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Steve and Chris Francis.

Everyone has a C.J. Rayburn story. And while we can’t tell them all, we solicited many insightful ones from drivers, crew members, family members and spectators to shed light on one of the biggest personalities in Dirt Late Model racing. Upon the New Year’s Day passing of the legendary chassis builder from Whiteland, Ind., take a peek inside the world of folks who knew him best, knew him a little or perhaps met him once (submissions were edited for clarity and length; some were provided to us in as-told-to interviews):

Breakfast with C.J.

Pictured is the the first car I ever raced. My dad, brother and I went to C.J.’s — we had been family friends for a while — and told him I was going to start driving. C.J. told us to go out back and pick out a car and take it. I believe the car I chose was a wrecked Don Hobbs car that we clipped that day and took back home to Ashland, Ky. I loved hanging out at C.J.’s, especially as a kid. Eating breakfast around the table with family was always a big thing for him. — Steve Francis, Bowling Green, Ky.

Million-dollar car

We built (the 2001 Eldora Million-winning car) directly for that race. I was on a deal with him, and he said, “If you race the car 25 times, you get it free.”

Well, when I won the Million, I said, “Hey, I need another car. I’m parking this thing. I’m retiring it.” He said, “Ah, you don’t do that!” I said, “Yeah, there might not ever be another (Million) in my lifetime, and that’s the first one that ever won a million dollars and I want to keep it.”

He says, “Well, if you’re gonna park it, you never raced it 25 times, so you have to pay me for it.”

So I had to buy that car after I won the million. I had to pay him. I didn’t get no deal either. He said, “You got enough money now so you can pay for it.” I paid him quite a bit of money that year because he made me pay for everything after winning that million. But after all the free stuff he gave me my whole life, and driving for him, I’m not complaining. — Donnie Moran, Dresden, Ohio

Trash collector

I drove several Rayburn cars and got to know him well, even going with him to Florida in 1991 to help out (Steve Barnett told me before we left that nobody had ever gone with him twice — I only went once).

There are several stories to tell, but a good one is from the 1980s when Jeff Purvis was one of the best drivers in Dirt Late Model racing. I was at Rayburn’s helping finish up one of my cars. Believe it or not, it wasn’t ready when I went to pick it up.

At some point, I must have been standing around not doing enough in C.J.’s eyes. He said, “McCammon, go dump that trash while you’re not doing anything.”

I kinda looked at him sideways and said, “Would you ask Jeff Purvis to dump your trash for you?”

C.J. barely hesitated: “Probably not, but you’re not Jeff Purvis.”

I went and dumped the trash.

Gotta love that guy! — Doug McCammon, Palestine, Ill.

Happy hour

I remember one night we were at Parkersburg (for a race at West Virginia Motor Speedway) in probably the late ’80s and there was a whole group of us, Steve Baker and a bunch of us, and C.J. was in there (at the bar) and we were sitting at the table with him and he just kept buying beer and buying beer and buying beer.

At one time I counted there was 36 open beers on the table. I remember that plain as day. He just loved being around people and telling stories. — Mark Richards, Shinnston, W.Va.

Mower for hire

Once C.J. called me and was wanting to come down to Kentucky and race. He wanted to know if I would drive his car. Of course I would never ever tell him no. It didn’t matter how busy I was. Actually once or twice I had to call my team owner (Ronnie Delk) and tell him that we had to park our car that weekend because C.J. wanted me to drive one. Ronnie knew what he meant to me. He always understood and if C.J. called me and wanted me to do something, we were going to do it.

Rayburn really liked Ronnie because Ronnie would let us go play sometimes and use his hauler to haul a car in or whatever it took. Ronnie said one time you can’t do wrong by doing right. I told him if C.J. wants me to drive his car, it’s just something that I feel like I owed to him.

So anyway, we went racing and he come down to the shop. Well, I was busy that day running the tow trucks and this and that, and he went out with me. We worked a wreck together, him and the rollback out there on the side of the road doing the wreck and I’m thinking, "What’s this world coming to? C.J. Rayburn is with me running a rollback."

