lynyrd Skynyrd frontman Johnny Van Zant and guitarist Rickey Medlocke.

They pulled out old T-shirts and hats that probably hadn’t been worn in years. They shared stories. One person flew from New Hampshire for a signed bottle. They were heading home the following day – but not before Van Zant and Medlocke made them feel special. If for only a second or two.

Like Petty, the guys from Jacksonville’s Westside don’t bother with clever promotional pitches. That’s not their style. And that’s what makes them effective marketers.

They’re your buddies. These guys shop at Walmart and Home Depot. They go to Little League games. They cut their grass. Given the choice between spending the day trying to hook a bass or getting pampered with a massage at a day spa, they’ll grab a rod and reel every time.

Van Zant co-wrote a song that described them best: “If you wanna know where I’ve been, just look at my hands.”

Johnny laughed and shared memories with fans at Whitey’s, who stood for hours outside through at least four separate rain showers. He thanked everyone after he returned their signed bottle.

I have my autographs. They’re on bottles of whiskey. I plan to position them next to my signed Richard Petty picture.

If for only a moment, hundreds of fans felt they were important at Whitey’s. It’s because they were.