Danger in the X

Sunday, August 18, 2002

The action is chaotic in the figure-eight race at the Hamilton County Fair.
(Tony Jones photo)
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Danger in the X

Figure-eight auto racing: Crashes
lure fans, safety is erratic
- and no one's supervising

Every 30 seconds, two dozen cars going about 40 mph cross paths in an intersection with no red lights and no stop signs.

Drivers call it “the X,” and they say they are just trying to make it through unscathed.

But fans, promoters and owners of figure-eight racing tracks depend on the X for crashes. It's what keeps the sport alive — even when it kills.

Cars wind around a figure-eight track Sportsdrome Speedway in Clarksville, Ind.
(Brandi Stafford photo)
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Denny Kleier was in the lead on his eighth pass through the X at Florence Speedway in Union, Ky., two months ago when he was broadsided by another car. His brain stem snapped and he was pronounced dead at the scene.

His death brings to light the dark side of figure-eight auto racing, a sport that resembles a high-speed demolition derby, where tracks range from mud pits at county fairs to asphalt courses at raceways.

A Cincinnati Enquirer investigation of figure-eight tracks in Ohio, Kentucky and Indiana found track operators wave green flags with virtually no government regulation, no uniform safety standards, no official leadership and questionable emergency procedures.

Even when there are rules in place, drivers willingly break them with no fear of sanctions or enforcement, all for a chance to win about $400 per race.

Covington racer Mark Sallee says he had no intention of racing in the figure eight when he showed up at Florence Speedway in April. At 42, Mr. Sallee thought the oval track looked safer, but quickly realized his Chevy Malibu would be outclassed by higher-powered cars.

Cary Spivey (left) takes a hit on the drivers side from Mark Estep at the Hamilton County Fair.
(Tony Jones photo)
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“I was just going to turn around and go home,” Mr. Sallee says. “But the other drivers convinced me to run in the figure-eight race. I would at least go home with 40 bucks.”

The only problem, Mr. Sallee says, was that his car didn't meet Florence Speedway's safety standards for a figure-eight race. His No. 21 car lacked a steel plate in the driver-side door and a steel container around the fuel tank in the trunk. And Mr. Sallee had a four-barrel carburetor instead of the required two-barrel carburetor, which limits speed.

“Jerry told me to disconnect two of the barrels,” Mr. Sallee says. “He went ahead and let me race that week without the steel plate in the door, but told me to make sure I had one if I came back next week.”

“If the guy said we let him run an unsafe car, my question is: Why did he run it? Why would he be stupid enough to run?” Mr. King says.

Mr. King says Mr. Kleier's death could not have been prevented or anticipated. Three weeks after it happened, Mr. King bulldozed the figure-eight track.

Mr. Sallee took his car onto the figure-eight track and couldn't believe what he saw: cars slamming into each other in the turns, near-collisions in the X and drivers looking to crash rather than race.

An average race will put 12 cars on the starting line in the X. These aren't souped-up racers, but modified street cars with stock engines, just the way they came out of the factory. Exhaust blows, rpm gauges rev, tires churn up mud and the green flag goes down. Drivers gun it around the first two turns and speed through the X.

But as the frontrunners extend their lead, the race gets dangerous, by anybody's standards. About 10 minutes into a 20-minute heat, the leaders are hitting the X in one direction as stragglers are entering the X from the side. Something — or someone — has to yield. They rarely do.

“They crash like crazy,” says Mike Bernardi, who runs Figure8fury.com, a fan site. “That's the reason why most people go.”

The X is where most of the accidents occur, broadside shots that most drivers never see coming.

The grave of Denny Kleier in St. Stephen's Cemetery in Fort Thomas.
(Michael E. Keating photo)
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“There were two boys out there who were absolutely ready to kill somebody,” Mr. Sallee says. “The last race I raced in was red-flagged to stop for an accident. Well, this idiot came flying around turns one and two and flew into the end of me — while the race was stopped. He ended up sandwiching eight cars together and knocking out my seat belt.

“Then they just threw up the green flag. I had knocked my seat belt loose, my car's not running right and I'm trying to run while getting my seat belt back together. That was the most scared I've ever been in a race: running through that X without a seat belt.”

A five-point seat belt that fastens a number of straps strategically is just part of the safety package that motor sport experts say is needed for every type of auto race.

But when it comes to figure eight, there is no standard. In fact, just about every track has a different set of rules and enforcement policies — some based on insurance standards, some required by race promoters, some based on requirements at regular oval tracks.

