My first reaction when Kyle Larson said the ‘N-word’? Fury. My second? Forgiveness

When I heard about the controversy about NASCAR driver Kyle Larson using the “N-word” while participating in a virtual race, it brought to mind one of my worst experiences as a journalist — one that funny enough also has a NASCAR tie.

It was August 2009, not long after I was hired as a reporter for the Bristol Herald Courier in Bristol, Va., a small city deep in the heart of the Appalachian Mountains.

I was assigned to do a feature story on Family Race Night, the fan event that always takes place in downtown Bristol before the annual August NASCAR race at Bristol Motor Speedway.

I was walking amid the elbow-to-elbow crowd on State Street — the roadway that’s literally the state line separating Bristol, Va., and Bristol, Tenn. — when I spotted a big, towering dude standing with a group of people on the congested sidewalk.

It was Mike Helton, the then-president of NASCAR.

“Cool,” I thought. “I’ll go ask Helton how much being in Bristol means to NASCAR. A good quote from a NASCAR big shot would be perfect.”

So I approached Helton, introduced myself and asked my question.

A slight smirk came over Helton’s face.

Then out of nowhere Helton’s hand shot out and grabbed the middle of my linen shirt — his fist balled up tightly against my chest.

“Come here,” Helton said, as he pulled and yanked me by my shirt off the sidewalk and back into the middle of jam-packed State Street.

Still holding my shirt, Helton pointed toward the wave of people walking in our direction, looked down at me and said, “See that? That’s your answer.”

Then Helton let go of my shirt, turned away and sauntered back toward the sidewalk as everyone in his group — and everyone else on State Street who saw what had just happened — laughed.

And laughed.

At me.

It was embarrassing.

It was humiliating.

It was demeaning.

But embarrassed, humiliated, demeaned — and furious — as I was, I still had a story to write and a deadline to meet.

So I composed myself.

I straightened my shirt.

And I went back to gathering stuff for my story.

Now I should pause here to make these important points:

▪ The incident didn’t affect my ability to remain professional and to write a pretty solid feature story, which you can read here.

Seriously, I defy anyone to read my story — which included my encounter with Helton — and have the slightest sense of just how red-mist angry I was while writing every word of it.

▪ The incident didn’t affect how I felt toward NASCAR.

To this day I still enjoy NASCAR as a sport.

I still watch it.

I still follow it.

In fact, one of the remaining items on my “must do” sporting list is to visit the NASCAR Hall of Fame in Charlotte — and to catch a race at Charlotte Motor Speedway.

▪ The incident didn’t affect my experience in Bristol.

I enjoyed my time at the Herald Courier.

I loved being in Bristol (both the Virginia and Tennessee sides).

And I treasure the great friends I made there — including my former landlord, who still affectionately calls me “Smokey” Brown because I once accidentally set off the apartment complex’s smoke alarms while frying chicken one night.

But for a long time after that August 2009 night, the encounter with Helton would bother me.

In fact, whenever I would think about it, I would go through a “three questions, three answers” routine.

Here’s Question No. 1 I’d always ask:

“Why did allow myself to let that happen — why did I let another grown man pull me into the middle of a street while I was just doing my job?”

Here’s the best answer I’d always come up with:

“Because my main thought at that moment was to just do my job.”

Here’s Question No. 2 I’d always ask:

“What would have happened if I had also responded in a physical manner when Helton grabbed me?”

Here’s the best answer I’d always come up with:

“I would have been fired. Period. Thank God I didn’t do that.”

And here’s Question No. 3 I’d always ask:

“Would Helton have done the same thing to any other journalist who had approached him at that moment?”

And here’s the best answer I’d always come up with:

“Yes, he probably would have done the same thing to any other journalist at that moment. But that doesn’t change how it felt for me to be that journalist at that moment.”

Then one day that encounter came to mind again.

But this time instead of “three questions, three answers,” three thoughts kept running through my mind:

1. I had to stop letting that moment eat at me.

2. I had to let it go.

3. To accomplish “1” and “2,” I had to embrace and extend some sense of forgiveness toward Helton.

So I did.

And I have.

And I can honestly say that I hadn’t thought about that incident in years — until the recent uproar over Larson uttering what he did while competing in one of the virtual races NASCAR is putting on while sidelined by the coronavirus pandemic.

Yes, my first response to the slur by Larson, who ironically is half-Japanese, was fury. And, yes, my first response was to nod my head in approval when Larson was abruptly fired by his racing team for his comments.

But then I saw the video that Larson posted on his Twitter page, apologizing for what he said.

I watched Larson’s face and listened to his tone as he gave his apology.

I saw and heard someone who was going through the tough, raw process of looking deep inside himself in an honest way — and trying to understand why he had allowed himself to say something so demeaning.

And it all felt very familiar to me.

It was the same tough, raw process I had gone through while honestly looking deep inside myself — and trying to understand why I had allowed myself to be demeaned on a hot summer night in downtown Bristol years ago.

And I realized what my second reaction to Kyle Larson should be.

What it needs to be.

Forgiveness.

So I’m rooting for Kyle Larson.

I’m rooting for his redemption.

I’m rooting that sometime in the future I’ll go to a NASCAR race at Charlotte Motor Speedway and see that he’s back in one of the cars on the track.

And if I happen to see Mike Helton — who’s now the vice chairman of NASCAR — as I’m walking inside the speedway during that future Race Day in Charlotte, I already know what kind of expression I’ll have on my face.

It won’t be a scowl.

It won’t be a glare.

It won’t be a frown.

The expression on my face will be the most liberating one of all:

A smile.

Opinion Editor Roger Brown can be reached at (803) 771-8464 or by email at rjbrown@thestate.com. Follow him on Twitter @RBrown_SCOpin.

This story was originally published April 20, 2020 at 7:53 AM.