Legend’s Fans Can’t Hide Their Pain

Dale Earnhardt’s silence made Pete Harraka rush to Halifax Medical Center. The veteran fan of 28 consecutive Daytona 500s tilted on the edge of his grandstand seat when “The Intimidator” fatally crashed in turn four. Harraka’s scanner was tuned to the NASCAR legend’s in-car radio frequency.

“I heard the crew asking for a response from Dale,” Harraka said, his voice solemn and low. The response: silence.

About 5:45 p.m., Harraka arrived at the hospital, where Earnhardt had been taken earlier in the afternoon.

Still the New Jersey man feared the worst. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“He’s Superman, you know,” he said, tears welling in his eyes.

Harraka, his daughter in tow, was just one of the small collection of loyal fans holding vigil outside the hospital’s emergency-room entrance Sunday night.

Many decked out in their best black No. 3 wear, the anxious group accosted anyone and everyone--reporters, police shooing them off hospital property, other fans--for information.

“Is he dead? Have you heard anything?” begged Bobbi Gibson, who dashed out of her Daytona Beach house with a friend when she saw the crash on TV.

Rumors circulated, but fans held out hope he would survive.

But Earnhardt had no pulse while in the ambulance, shortly after he was cut from his race car. He wasn’t breathing. His heart wasn’t beating.

Emergency workers began cardiopulmonary resuscitation, but that didn’t work. With Earnhardt’s son Dale Earnhardt Jr. on board, the ambulance arrived at the hospital, where doctors took over. Fellow driver Rusty Wallace and other NASCAR notables, including members of the France family, showed up, heads dipped. Some openly sobbed as they were escorted into the hospital by police officers.

At 5:55 p.m. a dark-red Ford Windstar, the words “Mortuary Transport” detailed in gold lettering on the side, pulled up next to the emergency room’s automatic doors.

At about 6:10 p.m., the reverse lights flipped on as the van backed up to the doors. The tailgate rose slowly. Daytona Beach police officers and hospital staff extended a white sheet to conceal what they were doing. Then, it closed.

Two Daytona Beach police motorcycle officers, blue and red lights spinning, escorted the van around the front of the hospital--away from upset fans who wondered whether Earnhardt was inside.

By 6:30 p.m., confirmation spread to fans gathered at the hospital and the track.

At Daytona International Speedway, it was eerily quiet.

“It can’t be so,” is all Dewey Seymour could mutter before tears trailed down his face. Seymour came to the Daytona, as he has twice a year since 1980, donning a Dale Earnhardt No. 3 hat and jacket.

He always made the 7 1/2-hour drive down from Georgia pass more quickly by regaling his friends with his favorite Intimidator stories. Now, he says he will never come to another race. “Why?” he said. “What would be the point? The only place I’ll ever see Dale drive is in my dreams and in my memories. I don’t need to come back here for that. I don’t think I’ll remember this here place for nothing but tonight.”

Seymour took his hat off and tossed it in the trash. He took his jacket off and tossed it to a friend. Then he quietly excused himself, went back into his RV and wept.

From this day forth, Seymour will remember Daytona as the place where Dale Earnhardt died.