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This week on the TV show Jeopardy, NASCAR was one of the categories. One of the questions was to identify a picture of a famous driver. No one was able to correctly identify Richard Petty, easily the most famous stock car driver ever, other than Dale Earnhardt.

That makes me sad for a few different reasons.

First, Richard Petty was for decades the face of NASCAR. His exploits as a driver are truly legendary: 200 wins (no one else has more than 101), seven championships (tied with Earnhardt) and seven Daytona 500 wins (no one else is close).

Since he retired from the cockpit in 1992, at the age of 53, Petty has continued as a team owner. His cars have not been particularly successful, although they have won more than 50 races over the years since his retirement.

Knowing Petty, still going strong at 83, easily identifiable in his feathered cowboy hat and cool sunglasses, was one of the great highlights of my career.

From that day I met him at Riverside, CA, in January, 1980, when we sat on a stack of tires in the garage area and talked for near an hour, I have admired Richard - not just for his accomplishments, but for the incredible person I found him to be.

In one of our later conversations, I asked Richard how he felt about the constant requests for autographs. He had what I believe is a unique attitude about this often annoying part of being a celebrity.

"I practiced signing my name hundreds of times so I could get a good, clear signature," Petty said. "I hate it when I see other autographs and they're completely unreadable, just a couple of lines or a circle or something.

"I want to give the fans something they can actually read and still look up and make eye contact and give them a personal moment. I got it timed down to about 20 seconds so, when there's a line, it keeps moving."

If Richard had a one-hour autograph signing, when it got to about 50 minutes, he would send his PR person to the end of the line and tell the last person in line, "Richard will keep signing until he gets to you." He would then turn away anybody else who tried to get in line, saying, "Sorry, Richard won't be able to stay long enough to sign for you. Please come back another time."

Near the end of Richard's driving career, I attended a pre-race drivers' meeting in the garage area at Daytona. As it was breaking up, I saw two big name drivers heading toward a back door to try to keep from having to sign autographs on the way out.

Richard stopped them and said, "Don't you fellas understand that it's the fans who pay your salaries and are the reason why you're famous. Go out there and meet 'em, talk to 'em and sign those autographs."

Shamed, the two big names turned around and walked out into the crowd.

Richard's birthday, July 2, always fell during the summer Daytona race weekend. One year, Judy and I attended a birthday party for the man known as "The King."

People were having their pictures taken with Richard and the photographer came up and asked if Judy would like a picture taken with him. Judy, who is the least star-struck person I know, politely said, "No thank you."

But Richard heard her and believed she was just being shy. He came up, put his arm around her shoulder and said, "Come on, darlin'" I'll make it easy on you."

Judy got red in the face, but posed with The King. The picture showed up in the mail a couple of weeks later and we still have it somewhere. The look of Judy's face is priceless; somewhere between embarrassment and resignation. We still have it around somewhere, I think. I'll post it if I ever find it.

When I started covering NASCAR in 1980, Richard was already on the downside of his career. I did get to cover his seventh and final Daytona 500 victory, but I didn't really understand his connection to his legion of fans until he won the spring race at Rockingham in North Carolina in 1983.

It was obviously a popular victory in the grandstands at North Carolina Speedway, but what amazed me was what I saw on the 70-mile drive back to the airport in Charlotte. There seemed to be a celebration going on at just about every truckstop and gas station along the route, as well as in the downtown areas of several small towns.

There were Petty, No 43 (his traditional car number) and STP (his longtime sponsor) signs everywhere. People were dancing, drinking and generally cutting up in honor of Richard's latest victory.

When I got back to Westfield, N.J., later that night, I immediately sat down and wrote a story about what I had seen. It was truly an eye-opener about the effect this tall, slim man from tiny Randleman, NC, had on people.

My favorite personal story about Richard took place after the NASCAR Awards Dinner at the Waldorf-Astoria in New York City in December of 1992. 

That year's champion was Alan Kulwicki, a Milwaukee boy who overcame great odds to get to the top of his profession. He was sponsored by the Hooters restaurant chain.

The tradition at the time was that the champion got to pick the band that played at the victory party following the dinner. Over the years, the champions brought in big name entertainment like Kool and the Gang, Sly and the Family Stone and the Turtles.

Kulwicki chose the Waldorf house band, Jack Black and the Heart Attack. They were really rocking by the time I finished my writing, collected my date _ daughter Lanni _ and headed to the party in another part of the Waldorf.

Judy was never all that excited about going to banquets and other formal occasions, although she went to dozens of them with me over the years. So, while we lived across the river in New Jersey, Lanni and Tory took turns dressing up and attending the formal events with me.

Lanni, who was 17 at the time, loves dancing. She actually was part of a swing dance ad that still appears occasionally on early morning television. Her feet were already moving _ and mine were already aching _ as we walked toward the party.

But, unfortunately, I had forgotten my invitation and the Hooters girls who were guarding the doors, politely turned us away. I was secretly happy, but Lanni was really bummed that we couldn't get in.

Just then, Richard and wife Lynda, another sweetheart of a person, walked up. Richard had been honored at the dinner for his driving career, and was getting congratulations all around as he saw us.

He immediately noticed Lanni's dour expression and said, "What's the matter, honey?"

She said, "Dad forgot our invitation and we can't get into the party."

Richard said, "C/mon, you're with me."

He put his arm around Lanni's shoulders and said, "Take Lynda's arm!" I did as I was told and we swept past the gate girls without a second glance our way.

Once inside, Lanni wanted to dance. I had spent a very long day working and driving back and forth to New Jersey to bring Lanni back into the city. After a dance or two, I said, "You know, it's getting late. I think we should head for home."

Lanni wasn't pleased. She wanted to dance. King Richard to the rescue again.

With Lynda looking at him like he was someone she didn't know, The King said, "C/mon honey, let's cut a rug." He grabbed Lanni's hand and the two of them hit the dance floor.

I won't say Richard was a good dancer, but he gave a good effort. And Lanni had a ball.

The other thing I remember clearly about that party was that the band stopped playing abruptly at 1 a.m.

Kulwicki walked up to the band leader and said, "Why'd you stop playing." He explained that they had been paid to play only till 1 o'clock.

The champ reached in his pocket and pulled out a money clip. "How much to keep playing?" The band leader told him it was $1,000 an hour and Kulwicki handed him a wad of bills and said, "Keep going until this runs out."

I'm told they played until almost dawn, although I was home in bed by that time - thankfully.