Junior: 'Sometimes the hero is built up to be torn down'

Dale Earnhardt Jr. is reliving hell. His eyes, crystal blue and rimmed in red, are swollen, damp. He peers downward. Eye contact somehow makes emotional divulgence more difficult.

He is reminiscing about his legendary father, going to the innermost core of NASCAR's darkest hour.

Five years have passed, but the clarity of the details suggests it could be five minutes. Crisp, genuine, intricate. Never before heard. The pain is still palpable.

It is Feb. 18, 2001, and Earnhardt Jr. is entering Halifax Memorial Hospital in Daytona Beach, Fla. He fears the worst, that his father's head-on accident in the final turn of the Daytona 500 was fatal. He is a racecar driver, after all, and racecar drivers are innately and acutely aware that every lap could be the last.

What Earnhardt Jr. wasn't prepared for was the reaction from those left behind, the emotional tidal wave of an entire country that would soon be his to bear.

"It's crisp, makes you real sick on your stomach," he said. "I wasn't prepared for how it destroyed my family and my friends; how it hurt the people I look up to. That was really hard to see, and hard to try to help.

"You'll never forget s--- like that. It's not surreal. It's real as hell. Some memories in life have to be pieced together when you think about them. Not that one. That's one that's right there [at the front of your mind]."

Soul Search

Initially, two celebrated careers died that day. The immediate reaction was to hang it up. Racing seemed frivolous. But Dale knew his father wouldn't tolerate a quitter, so he forged on, determined to uphold the highly respected Earnhardt legacy.

"If everybody in the world said right there, 'It's alright if you don't,' I wouldn't have," Earnhardt Jr. said. "I was like, 'Man, I'm going to the racetrack, what am I gonna do? How am I going to act?' "

The reaction was reclusion. But hiding was impossible. This was the biggest story in NASCAR history -- by a significant margin. His father's car number, 3, was everywhere -- on the racetrack, in the grandstands, on T-shirts and hats. Even the bushes outside tracks were shaped in the form of a 3.

Escaping it wasn't an option.

Forced to face the masses, DEI called a news conference the following week at North Carolina Speedway. Every major news organization in the country was present to hear Earnhardt Jr. describe his personal grieving as "my own selfish pity."

His father had passed five days ago. He mourned, as anyone would. As millions were. And he considered it selfish?

"I was talking to Teresa [Earnhardt] about Dad. I was tore the hell up about it, and she was so even-keel," Earnhardt said. "I was like, 'How the hell are you so cool about this?' She was tore up inside, too, but was able to hold herself together to make clearheaded decision about everything.

"Because there was a lot of s--- that just fell down that had to be picked up. I couldn't imagine. I'd just be in pieces. I was [in pieces]."

A New Perspective

It was then that Teresa offered invaluable insight into the depth and scope of the tragedy.

"She said, 'You can miss him, and you can wish he was here, but that's just being selfish, because you're wanting him back for yourself when there's a lot of people that are hurting because he's gone,' " Earnhardt Jr. said.

"And there's just a bigger picture. You can't be selfish, like, 'Man, my Dad's gone! What am I gonna do?' He just lost his life! What am I gonna do? Come on!"

At that moment Junior's perspective was completely altered. Suddenly it was bigger than just his pain. The impact was immeasurable.

"I would have continued to [mourn] that way, but Teresa made it clear to me," he said. "I don't know whether she's just that damn tough in her mind and heart, but she just sees things that way. She sees a lot of life like that.

"But when she made it clear to me it totally wiped that out. Here I am, sad and upset for me. Why am I not sad that I lost my daddy? That's different. That my grandmother lost him and my sister lost him and, at the same time, proud of how he was able to be what he was?

"It was really hard to differentiate between what was okay and what wasn't."

It was precisely what he had to hear to muster the required courage.

"I was shocked when she told me that -- wasn't shocked she helped me feel better, but was like, 'Damn, you're right,' " Junior said. "She said, 'He was a bad [ass]. You should be happy for what he did for you, not worried about what he can't do for you now.' That was cool."

Play it cool

Earnhardt Jr. heeded his stepmother's advice and resumed his daily routine as best he could. He mourned privately. When in public, he played it cool, hoping folks would greet him any other way than "I'm sorry."

"You don't want to be patted on the back and hear, 'Man, sorry for you loss.' Well, hell yeah, I hope you are! Don't remind me of my loss," Earnhardt said. "Everybody was so damn tore up, I was just trying to be cool."

Earnhardt Jr.'s sister Kelley, his most trusted friend, was his greatest concern.

"I was really worried about my sister, because her and Dad weren't getting along," he explained. "They'd sort of decided over the last year before he died that they were going to be at odds with each other.

"Loved each other to death, but didn't see eye-to-eye on some key things, like marriage and who she was dating. So when he died she was so damn tore up because they weren't good. That was hard core."

Attempts to calm his sister's sorrow were futile.

