FlatRacer, aka BarrelBack
09-21-2007, 01:27 PM
I first met Phil Alepa when I started racing Skiboats in 1988. I knew immediately that I would like him because, well, he was a lot like me.
There were many similarities. We both drove red white and blue Biesemeyers. He had bought Ken Brodie’s Freedom, and I had just gotten Dave Bosacco’s Ms. America. We were men of comparable means. While most teams were towing their boats to the races in style with crew cab duallies, enclosed trailers and motorhomes, Phil and I dragged our stuff to the races on open trailers behind GM station wagons, mine, a Chevy and his, an Oldsmobile I believe (or was it a Pontiac?) which we liked to park next to each other in the pits just because it was funny. We were both latent hippies with mustaches and were similarly afflicted with long unmanageably frizzy hair, which was soon to begin falling out, first in front then in back. The hair thing was hilarious to the point where our friend Charlie Cron began referring to us as the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers!
Despite the superficial similarities that became somewhat of a running joke, there were differences. First off, I was GM man but Phil was dyed in the wool Mopar man. I had a Buick 455 GS musclecar, but Phil had a convertible Hemi Challenger (or was it a ‘Cuda?). Phil ran 440s and B1 engines in his boat while I ran the more common Chevy engines in mine.
It soon became apparent that the major difference between me and Phil was in our levels of commitment. Phil was absolutely in love with racing and winning and just enjoyed going fast for the sheer fun of it. So much so that he devoted his whole life to it. For every crash, blown engine, financial setback and disappointment I had in racing, Phil had three. And where I eventually saw reasons to pull back and reassess my participation in the sport, Phil just saw another challenge that he absolutely would not let defeat him. I remember him installing the Hemi from his museum quality Challenger (or was is a “Cuda?) convertible in the boat to get it another race for the points. Phil sacrificed a lot, a normal family life, financial stability, etc., and fearlessly risked so much, both physically and financially, so that he could continue on racing and eventually persevere.
That’s what I remember most and what I admire about Phil, his dedication, dogged determination and persistence. After I had effectively quit racing, Phil soldiered on to become a two time national champion in the Pro Stock class. And if ever anyone deserved that honor, it was Phil. Nobody handed him a championship on a silver platter. In a sport where fat wallets more often than not dominate the landscape, Phil was able to fight and scratch and claw his way to two national high points championships against teams with a lot more financial resources than he ever had. Phil, you were and are a true champion.
More important than any of his racing accomplishments though, was Phil, the man. We all liked him. I can’t think of anyone who ever had a bad word to say about him. And he never had an unkind word to say about anyone else either. Even when we’d sit around bitching and moaning about this political racing situation, or that awful driver, Phil was always the one to cut people slack, and find a way to get along with whatever person or situation was the problem of the moment. I should try to learn from his example in that regard. I was glad to see that Phil eventually was lucky enough to find Sue and from what I could tell, he found happiness with her. Thank you, Sue. Thank you for loving and taking care of our friend. Phil was loved by many of us as witnessed by the crowded funeral home at last night’s wake.
I regret that I hadn’t seen Phil since a few years ago at Lake Hopatcong where he was driving a capsuled K Boat for Dil Coffman, and for that I am all the worse off. One of the main things I do miss about racing is spending time with the friends I made there. I wish I had hung around with him some more and I’m sorry that I didn’t. Moreover, I’m sad that now I won’t have the chance to.
The accounts I heard of the accident differ as to the speed he was traveling, but that’s irrelevant. What is relevant is that while driving his STV Outboard with his friends from the Scream And Fly website, he hit a cruiser wake, stuffed the nose and slammed his chest into the steering wheel. The internal trauma was too much for his heart, and he died on impact. As I recall, that’s pretty much the same way (ruptured aorta) that Paul Brockhauser (I think that’s the name. West Coast guys, please correct me if I’m wrong) died in a flatbottom circle racing accident out west. Perhaps it’s time we started thinking about energy absorbing collapsing steering columns for our boats, but that’s a topic for another forum. Anyway, the Scream And Fly guys did all they could to save him, but it was too late. By the way guys, I don’t know any of you, but I want you to know that you should take some comfort in knowing there wasn’t anything more you could have or should have done for him. Phil was physically ill for a very long time. The years of painting cars had ravaged his blood chemistry and his body systems. His blood was poisoned by the vapors he inhaled as a young painter in the days before that industry was educated in the dangers posed by the chemicals they work with and developed the precautions they now take. As much as a dozen years ago, Phil was complaining of numbness in his extremities, chest pains, etc. and I had heard that he had gotten much worse since last I saw him, so considering his weakened state, it’s little wonder that no one was able to revive him. While saddened by the news of his passing, I’m not surprised by it, but I think that perhaps I, and maybe all of us can take some comfort (at the risk of dragging out a tired old cliché, but in this case I think it truly applies) in knowing that he died while doing what he loved, enjoying the sheer elation of zipping around in a very fast boat.
I’m not a religious man, in fact anyone who knows me knows that I describe myself as a “devout agnostic”. But while I lack faith, I do hold out hope. I hope I’m wrong, even though I may never know. If it turns out that I am wrong, and there is a heaven, then I know I’ll see Phil again. If there is a heaven, there WILL be boat racing, because after all, my heaven would simply not be heaven without it. Phil and I will race together again along with Grumpy, Lance and all the rest. And what a great time it will be, where everyone will be competitive, and the difference between winning and losing will be one of skill cunning to be determined out on the race course, and not virtually predetermined before the boats even hit the water. And we’ll all make it back to the beach every time out, not to fix broken motors, but to eat burgers and dogs while watching the other classes run. It’ll be glorious! Phil, my friend, I hope I see you there.
