Richter played hard, then helped NASCAR go west

The Lord must have had a roster spot Saturday for a savvy, witty ol’ linebacker who became a top NASCAR official.

So he called up the colorful Les Richter, a man I’m honored to have counted as a friend.

A Californian who achieved the rarest of honors, membership in halls of fame in two different sports, Richter passed away in his native state at age 79 after a lengthy illness.

Likable Les was named all-pro eight straight years while playing for the NFL’s storied L.A. Rams of the late 1950s and early ‘60s. He counted as his teammates quarterbacks Bob Waterfield, Norm Van Brocklin and Elroy “Crazy Legs” Hirsch.

A former All-American at California-Berkeley, where he was valedictorian of his class, Richter was inducted into the college football hall in 1982 in New York.

The Motorsports Hall Of Fame Of America, located in Detroit, inducted the former president of Riverside International Raceway and vice-president of NASCAR last August.

After graduating from college, Richter served two years in the U.S. Army. Upon being discharged he was selected second overall in the NFL draft by a team then known as the Dallas Texans, later to become the Baltimore Colts and then the Indianapolis Colts.

He never played a game for Dallas.

The rights to Richter were traded to Los Angeles for 11 players, still an NFL record after all these years.

The Rams got by far the best of the deal.

While he excelled on defense, Richter at times also played on the offensive line and served as the Rams’ place-kicker.

Through football-related business connections, Richter became part of a Southern California group that purchased Riverside Raceway in 1959. Another Ram involved in the deal was Charlotte native Roy Hord, an offensive lineman who played collegiately at Duke.

“I’ll never forget the first time I saw the place,” Richter recalled as we had dinner several years ago during Daytona 500 week. “It was just a strip of asphalt twisting over rocky, hilly terrain. There were coyotes, rattlesnakes and no telling what else around.

“It took us a while to be taken seriously. What helped us gain credibility is when NASCAR’s Wood Brothers, Glen and Leonard, came out west and put Dan Gurney in their car. Dan probably was the most respected driver in America at the time.

“Dan drove the Wood boys’ cars to victories at Riverside in ’64, ’65 and ’66. Parnelli Jones won for them in ’67 and Gurney again in ’68 to give Glen and Leonard five straight.”

Richter, who had a mischievous wit, told another anecdote with a twinkle in his eye.

“In 1967 we staged a 67,000-mile endurance test for pickup trucks at Riverside,” he continued. “Chevy, Dodge and Ford all participated.

“The run was non-stop except for fuel, tires and a change of drivers. Eventually, the drivers on night shifts were getting really bored.

“So we hired some strippers to come out and hide near the turns. When the drivers came around the corners, the women would jump out beside the track and pretend to be hitch-hiking.

“The trucks were equipped with radios, so you can imagine the conversations that took place!”

Richter also had a soft, human side.

In the late 1960s, Mario Andretti’s Indy-car owner/sponsor, Al Dean of Dean Van Lines, was terminally ill. He expressed a wish to watch Mario drive his car one last time.

Richter arranged for Dean to be brought to Riverside Raceway in an ambulance. The vehicle was driven to the highest point of the track in the desert and Dean got to see Mario work his magic.

“It it hadn’t been for Les Richter’s big heart, this touching act of kindness likely wouldn’t have happened,” says Ron Watson, executive director of the motorsports hall in Detroit.

Riverside Raceway’s last major NASCAR event was held in 1987. The property had become too valuable in booming Southern California to maintain as a speedway.

NASCAR brought Richter, who had co-founded the International Race Of Champions series, to its headquarters in Daytona Beach, Fla., as a top aide to Bill France Jr.

During one of our dinners I asked Richter the toughest rival he ever faced on the football field.

He pointed to his left shoulder. “Feel this,” he said. I felt a bulge about the size of a peach.

“I call that my Jim Taylor knot,” Les said with a laugh. “We were playing Green Bay and I tried to solo tackle Taylor head-on. He left me with this little memento.”

I imagine that Les Richter left his football foes with a lot of lumps, too.

For those of us who admired the man, his death Saturday sadly leaves lumps as well. They’re in our throats.