"She fought with it for a while. She was real bent out of shape," Junior said. "She still is a little bit. It's affected her the worst out of anybody."

Legal Fight

Making matters worse for the Earnhardt family was the legal battle over Dale Earnhardt's autopsy photographs.

The Orlando Sentinel and the South Florida Sun-Sentinel filed a motion in circuit court on Aug. 31, 2001, to declare the photos public record; the newspapers wanted a panel of experts to determine the cause of Earnhardt's death.

"It's disturbing that people wanted them," Junior said. "There was a great investigation into the accident that I didn't even think was necessary. There's racing accidents all the time, fatal ones, that aren't as scrutinized or investigated as thoroughly.

"The fact that they wanted those photos unsealed based on the argument that they wanted to investigate it themselves is bogus as hell. If anybody believes that, they're crazy."

The biggest fear was the potential for the photos to land in unsuspecting hands.

"Who knows when me, or my sister, or her kids or Taylor were to scroll across an Internet site and see that?" Junior reasoned. "If that were to hit you in the face one day, I don't know how that would feel. That would be horrible.

"There was nothing to gained and a lot to be lost. For me to stand there in that emergency room and see him on that table, and how impactful that was, I would definitely not want my sister or Taylor or Kelley's kids, or any of my Dad's sisters or Teresa, for that matter, to have to see that."

After nearly three years of legal back-and-forth, the newspapers dropped the challenge.

"We owe a lot to a lot of politicians in Florida for understanding our position, but on top of that, from the day that started I had a feeling they'd never be able to unseal them," Junior said. "I just felt it was the right thing to do.

"There's a lot, when he passed away, that immediately changed that you don't think about. Next thing you know, instead of grieving you're fighting to save part of him.

"I felt like we were trying to save an issue from something becoming really nasty. That's not something you want to put up with while you're trying to grieve."

In the aftermath, other families of celebrities have benefited from the Earnhardts' stand.

"There was sort of a small crusade to help other people, like Left Eye Lopez, her family," Earnhardt Jr. said. "It was cool to try to help other people and make a standard for the future, for other celebrities and people of notoriety that their families will have an argument was successful."

Lifetime Bond

Cup driver Ken Schrader was involved in the accident that killed Dale Earnhardt. His car came to rest in the Turn 4 infield grass alongside the legendary No. 3. He hopped out quickly, and sprinted over to check on his friend.

The first person to get to Earnhardt's racecar, Schrader's reaction said a million words.

Junior has never discussed the accident with Schrader, isn't sure he's ready to hear what Schrader might tell him.

"We haven't sat down -- and I don't want to, ever, really, want to get into specifics with him," Junior said. "Maybe one day when I'm a lot older, a lot wiser, a lot more responsible with that information, I'll be able to sit down and talk to him about it, if he wants to.

"I'm sure if I asked him he'd do it. He probably doesn't want to, and I can understand that. And at this point in time it's not necessary for me and him to sit and talk specifics and about the incident or anything.

"But at the same time, it's built a stronger bond between me and him. He treated me really good even before the accident. It's an unfortunate bond, due to the circumstances, but it's a great one."

Slow grind

It doesn't feel like five years. But at the same time, 2001 seems like forever ago. Ten years will feel no different.

"I guess because I'm sitting here waiting for it to get easier, and it takes such a long time for it to really chill out," Earnhardt Jr. said. "And you're always looking over your shoulder for that 3 to be painted on the racetrack apron somewhere."

The tributes were welcome in 2001. Junior said the old man would've gotten a kick out of being honored like that. But one year was plenty. And context, he said, is crucial to the family.

"Sometimes when his name is brought up, like when NASCAR pulls the Dale Earnhardt card for the drivers not showing up [at the banquet in New York], that pisses me off," Earnhardt Jr. said. "I just don't think that's cool.

"The man's passed away, and he's not there for you to use to your advantage. If people want to name grandstands after him, or roads, s--- like that's kind of cool. But anything you relate him to what's happening in this sport today it bothers me a little bit."

Which begs one of the biggest questions currently hovering over the sport: If Dale was here ...

"It'd look about the same," Junior said. "He was close to retirement. TV was taking us. We were going whether he was here or not. I think some things would be different. He was definitely an influence on spoiler heights and plates, s--- like that.

"But the sport was getting pretty big, even for Dale Earnhardt. You had all these guys coming in like Tony [Stewart], Kurt [Busch] and all these guys. They would have given him a run for his money.

"He'd have found it quite a challenge racing with these guys."

And what about DEI? Certainly, its face would look strikingly different, no?

"Yeah, it'd be hugely different," Junior said. "We'd be closer on-track with his vision. He had a profound vision about how he wanted that thing to work, and exactly how he wanted to do it.

"He didn't really relay, specifically, a lot of that to anybody. And if something were to happen to him, which he was very aware of that, he felt he had the right people in place to make it happen. But it still hasn't [happened]."

