Support Jim Normoyle's Family in Their Time of Loss

Jim Normoyle passed away on August 14, 2025, after suffering from a heart attack, several brain bleeds, and pneumonia. Let's come together and relieve some of the burden for Jim's family by pitching in to help pay for medical expenses and funeral costs. Even if it is only a small amount, anything you can give would be appreciated.

A little bit about Jim from AJ Walters:

He was a father... Didn't matter what/where/when. They called, he answered. They needed something, he took care of it. He loved with such a big heart and could never stop. Though he was only my father-in-law, he taught me a lot about life. Being a man in some ways I desperately needed. He taught me how to treat and take care of his daughter, which helped to shape me into a father myself.

A grandfather... My girls were so lucky to have him. And did he ever love them so much! So warm, caring, and understanding. They are still too young to understand a lot of what's going on, but they thought the absolute world of him. Whatever they needed, they knew Poppy would handle it. Small talk, riding the four-wheeler and golf cart with them, ordering parts for the battery-powered buggy because they liked it so much. He was in every way their hero.

A friend... Jimmy had a way of making people smile. Perhaps with those piercing blue eyes and shit-eating grin. He was always the guy that would give whatever he could to anybody who needed it. A genuine human being.

A racer... The man spent the last few years in a lot of shoulder, knee, and back pain. There were so many Saturday and Sunday mornings where he could barely move. Even weekdays where he overdid it at work, but (as I always told him to do) "tug on your balls and man up, we got shit to do." More important to me than his own love and determination to keep going was the way he pushed me, and I learned to push him back. There was a time I blew the motor, and by the time I got back up to his house Monday, he took the day off and had the motor changed. He used his own backup motor against my wishes. When I got torn up too much to make the race, he left his car in the trailer, and it didn't matter how long it took, he would always say, "Screw hot laps—we just need to make the heats." He found a way to push through the pain, the struggles, the bad finishes, and hard luck—all with that unforgettable smile on his face. He was most proud of the fact that we don't have brand new equipment, don't have lightweight wheels or Donath motors. We can't keep brand new tires on the car or run race fuel all the time. But 2 cars, that we halfway built, alongside 2 of the closest friends we have, inside of a very tight 2-car garage, went out on that race track and could kick their asses some nights. He absolutely loved it. He lived for it. His love for racing ran so deep that if he wasn't working on the car, he was sitting in his chair looking at it. If he wasn't there, he was thinking about it. And oftentimes, I would get a phone call with a random idea to try.

In 2021, Jim had done something he has never done in his career before. He went back to back. The excitement was so overwhelming for him he choked up in victory lane. I will always hold on tightly to the role I was able to play in that accomplishment. In 2023, Jimmy took the checkered flag with me finishing in 2nd. That was an unforgettable night. And as we got ready for the first feature of this year at Utica, he came over and said to me, "Ya know we never got our other 1/2 finish? Let's go get it." Followed with a fist bump. He walked away like a 10-year-old kid, so happy and pumped up, that he was about to go have the time of his life for another 20 laps! Well, I know you'd never "let" me win, ol' boy! So until I get there and we can line up door to door, you better keep practicing 'cause "I'm gonna kick your ass Friday."

The last conversation I had with him was Sunday night at 7:30. He called me. Court and I were together in the car. He was over the moon excited that he changed his steering box and it was really easy to turn. He called to tell me he thinks he can make all 60 laps at the Autism race and he was going to go get some Hoosiers. When we got off the phone, he said, "I'll see you tomorrow." He rarely said goodbye. Although he isn't holding the steering wheel anymore, he will be riding shotgun forever. Watching from the greatest view. And I'm ready to get yelled at under yellow. Most importantly, I will always treasure the moments I will never talk about. The conversations we had in the garage about racing, life, thoughts, and ideas, the sayings you had, and the way you did things. And I will miss hearing the clanging of wrenches from the other side of the garage and our occasional "I need ya's."

Love you, pal, race on, and watch over our 2 babies—they'll always need their Poppy.