I was blessed in my career to be around many amazing people, a lot of them famous. And I've often told people I can count the ones from my years covering sports who I did not like on one hand and have a couple of fingers left over.

That means there were an awful lot of folks who I really enjoyed being around during my 40-plus years covering sports,

But the one person that stands above them all in my sports Olympus is Mario Andretti.

Mario was already a star when I covered my first auto race _ the 1970 Indianapolis 500. He had won Indy in 1969 and was already starting to make his mark in Formula One, where he became only the second American to win the World Championship in 1978.

Most racing people consider Mario the greatest all-around driver in the sport's history, having won in just about every major series in the world.

I sat in on a few mass interviews with Mario in my first two years at Indy, but I had not yet met him when I walked into the restaurant at the Speedway Motel a couple of days before the 1971 race.

I was driving into the track early that morning when I decided at the last minute to stop in at the motel and buy myself some breakfast before another in a long series of busy days.

As I walked into the room, I saw Mario and his eldest son Michael, then eight years old, sitting at a table near the big windows overlooking the Speedway golf course. After I was led to a table near the Andrettis, I made the sudden and somewhat scary decision to introduce myself.

Walking up to the table with some trepidation, I said, "Sorry to bother you Mr. Andretti, but I wanted to introduce myself and say hello. I'm Mike Harris. I work for The Associated Press and I'm new to racing. I'm sure I'll be writing a lot about you in the future and I just wanted to say hi."

Mario looked up from his bowl of corned flakes and bananas _ which I quickly found out was his daily breakfast menu _ stuck out his hand and said, "Nice to meet you. You want to join us?"

I was stunned by the invitation, but quickly accepted. That morning meal was the beginning of a relationship that has continued to his day, eventually turning into friendship.

It didn't take long to realize that Mario Andretti is one of a kind. He is smart, friendly, caring and a true family man. He is also driven to succeed and, when he was racing, totally focused on his craft.

He was one hell of a racer, and it was a pleasure to be around for a large slice of his long, successful career.

Mario was also a great interview. He had _ and probably still has _ the ability to answer the same question over and over, giving each person who asks a slightly different answer without changing the meaning. That is a gift.

Over the years, I called him, respectfully, "My little quote machine."

We shared many meals at racetracks and at restaurants and, even when we weren't dining together, it was not uncommon for us to find each other at the same restaurants on race weekends. If you saw Mario there, that meant it was definitely a good place to eat.

Each year I would write a feature story leading into the opening of Indy 500 practice. I always tried to make it something special.

One year, Mario was among the favorites to win _ as usual _ and I decided to make him the focus of my story.

There was a NASCAR Busch Series race scheduled just before the start of practice at Indy at the track in Nazareth, Pa., where the Andrettis have made their home since moving to America. I normally would not have covered that race, but I called Mario and asked if I could stop by his home or office for an interview while I was in town.

"Let's meet for lunch," he said. "I'll pick you up at the track and we'll go to my favorite restaurant."

The media center at Nazareth was a mobile home and I was sitting in it, working at my computer when somebody came in and said, "Hey, Mike. Mario is here to pick you up."

I  walked outside and there he was, parked out front in a white Lamborghini Countach _ a very low-slung Italian sports car. People began to gather around to look at the car and at Mario as I totally embarrassed myself by actually falling into the front passenger seat.

After I had fastened my seatbelt, Mario said, "I have a couple of calls to make on the way. But I'll give you all my attention at the restaurant."

We got onto the two-lane highway outside the track and Mario, with his mobile phone at his ear, began driving down the road at what I felt was a speed faster than I was comfortable with _ particularly with him talking on the phone.

But I said nothing. This was his area of expertise and also his hometown. So he knew what he was doing - I hoped.

We came over a hill and, on the opposite side of the road, there was a state trooper standing alongside a car he had obviously stopped for speeding. The trooper heard the roar of the Lamborghini's racing engine and looked around.

I thought, "This ought to be interesting." But the trooper apparently instantly recognized the car and the driver and, instead of stopping us, turned and gave Mario a smile and a little salute. We both laughed.

Once we got to the restaurant, Mario was a man of his word, putting away the phone. He was well known at this restaurant and nobody bothered us as I did the interview. The trip back to the track went without incident, although I again disgraced myself getting extricated from that front seat with a crowd of people looking on.

Although I was drawn to a number of the people I wrote about, I always tried to keep them at arms-length in the interest of not compromising  professional ethics. That was hard with Mario.