Then we get back to the shop and he’s bored of that and I’m still at work that day. He’s there fooling with his car and my guys are doing maintenance on his personal car that I’m going to drive.

Then my neighbor, a race fan, posts on Facebook, “I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’m pretty sure C.J. Rayburn is mowing my yard.” He'd gotten bored, found a lawn mower and went at it. My grass joins with my neighbor and (Rayburn) did not know where the property line was, so there he was, mowing my neighbor’s yard. — Mike Marlar, Winfield, Tenn.

Rule follower?

I’ll never forget watching entries go through the technical inspection line at Eldora Speedway when everyone arrived for the World 100 about 30 years ago.

Inspectors checked out C.J.’s car and, using the measuring sticks, found it was too wide in a few places. After a few minutes of arguing — and seeing that he wasn’t getting anywhere — C.J. took a sledgehammer to his brand new car and started pounding the sides in.

When he’d done the job, he grabbed the sticks from the inspector and slammed them down on the body to verify that the car was within spec.

C.J. had quite the audience by the time he was done. — Bud Blackburn, Idaville, Ind.

‘He was always there’

I spent the early part of my career at Rayburn’s shop, sometimes weeks at a time. My car owner Ed Petroff would call to Rayburn, asking him to kick me out so I would come home. Among the memories:

• We’d work all day until 5:30 p.m., then Rayburn’s voice would come over the PA system. “It’s tavern time Squirrel! Tavern time, let’s go!”

• There was nothing better than walking into his house with C.J. standing up in the middle of the living room watching the news. Wearing only his underwear.

• “Squirrel, go get me two finger’s worth!” That was the code for his little cup of moonshine.

• He often had a stack of $100 bills glued together so they peeled off like checks. Most folks thought they were fake. (C.J. once told me he glued them in stacks of $10,000. I’m not sure if it’s true or not, but that’s Rayburn. Larger than life.)

I will always cherish C.J. Rayburn. He was so good to me. I wouldn’t be where I am today without him. When you needed him the most, he was always there. He just wanted people to race. No matter if you had money, or no money, he always got you to the track. Godspeed Rayburn. — Brian Shirley, Chatham, Ill.

Predicted pass

Sometimes C.J. would walk up and start talking and you’d wonder where the conversation was going. One Friday night at the Ponderosa Speedway (back when the pits were in the infield at the Junction City, Ky., track) I was talking to Steve Barnett during intermission. C.J. comes walking up and Barnett says, “What do think C.J.?”

CJ, looking like he didn’t hear the question and had something totally different on his mind, looked at the racetrack and calmly pointed to the entrance of turn one and middle of turn two. “You know, I think I’m gonna pass you between there and there on the bottom.”

Barnett replied: “You really think so?”

“Yeah,” Rayburn said, “because you’ve got that car of yours so bound up it won’t stay on the bottom of the track and my car will drive right in there and turn.”

With about 10 laps remaining in the feature, Rayburn indeed drove under Barnett for the position just as he said he would.

The next night, I asked Barnett about it and he laughed and shook his head. “He told me it was going to happen,” Barnett said. “After he went by all I could do is laugh because he told me so.” — Mike Sullivan, Campbellsville, Ky.

Skipping lunch

One time me and (Jeff) Purvis were there (at Rayburn’s shop), and two guys walked in pretty dressed up and they were buying a race car.

I was sweeping where I was working on my car, and I tell Purvis that Rayburn’s gonna point down here at us and he’s gonna say, “See those two dumbasses down there? If they would listen to me they’d win more races than anybody in the world because they’re that good, but they won’t listen.”

Purvis goes, “He’s gonna say that?” I said, “I betcha.” It wasn’t two minutes and he said exactly that to those guys. Purvis said, “I can’t believe he called me a dumbass.” I said, “That’s Rayburn, man. Now he’s gonna want us to go to lunch with him.” Purvis said, “I ain’t going with him,” and I said, “I ain’t going with him.”

