In the days leading up to the fifth annual CompetitionPlus.com War Stories we will re-publish some of the finest moments from last three years' competition. You'll hear some of the finest stories laid down in competition. The program works like this: 16 figures within the drag racing community are voted on by the readers of Attitude's CompetitionPlus.com to determine who they feel could tell the best story. From that voting, an NHRA professional elimination ladder pairs the contestants and they battle it out until one is left.

Today's story comes from Bill Doner, the 2010 champion.

 

In the days leading up to the fifth annual CompetitionPlus.com War Stories we will re-publish some of the finest moments from last three years' competition. You'll hear some of the finest stories laid down in competition. The program works like this: 16 figures within the drag racing community are voted on by the readers of Attitude's CompetitionPlus.com to determine who they feel could tell the best story. From that voting, an NHRA professional elimination ladder pairs the contestants and they battle it out until one is left.

Today's story comes from Bill Doner, the 2010 champion.

 TELLING THE STORY OF: LINDA AND THE OPEN

We always had a “soft opening” of Seattle International Raceway on the first weekend in April, setting the stage for our giant Northwest National Open the last weekend of the month.

This story centers around the fourth annual opening and I’d lined up every heavyweight I could.

Heading the dragster cast was the hottest driver in the country, Don Moody, Ohio’s Jim Bucher with the world’s fastest Chevrolet, young Jeb Allen, Canadian star Gary Beck, Jerry Ruth and a bunch of others.

The funny car field had ‘em all…The Snake, Mongoose, Ace, Hawaiian, 240 Gordie…as we said in the ads, “you name ‘em, they’ll be there.”

I snuck a line into the ads that went, “Is this a Big Race? Does a bear (bleep) in the woods!?!”

The radio stations didn’t like it, but they ran it.

Somehow, I’d gotten a reputation as being able to deliver just about anything it took to make these events over the top…still, I had no idea what was coming next.

One night we were having cocktails (funny how that happens) when my whimsical pal J Michael Kenyon (no period after the J, please) blurted out, “If this is such a big race, how come Linda Lovelace isn’t coming?”

“What in the hell has Linda Lovelace got to do with a drag race?” I asked.

I knew who Linda Lovelace was, but just barely. The movie “Deep Throat” had opened around the country late in ’72, but hadn’t arrived in the Great Northwest until '73. It was the first and perhaps, in retrospect, the last porn movie to hit the mainstream.


“Well,” explained Kenyon, “in the world today, nothing is REALLY big unless Linda Lovelace is there.”

I put the matter out of my mind and continued the more important matter of serious drinking.

A week later I was in Southern California for a 16-car funny car event we ran the Saturday night before Easter at Irwindale.  I was having lunch the day before the race with some old pals when a guy named Dick Stewart casually said, “You know, we were at a party at Hef’s the other night and this gal Linda Lovelace was there. You know who she is?”

The Hef he was talking about, naturally, was Hugh Hefner and the party was at the Playboy Mansion.

I not only confessed to knowing who she was, but also noted I had some friends who thought it was my place on earth to deliver her to a race in the Northwest two weeks hence.

“Well,” said Stewart, “I’ll have Barbie Benton get a-hold of Linda and have her call you.”

If this all seems like it’s happening fast, let me explain.

Stewart’s wife was former Playmate of the Year Ann Randall and a close friend of Hefner’s longtime paramour Barbie Benton.

We ran the race at Irwindale and I flew home to Seattle not giving another thought about Linda Lovelace attending our race.

I saw no reason at this point to mention the Linda Lovelace deal to my demented friends, because I was sure it was just talk.

Imagine my surprise when, a couple of days later, my secretary buzzed me to say there were a couple of ladies named Barbie Benton and Linda Lovelace on the line wanting to speak to Mr. Doner.

I will note at this time, for the record, that Mr. Doner was my father and my name was and still is Bill or, as my mother called me - “Billy Lee.”