When we talked, the conversations generally got around to food and restaurants. I told Mario several times about a wonderful French restaurant in our little city of Westfield, NJ. Chez Catherine was located in a small motel next to the train station in Westfield's downtown area.

Catherine was the owner and chef and had learned her craft from her father, who was an internationally known chef in Switzerland. She and her husband had a very popular restaurant in New York City for several years, but Catherine, who lived in Westfield, got tired of the commute and the long hours.

She finally moved her restaurant close to home and found her clientele followed her there.

It was expensive, so Judy and I didn't go often, even though it was minutes from our house. But we did have several memorable meals at Chez Catherine over the years.

As Mario got ready to retire at the end of the 1994 season, Lewis and I decided it was time to pay him back for all those years of great quotes. We asked if he and Dee Ann, his wife, would join us for a dinner at Chez Catherine. The drive from Nazareth to Westfield was only a little over an hour.

After we set a date, I phoned the restaurant. A woman answered and I said, "Hi Catherine, this is Mike Harris. I'd like to make a reservation."

She replied, "Sorry, this is not Catherine. My name is Lili and my husband and I are the new owners."

I was shocked, but I asked, "Are you changing the menu?" She said the restaurant would continue with the same name and menu and even the same recipes, which Catherine had sold to the new couple.

I figured we'd take the chance and made the reservation. I even mentioned that the party would include a special guest, race driver Mario Andretti. There was no reaction. She simply said, "We'll see you on the 20th."

Judy and I were the first to arrive that night and the place looked exactly the same, which I took for a good sign. Lewis and the Andrettis soon joined us and we sat down to what was definitely an outstanding meal.

We were finishing our main dishes when Lili, an older, serious-looking woman, approached the table and said, "Mr. Andretti. My husband, who made your food, would like to meet you."

Ever gracious, Mario said, "Of course. I'd like to thank him for this wonderful meal."

A man walked out of the kitchen, wearing a clean, white apron and equally clean and white chef's hat. He was carrying a very large book that looked like a photo album.

He bowed in the European style as he got to the table and said, "Mr. Andretti, may I show you something?"

The man opened the book to a photo that covered the entire page. It showed the finish of the Monaco race that Mario won in his championship year in F1. The man pointed to the car in the picture and said, "This is you."

He then pointed to a man standing on the track waving a huge checkered flag as the car zoomed past, and said, "This is me."

Mario was astounded and shook the man's hand. He gladly autographed the picture. Talk about coincidence.

When I retired from the AP in 2009, Mario returned the favor, taking Judy and me out to dinner at St. Elmo's, our favorite steak house in Indianapolis. It was another memorable night.

Mario also gave me one of the great honors in my life in the fall of 2006 when he was honored by the Italian government.

He was given the Commendatore dell'Ordine al Merito della Republica Italiana in honor of his public service, achievements as a race car driver and enduring commitment to his Italian heritage. The Commendatore is the highest honor granted a civilian by the Italian government, similar to being knighted in Great Britain.

I was at home in Wake Forest, NC near the end of the 2006 season when the phone rang. To my surprise, it was Mario calling to invite Judy and me to the ceremony in New York City. I accepted immediately.

In my mind, it was certainly worth the cost of two plane tickets and a hotel room.

Then I thought to call my boss, Terry Taylor, to make sure it would not be considered a conflict of interest in some way.

She said, "No, you need to go and write a story about it for the wire. We'll pay for your airline tickets and hotel. This is a great honor and should be a really good story."

It turned out that, other than family and a few close friends, the only people Mario invited to the ceremony were Judy and me, Lewis and Chris Economaki, the godfather of racing journalism.

The story I wrote that night remains one of my favorites.

Here are the last few paragraphs:

Mario proudly displayed the green ribbon and medallion placed around his neck, a symbol of his new stature, and thought about the other recipient of the Commendatore from the racing world, the late Enzo Ferrari. "Mr. Ferrari was one of my heroes for most of my life," Andretti said. "A lot of people called him Commendatore, but he always wanted to be known as Engineer, which he was early in his career. Still, it's truly an honor to be mentioned in the same breath with him." Asked if there was anything about his career or his life that he would change, the 66-year-old Andretti, who keeps busy doing public speaking, making commercials, running a business empire that includes the Andretti Winery in California and helping oversee (grandson) Marco's budding racing career, just shook his head. Gazing around the room at the extended family and close friends on hand to see him honored, Andretti said, "What more could any man want?"