One of the most interesting personalities I dealt with during my career was Dale Earnhardt.

He was already considered a rising star when I began covering NASCAR in 1980. The year before, as a rookie, he won a race, finished seventh in the points and began to build the reputation for aggressive driving that eventually made him "The Intimidator."

In 1980, driving for California real estate mogul Rod Osterlund, Earnhardt shocked the stock car world, winning five times and taking his first of seven Cup championships.

As you might imagine, I interviewed Earnhardt numerous times that year - but never one-on-one. Somehow, all our meetings were mass interviews or interviews arranged with other writers. At the start of the 1981 season, I wasn't even sure if Earnhardt knew who I was, despite all those interviews.

I decided to try to get to know him better and asked his PR person at the time to see if Dale would meet me for lunch at a Mexican restaurant near the Daytona track and, to my delight, he agreed.

As I sat there waiting for him _ I showed up 15 minutes early _ I was nervous. I had a list of questions, but I didn't know how he would react in a one-on-one situation. I needn't have worried.

Earnhardt showed up right on time, and without his PR person, which surprised me. We shook hands and went through the usual preamble of pleasantries. He was loose and engaging. But, as soon as the tape recorder hit the table, he turned to stone.

My questions were met with an icy stare and curt answers. After about five minutes of this, I knew something had to be done.

I picked up the tape recorder and put it in my pocket.

"Dale, since this is obviously making you uncomfortable, how about I just take notes?"

He looked startled, then smiled and said, "Yeah, let's try that."

The rest of the interview was great. He was alternately funny, charming and informative.

Finally, after my last question, I said, "Why did the tape recorder bother you so much? It's just a way to keep from misquoting you?"

He shook his head and thought about it for a moment. Then he said, "Last year, every day, I had those things pushed into my face. It got so I couldn't stand seeing them. They just make me mad."

I said, "Unfortunately, my friend, you're going to have to get used to it - especially if you keep winning."

He grunted and said, "I suppose you're right. But, for you and me, when we talk, how about you just take notes."

I agreed. And, for the rest of the time I knew Earnhardt, I never used a tape recorder in any of our one-on-one interviews.

Dale was more comfortable in a drivers' uniform or a hunting jacket, but he could dress up really nice.

He seemed at ease each December at the formal events in New York City. And he looked good in his tux.

I always rented a tux for the formal events. But, one year, I decided to buy a shirt to wear with the rentals because the ones that came with the tuxes never seemed to fit right. The new shirt came with some very basic studs for the buttons and the sleeves. But I was okay with that.

We were at a cocktail party prior to the awards dinner and Judy noticed that Dale's tux was highlighted by some very fancy studs.

She walked up to him and said, "Hi Dale. I don't know if you remember me. I'm Mike Harris' wife."

He greeted her kindly and she said, "Mike always leaves me some money for the household when he goes off to the races and I always hold some back to buy gifts. I really like the studs you're wearing and I'd like to get something like that for Mike. Can you tell me where you got them?"

Earnhardt said, "Well, Teresa, my wife, is the one who bought them. I think she got them at a store on Rodeo Drive in LA."

That didn't set off any warning signals for Judy, although it probably should have.

She found Teresa, who greeted Judy warmly.

Asked about the studs, she said, "Oh, I'm sure your husband would love some like that. I found those at Tiffany's on Rodeo Drive. They're emerald. I think I paid $10,000 for them."

Judy thanked Teresa profusely and quickly came to find me.

"You know those studs Dale is wearing?" She asked. "Well, you're going to have to settle for something a little less glamorous."

Eventually, Judy found a very nice set of studs in our more modest price range, and I have worn them on formal occasions ever since. But we both agreed that the Earnhardt situation proved we have good taste in jewelry.

The week leading up to the 2001 Daytona 500 was a busy one. One of the events I covered was a Wednesday luncheon to publicize that Saturday's International Race of Champions event.

By good fortune I wound up sitting at a table with Barbara and Jay Signore, the couple that ran the IROC series, Judy and Bobby Allison and Earnhardt, one of the favorites to win on Saturday and Sunday.

