At the old Smithton Speedway, it wasn’t uncommon for drivers to be both judge and jury – by way of their fists – depending upon how much quarter-panel paint may have been swapped in that first turn.
The venerable track just outside Pittsburgh was key to the up-and-comers in the NASCAR circuit, who were gunning for the big money that wasn’t there yet.
A crumpled car could mean a dashed career.
That’s why those two drivers went at it like they did in pit road, Darris Summers said Tuesday, chuckling at the memory.
“Yeah, they really tore into each other after the wreck,” the former Monongalia County magistrate recalled, with a laugh still weaving in and out of his words.
Not that it started out being funny, of course.
When the cars collided, the metal gave and buckled like a beer can in the parking lot at closing time.
“To be honest, I thought they were both dead or badly injured,” he said.
So did everyone else. The crowd got really quiet, really quick.
Then, everyone cheered, as the two drivers crawled from the twisted, smoking sculptures that used to be their respective cars – to stride, purposely, toward one another.
Did they inquire of each other’s well-being?
Nope.
Did they shake hands and exchange insurance information?
Nope.
Did they start cursing each other out, while windmilling haymakers at the same time?
“Sure did,” Summers said.
“Judge Stone couldn’t believe it. He said, ‘Man, does this happen a lot?’ ”
“I said, ‘Well, it happens enough.’ ”
A verdict of friendship
The jurist to whom he’s referring is Judge Robert B. Stone, the longtime circuit and senior status judge in Monongalia who died Monday in Morgantown at the age of 79.
His full obituary will appear in Thursday’s edition.
Hastings Funeral Home is handling the arrangements for the judge, whose survivors include his wife, the former Susanne Ponek. They had six children.
Summers, meanwhile, was his chief bailiff from 1993-2005 before getting elected to the position of magistrate.
When he got word of the judge’s passing, one of the first things he thought of was that long-ago road trip, which was Stone’s first-ever NASCAR race.
That’s how it worked with the two, who weren’t just bailiff and judge. They were buddies.
Stone schooled Summers on case law and how to run a courtroom.
Summers, in turn, got him to give positive verdicts on a variety of pursuits that he hadn’t explored before the friendship.
Such as NASCAR.
And country music, too. Not the slicked-up kind either, the magistrate said.
The real kind, he decreed – with weepy steel guitars, walking bass lines and sharp, telling lyrics of life’s vignettes.
When it came to matters of the court, Summers said, Stone was unimpeachable.
“I wanted to emulate him,” he said.
“I wanted to run my courtroom the way he ran his courtroom. He was always calm and respectful.”
The latter impressed him even more.
“You know, it’s never easy going before a judge,” he said.
“People get emotional. They say things. I remember being in his courtroom and thinking, ‘If I was on the receiving end of that, I’d be getting really mad about right now.’ But he never did.”
Lunch was Summers’ favorite time during his tenure with the judge.
He’d grab to-go meals from the Boston Beanery or Chinese takeout and they would dine in Stone’s office, talking about everything from the Supreme Court to the Grand Ole Opry.
“Judge Stone was my boss and my friend,” Summers said.
Add mentor to that list, too.
“When I became a magistrate, he never micro-managed my courtroom. He’d tell me to listen to all parties and to make the appropriate decision where the law was concerned. He’d say, ‘You know what you’re doing.’ ”
Your Honor, where art thou?
Related to the aforementioned country music, Summers also knows what he’s doing.
He grew up playing bass in The Knighthawks, the family band he fronted for years with Dennis Summers, his late twin brother.
The ‘Hawks are still out there, and one of the band’s more memorable gigs in recent years involved a certain judge.
It was the wedding reception of one of Stone’s daughters, Summers said.
“You know the movie, ‘O, Brother Where Art Thou?’ That came out around the time she got married.”
One of the signature songs from that movie was “Man of Constant Sorrow,” memorably lip-synched by George Clooney.
Stone took to the bandstand and sang it live.
When the verdict came, it had decibels attached.
The judged garnered more applause than a NASCAR checkered flag, Summers said.
“He nailed it. The crowd loved it, the band loved it and he loved it too.”