And about that time Rayburn goes, “Come on guys, let’s go to lunch.” Jeff says, “I ain’t going,” and I said, “I ain’t going,” so me and Jeff went somewhere else and he took the two guys to lunch. It was all the time stuff like that. — Bob Pierce, Oakwood, Ill.

Ham and beans

Back in the early 2000s, I was working for Illinois driver Randy Korte. There are a couple of recollections that I have never forgotten about times with Rayburn — or “Grandpa Bud,” as we called him.

First, it was a cold snowy night and I was sent to Rayburn’s shop to get parts. When I got there it was dark and no one seemed to be around when I went into the entrance of the shop. I went to the house and knocked, and Rayburn hollers for me to come in. As I walked in the door, Bud stood in the kitchen in a white T-shirt and his underwear. He asked me to join him for dinner. As he scraped ham off a bone, he took his knife and began cutting off traces of mold. “Times are tough around here and it’s a good thing someone, I can’t recall who, sent me this ham,” Rayburn said. “We’re having ham and beans.” I politely declined the offered meal and he laughed his big laugh.

Later in 2003, we were at Eldora Speedway for the World 100. Korte had won a heat race and Bud came over to check the car. He had me pull the right-rear tire so he could grind it. The 6-inch grinder was a lot to handle, and Rayburn said: “Junior, get over here and grind this tire like this.” We ran 13th in the 100-lapper and Rayburn told me: “See, I told you we should’ve ground that right rear again.”

I’ll never forget every time he came around and shared his wisdom, always with a joke to follow. — Barry Quade, Schertz, Texas

All-nighter

Members of the Suppa Racing Team have made numerous trips to the Rayburn shop, and C.J. always waited up for us to get there, no matter what time we arrived. After an eight-hour drive (from western Pennsylvania), usually 2 to 3 a.m., we would walk into the house and find C.J. sitting in his shorts in his recliner, and he’d say, “Boy, I’ve missed you boys!”

I recall one memory of the first trip I made to Rayburn’s. We left the house to go to dinner about 5:30 p.m., and I’m pretty sure we proceeded to visit every bar/pub from Franklin to Indianapolis. Around midnight, while at a nightclub, it occurred to C.J. that we had not eaten dinner yet. Somehow, C.J. persuaded them to reopen the kitchen and serve an entire table of 15 with a nice steak dinner. We then proceeded to drink and drink and drink.

We returned to the house around 4:30 a.m. and managed to get everyone inside safely. Just as C.J. fell asleep in his recliner, his phone rings. On the other end was a girl and a group of people we were out with earlier telling us we were supposed to go eat breakfast with them. Brad didn’t want to wake C.J., but I was drunk and didn’t listen.

Soon we were back on our way to Indy. We got to breakfast, C.J. picked up the the bill — like always — and we returned Rayburn’s house about 7:30 a.m. Oh, the times we had out on the town! He sure enjoyed socializing and having fun.

I will never forget what he would always say before we would leave: “You boys stay close now!” One of the last things C.J. said to us a couple weeks ago was, “Boys, my heart is so into racing still and it’s all I think about. I just love racing.” C.J. is definitely my hero and a legend to the sport. — Terry Suppa, Warren, Pa.

‘He’s my boy now’

I’m so grateful to have had a relationship with C.J. over the years. I’ve learned so much from him and he helped me get to where I am today in my career. I’ll never forget the time we spent together working out of his shop, memories we made with his talks and lectures, staying at the house with him and winning races in his cars.

I remember going to Whiteland and getting my first new Rayburn car from C.J. in 1997. I was just going to get a bare frame and a few parts. I remember him calling me and saying, “You use blue sheetmetal, right?”

I said: “Yes, why?”

He replied: “I’m just getting this put on the car.”

When I made it to C.J.’s, he said, “there’s your car.” In front of me was a race car that was virtually race-ready, missing only my engine.

I told him I hadn’t ordered all that, but he told me I needed it to race and he wanted it done right. It showed me just how caring he was that he wanted me to have what I needed to be successful.

Later that year at West Plains (Mo.) Motor Speedway he told my dad that “He’s my boy now and I’m going to take care of him.” When my dad died a few months later, C.J. did just that.

