Nascar Fundraiser Fuels Healthy Relationships

We were coming down off a spirited high. We'd placed 1st in 1999 at the Illinois State University band competition and participated in the 2000 Rose Bowl Parade in Pasadena. The band continued its successes in the following seasons. 

November 2002 was the first time I heard the vibrant pitch at one of the monthly meetings for the Lincoln-Way Central Music Boosters about raising funds easily at one of the biggest past-time venues in the nation. Our visions of band travel around the country and even overseas experiences were every bit as vivid as dancing sugar plums at Christmas.

This was NASCAR, and the Chicagoland Speedway was right here—just a few miles away on U.S. Route 52 in nearby Joliet. For most of the dads at the meeting, the idea of stepping onto practically hallowed ground was enough to bring tears to their eyes. They'd be within a 1,000-yard perimeter of NASCAR greats Dale Earnhardt, Jr. and Scott Pruett. 

Here was this dark-haired woman, her name I believe was Trish, posing an idea that not only raised funds, but it also invigorated the very soul of auto enthusiasts—those guys that spent their growing up years working on cars in their parents' garages. Sure the idea piqued the interest of a lot of the women too.

Personally, I was indifferent. What do I know?  From what I can see, someone climbs into a fancy car and drives a couple of hundred laps around a 1.5-mile oval track. Seriously, all you have to do steer the wheel to the left and gun the engine.  I admit it—I'm not a race car fan. But I was a LWC Marching Knights fan, advocate, promoter, and parent, thereof.  My girls were both in the mellophone section.

Last year, Trish said, the Athletic Boosters raked in about $4,000 after working a mere two three-day weekends. The Dixie-born NASCAR race was held in July, and the Indy-style race was held in early September.

That sounded great to an organization that existed on sales from Avon, SIAM discount cards, brats and hamburgers at the annual Frankfort Fall Festival along with flowers and wrapping paper sales throughout the year. Fundraisers are parent-supervised campaigns given the blessing by the school board.    

There would be meetings with the NASCAR vendor organizers in January and liquor-selling rules of the road in May. You know what I mean: a buyer has to be at least 21 years old with a valid ID—drivers license, military ID or passport. And FYI, you're supposed to recognize when someone is drunk by the way he or she is or is not staggering. It's okay though if they flash their sweaty chest tattoo at you or hand over a few of the damp bills that they pull out of a sock. 

After having scheduled 50 or so volunteers to man three or four booths—one was a coveted beer booth (they always make more money)—we were told that after six or seven hours, the tip jars get stuffed with more than coins; $5 and $10 bills show up. In addition, I think we made 1 percent of the profit from each booth.  

I remember I was assigned to work Sunday, the big day—the premier NASCAR race. We all showed up at the crack of dawn, about 5:30 or 6 a.m., in the parking lot at Country Lanes Bowling Alley on Laraway Road. With a 20-ounce cup of steaming coffee in my hand, I stood together with a bevy of music boosters. We each wore the requisite khaki-colored shorts or slacks, black Polo shirt and gym shoes.

Trish, who served in the role of chairperson for this first-ever music booster NASCAR fundraiser, barked out directives and orders with the vehemence that matched a Marine sergeant. She was a "take charge" type, and I was okay with that. After all, this was her third day working the event. Besides, I enjoyed being a foot soldier. She told us what gate to enter, where to park, and that we had to caravan because she only had about 10 parking permits.  By 6:30 a.m. we were all at the park.

Like sheep led to the slaughter, we mixed in with maybe 20 other fundraising groups, ranging from churches to Red Hat wearing ladies, and from softball teams to cheerleading supporters. The heat of the day was still a while off—it was probably 85 degrees in the shade. It would reach a good 98 degrees by noon.

The lead vendor trainer had handed out assignments and booth locations on Friday. Trish already knew where our booths were located, so she broke us up into squads per booth. Then we each got our nifty ticket; it was a food voucher. For our 12 hours of service, the organization would provide a single meal, which we could redeem from any of the booths. If you maybe you had a need for more sustenance throughout the day, then you were on your own.

So a word/words to the wise—make sure to bring money enough to pay for a $4 bottle of water.  Alcohol consumption by the volunteer vendors is totally off-limits. No kidding: this rule that was strictly adhered to because it was a school-backed event. 

On the day of the big race, vendor training was brief, on the spot and presented by Trish. She'd received her training earlier in the week from a gal who traveled the NASCAR circuit; she was a vendor supervisor with some 20-plus booths to oversee on Level 2 of the tri-level stadium. She would be your designated "go to girl." That translated as an understanding that you would see her maybe four times in the 12 hours that you manned the booth. Her job was to pick up cash and attempt to fill supplies.

Getting ice was a big problem; it was in short supply as the afternoon wore on and lines of sunburned attendees flocked to the concession area during lulls in track action. I can't speak for the action that was going on in the stands though.  

Anyway, I was assigned to the fajita booth. It was loads of greasy fun working with the parents and a handful of students preparing fajitas —donning rubber gloves, arranging aluminum pans over butane burners, and taking turns stepping up to the four-foot wide cast iron grill that took at least 15 minutes to figure out.

We switched jobs within the booth: the cash box, supply replenishment duty, sandwich making and grilling. It was great fun plunging your hands into icy cold barrels of water to retrieve leftover cans of soda and beer, dragging the 50-pound barrels out of the booth to drain them and then pulling them back in to pour in a fresh 20-pounds or so of ice and another couple cases of soda and beer.

My time spent at the grill was an incredibly revealing experience. I grabbed a hold of the spatula, scraped off the excess grease and slapped on thin strips of pre-cooked beef and chicken slices. The woman next to me followed up by spreading a predetermined amount of meat, one scoop of lettuce, chopped tomato pieces, refried beans and sour cream. Then she rolled it into a tortilla. I later found a spot that I preferred. I worked the cash box and asked for IDS.

Finally, the race came to an end. We cleaned up in less than an hour, but getting out of the parking lot took another two hours. It's just like leaving a concert; everyone is trying to reach the gate at the same time. You have to be cautious though, because you're not so sure that everyone is within the legal consumption limit.

I think I finally got home about 10 p.m. I had absolutely no idea who won the race. And I didn't care.  We wouldn't know how much money we made from the event for another several weeks. 

All I knew for sure was that I was dead tired. On the way home I stopped and picked up some Epsom salt for me feet. They were sore and blistered. I remember thinking that night as I sat down to watch the news that I'd never work like a field hand again.

Then about four months later, I remember being at the music booster meeting when it was announced that we had made about $5,000 total for working two events. That money would supplement the kids (Marching Knights, orchestra and choir groups) in their desire to participate in an array of events around the country. I was ecstatic! Our kids could continue to enjoy their high school experience in a health way.

Yeah, you know it. I'm a guppy. A few months later the organizational meeting for the NASCAR fundraiser was coming up. That year, I volunteered then too. A few years later I co-chaired the event, and in 2006 I chaired it. It's been several years now since I had kids in high school. I'd recommend volunteering, even in that role, to anyone. The kids know you love them, and some of the parents you meet become friends for life. I still hate NASCAR though.