Barb and Jay, two of the nicest people in the world, didn't spend much time at the table because they were being pulled in a million directions. That left the Allisons, Earnhardt and me to ourselves and Bobby, an avid pilot, began to tell stories about flying to midweek races at local tracks with different drivers, including Dale.

At one point, Dale turned to Judy Allison and, with a big grin, said, "Hey, what ever happened to that paper bag?"

Judy blushed and changed the subject, turning to Bobby and saying, "You remember we had to rent another plane that time?"

But Earnhardt was undeterred. Seeing the quizzical look on my face, Bobby explained.

"We usually got show-up money from the tracks in those days, and it was always in cash,'' he said. "Dale came with us and we raced at some track in, I think, New York, and we got a nice chunk of change. We put it all in a paper bag and I told Dale we'd divvy it up later. Then we flew on to another racetrack.

"But Judy needed to get home to the kids or some family thing. So I got her a ride with another pilot and she took the bag with her. We never saw that bag again."

I looked over at Judy and she was smiling innocently.

"Don't know what you're talking about," she said.

At about that moment, Barb Signore tried to step up onto the elevated stage to begin the driver introductions. She stumbled and started to fall backward.

I've rarely seen anyone move as fast as Dale did, jumping to his feet, crossing the aisle in a flash and catching Barb before she fell. I don't think she even knew how close she came to disaster.

Dale sat down and I said, "Nice catch." He just smiled and shrugged.

That Sunday, he was in contention the whole race and was flirting with the lead on the final lap when his car went out of control and hit the concrete wall in turn four on the high-banked oval. Michael Waltrip and Dale Earnhardt Jr. continued to the finish line, ending up one and two.

Waltrip was already in Victory Circle when it became apparent something was terribly wrong. The senior Earnhardt had still not emerged from his wrecked car and it was surrounded by safety and track officials.

I was already well into my race lead when it became apparent that Dale was in trouble. Somebody poked my arm and pointed out that his car was being covered by a tarp, never a good sign.

Then word came that he was being flown to a nearby hospital.

And, long after it became apparent, we were officially told Dale Earnhardt had died in the crash, killed instantly by a whiplash injury.

It was devastating. One of those moments in your life that stands out like an all-caps headline.

I have read that some journalists do their best work when they are under the stress of a tragedy. It also may be because, to keep from crying or just freezing up in those moments, you have to concentrate harder and close your mind to the circumstances until you're done.

Normally, my editor on the race story would have been the senior person  at the track. Instead, I was told to dictate to deputy sports editor Aaron Watson in New York Sports, one of the best editors I ever worked with.

He kept me focused as I filed a half dozen ledes, each one with new information, quotes and color from the scene. Before I had finished for the day, at about midnight, I had written three separate stories and more than 5,000 words.

I hadn't taken time even to go to the bathroom until the last story was filed.

Lewis and I, sharing a room at a beach motel, stopped at the only chain restaurant that was still open near the track to get a bite to eat. It may have been the quietest meal the two of us have ever had. I was still in shock over the loss of a man I truly admired.

The next week was tough as we dealt with the investigation of the crash, the funeral and the race the next weekend at Rockingham, NC. It had to be covered thoroughly but, at times, I felt like I was just going through the motions.

Deaths in auto racing are inevitable and always terrible tragedies, but losing the biggest star in the NASCAR firmament was something else.

To illustrate how big that story was, one of the AP executives traveling in Asia that week, sent me the sports section from the English language newspaper in Tokyo. The headline, above my byline, in huge bold print: "EARNHARDT KILLED AT DAYTONA".

There was a pall over much of that season, although it did fade as we moved toward the end of the year.

And then, on a rare week off late in the season, I was playing golf when I got a phone call from sports editor Terry Taylor congratulating me winning the AP Sports Editors organization's Best AP Story of the Year and Best AP Deadline Writing _ both for the Earnhardt coverage.

It was bittersweet. I was extremely honored to win the awards and, at the same time, sad about the reason I had to write those stories in the first place.

Auto racing and NASCAR, in particular, lost a true icon the day Dale Earnhardt died in that crash. But the one big positive that came out of it was that the investigation and subsequent efforts by a number of people led to much greater driver safety equipment, including head and neck restraints that have probably saved numerous lives since.