Knievel stands comparison with Presley on other fronts too: he was not referred to as ‘Elvis Presley on a motorcycle’ for nothing. Like Presley, Knievel had come from a poor background and had virtually created his own arena in which to become famous. If Presley became the king of rock ‘n’ roll, then Evel became the king of the daredevils. He even took to hiring an entourage, who he decked out in matching silk jackets and dark sunglasses, a clear reflection of Presley’s famed ‘Memphis Mafia’. By 1974, at the peak of Knievel’s fame, this crew numbered 19 men. And although Elvis went on to win the battle of the bulge convincingly from Evel, the pair both added serious girth as the Seventies unfolded, making their jumpsuits look more like romper suits at times.
Knievel even went on to work with Marty Pasetta, the producer of Elvis’s Aloha from Hawaii concert (the first ever worldwide satellite broadcast by an entertainer, which was seen by one billion people), for the ill-fated series Evel Knievel’s Death Defiers, and also worked with movie director Gordon Douglas (who directed Elvis in Follow that Dream) when it came to shooting Viva Knievel! in 1977.
As much as Knievel admired Presley, he did point out that all Elvis had to do was go on stage and sing while he himself made a living out of breaking bones. Re-breaking his hip had put Evel out of action right through the winter of 1968–69. He broke it in October and was not fit enough to ride again until April, when he appeared over four days at the Los Angeles Memorial Sports Arena. That his longest jump was over a mere eight cars can be attributed to two factors: he was performing in a relatively small indoor arena which didn’t allow enough room for big jumps, and he was obviously playing it safe, not wanting to risk further damage to his still-fragile hip.
Despite the fact that these jumps were far less of a spectacle and far less daring than his Caesar’s leap, Knievel was now such a star that he could command big bucks for all his appearances. But he knew his audience would soon tire of watching easy jumps and, in an effort to maintain spectator figures and retain his own credibility, Knievel planned an indoor record attempt at the unglamorously titled Cow Palace in San Francisco on 23 January 1970. His aim was to jump eleven cars, but in the end the performance went down in the Knievel history books for all the wrong reasons: namely, that he finally came face to face with a group he had despised and badmouthed for years. They were called the Hell’s Angels.
Although they prefer to call themselves a biker ‘club’, and steer clear of the word ‘gang’ to avoid any allusion to organised crime, Knievel had always seen the Hell’s Angels and other motorcycle ‘clubs’ as being no-good thugs and criminals. He had repeatedly attacked them in the press as being bad for biking and bad for society as a whole. ‘These guys are dogs – they belong in penitentiaries. They’re murderers, they’re thieves, they’re drug dealers…I hate their guts and I hate what they stand for and I want everybody to know they are not accepted by motorcycle people. We don’t like them. That’s just the way it is.’
His hatred of the Angels prompted one of Knievel’s finest ever quotes. Having stated that he was liable to shoot any Hell’s Angel that ever got in his way, he added, ‘God created all men, and Winchester made ‘em equal.’
Much of what Knievel was about was a reaction to the biker gang-culture, which really took off in the 1960s and which was led by the Hell’s Angels. The Angels had their origins in the immediate post-World War Two years when dispossessed and restless air crews came back to America and found they could no longer fit into society. The image went mainstream when, in 1954, Marlon Brando roared onto the silver screen as Johnny on his Triumph T120 Bonneville (the same make, though an earlier model, of the bike Knievel himself had used), looking for something, anything to rebel against. The film itself was inspired by the real-life Hollister incident of 1947 when a motorcycle gang rode into the small Californian town and terrified the locals with their drunken revelry. The press sensationalised the event but it caught the public’s imagination and fear, and since then the motorcycling community had a tarnished name, which it still, to a certain extent, suffers from.
Scores of Hell’s Angels movies in the 1960s did little to rectify the situation, and few were brave enough to speak out publicly against them. Knievel had no such fear and, to his credit, he did what he could in a bid to enhance the image of motorcycling in the eyes of the general public. As well as speaking openly against the Angels, he chose to wear white leather like a knight in shining armour, in contrast to the predominant black-leather look of the time. He also, somewhat hypocritically, always addressed his audience before his jumps and preached the benefits of clean living. He spoke out against the perils of drinking, the dangers of drug use, and the need to be a patriotic all-American citizen. It was very much a case of ‘do-as-I-say-and-not-as-I-do’, but since the kids he was addressing were unaware of his heavy drinking and extra-marital affairs, that mattered little. Knievel was at least trying to be a good, wholesome example, if only verbally.
