JH Underground – Jackson Hole, Wyoming news, sports and music blog from Jackson Hole, Wyoming

T‘birds T-boning before a crowd of teetotalers?

That’s what the authorities and Teton County Fair Board are promising this summer, in an apparent attempt to kill the Demo Derby as we know it.

Fed up with fans streaking between heats, officials announced last week that they are putting the Malachi Crunch on beer sales at the derby. The final event of the county fair, traditionally one of the biggest parties of the year, will be as dry as Ditch Creek come August.

The fair board’s move follows two highly publicized incidents the last two years involving streaking at the derby. In both instances a sheriff’s deputy brutalized a naked man before a crowd of nearly 4,000.

In 2005, Deputy Todd Stanyon shot 21-year-old John Rogers in the back with a 50,000-volt Taser gun, as Rogers sped away from him while holding a fire extinguisher. Last year, Stanyon repeatedly punched streaker Seamus McKinney, 25, while officers held McKinney face down in the dirt, after McKinney barreled into Stanyon while seeking to escape the arena (watch the video on The Snaz).

(ABOVE: Tasers on hips, two of Teton County’s finest patrol the port-o-johns while keeping the peace at last summer’s derby. Although Planet JH reports this week about a supposed shortage of police in Jackson, one wouldn’t have guessed it judging by the phalanx of officers on duty at the derby last year.)

After much fanfare, Rogers got off with a slap on the wrist. But following the storm of controversy, last summer the authorities vowed to grab the bull by the balls and toss those streaking punks behind bars — for child endangerment, a misdemeanor that carries up to a year in jail. (McKinney was arraigned on that and other charges last week.)

Nude, drunk and stupid is no way to go through the derby. Or is it?

Not that this site is sponsored by Anheuser-Busch or the preferred flavor at the rodeo grounds, Coors Light, or advocates total drunken hooliganism, but the Demo Derby without beer … is like New Year’s sans champagne, Mardi Gras without beads (and boobs), Halloween without candy. How else are fans supposed to take the edge off while having radiator steam, burnt-rubber smoke and rodeo dirt spewn in their faces for three-plus hours?

We’re talking about this kind of atmosphere, as I described in a 1999 story for the Jackson Hole News:

Perched on elevated platforms and lined up six rows deep behind the arena fences, thousands of spectators packed every corner of the Teton County Fairgrounds on Sunday as 36 lumbering, American-built dinosaurs battled in the annual war of attrition.

Stripped down to essentials and adorned with wild paint jobs, cars as obsolete as an eight-track tape deck relentlessly rammed one another in six rounds of competition that spanned nearly four hours. Spewing more noxious fumes than an INEEL incinerator, the automotive juggernauts dished out punishment until their radiators or steering columns gave out; several burst into flames. The deafening action combined the roar of Daytona with the crushing rumble of a tractor pull.

“It was awesome, really exhilarating,” driver Randy Luskey said of smashing his No. 4 Broken Arrow Ranch mobile through the fourth heat.

Outside in the parking lot in between rounds, pit crews worked furiously to repair the vehicles, savagely pounding sledgehammers to bend fenders back into shape. Welders, many of whom wore no shirts let alone safety glasses, sent showers of sparks flying as they sheared off shards of twisted steel with abandon.

Or this, from the sequel in 2000:

… on a balmy summer night, the derby took on the atmosphere of a gladiator fight in a Roman colosseum. Fans cheered for carnage, pure and simple, and were treated to an orgy of destruction during the six rounds of chaotic, clunker-clanging competition. The smell of manure emanating from the dusty rodeo grounds added to the primal feel.

Waging the war were 41 stripped-down and souped-up cars, mostly late-’60s or ’70s American-made behemoths. Two of the most effective demolishers were nearly identical Chrysler Imperials, Nos. 15 and 25, piloted by a pair of drivers from Utah. The boys in Detroit must have been doing something right when they assembled those dream rides back in 1968.

Sponsors’ names were plastered all over the vehicles, some of which were further adorned with colorful graphics. Paint jobs ranged from the No. 86 Log Cabin Saloon’s ornate suds to crudely spray-painted slogans such as “Eat Me” and “Trailer Park.”

This is a family event?

(GIVE ‘EM WHAT THEY WANT: The derby crowd goes wild in this photo by Brad Boner of the News&Guide. How many of the drinkers will be back this year?)

The fair board and authorities are missing the point, evidenced by their decision to sell fewer tickets this year — unnecessary, given that fans will take that step for them.

People don’t go to the Demo Derby to see who wins. With the influx of out-of-town drivers chasing big prize money in recent years, it’s become harder to cheer for someone you recognize. People go to the Demo Derby to see their friends, dress up in faux cowboy and trucker attire and, as the photographer John Brecher memorably put it a few years back, “commune with their inner redneck.” That usually involves downing one or two beers. Or 12. The drunken free-for-all the fair board is trying to stamp out is precisely what gave the event its charm.