Even though I hadn’t clued anyone in on what happened in Southern California, I felt certain the call was a prank.

The first thing I heard after saying hello was, “Mr. Doner, this is Barbie Benton. Do you know why I’m calling?”

“I think so,” I stammered, “but why don’t you fill me in.”

The preliminaries out-of-the-way, she put Linda Lovelace on the phone and, to cut all this short, we made a deal for plane tickets and $1,000 to have her come to Seattle for the race.

God, things sure were a lot simpler in those days.

Of course, I couldn’t keep this a secret any longer and you can imagine how quickly the underground drums began to beat.

Now, I decided, to take things a step further…I re-cut the radio ads and in place of the line about the bear’s bathroom habits, the ads went “Is this a BIG drag race? Well, Linda Lovelace is jetting in from Hollywood just to attend.” If the radio stations balked at the bear line, you can’t even imagine what they thought of Linda Lovelace. In those days, you couldn’t even run ads for a film like “Deep Throat.”

One more little thing…my marriage had for some time been suffering and when the Linda Lovelace news began exploding all over the area, my wife suggested she might be better served if I packed my duds and found lodging elsewhere.

And that, friends, is why I became a resident of the infamous Jet Inn by the Seattle airport.

As for the Jet Inn, Tom McEwen once remarked that when he wrote the great book of drag racing, it would begin at the Jet Inn. What he meant by that, you’ll simply have to ask him.

The Open was a two-day event with qualifying Saturday and the race itself on Sunday.

In between, on Saturday night, we planned to race four funny cars - Snake, ‘Goose, Hawaiian and Ace - at our nearby Puyallup track to defray some of the booking costs.

Linda arrived in Seattle around noon Saturday and I had Kenyon and a goofy southern drag racer named TB (for Thomas Burn) Smallwood pick her up and spent the afternoon running her around to the radio stations.  

That night, Kenyon and Smallwood, giggling like a couple of kids with a big secret, brought Linda to the Puyallup race.

One of several things which happened that night at Puyallup included Linda, who was handing out autographed photos to the racers, giving  one to McEwen, saying “I have a more risqué photo in my case if you want me to get it.”

“No, ma'am,” stammered The ‘Goose’, “that’ll be just fine.”

So much for the captain of our “Team Gulp.”

With Puyallup behind us and the forecast for good weather on Sunday, I took it as good news when my wife invited me back into the house.

I did, however, keep my quarters at the Jet, just in case.

Safely tucked into my bed late Saturday night with the prospect of a delicious Sunday directly ahead, I was in a deep sleep when the doorbell rang around 2:30 am

I just rolled over, but my wife (I forgot to mention she was on crutches after severely breaking her leg skiing) hobbled down the hall to answer the door.

There stood Kenyon and TB along, of course, with a partially clad Linda Lovelace.

“Can Billy Lee come out and play?” asked Kenyon as simple as if he was asking to use the phone.

My wife didn’t even bother to respond; she just crutched her way back to the bedroom and jabbed me in the side with one of her aluminum sticks.

“Your little friends want you,” she said, with absolute rage in her voice. “And you’d better pack your s*** -- this time it’s over for good."

I went to the door, took one look at the semi-ribald scene on my porch, and said, “As much as I love you guys, your timing is ill.”

With that I took the lovely Mrs. Doner’s advice and hit the road.

It was too late to even bother going to the Jet, so I just headed for the race track.

Getting in the front gate was out of the question, since traffic was already backed up about two miles.

I knew how to get in the back gate, however, and curled up on the couch in my office, thinking, “the worst has got to be over.”

I was not, as you might imagine, certain I had used the best of judgment in all of this and could only wait for the next explosion.

It wouldn't take long to come.

Stay tuned for what happened that fateful Sunday, both before and after The Open.

Don't worry: I'll finish the story even if I lose this semifinal match.

And, to those of you who were involved, don’t bother to call your lawyers. I’ve checked and the statute of limitations has long since run out.