Today, Richard Petty turns 89 years old, and across the motorsports world, that number still means something.
There’s a reason they call him “The King.” Seven championships. Two hundred wins. A record that won’t be touched again in the modern era of NASCAR. But ask anyone who grew up loving this sport, and they won’t start with the statistics. They’ll start with the smile. The cowboy hat. The sunglasses. That easy, genuine warmth that made a man who dominated a sport for two decades somehow still feel like the most approachable guy in the room. Richard Petty didn’t just win races — he shook every hand, signed every autograph, and made you believe stock car racing belonged to the fans as much as it belonged to him. A gentle giant in every sense, on and off the track.
My dad knew that before I did. Petty was his driver growing up — the Petty Blue and STP Red 43 roared long before I ever understood what a restrictor plate was or why Sunday afternoons mattered so much in our house. But loyalty like that gets passed down. I didn’t choose the 43. It chose me, the same way it chose him, and somewhere along the way rooting for that number became less about the car and more about the connection — a thread running straight back to being a kid, sitting next to my dad, watching a legend do what legends do.
It’s been years since The King himself sat behind that wheel. I remember that last ride in Atlanta in 1992 — the STP Pontiac crashed and burned. I still hate the way it ended on the track. Fast-forward to 2026: the garage has changed, the cars have changed, the sport itself barely resembles what it was in Petty’s heyday. But that number — that legendary 43 — still gets me every single time. There’s not much left in sports that gives me goosebumps anymore. But watching that number run up front, even now, even decades removed from Richard Petty actually piloting it? That still does it. Every time.
These days it’s Erik Jones carrying the 43 for Legacy Motor Club, and every Sunday, my dad and I are right there rooting for him the same way we always have — hoping for that breakthrough win, that moment where the 43 finds victory lane again and the whole thing comes full circle. Jones has been building something with this team, chasing that elusive win, and when it comes — and it will come — it won’t just be a win for Legacy Motor Club. It’ll be a win for every family like mine that’s kept the faith in that number through the decades.
So happy 89th birthday, Richard Petty — a.k.a. Strip Weathers, for you Cars fans out there. Thank you for the smile, the sportsmanship, and the number that gave a father and son something to share across generations. They don’t make them like The King anymore.
Long live the 43.
