Reprinted from The New York Times, October 25, 1981
''Dangerous? This is defined as one of the cruel sports. We figure anything less than death is a minor accident.'' So said Bill Muncey of unlimited hydroplane racing two years ago. Then, at the age of 50, Muncey was preparing to embark on his 29th year on the circuit.
 |
| Bill Muncey standing on the deck of the Atlas Van Lines in Acapulco, Mexico, in 1981. |
Tomorrow on the shores of San Diego's Mission Bay, not far from his La Mesa, Calif., home and where Muncey last year set the record of 140 miles an hour for a 2.5-mile oval, an outdoor funeral service will be held for this driver who dominated the sport. In the process, he collected an unprecedented seven national championships and 62 career victories in unlimited hydroplane racing.
With airfoils and stabilizer wings, the unlimiteds are the fastest boats afloat, capable of reaching speeds in excess of 200 miles an hour. Skimming the surface, the boats become almost airborne, riding only on the tips of two sponsons and half a propellor. And to hear their 3,000-horsepower airplane engines blast is to know forever why they are called Thunderboats.
No Accidents in 20 Years
Muncey had not had a serious accident in 20 years, although he had two notable ones prior to that. In the 1958 Seattle race, he lost his steering and drove his boat into a Coast Guard cutter at 100 miles an hour, puncturing the cutter's steel hull. Then two years later, in a race at Madison, Ind., his boat disintegrated beneath him.
A determined competitor, Muncey stepped on an oil patch and slipped off his boat's deck in the pits during the Detroit race a few years ago, breaking a bone in his right foot, recalled John Crouse, a longtime friend. Refusing medication, Muncey had his crew lower him into the boat and then went out and won three straight heats with that broken foot on the throttle.
This year had not been one of his outstanding seasons, though. Muncey had won only one race and was third in the national standings behind Dean Chenoweth of Miss Budweiser and John Walters of Pay 'n Pak. During the first two heats of the $175,000 world championship in Acapulco, Mexico, last Saturday, Muncey had finished second and fourth.
Tried to Make Adjustment
Muncey felt his boat, called Atlas Van Lines, was sticking to the water too much, and before the third and final heat, he had some adjustments made to make it ''a little more flighty,'' related Sam Cole of the American Power Boat Association.
Chenoweth recalled that the boats were ''flighty all day long.'' ''In the first heat,'' Chenoweth explained, ''my boat was all over the place, and they said Bill's boat was, too. We made a modification and ours got better after the first heat.''
Yet, Pay 'n Pak took off like an airplane in the second heat, traveling about 100 feet at about 10 feet off the water, said Chenoweth.
''All day long these boats were just acting wild like that and for no apparent reason,'' he said. ''There was no rough water, no wind, and no current.''
Classic Muncey Start
The conditions in the lagoon were perfect, with the surface as smooth as glass. In the third heat, Muncey made one of his classic starts, hanging back behind the other four boats as they approached the starting line and searching for a hole. Then, accelerating all the way, he ducked inside, left the others sitting at the start, and shot out to a five-second lead.
Muncey increased his lead as he pulled out of the first turn. Two-thirds of the way up the backstretch, his boat rose into the air, did a complete revolution and landed upside down. Muncey, who remained in the cockpit, was fatally crushed on impact, his spinal column severed, according to Cole, who was at the race.
Why did Muncey, who was vice president of marketing for Atlas Van Lines, persist in such a high-risk sport? After all, the monetary rewards were not predominant for him, because it cost several hundred thousand dollars to campaign a boat for a season, and the most the team could hope to make from prize money was about $125,000.
The lure was speed, certainly. But more, as Muncey put it two years ago, when he acknowledged that a racing person in his fifties is not the norm.
''It sounds irresponsible,'' he continued, ''but I don't feel that way. I'm feeling strong, and I expect to be competitive. There is still the child in me; I like to run and play like all the other kids.''