[bigboydan]

I'm really not a Nascar fan at all, but you have to respect what this guy did after he took over for his dad. He brought the corporate sponsors and got the TV contracts.

RIP

DOVER, Del. – I remember the first time I met Bill France Jr. as if it were yesterday.

It wasn't in a legendary NASCAR bastion like Daytona, Talladega or Bristol. Rather, it was at a place that was, up to that point, totally foreign to the world of stock car racing: Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

It was 1994, before the first Brickyard 400. I came up to France, introduced myself and respectfully called him "Mr. France."

Seated in a chair, France looked up at me, squinted and said in his famous grizzled voice, "What was your name again? And don't call me Mr. France. I'm Bill, just plain old Bill, OK?"

He then proceeded to graciously answer all my questions, which mostly centered on why NASCAR would even consider coming to Indy, in an interview that lasted less than 10 minutes.

"We're here because Indianapolis is kind of the last frontier for stock car racing," France told me. "If we want to be the biggest and best, we have to be at the biggest and best track there is. That's why we're here in Indianapolis."

As a reporter who had primarily covered drag racing and open wheel racing with only a smattering of NASCAR races, I had heard stories about how intimidating France could be.

And when I finally met him, yes, he was gruff and grizzled.

But that kind of presence is easy to explain. This was his baby, and he was making sure he proved to everyone that NASCAR truly belonged as a major sport – and there was no better venue than Indianapolis to justify it.

The Brickyard 400 has gone on to become NASCAR's second-biggest race next to the Daytona 500, and it accomplished that feat in just over a decade because of one man's drive, persistence and vision. That man was Bill France Jr., who died Monday at 74.

Whether you called him Bill Jr., Little Bill or "just plain old Bill," France was the Harry Truman of stock car racing: the buck stopped with him. Whether it was plaudits or criticism, everything that was right or wrong about NASCAR ended up on France's doorstep.

More often than not, his vision of where he wanted the sport to go was right-on. He didn't care whether anyone else liked it. If he felt it was the right thing to do for the betterment of the sport – and in many cases, for the betterment of the France family – it was done one way. Bill's way.

France valued a buck as much as anybody, but not many knew of his charitable side. Yet he gave away millions of dollars to various organizations such as Victory Junction Gang and Speedway Children's Charities.

Perhaps what France did best was to drive the racing business, making frequent trips to victory lane not in a stock car, but in the boardroom.

A primary reason was his promotional skills. A cross between P.T. Barnum and Don King, France built upon NASCAR's Southern tradition and made the rest of the country realize that his style of racing was pretty cool and fun to watch.

Had it not been for France, it's doubtful that today's NASCAR would be filled with successful non-Southerners such as Jeff Gordon, Jimmie Johnson, Matt Kenseth, Kasey Kahne, Tony Stewart and Kevin Harvick.

In addition to drivers, NASCAR's national expansion also attracted sponsors, money, power and prestige that few could have envisioned, including France's own father Bill France Sr., the sport's founder.

But Bill Jr. did foresee it, and we see the product of that vision everywhere – even away from the race track. Fans choose the products they purchase not only based on quality but also out of fierce brand loyalty to their drivers and their sponsors.

France admired the autonomy of NFL commissioners Pete Rozelle and Paul Tagliabue. He had his critics, but he also held such power that he rarely listened to them. In 2002, Tony Stewart described the sanctioning body's management style as being "NASCAR's way or the highway."

Really, it was Little Bill's way or the highway.

If anyone doubted that power, consider NASCAR's relationship with ESPN. The sport and the cable TV network helped each other rise to prominence as partners from 1981 to 2000. But when France decided to take NASCAR to major network television with both FOX and NBC in 2001 – helped by the billions of dollars that flowed into NASCAR's coffers – he promptly turned his back on the so-called Worldwide Leader.

He kept ESPN cameras out of NASCAR race tracks, forcing most race reports to come from airstrips or helicopter landing pads. He didn't even ESPN to shoot its own footage or to use footage from other networks for anything besides news and highlight shows.

Twenty years of loyalty was one thing, but several billion dollars was another – and the big bucks won out.

It wasn't until a couple of years ago that ESPN began to get back into NASCAR's good graces, which was the first step toward reacquiring TV rights for the next eight years for both itself and ABC.

When I heard of France's passing midway through Monday's rescheduled Autism Speaks 400 at Dover International Speedway, that interview in Indianapolis nearly 13 years ago popped into my mind.

As I thanked him and said goodbye that day I again began to call him Mr. France. But I barely got the word "Mister" out of my mouth before he quickly shot back, "It's Bill, just plain old Bill, OK? Remember that."

I smiled, shook his hand and walked away. If the most powerful man the sport has ever known – even more powerful than his own father – wanted me to call him "just plain old Bill," who was I to argue?

While his father, Big Bill, got the ball rolling in 1948, Little Bill had bigger and better plans when he took over in 1972 and wasted little time in taking NASCAR out of sleepy little Southern towns and into major markets, including Indianapolis.

He made NASCAR what it is today, one of the most popular sports in the U.S. That is his legacy and also the challenge his passing presents to his son Brian. While the younger France has been at the helm now for 3½ years, he always has had his father to call or visit for counsel, to seek both advice and approval.

Now Brian France will have to go it alone, just like Little Bill did when Big Bill passed on in 1992 (ironically, Bill Sr. died on June 7, 1992, almost exactly 15 years before his son died). Whether Brian France can take the sport to even loftier heights than his father did, likely will form much of his eventual legacy.

As for Bill France Jr., his legacy is intact.

Your work in NASCAR and in this world is over. Rest in peace, Mr. France.

I mean, plain old Bill.

[onlooker]

Bill.