I remember working on my car another time when Rayburn came over (and) asked me what I would do if I wasn’t running good. I told him I’d give him a call.

“No,” Rayburn replied, “just go get yourself a hot dog and wiggle in the seat and everything will be alright.”

Then he just walked away. I can remember thinking to myself: What I am getting myself into? I learned over the years of being with C.J. that his words and stories always had a meaning. You just had to think about it! — Dennis Erb Jr., Carpentersville, Ill.

Paging Dr. C.J.

At Florida Speedweeks in 2012, I’d been sick since leaving Indiana, battling a head cold and sinus infection. On Thursday at East Bay, (Billy Moyer crew member) Stevie Norris came up to me and said, “Hey, Bud wants to see you.”

I walked into C.J.’s motorhome. It had to be 95 degrees in there. There stood C.J. in his tighty-whities and white undershirt.

“You still sick?” C.J. asked. “You’ve looked terrible all week. Look in that fridge and grab that jar.”

I’d been down that road before, but coming from Bud, I expected nothing less. So I did as he asked.

With the feature lineup being called to the track, I tried to leave. But C.J. said “that stuff won’t work so well in the cold.” Staying in the motorhome, I talked with him through the entire feature, hesitantly sipping four times from C.J.’s moonshine. I sweated like I’ve never sweated before.

By the next day, I was as good as new. C.J. spotted me at lunch and said, “Can you imagine if I’d become a doctor?”

I’ll never forget it. — Kyle Ault, Brownstown, Ind.

Fresh air

C.J. usually had someone else drive to the track, but took over behind the wheel just before arriving so he could do his signature entrance using the jake brake. During one trip to Lake Cumberland Speedway, I was sitting in the bunk of his semi — christened Old Blue — along with others, including Rayburn’s nephew Jeffrey Clements (who died three years ago).

After pulling up to the pit gate, C.J. and Jeffrey got out to pay for everyone’s pit pass. We were all hanging out the window to get our hands stamped by Jeffrey for admittance. Instead of stamping our hands, Jeffrey stamped our arms, heads, or wherever he could manage to stamp us.

C.J. and Jeffrey climbed back in the truck and C.J. proceeded to drive into the infield, clipping an infield building, tearing a hole in the trailer. Needless to say, C.J. wasn’t happy, and his passengers were to blame for “carrying on like idiots.”

By the next weekend, when we all climbed back into the truck for the next racing trip, we found C.J. had added a decorative air freshener that hung in the bunk right behind the driver’s. The words on the air freshener? “I’m surrounded by idiots.” — Crystal Kenneda, Cincinnati, Ohio

Coffee break

I have many stories of being around C.J., but the one that sticks out the most was the night before one of Brownstown’s Indiana Icebreakers a dozen or so years ago. I drove over early to meet up with Dan Rice, Jason and Josh Salay, Wayne Chinn and Christian Rayburn. Drinks were flowing and we were having quite the time.

C.J. joined us and tried to pass around his moonshine, but we had all been well instructed (by former World 100 winner Dan Schlieper, among others) not to try it. As the night went on and the drunker everyone got, I somehow found my way into C.J.‘s basement to pass out. I awoke at 7 a.m. with C.J. staring at me: “Son, I thought you were dead. Would you like some coffee?”

I told him sure, to which he replied: “Well, you might have to fix some as I am not too keen on technology.”

I fixed the coffee and sat with C.J. for the next hour or so, listening to stories from the past. The man was unique. There will never be another. — Ernie Morrison, Fairview Heights, Ill.

Vote of confidence

Back in 2005, my first year working for the Battle of the Bluegrass Series, I was running the drivers’ meetings. At one particular event, fairly early in the season, one of our drivers was giving me the third degree about our usage of the layover flag.

After holding my own against the barrage of questions, a grinning Rayburn came up to me, put his arm around me and said, “You’re gonna be just fine.”