The great irony is that while attempting to convince the mainstream public that motorcyclists were nice, normal, sensible people, Knievel himself was coming within an inch of losing his life every few months. He appeared to be a man on a suicide mission, not a God-fearing do-gooder. As the head of the American Motorcyclist Association, Ed Youngblood, once said, ‘Evel was a double-edged sword for us because the danger factor hurt but the safety speeches helped. With all the crazy jumps and broken bones and wild outfits, he did an awful lot to promote the idea that motorcyclists are crazy and that it’s a terribly dangerous activity. In a way, Evel was saying all the right words but doing all the wrong things.’
Knievel has never fully explained how his deep hatred of the Angels originated, but it all came to a head at the Cow Palace in January 1970 in front of a capacity crowd of 12,000 people, although accounts differ on how events actually unfolded. According to the authors of Evel Ways, Evel was performing wheelies before making his big jump when a Hell’s Angel appeared from the audience and threw what Knievel describes as a tyre iron at him (a metal tool for removing tyres). The Angels had heard and read about Knievel bad-mouthing their organisation and this particular individual had obviously decided to show his own hatred for Knievel. It was the wrong place to do so, as Knievel explained: ‘I saw this little bastard standing in the middle of the floor giving me the finger and I always wanted to punch one of the bastards anyway, so I revved my motorcycle up and I threw it into a slide and I knocked this guy piss-over-tea-kettles. All of a sudden, about 500 people jumped out of the grandstand and they grabbed these four-by-fours and these two-by-fours [wooden planks] and they absolutely beat the hell out of these Hell’s Angels. They beat those Hell’s Angels to death.’
While not quite beating them to death, Knievel’s fans did ensure that the Angels involved took quite a beating and three or four of the 15 or so members involved were reputed to be in intensive care for months. In Evel Incarnate, Steve Mandich has the near-riot taking place after Knievel has successfully cleared the 11 cars. He also claims Knievel took a swing at the Angel but was in turn thrown to the floor himself and only saved by his bodyguard, Gene Sullivan, who floored the Hell’s Angel before hustling Knievel off to his trailer.
Whatever the scenario, in today’s climate Knievel would probably have been charged with inciting a riot, but as it was he was later granted the Key to the City of San Francisco and made honorary mayor for a day for his actions. It seemed the people of San Francisco had had as much of the Hell’s Angels as Knievel himself had. Once again, Evel had turned what could have been disastrous PR into another great publicity vehicle. He had shown that he was prepared to stand alone against the mighty Hell’s Angels, even if he was made more secure in the knowledge that 12,000 of his fans were there to help him.
Renowned Hell’s Angel and author of the autobiographical book Hell’s Angel, Sonny Barger, recently put forward his feelings on the Cow Palace fight and the Knievel/Angels rift. ‘He made a derogatory remark about the Hell’s Angels and som
ebody threw a Coke can. There was a big fight with Evel and his crew, and since that time we haven’t gotten along. Every chance that he has to say something bad about the Hell’s Angels, he does. And every chance we have to say something bad about him, we do. But the reason I believe people like Evel Knievel say things about the Hell’s Angels is to bring notoriety to their own names. People would rather hear things about the Hell’s Angels than about Evel Knievel, so he says derogatory things about us.’
It is interesting to note that Barger claims it was a Coke can which was thrown rather than a much heavier and more dangerous tyre iron, but the fact remains that, 34 years after the event, Knievel and the Angels were no closer to being reconciled.
5
Colour Me Lucky
‘I’m going to have the best clothes, the best boots, the best diamonds, the best cars, motorcycles, booze and women on the face of this earth.’
One of the most significant benefits of the Caesar’s Palace crash was that it caught the attention of certain parties in Hollywood, and, in particular, that of the actor George Hamilton.
Memphis-born Hamilton was just a year younger than Knievel and had his first movie role in the 1959 film Crime and Punishment USA. He had since garnered a reputation as a ladies man and throughout his career would be associated with a bevy of Hollywood beauties, including Elizabeth Taylor, but he was perhaps best known in the gossip columns for his mid-1960s relationship with President Lyndon Johnson’s daughter, Lynda.
Hamilton’s perma-tan has since made him something of a laughing stock with contemporary audiences, but in 1970 he still had enough clout and respect in Hollywood to produce a movie, and he decided he would make one about Evel Knievel’s life story, casting himself in the title role.
The suave, smooth (and often cheesy) appearance and mannerisms of Hamilton were in sharp contrast to the gritty, tough-guy image Knievel had built up, but when Hollywood comes knocking, few refuse to answer the door and Knievel was no exception. Knowing that a movie about his life had the potential to make him an international rather than just a national star, Evel had no hesitation in signing up for the project. But for once his acute business sense failed him. Desperate for money to fund his increasingly extravagant lifestyle, Knievel agreed to a flat up-front fee of just $25,000 for the rights to his life story and, in his haste, missed out on the opportunity to earn any future royalties. But even if the film didn’t make him quite as rich as it should have done, it was Evel’s ticket to Hollywood and he wasn’t complaining.
