DIRT-TRACK RACING CONQUERS ALL FOR CLOSE-KNIT BENTON FAMILY

BENTON, Mo. -- Some might say the Johnson family is obsessed with racing.

Consider the evidence:

Sondi Johnson is delaying heart valve surgery until after the season so she won't miss a single race. "I'd feel guilty if I weren't there," she said.

Terry Johnson will work on his stock car every night until the season's end in October. That's after working on his own farm and then at a part-time job.

Justin Johnson, their son, recently took a date to a friend's wedding in Lebanon, Mo. He took the reluctant woman to a nearby racetrack after the reception.

So what do the Johnsons say?

Guilty as charged.

"It's in your blood and won't get out of your blood," said Justin, 20. "I get sick to my stomach when I sit at home on a Saturday night and don't go to the races."

Spoken like a man who attended races as a fetus. His mother says he kicked when the cars roared past.

The family lives just over three miles north of the Auto Tire and Parts Racepark off State Highway 77 east of Benton. They could hear the engines and announcer on Saturday race nights if they were home, but they aren't, of course.

A track champion

Terry, 46, raced there when the track opened in 1991 under the previous owners. He was track champion in 1996 and 1997 in the limited late-model class, raced elsewhere when the track was dormant for three years and then returned for the reopening May 5. He finished fourth in the modified class to launch another promising season.

It could be his last. Terry, who bought his first race car at age 16 for $300, plans to retire after this season unless his son takes over the family obsession. He says he's too old to drive. His reflexes aren't what they used to be.

Sondi, 47, shakes her head at her husband's claims. "He'll probably race in his 70s."

The couple fell in love at Kelly High School as Terry was falling in love with racing. Just as Sondi's outgoing personality attracted quiet, subdued Terry, so did the speed and competitiveness of the sport.

The stories of their courtship, marriage and early years are sprinkled generously with the names of southern and Midwestern racing meccas. Milan, Tennessee. West Memphis, Arkansas. DuQuoin, Illinois.

Their son's October birth was fortuitous -- it was the off-season. They were on the road again, Justin often in tow, the following year.

These days, Justin studies respiratory therapy at the Cape Girardeau Career and Technology Center, works at Missouri Delta Medical Center in Sikeston, Mo., sings at weddings and church services, decides the appearance of his father's No. 1J modified, washes the car, tires and trailer at least once a week and occasionally works as a race judge at the Benton track.

Saturday nights at the track are as sacred as Sunday mornings in church for the Johnsons. They come for one reason: to win. Don't try to chat with them about anything else -- they're a little distracted.

Terry's style on the track and in life has earned him the admiration of his peers. They pay him the highest compliment fellow drivers can.

"He drives hard and he drives clean," said Greg Gross, 35, of Scott City, Mo. The two race in the same class, often vying for first place.

Money on the line

Keith Simpson, the Benton racetrack's first owner, met the Johnsons there in its first season. Their relationship was a bumpy ride at times -- Simpson had to eject the family from the track one night over a judging dispute -- but race fans tend to remain friends no matter what.

"Everyone's adrenaline is high, there's money on the line," Simpson said. "That changes a person for a short time. On Sunday morning, you have to forget about what happened Saturday night."

The winner in Terry's class takes home $400 or more. By comparison, his car cost $15,000. The enclosed trailer cost $7,500. The tires are $85 each. He burns $40 in methanol each race night. The expenses go on, pushing the stakes higher.

And the sport can be dangerous. In an aggressive move to take the lead Saturday, Terry's rear tire nudged the leader's front one, flipping Terry's car for the first time in his career.

Sondi watched in tears as the ambulance rolled onto the track. She clutched the fence, too weak to move, as Justin bolted out of the judges' tower to check on his father.

Terry walked away with sore elbows from hitting the sides of the car. He never even considered quitting racing.

"When I come home from work or out of the field, I can go down to the shop, work on the car and take my mind off everything," he said later. "You can forget everything."

The family will be there next race night.