It wasn’t much, but his vote of confidence meant a lot to a young person working on a tour for the first time. — Dustin Jarrett, St. Clairsville, Ohio

Competitive ferocity

During my best Florida Speedweeks trip in 2002 (O’Neal won four times in six starts at East Bay and twice more at Volusia), I’ll never forget seeing how bad C.J. wanted to win.

One night at East Bay, we had a flat tire, pitted to change it and rallied back to the front, but the replaced wheel came off because the lugnuts apparently weren’t tight enough. Rayburn didn’t take it well. He was livid. He threw a water bottle and hit a crew member upside the head.

The next day, I was still feeling good about our overall success on the week, but C.J. couldn’t get over it. He didn’t want to win one race. He wanted to win them all. That’s just how he was.

“We could’ve won that race,” he said. “We can’t make those mistakes.”

If you wanted to be part of racing, you wanted to know C.J. Rayburn. That’s just the way it was. And I was just lucky he was part of my racing career. I lost one of my heroes. There’s never going to be another C.J., I can promise you that.

He made The Real Deal, bottom line. Without him, who knows where my dirt racing career would’ve went. It might’ve gone nowhere. — Don O’Neal, Martinsville, Ind.

Sleeping in the ‘dungeon’

My crewman Kyle “Cheeto” Shaddix and I went to Rayburn’s Whiteland shop for the first time in 2008. We arrived on a Sunday and walked into the shop to find nobody there. I didn’t know C.J. and he didn’t know me.

So we walked up to the house and C.J. said, “Well, OK, your car is down there in the shop, just go down there and pick out all the parts you need and ya’ll just get to work on it and in a little while we’ll go eat some supper.”

I asked if anybody was going to be in the shop, and he just said, “Nah, ya’ll are good. Whatever you need just get it.”

I’m like, he don’t even know me and we’re in there building a brand new race car, me and Cheeto. We ended up spending the night, sleeping in the basement that he called “the dungeon.” That was interesting.

When we returned to Tennessee with the car, everybody was doubting us. “Why are ya’ll getting a Rayburn?” was the question we often heard. We originally got the car to use it with a four-bar rear suspension and he wanted us to try that out. But it was set up on swingarm, and C.J. told us to try it and see if we liked it. We ended up winning eight races in a row.

I finally told C.J. I was gonna change it to four-bar and see how it does. We did and won the first night after the change. I called him up and I told C.J. His reply? “Well if you don’t like it, put it back on swingarm.” He wouldn’t even talk about it. It was funny. He was a character.

We went up there two or three times and spent the night and he just took us in like he’d known us all his life. Every time I went up there, I’d stop and see him and hang out there in his house. — Daniel Miller, Lynchburg, Tenn.

No-cost repairs

One time at Bluegrass Speedway in Bardstown, Ky., C.J. was helping me with adjustments on my car and offered me a suggestion on my driving style.

“You got a good car, but listen, you can’t sling my race cars,” he told me. “You have to drive them straight all the way around the track.”

I started inside the fourth row in the feature and going into turn one, I got a windshield full of Rayburn’s No. CJ1 sliding across my front end, taking us both out of the race. C.J. was able to limp his car back to the pits while my car required a tow truck.

In the pits, we were standing there looking at the extensive front-end damage, and C.J. walked up.

“I’m sorry for that,” he said. “I done exactly what I told you not to do, but I thought it would stick.”

He looked at my car and said he had everything I’d need to fix it in his trailer. In a few minutes, his crew had brought everything needed to repair the front end. He wouldn’t take a penny for it. That was C.J. — Joseph “Jobo” Cooper, Nicholasville, Ky.

Knight’s alter ego?

I remember witnessing C.J. scold a driver about his car’s setup in this pits, and I told him that “if you yell at your customers like that, they may not be your customers much longer”

C.J.: “I’d rather that SOB drive someone else’s car than make mine look bad.”

Me: “So I guess you’re kind of like the Bobby Knight of racing.”

C.J: “No, Bobby Knight is the C.J. Rayburn of basketball.” — Chris Pohl, Greenwood, Ind. (Rayburn’s former son-in-law)

Budding friendship

There are so many C.J. stories (from four-hour lunches while we were trying to get a car built to wrecking his limo in a cornfield — but I digress). This story tells how he gave to the racer without expecting anything in return, a brief version of how we started a lifelong friendship.

