Al Pearce wasn’t just a titan of NASCAR journalism — he was a lifeline, a mentor, a friend. With a career that spanned more than half a century, Al covered 56 Daytona 500s and over 90 Cup Series races at Richmond Raceway alone. His bylines graced the pages of countless publications, but what truly made him a legend wasn’t just his ability to write — it was the way he lived, and the lives he touched along the way.
A proud Vietnam veteran and member of the Virginia Sports Hall of Fame, Al Pearce brought a gritty realism and unmatched authenticity to his reporting. His voice was as much a part of NASCAR’s weekly rhythm as the roar of engines and the smell of rubber on race day. He knew the sport inside and out — not just the stats and stories, but the people. And they knew him.
But beyond the credentials and accolades, Al’s greatest impact may have come off the page. In the early days of many aspiring writers’ careers, when they were scraping together gas money and chasing dreams with nothing but a notepad and a hope, Al was there. He gave rides, opened hotel doors, shared barbecue, and offered friendship without expectation. To a young writer working at a small newspaper in Rocky Mount, North Carolina, Al’s kindness made all the difference.
That ride from Rocky Mount to Darlington or Martinsville wasn’t just transportation — it was a mobile masterclass in journalism and life. Between bites of Eastern N.C. barbecue and country backroads, stories were told, wisdom was passed, and laughter was shared. That generosity wasn’t performative or fleeting — it was who Al was.
Even in his later years, as he jokingly needled friends who had “made it big,” Al never lost the spark of mentorship. Beneath the gruff exterior and good-natured ribbing was a man who deeply cared about the people around him and about the future of the sport he had dedicated his life to covering.
His cranky charm, sharp wit, and relentless dedication to the craft will be missed in press rooms and racetracks alike. But more than that, we’ll miss the man who made NASCAR feel like a community — who reminded us that the sport isn’t just about speed and spectacle, but about people helping people chase their passion.
So here’s to you, Al. Thank you for the stories, the rides, the floor space, and the barbecue. Thank you for never asking for anything in return. We’ll carry your spirit with us every time we hit the road to another track, chasing another story — just like you showed us how.
Rest easy, Al. The green flag waves for you one last time.