It’s like Lynyrd Skynyrd used to sing: You Got That Right. At the height of summer, the busiest time of the work year, people are entitled to a little sordid entertainment. To stomp and scream and, as Skynyrd reminds, drink and dance all night.

What’s happened at the Demo Derby in recent years is a culture clash, captured powerfully in Zac Rosser’s image from 2005 of the cowboy cop, Taser in hand, standing over the naked, long-haired river guide lying in the dirt. It’s a struggle for control. Years ago, the young hipster-hippie set adopted the derby as its own, and the party grew until it finally overflowed into the public consciousness, prompting an unwelcome intrusion by law enforcement. (As all big parties inevitably do — see Last Tram, Powder magazine story, circa 1997.)

And now the authorities are trying to wrench it back, on a misguided quest to return the derby to a mythical time as a “family” affair. This, after creating a new night contest, the “Figure 8″ races, a sort of G-rated derby, to placate the puritans who groused about the rowdiness of the main event. Picture Mom and Dad unfurling the checkered tablecloth and pulling sandwiches from the basket for little Junior and Missy, to the blaring of Hell’s Bells.

The only reason the fair board tolerated the rowdy derby all these years was — surprise! — it made money. A lot of money. In the span of a few years, the board hiked ticket prices from $8 to $20, and still it sold out. That’s about $75,000 a year to subsidize the clowns, 4-H programs, pie-eating contests, archery shoots, goldfish catches and dozens of other youth activities that comprise the bulk of the fair schedule. And beer sales brought in buckets of cash for the Rotary Club, which stands to lose at least $4,000 for scholarships, owing mostly to a lot of complaining from Rotarian types.

It goes without saying that yes, we appreciate all the things law enforcement officers do for this community every day. We want you out there keeping us safe, helping stranded motorists, rescuing cats from trees, preventing real crime — not zapping mischievous kids with Tasers or beating them senseless.

Last summer, rather than defusing tension, authorities brought a siege mentality to the derby, ratcheting up the ire of the crowd and nearly sparking a riot. They could have sat back and laughed — streaking is, after all, a joke — and written the offenders a ticket. Last year’s derby proved that only a small number of people will embarass themselves in that fashion; if there was ever a time for mass streaking, that was it, and only two answered the call.

Correspondingly, fans could have flooded the fair board meetings or badgered their elected county commissioners to rein in the police presence at the derby. These officials and officers, after all, work for us. Instead fans held up signs reading “COCK” and “BALLS,” wore pig snouts on their faces and chanted “Oink!”

Perhaps the thinking from the fair board is, We’ll take a hit this summer, wait for the dust to settle and people’s attention to go elsewhere, then quietly bring back beer and let the event gradually morph into its old wild, irreverent self. Fair enough.

Until then, the hipsters of Jackson Hole will have to come up with the next big party.

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Stroke of legal genius: Former judge George Kuvinka, attorney for 2006 streaker Seamus McKinney, last week exposed the child endangerment charge as a fraud, asking the prosecution for a list of names of the youngsters in question whose development was irreparably scarred by the sight of the naked man stumbling and running through the mud.

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For a story about the classic duel between Rick Hunt and Eric Hiltbrunner at the 1997 Demo Derby, click here.

One of those dramatic summertime storms blew in during the Hunt-Hiltbrunner finale. I’ll never forget the sight of a plastic bag blowing across the arena, and announcer Rex Hansen, in the crow’s nest, calling it a piece of “Albertsons tumbleweed.”

For a story about how much fun it is to be part of the crowd at the derby, click here. This “Overtime” column following the 1997 event attempts to explain why the Derby is such a cherished social institution in Jackson. Bumper cars on acid.

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Best commentary from last summer’s derby controversy: Bob Lucas‘ letter to the editor in the News&Guide, relating a story about Bob Zimmer driving in the derby some 15 or 20 years ago. In a brief but illustrative missive, Lucas recalled how Zimmer was a good sport and passed on an easy chance to win, allowing another driver to keep battling, to the delight of the crowd. Too bad the NaG doesn’t post letters online, or I’d link to it here.

So the sheriff is a derby freak at heart, just like us. Why couldn’t he be cooler about the whole thing?

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The one thing missing from my body of work about the 2000 Demo Derby is any mention of the banner the fair board hung above the arena: “Jackson Hole Congratulates Dick Cheney.” Congratulates him for selecting himself to be Bush’s running mate, and puppeteer-in-chief.

Had I known then what I know now, I would have given a Belushi-like lunge from the crow’s nest and ripped that banner to the dirt. Naked.

Kudos to Spike Ladd for penning a pointed letter to the editor at the time, chastising the fair board for spending public money on a shameful display like that.

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Remarkable, but apparently there is no clip on YouTube of the Fonz and Pinky Tuscadero evading the feared Malachi Crunch on “Happy Days.” One of the all-time favorites. A recap of the three-part (!) episode can be found at sitcomsonline, and imdb has information about a DVD of the whole 1974 season.

And Wikipedia, god bless it, has a lengthy bio for Arthur Herbert Fonzarelli.

Ayyyyyyy. Cool it!

Posted under demo derby, politics, sports