In the mid to late ’80s I was racing with the PROS Series driving a Ray Callahan-designed Bullitt Chassis. Fast forward to a weekend of racing set for Kankakee, Ill., Brownstown, Ind., and Danville, Ill.

At Brownstown, I was involved in a bad crash that sent my car into the frontstretch wall backwards, ending my night (and I thought, my weekend, while running among the top 10 in points on the tour).

That night at Brownstown, C.J. came over to my trailer and offered his shop to me if I wanted to try and repair the rear clip. We worked all night and most of the next day to repair the mangled mess. C.J. and a few other Rayburn employees stayed with me the entire time.

Once we got everything race-ready, C.J. told me I looked like hell. He told me to grab a shower in his house and he’d help get my car loaded so I could head to Danville.

I got cleaned up and headed outside to find my car wasn’t in the trailer yet. C.J. had my car on the side of his house washing it himself while chomping a big cigar with a big C.J. grin. “You are all ready to go. Get the hell outta here, you’re gonna be late,” he said in sending us off

I tried to pay him for all the parts and time they all had invested. C.J. wouldn’t have it.

Don’t remember how I did at Danville, but I remember how I felt on the drive to the track. I knew it was the beginning of a great friendship. I feel fortunate to have been one of the many up-and-coming young racers that C.J. helped along. RIP to my special friend. — Steve Shaver, Vienna, W.Va.

Brainstorming with C.J.

“C.J.‘s having a brainstorm.”

This refrain greeted me upon visiting C.J. Rayburn Race Cars’ spacious Whiteland, Ind., shops in 2000. The venerable car builder was known for his flashes of inspiration (“I was up before the sunrise thinking about this,” he said) and, on this day, he was rethinking a 10-year-old setup idea which he felt might work with today’s cars.

“C.J.’s got something he wants to try,” said Clint Gantt, who has worked for Rayburn for the past five years and is accustomed to his constant flights of fancy. “There’s no telling what he’s got on his mind.”

Rayburn’s daughter Eva, who along with sister Kim runs the front office, admitted she’s only recently begun “to understand the way he thinks.”

The 60-year-old Rayburn entered the room, smiling and waving, greeting guests warmly before turning his full attention to a bare chassis that sits in the middle of the main shop. Rayburn was a tall man with a commanding presence and piercing blue eyes that light up when his stern face relaxed and he smiled.

On various walls, signs were hung displaying some of Rayburn’s better known quotes (Rayburnisms) such as: “If it don’t need to be said, don’t say it.”

The shop became a flurry of activity as Rayburn directed Gantt on which parts to install on the front end of the chassis. The idea was to try the setup on that car in order to take measurements before swapping the setup to Rayburn’s personal car, which he planned to run the following night at Brownstown Speedway.

“Back in 1990, we came up with this spindle we called the X-spindle,” Rayburn said, holding up a piece that is slightly taller and longer than the norm. “And I think this just may work.”

As the work progressed, Rayburn looked on in deep thought as employees drifted in and out from various corners of the shop to lend a hand. On the wall above his head, a sign was posted with one word in all caps: QUALITY. — Tim Lee, Knoxville, Tenn. (adapted from a National Dirt Digest article)

Special spectator

Back in 2017 when I was running the Summer Nationals — the year I won four races — Dad called me and told me that C.J. was coming to watch me at Jacksonville because he thinks I can win the race. It shocked me because of the way Dad said C.J. said it. I thought that was the coolest thing ever because C.J. is an icon of our sport.

So at Jacksonville that night, I look up and here comes Bud rolling through the pits right about hot laps in his white RV. I ran fourth that night, but it meant a ton to a guy like me that C.J. believed in me and I wasn’t even in his car but he wanted me to succeed. He was such a great human being. — Billy Moyer Jr., Batesville, Ark.

