If you ever stood near a drag strip in the late 1960s, you didn't just see Ronnie Sox. You heard him. While other drivers were struggling with the clunky, heavy-duty gearboxes of the era, Sox was a magician. He didn't just shift gears; he played the car like a violent, high-octane instrument. They called him "Mr. Four-Speed" for a reason. He could rip through a Muncie or a Chrysler New Process box faster than an automatic could think.
But even the fastest man in the world can't outrun everything.
Ronnie Sox's cause of death was prostate cancer. He passed away on April 22, 2006, at his home in Richmond, Virginia. He was only 67. For a guy who spent his life surviving 150-mph bursts in cars that were basically tin cans wrapped around massive Hemi engines, dying in a bed feels... wrong. Honestly, it’s a bit of a gut punch to the racing community even decades later.
The Quiet Fight Against Prostate Cancer
Cancer doesn't care if you have three world championships.
Ronnie was diagnosed years before he actually passed, but he wasn't the type to broadcast his struggles. That wasn't the Sox way. He was a North Carolina boy, born in Greensboro and raised in the "whiskey belt," where you kept your head down and worked. He treated the disease like a mechanical failure—something to be managed, fixed if possible, and worked around if not.
By the early 2000s, the "The Boss" was noticeably thinning. His longtime partner Buddy Martin—the man who handled the business side of the legendary Sox & Martin duo—stood by him as the battle got tougher.
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It wasn't a quick exit.
He fought it for years. Even as the cancer spread, Ronnie stayed active in the Mopar community. In 2005, just a year before he died, he was still showing up at vintage events, signing autographs with that same steady hand that used to bang gears in a '71 'Cuda. He even authenticated his old racing machines for collectors, making sure the history was right before he left.
Why It Hit the Racing World So Hard
When the news broke in April 2006, the NHRA community went quiet. You’ve got to understand—Sox wasn't just another driver. He was the gold standard.
- Reaction Time: His feet and hands moved in a synchronization that scientists today would probably want to study.
- Consistency: He didn't just win; he dominated. In 1971, he won six out of eight NHRA national events. That’s insane.
- The Icon Factor: The red, white, and blue Plymouths were more than just cars. They were the faces of Chrysler's performance era.
Life Before the Finish Line
Before the prostate cancer took its toll, Ronnie was the kid pushing his dad’s 1949 Oldsmobile down the road at night so he could sneak off to the races without waking the house. He grew up working at the family’s Sox Sinclair station. That’s where he learned that a car is a living thing.
Buddy Martin once told a story about how he met Ronnie. Buddy was racing a 409 Chevy and kept getting his tail kicked by this other kid in a similar Chevy. No matter what Buddy did to his engine, the other kid—Ronnie—was just faster. Buddy realized pretty quickly that he couldn't beat the driver, so he decided to hire him.
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That was the birth of the most feared team in drag racing history.
They moved from Chevys to Mercurys and finally to the Plymouths that made them legends. When the NHRA created the Pro Stock class in 1970, it was basically a playground for Ronnie. While other guys were switching to Lenco transmissions because they couldn't handle the manual shifting, Ronnie stuck with the four-speed. He was actually faster with the manual than most guys were with the "easier" setups.
He was so good that the NHRA literally changed the rules to slow him down. They started weighing down the Hemi cars because nobody else had a chance.
Facing the End with "The Boss" Mentality
In his final months, Ronnie moved to Richmond to be with his wife, Alecia. The "courageous battle" cliché gets thrown around a lot in obituaries, but for Sox, it was literal. He didn't want the sport to remember him as a sick man. He wanted the legacy of the Sox & Martin Hemi 'Cuda to be the final word.
He actually requested that instead of flowers, people should donate to the American Cancer Society or help children suffering from the disease. Even at the end, he was looking for a way to fix the problem for the next person in line.
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What We Can Learn From His Legacy
Ronnie Sox's death was a reminder that even our heroes are human. But his life? That was something else. He proved that technology is great, but a human with enough "hand-eye-foot" coordination will always be the heart of the machine.
If you’re looking to honor his memory, don’t just look at the stats. Look at the way he lived. He was a guy who stayed humble despite being a rockstar. He treated fans like neighbors.
Next Steps for Fans and Historians:
- Check your health: Prostate cancer is highly treatable if caught early. If you're a fan of "The Boss," get screened. It’s what he would’ve wanted racers to do.
- Visit the Hall of Fame: Sox is a member of the International Drag Racing Hall of Fame. If you’re ever near Ocala, Florida, go see the artifacts from his career.
- Watch the old tapes: Look for 1970-1971 Pro Stock footage. Watch his right hand. It moves faster than the camera's frame rate can sometimes capture.
He left us at 67, but every time a Mopar engine rumbles at a stoplight, Ronnie Sox is still there. Basically, he’s the reason we still care about three pedals and a stick shift.