Priority Scale

When his father was around, Junior could be somewhat frivolous in decision-making. Not that he didn't care, of course. But if his intuition proved incorrect, Dad was always there to fall back on. Everyone in the company knew that.

But when Dale Earnhardt died, that dynamic instantly changed. Suddenly decisions had to be correct. Everyone in the company knew that, too.

"With him gone I was really left to make decisions on my own, now," Junior said. "So when I went to talk with Tony Sr. about things, he'd give me a whole lot more of his time. He knew it was that important, because if he didn't give me some insight I might make the wrong choice."

Relationships changed, too.

All of them.

"When the top guy drops out it really changes how things are between you and your friends, you and your family, and how they deal with you and act around you and treat you," Earnhardt Jr. said. "Not for the worse. It just changes.

"You get a lot more time from people because they know that you're basically making decision on your own, and they know you really do need the help."

Life after death

The simple fact is, every driver on the racetrack benefited greatly from Earnhardt's life. And, indirectly, his death.

While living, his influence on the governing body kept NASCAR in check, disallowed unfairness to the teams. But his death thrust NASCAR into mainstream American consciousness for the first time.

He was on the cover of Time. Newsweek. Sports Illustrated. He was the lead story of every major news magazine show. Suddenly, NASCAR had a pulse.

"When [Dad] died, at that very moment, the visibility of the sport reached far greater areas, and stayed in some of those areas afterwards, and continued to intrigue and draw people closer," Junior said.

"It definitely influenced a lot of people to pay more attention to the sport."

It didn't make it more popular, per se. But it did lend considerable significance.

"The sport, on its great days is in total control of how big it gets, and is doing its thing regardless what happens," Junior said. "But bad days like that definitely bring more attention to the sport and give the sport more credibility in the eyes of the people that are either not interested, or won't give the sport any credit.

"When he wins the Daytona 500, that was a big deal, but still community-oriented. If he's in the sport, winning Daytona 500 after Daytona 500, the greatest driver ever, the guy everybody loves or loves to hate, I still don't think it's as big as Feb. 18, 2001."

Times Like These You Learn to Live Again ...

For the NASCAR family, there may never be a more influential day than Feb. 18, 2001. Junior has transitioned, accepted, moved forward. But there are moments it hits him. Could be when he gives someone a gift. Could be when he's discussing family issues with friends and they complain about a parent.

"You're sitting there thinking, 'Man, you you've got the opportunity to go right over there right now and see them if you want to,' " he said. "And you don't say that. They won't understand until that's gone."

Though Junior lost his father too quickly, he holds dear the relationship they built in the final years of his father's life. His Dad knew he loved him. That is very important.

"I don't think a lot of people really understand how much I care about them," Junior said. "Like, I had this little thing I wrote about him several years ago on NASCAR.COM, and when I read it to him he was like, 'Wow, I had no idea that's the way you felt.'

"And I'm like, 'Well, dang, man, you can't see it on my face? Every day when I look at you, you don't know that's how I feel?'

"I guess I don't really express myself vocally and let people really know how I feel about them, so a lot of times they're in the dark."

In that respect, he's a lot like his father.

"Dad wasn't real good at showing how he felt about people, either, but he had his moments where you were pretty crystal clear," Junior said. "He was so hardcore over such a long period of time, though, you'd forget about the last time."

Long, Dark Shadow

Dale Earnhardt's shadow will forever follow his namesake, though Junior feels he has emerged, for the most part.

"When I was young, damn was I different from him," Junior said. "It was important for people to know that. People wanted me to be a certain way. I was nervous they'd be disappointed. But they weren't.

"They were like, 'Man, that's awesome. He just cool and normal.' That means a lot to me. If my fans didn't get it I might go play charades like everybody else, just to entertain myself. But they got it, and I don't have to be anybody else."

Understandably, the older he gets, the more he appreciates comparisons to the old man.

"When somebody says, 'Man, that's something your daddy would do,' that's a big-ass compliment," Earnhardt said.

"But there are times I really worry about the future, my perception. This world's a really [messed] up place. Bad things happen to good people and good things happen to bad people. Sometimes the hero is built up to be torn down.

"The wool can be pulled over people's eyes so easily now. So I worry about how the assent is going to be. I feel like I got another 10 years of really bad-ass racing, but ... man, the assent. Am I gonna fall on my ass? Am I credible?"

There is but one way to ensure credibility. A Cup Series championship.

"I've got fans everywhere -- in the grandstands, in the media center, in the NASCAR booth," he said. "But it's split down the middle, 50/50. Fifty percent say I'm overrated. Fifty percent want to see me succeed.

"I have to win one [championship], at least. Otherwise everyone will always say I was overrated."

Regardless what he does on the racetrack, he feels his best interests are secure.

"I never ask him any questions or anything, but I believe in that kind of thing," he said. "I think between him and God, they're covering all my bases for me.

"Most days you go through the whole day, basically, with no effect, until key minutes when it's like, BAM! I wish Dad was here."