Sardines, prisoners and cash

I was like 16 years old and we had just gotten one of his cars and the engine blew up in it, but I still wanted to go to the races and I was eager to learn. So I called C.J. and asked if I could come over for a few days and help with anything, and when I went over there he said, “Well, what do you wanna do?” At the time I had taken to grooving tires, so he said, “I got some tires you can groove.” So he set some tires up and I grooved ‘em, and he came over and looked at ‘em and he said, “You’re really good at this.” Then this guy got me, like, every tire in the shop. I grooved tires for days. I grooved so many tires that week my hands were numb.

Then we loaded up and we went to Ponderosa Speedway to race. He drove the car, and he had me grooving tires there. And at the end of it, I’m just a kid, and I’m thinking, Maybe he’ll give a hundred bucks and a T-shirt. That would be good enough for me. So he’s like, "You’ve done a pretty good job, I’ve gotta give you something.” I said, “You think I could get a T-shirt or something?” He gave me that big, goofy laugh, and he said, “Nah, I got something better for you.” And he got in his kitchen cabinet and he pulled down a can and he said, “Here’s a can of sardines for you. You’ve worked hard.” He thought it was the funniest thing in the whole world.

Also, when I was there, he had me staying at his house. He said, “There’s a guy staying down there in the basement and you can stay with him.” I’d seen this dude walking around helping him at the shop, and when I got down there he started talking to me and it came up that he’d just got out of prison. Now keep in mind I’m a child — I weigh like 110 pounds, and C.J.’s got me in the basement with this dude. I go upstairs and say, “C.J., this guy just out of prison!” He laughs, and he’s like, “Oh, it’s all right. He’s a nice guy.”

And there was one time I was there and he said, “Go clean the engine room for me.” All his engine parts were in there, boxes everywhere. He said, “Just organize it the best you can.” So I’d been in there a while, cleaning and stacking boxes and going through stuff, and I grab this piston box down and pull the cap off and this entire box is filled with cash. I mean, like $100 bills, $50 bills. I don’t know how much is in there — a piston box is big! I stop, put the box back, and go to C.J.’s office and say, “C.J., come here.” He’s like, “What do you want?” He comes in the engine room and I show him the box and say, “What do you want me to do with this?” He’s like, “I forgot I put that there.” — Steve Casebolt, Richmond, Ind.

Learning experience

I used his mill to machine a shock part while we were there (at Rayburn’s shop when Jonathan Davenport was driving the K&L Rumley Enterprises No. 6). I heard his surveillance cameras spool up. Then over the intercom system he asked me what I was doing. I told him. A few minutes passed and then he announced, “Rumley, we need to take you to the racetrack to prove to everyone you’re not crazy.”

I also went out into the shop and saw some of the projects he had been working on the last 15 years — truly some of the most innovative things I have seen in Dirt Late Model racing.

I learned a lot that week about front ends. We talked for hours every night. I’m very fortunate to have had the opportunity to absorb some of his vast wisdom. — Kevin Rumley, Lexington, N.C.

Memorable handshake

I traveled to Indiana to buy a race car after wrecking one at Dixie Speedway a few weeks earlier. My father and I got to Whiteland about 4:45 a.m., so we just slept in the truck until someone knocked on the window and told us C.J. was inside.

We walked in his house and he was sitting there in his underwear, drinking coffee with the CEO of Bilstein Shocks, who was sitting next to C.J. in a three-piece suit.

C.J. stood up, scratched his crotch and stuck out his hand: “Hello, I’m C.J. Rayburn.”

Needless to say, I shook his hand. I felt like I was around greatness. — James Dean Lay, Blountville, Ala.

Exceedingly generous

I have several stories that can be published — and many that can’t. But the thing that stands out in my mind the most about C.J. is that of all who helped me in my career, he probably helped me the most.

His unselfishness was most memorable. The door was never locked. The light was always on. He’d always pick up the phone. He helped the rich and the poor all the same.

There has never been — or probably never ever will be — another man that was more generous in the sport of dirt track racing, whether through knowledge, assistance building a car or even lending a hand at the track. When in dire need, he was always there for you. He will be missed deeply. — John Gill, Mitchell, Ind.

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