
EDITOR'S NOTE: Ten years ago on Feb. 18, we lost Dale Earnhardt. NASCAR President Mike Helton used those very words that day – "we lost Dale Earnhardt" – in making the announcement that shocked and saddened people like no other death in American motorsports. It was a national tragedy – Earnhardt's photo appeared on the covers of Time and Newsweek – and it reflected the fact that during his amazing career, the sport had grown from its regional roots into a major national sport, in good measure because of his exploits.
Starting today and continuing for seven days, FanHouse is proud to present a series entitled Ten Years After – The Untold Stories. Most of these stories about that fateful day or about Earnhardt's career have either never been told or are recalled in greater detail than ever before. In this story, FanHouse's Senior Motorsports Writer Holly Cain recalls that fateful day.
Peering through binoculars from a seat in the Daytona International Speedway press box -- seven stories above the famous track's finish line -- I watched driver Ken Schrader climb from his wrecked car and run a few feet over to Dale Earnhardt's crumpled Chevy at the conclusion of the 2001 Daytona 500.
It was the final lap, and their cars had collided and hit the turn 4 wall before coming to rest on the infield grass.
Schrader's urgent gestures to the safety crew and then his body language -- turning away from the wreckage -- was unusual for the normally controlled veteran.
I vividly remember the sickening feeling as I realized that Dale Earnhardt might be seriously injured.
I will never forget watching a then 26-year old Dale Earnhardt Jr. running down pit lane towards his dad's car a good half-mile away. The pure joy he experienced five minutes earlier as the runner-up finisher in the Daytona 500 -- his career best -- was replaced with anxiety and fear.
Once the rescue workers arrived at Earnhardt's famous black No. 3 and assessed the situation, it felt as if everyone was moving too slowly. The ambulance -- headed to the hospital just across the street -- left the scene -- and wasn't rushed. The wrecker was in no hurry.
Then, the telltale sign: track workers unrolled a large tarp. After a decade of covering the sport, I knew the tarp was used to cover and cloak race cars in fatal accidents.
Things weren't moving in slow motion that Sunday, Feb. 18, 2001, but it remains the most surreal day I've ever had as a sportswriter.
The greatest, most famous competitor in his sport dying on the last lap -- crashing in the final corner -- in the biggest event of the season.When people ask, I liken it to Michael Jordan suffering a career-ending injury on a last-second jump shot in Game 7 of the NBA Finals ... only this wasn't merely career-ending. There really is no comparison.
And that's the difference in reporting on stick-and-ball sports and the high-risk world of auto racing.
You can pat a driver on the back and wish him good luck on pit road and then three hours later find yourself having to write a story about his death -- feeling a great responsibility to do justice for the person and his family while juggling the intense emotions of the circumstance yourself.
I had been monitoring Earnhardt on his team radio as I usually did when it came to the final few laps of the Daytona 500. He was typically an important element in the outcome and, frankly, the driver I most enjoyed listening to during any race.
I scribbled on my notepad, "stay in line" -- direction he was offering Michael Waltrip and his son as they raced to the finish line to give his team, Dale Earnhardt Inc. an incredible 1-2 finish. It was the maiden victory for his good friend Waltrip after nearly 500 Cup Series starts.
So many things were going on simultaneously.
The longer it took for NASCAR to give us an official update on Earnhardt, the more obvious the outcome.
When Waltrip came into the press box for his victory press conference, he struggled with tense -- referring to his friend Earnhardt alternately with the words "was" and "is.'' It was a heart-breaking scenario listening to Waltrip on what should have been one of the happiest days of his life.
By the time NASCAR President Mike Helton finally gave word that evening that Earnhardt had died from his injuries, we already knew.Some in the room -- surprisingly some hard-core veteran racing journalists -- declared they'd never cover another race. This was simply too much.
Earnhardt was the fourth NASCAR driver to be killed in a year's time and ironically, on the front page of the local Orlando Sentinel on race day had been a story about NASCAR's need to improve safety. The day after Earnhardt died, the paper declared it "Black Sunday."
Would Dale Earnhardt Jr. be a champion? Would Jimmie Johnson be a five-time champ? Would Brian France have been able to convince Dale Earnhardt the Chase for the Championship was a good idea? Would he like the COT?
Earnhardt was the sounding board, and the guy who sounded off. And no one has ever stepped up to fill that role since.
His death was arguably the blackest day in NASCAR history. But it also marks a new era in the sport -- a time when safety will not be compromised and innovation is the mode of operation. It marked the day NASCAR had to declare itself pro-active, not reactive.
A lot of good has come from something bad. And that's just what Dale would have insisted upon.
A version of this story first ran at FanHouse motorsports in November, 2009.
The Mortgage Mess: Just How Many Screwups Were There?