Most motor sports are governed by sanctioning bodies. NASCAR and IRL regulate the high end of auto racing in the United States. The National Hot Rod Association sets standards for drag racing. Even lawn mower racing has national oversight. But figure-eight racing has none.

“There is no written law and no regulation for these tracks,” says Carl Peterson, assistant director of National Fire Protection Association, which makes safety recommendations for motor speedways across the country. “Sometimes, a guy says, "I can level off a quarter-mile track and put up some stands.'

“There's hundreds of little backyard tracks, and a lot haven't thought what they'll do other than dial 911 and hope someone comes.”

Florence Speedway, where two drivers died in the past year.
(Tony Jones photo)
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Racetrack owners and promoters say figure-eight racing is as safe as it needs to be, and they blame violations on drivers who refuse to meet standards and fight new regulations.

“Our No. 1 thing is safety,” says Mike Gibson, operations manager at Sportsdrome Speedway in Clarksville, Ind. “We are always lecturing drivers on safety. I require an ambulance on the track. Insurance companies say you don't have to, but I require it, anyway.”

The Enquirer's investigation of 17 figure-eight tracks in Ohio, Kentucky and Indiana found that safety is proportional to the value of the cars involved, the track's affluence and driver winnings. It is almost impossible to state exactly how many figure-eight races are run, because not all are listed in the National Speedway Directory, according to its publisher, Allan Brown. Tracks, he says, can spring up in someone's field or in the back of a county fair and be gone in one weekend.

Most figure-eight tracks require drivers to wear a five-point seat belt, but not the Washington County Fair in Marietta, Dirt Country Raceway in Blanchester or Kil-Kare Speedway in Xenia, which runs school buses instead of cars. Most also require helmets. However, steel door plates on the driver's side — as well as special steel or rubber fire-proofing devices known as “fuel cells” for gas tanks — are only occasionally required.

At the Indianapolis Speedrome, where figure-eight racing originated and is most advanced, the track provides detailed requirements for cars that reach speeds above 60 mph in the X. The tracks with the least safety standards are usually those at county fairs where purses are low and the tracks are temporary.

At the Hamilton County Fair, drivers aren't required to maintain fuel cells. Sharonville racer Mark Estep used a beer keg behind the driver's seat to store gasoline.

Cindi Scibelli, a Cincinnati driver who has raced at the Hamilton County Fair and Dirt Country Raceway, says track officials ignore driver violations. Sometimes drivers reinforce their bumpers with steel, making them stronger battering rams and more resistant to crumpling.

“No one cares,” she says. “(Track owners and promoters) have got money coming out of their ears, and they're very lax about rules. The steel reinforcement is breaking every rule in the book.”

Mr. Gibson says the drivers, more than the owners, resist efforts to make the sport safer.

“We let them run chicken wire for the very first race of the season instead of having a windshield,” Mr. Gibson says. “Then a guy got hit in the intersection, and something hit him in the helmet and cracked his helmet. You want (an angry) driver, tell someone to buy a new helmet that costs a few hundred dollars. I've actually had guys not race here because they would have had to buy a new helmet.”

It is summer and Saturday night; the scene is typical figure eight. At tracks around the region, fans plop down their $10 or $20 per person and make their way into bleacher seats, juggling popcorn, candy, soft drinks and beer. Some fans edge even closer, backing their pickup trucks to the cement wall or chain-link fence (or less) at the rim of the racetracks. They drop the tailgates and wait for the race to begin — and the danger to mount.

Longtime figure-eight fan Tim Chandler says he comes out to the Hamilton County Fair every year, mostly for the crashes.

“I've seen figure-eight cars explode before,” Mr. Chandler, 46, of Elmwood Place, said. “You can only hit the trunk so many times. That was a long time ago, though. But it's fun to watch.”

“If you combined WWF and stock-car racing,” says former Speedrome news director Al Stillee, “you would have figure eight.”

Figure-eight racing was born during the emergence of stock-car racing in the 1950s, offering the lure of the dangerous X to drivers and fans bored with oval races. It was conceived one evening by promoter Art Zipp.

“He drew an eight in the dirt with a stick and asked the guys if they would like to race in something like that,” Mr. Stillee says.

The sport took off in the 1970s, when ABC's Wide World of Sports began televising the World Figure Eight Championships in Islip, N.Y. But its popularity began to wane two decades later, Mr. Stillee says, as drivers pulled back and racetrack owners faced increasing liability.

Today, there are about 125 known figure-eight tracks nationally. Only 35 are at permanent facilities. Florida, which once had five asphalt tracks, now has only one track left with a season schedule.

