Savage Words: When music and racing didn’t add up for me

Ten years ago, right now, the racing season at Huset’s Speedway was about six weeks away.

And 10 years ago, right now, the facility was not ready.

I was the General Manager at the track, recently hired by new owner Chuck Brennan, who bought the facility from brothers Greg and Steve Rubin, who had owned it since 1988.

When Chuck blew into town, he began a frenzy of hiring to run his new Badlands Pawn Shop and concert venue on Sioux Falls’ west side. He also needed help running the racetrack in Brandon, which he bought from the Rubin family in April of 2015.

I didn’t know Chuck from anyone. Through mutual friends, he and I connected for the first time in the summer of 2015.

“I understand you used to run the Indianapolis 500,” he said to me when we first talked.

“Um, no,” I said. “I did the PR for it, but no, I didn’t run it.”

Roger Penske I was not, but still, he seemed convinced enough to hire me to run the track in Brandon.

And it was an undertaking. Before the final checkered flag ever flew on the 2015 season at Huset’s when the Rubin’s still owned it, we were in the midst of a major facelift at the speedway.

During the off-season in the winter of 2015, Badlands construction crews were hard at it. New bleachers, new water, sewer, sound system, electronic billboards, buildings, suites. You name it, Chuck spent a good chunk of money trying to put a sparkle on the dirt oval.

But in April of 2016 – just six weeks to go before the first race, Huset’s Speedway – known then for one year as Badlands Motor Speedway – was a wreck. The grandstands looked like a worn-torn battle zone. 

We simply were not ready to open, but Chuck was adamant that we have it ready for May 21, 2016 – opening night of racing under the new Badlands banner.

One day, again about 10 years ago this week, Chuck sent me a text late in the afternoon. It informed me that he was headed to the track with a ‘special guest.’

I honestly didn’t know what this special guest wanted to see, because again, the place was a mess and really not ready for visitors, especially those Chuck was trying to impress. 

But at about 5 p.m., he rolled in, slowly making his way through the south gate, and down the hill to the parking area outside our offices.

He got out, with his guest.

I honestly didn’t know who it was.

Chuck walked up to me with a grin on his face.

“How about a picture,” he said to me, reaching for my phone.

I didn’t know if he meant he wanted a photo with him and his guest in front of the race track, or if he wanted me to get in the photo.

Confused, I was.

“You should get a picture with him,” Chuck said.

“OK,” I said. “Does he know my dad?”

That was met with a peculiar, almost frustrated look on Chuck’s face.

I only asked because my father and I share the same name. A longtime racing historian and journalist, my dad is very well-known in the sprint car racing world. I can’t tell you how many times people in racing have asked me if he’s my dad.

I was always happy to say, “Indeed he is.”

I’ve had countless people – strangers – who’ve shared racing stories with me about my dad. When I took the job as the GM for the track, that number multiplied by hundreds.

So, I figured this guest of Chuck’s was perhaps another. I didn’t know, and I was fishing my way through the conversation.

“What!” Chuck said in a now-stern tone. “This is Paul (expletive) Stanley.”

I took the tone of his voice to heart, and I gracefully stood next to Paul for this photo, mostly to appease Chuck. If you didn’t know it, Chuck made a name for himself in this area, and later in Las Vegas, as a music promoter. Over the years he’s become close with the members of KISS, which included Paul Stanley. He’s also friends with members from Motley Crue, RATT, Cinderella, Night Ranger, Fleetwood Mac, The Offspring, Alice Cooper, and a ton of others. He’s featured in a new podcast hosted by CountsKulture – it’s funny. It’s worth the watch.

But honestly, I had no idea who Paul Stanley was 10 years ago this April at Huset’s.

After they left, I went back to the office and asked an employee who Paul Stanley was.

“I don’t know who he is, but I don’t think he knows my dad,” I said.

At least for that part, I was correct.