Charlie Dean Leffler’s daddy died last night, torn from
the world in a crash so stunning, so horrific that it once again causes us to
question our devotion to a sport that all too often breaks our hearts
NASCAR driver Jason Leffler was pronounced dead shortly
after 9 p.m. Wednesday, after a grinding crash at New Jersey’s Bridgeport
Speedway. Witnesses said his 410 Sprint Car impacted the Turn Four wall during
a qualifying heat race and flipped wildly down the front stretch of the 0.625-mile
dirt oval. Safety teams extricated the
unconscious driver from his vehicle, with plans to transport him to Cooper
University Hospital in Camden. His condition deteriorated rapidly while
awaiting arrival of a medivac helicopter, however, and responders elected to
transport him by ground ambulance to nearby Crozer-Chester Medical Center, where
efforts to revive him were unsuccessful.
As word of the crash began to circulate, I did what I
always do in situations like this. I told myself that the reports were untrue
or exaggerated; the sad result of internet hysteria and a public raised on “reality”
TV. When it became clear that a serious crash had indeed occurred, I prayed
that Leffler’s injuries were not severe, assuring myself that he would back in
the cockpit in a few weeks, or months.
Just before 10 p.m., however, a phone call from a
colleague brought the horrible reality home. Jason Leffler was dead, leaving us
to mourn – and remember --once again.
I have so many memories of the man we called “LefTurn.” He
was a weekly guest on our Sirius XM
Speedway radio program for years, sharing his life – both on and off the
track – with a degree of candor that was both refreshing and rare. There were
plenty of good days; wins in both the NASCAR Nationwide and Camping World Truck
Series, championship-contending rides with elite owners like Joe Gibbs and Chip
Ganassi, and a trio of runs in the legendary Indianapolis 500.
There were also a few bad days; crushing race-day
defeats, championship shortcomings and the loss of his Nationwide and Truck
Series rides. When he and Alison decided to end their marriage a few years ago,
Leffler made his weekly appearance as scheduled, despite a heavy heart.
“Leff, we don’t have to do this today,” I told him. “If
you want to take a pass, we can catch up next week.”
“Nah, dude,” he replied. “It’s OK. I got no secrets.”
In the months that followed, Leffler spoke constantly of his
desire to be a loving and involved father to Charlie, despite the demands of his racing career. Our weekly, 4 p.m. conversations often
coincided with the end of Charlie’s afternoon nap, and the unpredictability of
a newly-awakened two-year old made our visits an absolute joy.
A year ago, I crossed paths with Jason and Charlie, sharing
a “Boys Day Out” lunch at a local restaurant. While Jason and I talked racing,
Charlie demolished a massive salad, shoveling huge forkfuls of lettuce into his
mouth while simultaneously carrying on a silent flirtation with my wife.
“Charlie, you ate the whole thing,” laughed Leffler at
the end of our chat. “What am I supposed to eat?”
“Sorry Daddy,” replied Charlie, “I was very
hungry!”
How do you tell a five-year old boy that daddy is not
coming home tonight? How do you explain that his father, his best friend and
his hero – all rolled into one – has been cut down by a sport that exacts such
a horrible toll from its brightest lights?
The loss is unfathomable, unacceptable and unbelievable.
Today, I mourn the loss of a phenomenal talent; a man who
could run an entire, 10-lap heat race at the Chili Bowl Midget Nationals on
three wheels, his left-front tire twitching in mid-air in an awe-inspiring display
of chassis-bending bravado.
I mourn the loss of a friend whose zest for life, winning
smile and goofy, faux-hawk hairdo never failed to make me smile.
I mourn the loss of a father who adored his son and
deserved to see him grow up.
A quote attributed to the author
Ernest Hemingway said, “There are but three true sports -- bullfighting,
mountain climbing, and motor-racing. The rest are merely games.”
All sports include a varying
degree of risk, but auto racing is especially adept at destroying its own. Racers
have a special relationship with death. They brush shoulders with it daily, acknowledging
its presence with a passing nod while clinging stubbornly to the belief that it’ll
never happen to them.
“Last year, I did a part-time truck deal,” said Leffler
to Motor Racing Network’s Winged Nation
recently. “It was the least I had raced since I was 18 (and) mentally, it
wasn’t good. I don’t like being home. I just like being in the race car at the
race track.
“The (NASCAR) start-and-park deal is not for me,” he said.
“I had a good run for over a decade, so it’s time to get back racing.”
Big-league NASCAR racing had not suffered a fatality
since the great Dale Earnhardt crashed to his death on the final lap of the
2001 Daytona 500. In that time, SAFER barriers, HANS devices, improved helmet
and seat technology and car construction have made the sport safer than at any
point before. But make no mistake about it, auto racing is not safe, and it
never will be.
As long as men and women strap themselves into objects capable of eclipsing 200
miles per hour, as long as they test the boundaries of human endurance at places
like Daytona, Lemans, Winchester and Bridgeport, horrible things can – and will
-- happen. Until the laws of physics are repealed, the immovable force will
always trump the unstoppable object. And when it does, racers will die.
Jason Leffler knew that. We all knew that. But it doesn’t
make what happened Wednesday evening any easier to accept.
Photos: Instagram/Jason Leffler
If there was a
track on the NASCAR Sprint Cup Series that owes Marcos Ambrose a good day, it
is Sonoma Raceway. 
