When I was in middle school, back in the 70's, it seemed like every kid in school went to the stock car races at Leabanon Valley Speedway. It also seemed as though there was a different favorite driver for each kid.

      At some point in the 7th grade, I befriended a quiet kid who's father owned one of the more competetive cars at The Valley. As my 2nd cousin was one of the top drivers, my friend and I were bigshots when the talk turned to stock cars.

      Although we had this common thread, we had one notable difference. His father owned stock cars for sport; my parents family car was worth less than the tires on his fathers stock car. You would have never known it. If you knew, he didn't tell you. He was just too modest and polite.

      The first Christmas that I knew him is one I will never forget. When we returned to school after vacation, everyone was bragging about all their nice gifts. Everyone except my firend, that is. I asked him what he got, and he just said "not much".

      Later, I caught him at his locker when no one else was around. I asked him if his family was having money trouble. He explained to me that he knew I didn't get much for Christmas, and he had gotten a ton of stuff. He wouldn't say what he had got, because he didn't want to make me feel bad. He didn't do this because I was his friend, he would have done the same with any other person.

      Think about that for a moment. We were at the age where boys are their meanest and most competetive, and he lied to spare my feelings.

      In art class, it didn't matter what the teacher assigned, he and I would involve stock cars in the project. We sat across from each other, and spent the time talking about racing.

      One day, there was a group argument over who was the greatest driver at "The Valley". Everyone gave the arguments for their favorite driver; not my friend. He pointed out that my cousin had the most points and wins. He also agreed with me that there may never be another driver to win as many races, because the competietion kept getting tougher every year.

      When high school came, we didn't see each other very often. By the time we finished school, we never saw each other. Meanwhile, my cousin kept adding more wins to his record. At one point he had twice as many wins as the 2nd most winning driver. In the middle of this record setting performance, something suprising happened. My friend from school had started racing against my cousin.

      I saw each of them race their first modified (or sportsmen) race, and I saw each win their first feature race.

      As the years passed, I was taken away from racing by other things, and only went 5 or 6 times over the next 10 years. Finally, a friend got me to go to the races with him. As if it had all been waiting for me to come back before it would happen, my cousin chalked up the last win of his career. A few years later, he retired from racing.

      In the course of all those years, my old friend from school kept winning. And winning. And winning. Before long he was the second most winning driver in the history of the track. Right behind my cousin.

      Here was the kid who agreed with me that it was unlikely that anyone could ever catch my cousin, quickly catching up to his record.

      Last Saturday night, I got to talk to my old friend again. I came to the track just to see him, because I knew that it was going to be a special occasion. As I had predicted one week earlier, my friend won the race. It was just another Saturday night main event, not an open competition or other special event. Yet, it was the most important victory in the storied history of Lebanon Valley Speedway. My friend, Kenny Tremont Jr., had won the 84th race of his career, and passed my cousin, Tommy Corellis, as the the winningest driver in track history.

      When I asked Kenny at what point in the race he knew that he was going to do it, he said that he was too caught up in the race itself to think about it. He lies like that. I'm sure he knew it as soon as he got out in front of the pack. He was just downplaying the whole thing in typical Kenny fashion. He knew that I was as happy as anyone to see him do it, but he also knew that he had taken the cape off of my Superman, and he didn't want to rub my nose in it.

      The crown of "All-Time Winningest Driver" will sit in a closet and collect dust. You see, Kenny Tremont already wears a permanent crown, one that will sit on his head until the day he dies, perhaps beyond that. Kenny wears the crown of "The Nicest Guy You'll Ever Meet". Of course, if you asked him, Kenny would tell you that I am mistaking him for his father. He's just that modest. Isn't that what true legends are made of?


- Jay Carpinello May 30, 2000

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