Often, signs of tampering would be found. In July of 1912 racer Mat Warden was riding a borrowed machine when an axle suddenly snapped upon entering a turn, causing him to suddenly veer to the bottom of the track. Upon inspection it was found that the axle had been partially sawn through in an attempt at sabotage. Although no one was hurt, it could have easily ended in disaster. After an investigation, the culprit confessed. Was it just an attempt at cheating, or murder? Who knows? The riders certainly needed no help in dying. Indian rider, Harry Glenn had a racing career that spanned from 1912 to 1924. During those 12 years, he was a pallbearer at the funerals of 19 of his competitors, but it wasn't just the racers that would risk their lives, many in the crowds would die or suffer serious injuries from riders and machines being thrown into stands. Bloodsport indeed.
On Sept. 8, 1912 Hasha was competing at the Newark Motordrome at Electric Park in Newark, New Jersey in front of 5000 excited spectators. It was a brand new track, having just opened on July 4th of that year. The last event of the day was a 5 lap handicap race against five other riders. Eddie Hasha and Ray Seymour were the pros and had no handicap. The other four riders, as amateurs, were given a one lap head start. After the 1st lap Hasha was in the lead. In the 3rd lap his Indian began to misfire and he slowed. Ray Seymour took the lead as Hasha reached down to adjust the engine of his machine. Hasha suddenly began to accelerate, quickly closing the distance between he and Seymour. At 5:15 in the evening, on the last lap, at the height of the excitement, and at 92 mph (148 km/h) Hasha's Indian suddenly turned sharply up the track and into the rail. Witnesses said they saw his sprocket come loose. (Such as may be caused by a snapped axle...) Hasha and his motorcycle ground down the crude barrier for 100 ft. where three excited young boys had their heads stuck through to see the thrilling race. All three boys were killed instantly, one reportedly being decapitated...“literally tore off the skull off a little boy who had been one of the most excited enthusiasts at the race,” according to The Washington Post. Hasha then hit a pole and his lifeless body was thrown into the crowd, described as "shapeless" due to the multiple broken bones. His now pilotless motorcycle bounded back down the track, hitting the last place rider Johnny Albright. Albright was pinned between Hasha's machine and his own, sliding down the track unconscious. He never regained consciousness, dying five hours later due to lung hemorrhaging. The spectators in the crowd panicked and trampled each other attempting to escape the carnage. The number of reported dead varies, but at least 8 were killed and over a dozen were injured. Emergency responders from throughout the city came to assist but it took over an hour to clear the stands.
Almost every major motorcycle manufacturer in America fielded a sponsored team to take advantage of the sales to be made from success on the track, despite the bad reputation that was building. At the beginning, Harley Davidson, of the top three manufacturers, was absent. Company Co-founder Arthur Davidson was thoroughly opposed to the new style of racing, recognizing the dangers involved. In an editorial for a 1912 issue of The Harley Dealer he wrote, “Any dealer who contemplates hooking up with a promoter in the ‘murderdrome’ business, I have found it to be my experience, has nothing to gain and everything to lose. The board track game will work out its own destiny in a mighty big hurry." Although his words proved prophetic, Harley Davidson also joined the fray by 1914. Money was to be made and the competition was making it.
The young daredevils who competed were well aware of the danger involved. It was the thrill of life on the edge that caused many to leave good jobs behind to chase fame on the boards. One such young man was Eddie Hasha of Waco Texas.
He began his racing career in 1911, setting a track record of 95 mph (153 km/h) at the Playa Del Ray Speedway in May of that year. Hasha raced one of the very fast and popular 8-valve Indian 61 cu. in. twins. By 1912, setting many records in the west, he had earned the nickname "The Texas Cyclone," and traveled east to compete on other newly built tracks. Already well known in the east as one of the best, he was asked about the dangers of the sport in an interview with the New York Times. His reply proved prophetic as well...
“I suppose it’ll get us all each when his turn comes,” he said. “Oh, I know it’s a dangerous game, but I am stowing my money away in the bank and the wife will be fixed up if I go.”
The tragedy made the front page of the New York Times and was the talk from coast to coast. The outcry from the public and the government was enormous. Two days after the horrific crash, on Sept. 10, 1912, the Washington Post lamented, “It is a commentary on American Standards that we take pains to prohibit prize fighting and horse racing in many States, and hold up our hands in horror at the suggestion of bullfights as a national sport, and yet flock in thousands to see reckless young men riding madly around a track sloping at a 50 percent angle glorifying in the thinness of the thread that divides life from death."
A grand jury cleared cleared the track owners of any criminal negligence, but by December, motorcycle racing was banned in Newark and the track was closed. A civil suit was brought against the EMRA- Eastern Motorcycle Racing Association and was settled for $328. The Motordrome was sold at sheriff's sale to satisfy the $10,895 lien held by the carpenters who built it. It sat as a grim memorial of the day for three years before being leveled by fire in 1915. Many hoped, but few knew at the time, that it was the beginning of the end of the motordromes. But before the end would come, the carnage would continue, and in the end, it wasn't the carnage that would bring the end to boardtrack racing.
To be continued...
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