Mr. Kleier's death at Florence was the fourth deadly accident known to have occurred at figure-eight tracks nationally since 1998.

A flagman — standing on the ground near the X to direct cars— was struck and killed at a Florida track in 1998. A year later, a driver was killed at another Florida track after a collision in the X. Also in 1999, a Washington driver died when he had a heart attack in the middle of the race.

Tracking accidents and individual injuries in Ohio, Kentucky and Indiana is almost impossible.

Not one of the 17 tracks contacted by the Enquirer would release accident reports, and many hire private ambulance companies, which are not required to release reports under public records laws. When local and county emergency crews do respond to a 911 call, they don't record the type of auto race to which they are responding. As emergency crews swarmed over Mr. Kleier's car, it was clear that he was already dead. But even if he hadn't been killed immediately, he would have had to wait for an ambulance. That's because the ambulance at Florence Speedway wasn't licensed to drive on city streets.

Instead, it operated more like a first-aid station on wheels. Two weeks after Mr. Kleier died, Mr. King arranged for the Walton Fire Department to staff regular oval races at the track with paramedics who are licensed to transport patients to county hospitals.

Mr. King says he followed the emergency-care procedures required by his insurance company, T.H.E. Insurance of Treasure Island, Fla., which specializes in insuring entertainment venues. He says those are the only guidelines he has to go by. He says the company does not make regular inspections.

“I'll be honest with you, though,” Mr. King says, “they don't enforce it.”

T.H.E. vice president Joe Hannigan declines to discuss Florence Speedway or racetrack insurance in general. He says he doesn't know enough about auto racing insurance to comment.

A spokesman for the biggest insurer of racetracks nationally, K&K Insurance in Fort Wayne, Ind., says insurance companies don't set standards for public safety.

“Insurance agencies can't guarantee there is going to be safety,” says Mark Beck, vice president for marketing.

One expert says track owners are not providing sufficient safety equipment because it costs too much.

“They should be responsible,” says Craig Clarke of Track Rescue Fire Department, a private firm that provides staffing and equipment to tracks in the eastern United States. “They're putting on the show.”

Mr. Kleier's death might have been avoided had he been using a head and neck restraint device, according to Dr. John Melvin, a biomechanical engineer and NASCAR safety consultant.

Says Boone County Coroner Doug Stith, who examined Mr. Kleier at the scene of the accident, “I can't say for sure if a HANS (head and neck support) device would have saved him, but it would have certainly helped.”

The HANS device became well known after NASCAR star Dale Earnhardt crashed and died at the Daytona 500 last year. Mr. Earnhardt was not wearing one when his car slammed into a wall and snapped his brain stem. NASCAR now mandates a head and neck restraint, which can range from $300 to $1,400.

Another important safety feature is a strong racing seat that helps support the head and shoulders, says Dr. Melvin.

“I wouldn't think a factory seat would give anything for support,” he says. “In a bad crash, a bending seat isn't going to help you.”

None of the tracks reviewed by the Enquirer requires head and neck supports. Only five tracks require racing seats.

Mr. Kleier was the ambassador of figure-eight racing at Florence Speedway. The 40-year-old was famous for recruiting other drivers and helping fix their cars. He was also engaged to be married.

Today, the roadside mailbox in front of the house he shared with his mom is adorned with his racing logo and car number, zero.

Ohio State Highway Patrol Lt. Michael Black says he has seen plenty of fatal accidents involving cars going less than 30 mph and that figure-eight drivers need to consider the potential consequences.

“It doesn't take much to hurt the human body when you are dealing with steel and metal,” he says. “That is serious damage.”

Speedrome champion Bruce Tunny says he tries not to think about getting hit, even though he was knocked unconscious in a Florida crash in the mid-1990s.

“It seems like if you get caught and completely don't see a car, that's when it's really bad,” he says. “Full impact, full throttle, both cars. Then you've got a serious wreck. We got about 65-70 mph, just inches apart. There's 25 or 30 of them on the track. It's gonna happen. Maybe that's why the stands are full.”

Why do it? It certainly isn't for the money. Most drivers work full time somewhere else during the week, usually at a garage as a mechanic or repairman.

“I don't know,”he says. “It's just the racing thing. It's poison, hard to get away from.”

Says Randy Smith, owner of Midvale Speedway in Midvale, “A driver has to be pure nuts to run it. But people stay to watch it ... because you have carnage and parts all over the place.”

“It's a dangerous place to be,” he says. “Unfortunately, it takes a tragedy to get people to wake up.”