The Checkered Flag

All the way back in May.

1996.

I was working in television production.

Producing sports shows.

About sports.

When I got called into the bosses office.

Not the first time I got called into the bosses office.

But the first time I heard this.

“We want you to produce the auto racing show.”

I’m not sure the exact words I responded with.

But the end result was “you got it.”

Even though I wasn’t really sure what “it” was.

I’m a Jewish guy from California.

I can’t even change my own oil.

What in the world could I possibly know about auto racing.

But when your boss asks _________.

You say, “yes”.

That’s page 1 from the “How to Keep a Job” handbook.

And look how well it worked out for me.

Well I guess in this case it actually did work out.

Seven years later I was still working in auto racing.

And truly enjoying it.

Almost every bit of it.

Really.

I don’t know what you know about motor sports.

But when I started I knew nothing.

Well almost nothing.

I knew that Richard Petty was “The King”.

And that Mario Andretti was Italian.

And...

Um...

Did I mention that Richard Petty was “The King”?

Ok -- I was also well aware that racing is dangerous.

200 mph.

Dozens of cars.

Narrow track.

A recipe for trouble.

And in some cases.

Disaster.

I was reminded of that during my first day on the new job.

Scott Brayton was the pole-sitter for the 1996 Indianapolis 500.

Just like he was in 1995.

That meant his car was faster than any other car during the qualifying for that historic event.

His average speed was a blistering 233.718 miles per hour.

But for my first show.

Brayton’s statistics didn’t matter.

Neither did his starting position.

On May 17, 1996.

Scott Brayton died.

In a practice crash, leading up to the big event.

At that point, my knowledge of auto racing -- or lack thereof -- really didn’t matter.

I wasn’t producing a sports show anymore.

I was producing an obituary.

That was the first time.

But not hardly the last.

•   July 14, 1996 -- Jeff Krosnoff
•   August 31, 1996 -- Blaine Johnson
•   March 21, 1997 -- John Nemechek
•   October 21, 1999 -- Greg Moore 
•   May 12, 2000 -- Adam Petty
•   July 7, 2000 -- Kenny Irwin
•   October 14, 2000 -- Tony Roper
•   February 18, 2001 -- Dale Earnhardt

And those were just the ones that I covered.

Wikipedia has a list of “racing drivers who died in racing crashes.”

Dating all the way back to 1900.

There are 311 names on the list.

Unfortunately that page was updated again on Sunday.

His name is Dan Wheldon.  Was Dan Wheldon.

The 33-year-old father of two was killed during a 15-car crash at the Las Vegas Motor Speedway.

Wheldon, a two-time champion of the Indianapolis 500, was considered a young star in the world of motor sports.

But on lap 11 of the final race of the 2011 IndyCar season, Wheldon’s future became his past.

I never met Dan Wheldon.

In fact, I never met most of the men whose obituary I wrote.

They were just a number to me.

A page number in my rundown.

Usually page 1.

Each time tragedy would strike, we would be shocked.

And sincerely saddened.

And we would cover the tragedy with sensitivity.

And class.

And respect.

And the next day we would get up.

And return to racing.

Of course the shocking death of Dale Earnhardt captured our attention for more than just a day.

But he too would become a footnote before too long.

I’m not sure if that’s more of a statement about working in the media.

Or just life itself.

The show must go on.

The show does go on.

And so must life.

Of course it won’t just go on for the Wheldon family.

Like it didn’t just go on for the Petty family.

Or the Irwin family.

Or the Earnhardt Family.

Dot dot dot.

But it does go on.

Somehow.

Until someday.

Someday way too soon.

When there will be another story to cover.

Like the story of Dan Wheldon.