The Demise Of Old-Style Demolition Derby
Americans have been intentionally ramming cars into each other for sport for decades. And at this time of year, fans crowd into county fairs to see battered, souped-up cars bash each other to pieces.
This steel equivalent of blood sport draws a passionate following, and the drivers say it is deeply addicting.
"There's nothing better," says John Green, a demolition derby driver at a recent fair in Franklin County, Kan. "A lot of people say they would do it, but until you get in there and do it you never know the real feeling."
Exhilarating as it all is, only a handful of cars face Green in the arena — about one tenth as many as decades ago. Demolition derby has changed — and some fear it may be running out of gas.
"Another year, then it's over — at least for around here. There's not enough people to keep it going," he says.
The problem is widespread. In Rock Springs, Wyo., George Pryich, had been running demolition derby for 36 years. This summer, he had to call it quits.
"The last three or four years, it was basically on life support. We just couldn't get any drivers interested in running a derby," Pryich says.
To understand what's destroying smaller demo derbies and why people care, you have to go back to a hot evening, two days before the fair in Franklin County.
Sparks are flying, curses too, in this backyard in Wellsville, Kan., where a group of friends toil over the hulk of a steel-laden monster.
"This car doesn't have a drive shaft, brakes, motor, tranny, radiator, needs bumper shocks, leaf spring clamps. It'll run Saturday," says Brent Parmer.
Parmer, an old hand at demo derby, says there's an arms race of sorts underway. Drivers are fortifying their cars with mounds of steel, even up to $20,000 worth of high-end parts. So, money is becoming a barrier. Time is another one. Building a state-of-the-art derby car can take months and often requires help from skilled, resourceful friends like Shelby Miller.
"It's having fun with family and friends," Miller says. "It's a hobby. This is what we do, this is our lives."
Like most people in demo derby, Miller's got a family history. Her mom and dad derbied. So did her brother — in fact, his name is Derby.
But this lifestyle's raw material is getting scarce. A huge jump in scrap metal prices has sent thousands of heavy '70s cars to the crusher.
"They're not making cars like they used to either. There's a lot of plastic on cars, aluminum on cars, and they'll just shrivel up like a pop can," Miller says.
Pained at watching their sport crumple, some demo derby promoters are trying a major reboot. It's called hobo class.
"The little guy can do it. It don't cost $20,000 to build a car," says Hugh Griggs, another veteran driver.
Griggs says lightly modified hobo cars are ready almost as soon as you kick out the glass. These heaps chug around the arena spraying steam and dragging broken parts. Griggs says it's old school, to a point.
"Like the car I'm driving. It's made in the '90s. It's not half as tough as an older car made in the '70s, so I have to drive it, and I can't hit real hard with it," Griggs says.
It may look like the sport is headed for a wall, but these builders and drivers are resourceful. Some will drive in high-end national derbies. Others will just compete with whatever they can find in the junkyard even after all the '70s land yachts have long since been demolished.
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Transcript
DAVID GREENE, HOST:
I'm sure many of you know this. We're at that time of year when county fairs are in full-swing. I, for one, go for the corn dogs and, also, that game where you try to squirt water from a water pistol into a small hole. But some people go for old-fashioned demolition derbies, where drivers deliberately smash their cars into each other. Frank Morris from member station KCUR says that's a sport that might be running out of gas.
FRANK MORRIS, BYLINE: At the fair in Franklin County, Kan., last weekend, the midway wasn't really the main attraction.
UNIDENTIFIED MAN: Well, welcome, everybody, to the - I think this is a demolition derby, isn't it?
(SOUNDBITE OF AIR HORN AND CAR ENGINES)
MORRIS: Battered, souped-up cards bash each other to pieces in the arena. Last one moving on its own power wins. Fans, packed into the stands, cheer every savage blow.
(SOUNDBITE OF CHEERING)
MORRIS: This steel equivalent of blood sport draws a passionate following, and drivers like John Green say it is deeply addicting.
JOHN GREEN: I don't know. Just nothing better. A lot of people say they would do it, but until you get in there and do it, you never know the real feeling.
MORRIS: Green agrees to give me a taste of the real feeling, letting me ride shotgun in his armored, apocalyptic-looking Crown Vic.
(SOUNDBITE OF CAR ENGINE)
MORRIS: Exhilarating as all this is, only a handful of cars face Green in the arena - about one-10th as many as decades ago.
GREEN: Another year, then it's over. At least for around here, there's not enough people to keep it going.
MORRIS: The problem is widespread. Out in Rock Springs, Wyo., George Pryich had been running a demolition derby for 36 years. This summer, he had to call it quits.
GEORGE PRYICH: The last three or four years, yeah, it was basically on life support. We just couldn't get any drivers, you know, interested in running a derby.
MORRIS: To understand what's destroying smaller demo derbies - why people care - you have to go back to a hot evening two days before the Franklin County Fair.
(SOUNDBITE OF POWER TOOLS)
MORRIS: Sparks are flying - curses, too - in this backyard in Wellsville, Kan., where a group of friends toil over the hulk of a steel-laden monster.
BRETT PARMER: This car doesn't have a drive shaft, brakes, motor, tranny, radiator - needs bumper shocks, leaf spring clamps. It'll run Saturday.
MORRIS: Brett Parmer, old hand at demo derby, says there's an arms race of sorts underway. Drivers are fortifying their cars with mounds of steel, even up to $20,000 worth of high-end parts, so money is becoming a barrier. Time is another one. Building a state-of-the-art derby car can take months and often requires help from skilled, resourceful friends, like Shelby Miller.
SHELBY MILLER: It's having fun with family and friends.
(SOUNDBITE OF POWER TOOLS)
MILLER: I would say that's - it's a hobby. I mean, this is what we do. This is our lives.
MORRIS: Like most people in demo derby, Miller's got a family history. Her mom and dad derbied. So did her brother. In fact, her brother's name is Derby. But this lifestyle's raw material is getting scarce. A huge jump in scrap metal prices has sent thousands of heavy '70s cars to the crushers.
MILLER: They're not making cars like they used to either. There's a lot of plastic on cars, aluminum on cars, and they'll just shrivel up like a pop can.
MORRIS: Pained at watching their sport crumble, some demo derby promoters are trying a major reboot. It's called hobo class.
HUGH GRIGGS: The little guy can do it. You know, it don't cost 20 grand to build a car.
MORRIS: Hugh Griggs, another veteran driver, says lightly modified hobo cars are ready almost as soon as you kick out the glass. These heaps chug around the arena spraying steam and dragging broken parts. Griggs says it's old school to a point.
GRIGGS: Like the car I'm driving - it's made in the '90s. It's not half as tough as an older car made in the '70s, so I have to drive it, you know, and I can't hit real hard with it.
(SOUNDBITE OF CAR ENGINE)
MORRIS: Meantime, the feature heat is underway, and John Green is savagely pummeling half a dozen other highly modified cars. Inside Green's car, it is intense. I'm bouncing all over the raw steel cabin, trying to hold on, as scared as I've been in years, till the car is knocked cold. It may look like the sport is headed for a wall, but these builders and drivers are resourceful. Some will drive in high-end national derbies. Others will just compete with whatever they can find in the junkyard. Even after all the '70s land yachts have long since been demolished. For NPR News, I'm Frank Morris. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.
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