Don Baker Jr. — In Loving Memory
Don Baker Jr.
1940-2018
The Red Wheelbarrow
By William Carlos Williams
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
This was one of my Dad’s favorite poems. I know many readers were eager to read the second part of Don Baker Jr.’s early life as a radio broadcaster; however, he passed away in early February before he had a chance to finish his column. In tribute and in order to finish the story, I will attempt to cover what he may have written.
When my father left the bartending job at Woody’s and got the call from a Kent radio station to host a show, he jumped at the opportunity despite having virtually no experience. He hosted a jazz show on the station (WKSU, we think) to appeal to a younger generation of intellectuals. Dad was part of the “Beat Generation” who wrote poetry, short stories and listened to music from such musical virtuosos as Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk, Ben Webster, Gerry Mulligan and the like. He smoked a pipe and read all of the current crop of writers like J.D. Salinger as well as the classics.
By the time he was 20 years old, my mother, Molly, said that he had read so much that most of his contemporaries were not even close to his level. He wanted to be a writer, a poet specifically, or maybe even a novelist. Later he became enthralled with auto racing in which he pursued a professional career. This is where I come into the picture.
My father’s background has always inspired me. Whether consciously intentional or not, I followed a similar path. I never aspired to be a writer or an editor, but both my brother and I were mentored in the business side of publishing. The three of us started Baker Publishing together in 1998 in an office the size of a small bedroom on the third floor of the Saalfield building in South Akron. My dad had just sold a magazine that he had bought from my aunt Kathy. Most of the profits were quickly spent on racing. We needed and were looking for that elusive breakthrough that would allow us to reach our goal, the ability to race and to provide a living for the three of us. The idea to publish a local business magazine sprung into my dad’s head. The rest is, as they say, history. Akron Life & Leisure was born in 2002. The magazine filled a need in the community for a high-quality glossy publication filled with stories about art and writing, which drew attention to local events that were not receiving coverage from other media outlets. Don Baker Jr. became Akron famous.
Don Baker Jr. was already famous in my eyes. As a father, he was my hero. My brother Colin and I both idolized him. He drove race cars and sold racing parts. We had dune buggies, Mustangs and Formula Vees in our driveway. We had a Formula Ford in our garage on Greenwood Avenue in West Akron. My brother and I would play with our cars and pretend that we were race car drivers. I would always claim that I was the great Don Baker Jr. and my brother would say he was Don Baker Sr., but “not old.” We couldn’t both be Don Baker Jr. after all, and I usually won out since I was older.
When my parents were going through a divorce in the ’70s, my dad drove my brother and I down to Daytona for the 24 Hour race in January. There were Porsche 935s and Lolas and great drivers like Danny Ongais, Hurley Haywood and Peter Gregg. I was maybe 8 or 9 and my brother was 6 or 7. We stopped at Denny’s for every meal because my dad knew we liked the kid’s Grand Slam and it included a coloring book and a pirate mask. Colin proceeded to wear the mask everywhere we went. I used to tell my friends that I was born at the racetrack. We spent many times together at Nelson Ledges or Mid-Ohio as a family watching my dad race. I would dream of one day doing the same.
“How would you like to race?” my dad said one day when he came home from work. It was a question that didn’t even need to be asked, one that I was elated to hear. Sitting on my dad’s lap as he drove through the paddock at Nelson Ledges after winning the Formula Ford race in the early ’70s had long ago convinced me that I too would be doing the same thing one day. Now was my chance. We used to go out to the Akron Quarter Midget club that was located right behind the East Drive-In in Tallmadge. Dad was very patient about teaching me the racing “line” and how to let the car drive itself. “Don’t fight the wheel, and become one with the car,” he would say. It didn’t take long for me to learn to drive the line. While other fathers were pointing at where their kids should be driving, my dad simply sat back with his stopwatch and took it all in. At one point he asked what kind of lap times were good around the place, and my times were faster than that. I could see it in his eyes when he knew I was good. It gave him a certain pride to have passed on a trait that he cherished. He now became my coach and mentor.
I could always count on my dad to be there, even if he was a little late sometimes. His intentions were pure and honest, but his follow-through would make us laugh when we got a birthday card or Christmas present as an IOU or a tractor part wrapped up with a note that the correct part for our go-kart would soon be on the way. One of his famous lines to me and my brother when we wanted to have new parts or gear was “would you rather look good or go fast?” We always chose to go fast because we couldn’t afford to do both.
Without realizing it, my dad taught me a work ethic that has never waivered. I swept floors as a very young child at his Canton Road store, the first of eight Vic & Walt’s Racing and Foreign Car Parts stores. I learned about cars from the ground up by observing everything he did. I followed him to the Engine Company No. 9 and to Vee Sport off of Manchester Road. When he and his friend, Bob Cusick, built a Gremlin in Bob’s garage on Howard Street to race in IMSA RS Series, I was there every night to watch. He would tell me little things that I filed away for later. I loved the smell and the excitement. I loved the late nights in the garage with my dad. He was my hero and will forever be my coach.
He was not perfect. I saw him make many mistakes in business, and we were all affected when the store had to close. When I was 19 years old, he asked if I wanted to take it over and try to turn things around. He would help but he just couldn’t do it anymore. I was more interested in racing at that time and went off to Canada to learn the craft from someone else. It was the first time I was doing it on my own, but he drove up every time I raced — an eight-hour drive each way — and remained my most valuable coach. He fought for me when the instructors had written me off. He didn’t generally jump in like other “Little League Dads” but only when something was unfair. He always stood up for those who could not fight on their own. As a friend of mine wrote, my father taught them what true love was by the way he was with his kids. He gave of himself and his time like no one I have ever known. We were all truly blessed to have known him and have had him as a father. As I receive countless emails, phone calls and text messages of condolences, I am reminded of how many people he touched. His was a life well lived, and he did it in his own unique way.