Eric Tolnes
SS/PS/CanAm 86
There were many similarities. We both drove red white and blue Biesemeyers. He had bought Ken Brodie’s Freedom, and I had just gotten Dave Bosacco’s Ms. America. We were men of comparable means. While most teams were towing their boats to the races in style with crew cab duallies, enclosed trailers and motorhomes, Phil and I dragged our stuff to the races on open trailers behind GM station wagons, mine, a Chevy and his, an Oldsmobile I believe (or was it a Pontiac?) which we liked to park next to each other in the pits just because it was funny. We were both latent hippies with mustaches and were similarly afflicted with long unmanageably frizzy hair, which was soon to begin falling out, first in front then in back. The hair thing was hilarious to the point where our friend Charlie Cron began referring to us as the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers!
Despite the superficial similarities that became somewhat of a running joke, there were differences. First off, I was GM man but Phil was dyed in the wool Mopar man. I had a Buick 455 GS musclecar, but Phil had a convertible Hemi Challenger (or was it a ‘Cuda?). Phil ran 440s and B1 engines in his boat while I ran the more common Chevy engines in mine.
It soon became apparent that the major difference between me and Phil was in our levels of commitment. Phil was absolutely in love with racing and winning and just enjoyed going fast for the sheer fun of it. So much so that he devoted his whole life to it. For every crash, blown engine, financial setback and disappointment I had in racing, Phil had three. And where I eventually saw reasons to pull back and reassess my participation in the sport, Phil just saw another challenge that he absolutely would not let defeat him. I remember him installing the Hemi from his museum quality Challenger (or was is a “Cuda?) convertible in the boat to get it another race for the points. Phil sacrificed a lot, a normal family life, financial stability, etc., and fearlessly risked so much, both physically and financially, so that he could continue on racing and eventually persevere.
That’s what I remember most and what I admire about Phil, his dedication, dogged determination and persistence. After I had effectively quit racing, Phil soldiered on to become a two time national champion in the Pro Stock class. And if ever anyone deserved that honor, it was Phil. Nobody handed him a championship on a silver platter. In a sport where fat wallets more often than not dominate the landscape, Phil was able to fight and scratch and claw his way to two national high points championships against teams with a lot more financial resources than he ever had. Phil, you were and are a true champion.
More important than any of his racing accomplishments though, was Phil, the man. We all liked him. I can’t think of anyone who ever had a bad word to say about him. And he never had an unkind word to say about anyone else either. Even when we’d sit around bitching and moaning about this political racing situation, or that awful driver, Phil was always the one to cut people slack, and find a way to get along with whatever person or situation was the problem of the moment. I should try to learn from his example in that regard. I was glad to see that Phil eventually was lucky enough to find Sue and from what I could tell, he found happiness with her. Thank you, Sue. Thank you for loving and taking care of our friend. Phil was loved by many of us as witnessed by the crowded funeral home at last night’s wake.
I regret that I hadn’t seen Phil since a few years ago at Lake Hopatcong where he was driving a capsuled K Boat for Dil Coffman, and for that I am all the worse off. One of the main things I do miss about racing is spending time with the friends I made there. I wish I had hung around with him some more and I’m sorry that I didn’t. Moreover, I’m sad that now I won’t have the chance to.
The accounts I heard of the accident differ as to the speed he was traveling, but that’s irrelevant. What is relevant is that while driving his STV Outboard with his friends from the Scream And Fly website, he hit a cruiser wake, stuffed the nose and slammed his chest into the steering wheel. The internal trauma was too much for his heart, and he died on impact. As I recall, that’s pretty much the same way (ruptured aorta) that Paul Brockhauser (I think that’s the name. West Coast guys, please correct me if I’m wrong) died in a flatbottom circle racing accident out west. Perhaps it’s time we started thinking about energy absorbing collapsing steering columns for our boats, but that’s a topic for another forum. Anyway, the Scream And Fly guys did all they could to save him, but it was too late. By the way guys, I don’t know any of you, but I want you to know that you should take some comfort in knowing there wasn’t anything more you could have or should have done for him. Phil was physically ill for a very long time. The years of painting cars had ravaged his blood chemistry and his body systems. His blood was poisoned by the vapors he inhaled as a young painter in the days before that industry was educated in the dangers posed by the chemicals they work with and developed the precautions they now take. As much as a dozen years ago, Phil was complaining of numbness in his extremities, chest pains, etc. and I had heard that he had gotten much worse since last I saw him, so considering his weakened state, it’s little wonder that no one was able to revive him. While saddened by the news of his passing, I’m not surprised by it, but I think that perhaps I, and maybe all of us can take some comfort (at the risk of dragging out a tired old cliché, but in this case I think it truly applies) in knowing that he died while doing what he loved, enjoying the sheer elation of zipping around in a very fast boat.
I’m not a religious man, in fact anyone who knows me knows that I describe myself as a “devout agnostic”. But while I lack faith, I do hold out hope. I hope I’m wrong, even though I may never know. If it turns out that I am wrong, and there is a heaven, then I know I’ll see Phil again. If there is a heaven, there WILL be boat racing, because after all, my heaven would simply not be heaven without it. Phil and I will race together again along with Grumpy, Lance and all the rest. And what a great time it will be, where everyone will be competitive, and the difference between winning and losing will be one of skill cunning to be determined out on the race course, and not virtually predetermined before the boats even hit the water. And we’ll all make it back to the beach every time out, not to fix broken motors, but to eat burgers and dogs while watching the other classes run. It’ll be glorious! Phil, my friend, I hope I see you there.
Eric Tolnes
SS/PS/CanAm 86