| "if only..." | | Date Created: Mar 31, 2006, 12:47 PM |
Paul Dana's death is something I've pondered a lot this week.
I knew Paul since the mid- to late-90s when he was a writer for Autoweek Magazine. I wouldn't call us close friends, but he covered the CART series when I was with Mercedes-Benz. We travelled together to Europe for the pre-season "Media Tech Tour" hosted by Mercedes and Ilmor, and raced karts against each other at the indoor Silverstone circuit. I can't find the results sheet - but I recall bringing home a trophy and finishing ahead of Paul, with the victory going to IndyCar driver-turned-broadcaster Jon Beekhuis. You think of odd moments like that when someone passes.
From the day I met him, there was no doubt Paul was not fulfilled or satisfied as a journalist. He would tell you about it. Again and again. He wanted to drive. That was his monomaniacal focus. Almost to the point of being... irritating. He would send lengthy emails following each of his races in a variety of lower formulas - using his considerable writing talent trying to let the world know he was moving up the racing ladder.
I have a lot of ambivalence about what has been written this week -- much in praise of Paul, but a seemingly equal amount that focuses on his lack of experience behind the wheel of an IRL car or supposedly because he was a rich kid who bought his ride. (Of all I've read, Jeff Olson has the best commentary at SpeedTV.com regarding Paul's legacy.) No matter the speculation, we'll never know why he seemingly didn't attempt to slow until it was too late. Like wondering if Greg Moore's broken finger contributed to his fatal crash, it's something that will be forever unanswered.
Part of my wide range of emotion is because I turned down an offer from Dana to manage media relations for him last season, when he first moved up to the IRL with sponsorship from the consortium of Ethanol producers. He had personally put the deal together - taking it all the way to political events at the White House and working a deal to have the Indy Racing League switch from methanol to ethanol fuel in the future. He was not a rich kid being handed a ride. Yes, he brought the sponsor dollars to the table, but only because he went out and put the business deal together himself.
Paul and I spoke for many hours via cell phone and lengthy e-mail exchanges discussing and analyzing every aspect of the program before the '05 season started. My concerns were his relative inexperience behind the wheel and his affiliation with a low-budget, amateurish team. (Plus, I usually teased about finishing ahead of him at the karting event.) It didn't seem to be the right fit for my company, and in his three starts early in the season, their poor on-track performance confirmed my gut feeling. Paul's season ended while practicing for the Indy 500 when he backed hard into the turn two wall and suffered fractures to his back.
While his level of seat time and dearth of victories made me hesitant to get involved, he was absolutely electric when I saw him near the end of last season. He sheepishly admitted "you were right about a lot of things, but I may have something really great coming together for next year."
I didn't learn of his deal with Rahal-Letterman until it was made public, and I was pleased for him to finally have the shot he had earned. I don't know if Paul was in over his head, or if he would have thrived as a part of the three-car Rahal team. The accident last Sunday morning ended any chance of finding out.
What I admired most was his pure will, his sheer audacity at refusing to let anything get in the way of what he wanted to do. There are many people who can be called "a garage champion." People who talk a big game while sitting in their garage next to a partially built racecar, bragging to their buddies about past and future glories. About how they will be the next Earnhardt/Foyt/Andretti/Petty or how they could have been "if only..." But, they never seem to get the car ready to race. Or, they never put in the effort needed to get or keep a sponsor. Then, they have a built-in excuse not to put their dreams to the test. It's a safe way to avoid seeming like a failure. If they put 100% effort forward and then failed, they'd be exposed. It's easier to have a built-in excuse.
In musical terms, it's like a garage band that never seems to keep a gig or get a record deal because it means venturing out of the comfort of their ratty, moldy basement. "We're great, if only someone would hear us..." No matter your occupation, you know someone who fits that bill.
Fear of failure can be debilitating, but it's a trait Paul lacked entirely. He exhibited a pure and total disregard for "if only." I hate reading the cliche "he died doing what he loved" every time a driver is killed. The phrase is completely backwards. Paul Dana lived doing what he dreamed and loved- and wasn't afraid to risk everything to reach it. Did he really reach his dream? I think so, and hope his example can help me avoid having an "if only..." in my obituary. |
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