Hamilton managed to raise a budget of $750,000 for the movie, which was to be directed by Martin J. Chomsky who had several Star Trek episodes to his credit and would go on to direct the hugely successful made-for-television epic Roots in 1977.
While plans for the movie were being laid, Knievel continued jumping his way through 1970 with varying degrees of success and luck. His first gig after the Cow Palace riot was at the Seattle International Raceway on 5 April, where he attempted to leap over 13 Ford Cougars, but yet again he suffered problems. The run-up to the ramp was over wet grass, which caused Knievel’s rear tyre to spin, which in turn meant he couldn’t gain enough speed to make the leap. Once again he clipped the landing ramp and was almost thrown clean off the bike but somehow managed to steer it to a halt, despite having a punctured and buckled rear wheel.
Bitten but still not shy, Evel regained his composure and moved his ramps to a hard-standing surface where he would be guaranteed the traction he needed. Knievel had vowed never to jump over Tarmac again after Caesar’s but his determination not to disappoint paying spectators now overruled any concerns for his own safety; he’d said he’d make the jump and he was going to keep his word.
Even more incredible was the fact that Evel added a further five Cougars to the line-up, taking the total number of vehicles to 18. This equated to a distance of 120 feet – further than Knievel had ever successfully jumped before. It was a brave move considering he had already come up short on the 13-car attempt but it was one that paid off as he cleared the gap comfortably and sent the 15,000-strong crowd wild.
But such moments of pain-free victory were always short-lived in Evel Knievel’s world, and he was back on bone-crunching form at the Yakima Speedway near Washington one month later. Despite the fact that he was ‘only’ required to jump 100 feet, the obstacles he had to clear were 13 Pepsi-Cola delivery trucks, which were naturally taller than cars and therefore required a higher trajectory. Since Knievel never employed any scientific means to calculate the trajectories of his jumps there was always a very real risk that he would get them wrong, and at Yakima that’s exactly what he did. Leaving too little room for error, Evel failed to gain the necessary take-off speed and fell short on the safety ramp yet again, this time smashing off the side of his American Eagle and suffering a broken collarbone, an extremely painful injury and one which normally takes two months to recover from.
Undeterred as usual, Knievel had his shoulder braced up in time for his next appearance six weeks later in Vancouver in Canada where he broke his own indoor jump record by clearing 12 cars. It is worth noting that there are no perfectly accurate measurements for Knievel’s jumps and, although he continually boasted of breaking world records, there was no professional body governing such feats at the time. There can be a significant difference in the distance covered in jumping 12 cars which are each parked either one foot apart or one inch apart, and the same goes for jumping 12 cars which are wider or narrower models than others. For the purposes of clarity therefore, the term ‘record’ is only used as a relative term to explain that Knievel is jumping more vehicles, either indoors or outdoors, than he has previously jumped. It does not mean that the record is officially recognised.
Seemingly falling into the pattern of a successful jump being followed by a crash, Evel broke several ribs and fractured two vertebrae in Seattle on 4 July – American Independence day – when falling off his bike several hundred yards after a rough landing.
His injuries forced him to cancel the jump he had scheduled for the following week, but Evel was back for more punishment in Pennsylvania in August where he once again fractured a vertebra and also broke his hand and shoulder. Knievel faced yet another boring and painful period of recuperation but he put his time to good use, as was customary, by hustling for deals on the telephone. During this period he managed to set up one of his more lucrative sponsorship deals – he signed to ride for legendary American motorcycle firm Harley-Davidson.
Formed in Milwaukee in 1903 by William S. Harley and Arthur Davidson, Harley-Davidson is the world’s oldest continual manufacturer of motorcycles and today has a market value of $15 billion. But it has not always been so; the firm has had its share of lows and only recovered from certain bankruptcy in 1984 after floating itself on the stock market. The company’s other big lull was during the 1960s, and until its merger with the bowling-ball manufacturer AMF, Harleys were really only valued by motorcycle groups like the Hell’s Angels, who initiated a craze for customising the bikes, a craze which continues to this day. The Angels have long taken credit for keeping the Harley brand alive during those lean years, and, naturally, were none too pleased when one of their most outspoken critics was chosen as the firm’s new golden boy. But for Evel Knievel, the Harley link-up was a match made in heaven.
The all-American hero had, until late 1970, been riding a ‘phoney’ American machine in the American Eagle, made as it was in Italy. So when the brand folded due to poor sales (Knievel obviously wasn’t inspiring quite enough bikers to rush out and buy one), Harley stepped in with an offer he couldn’t refuse – and it would prove to be mutually beneficial to both parties. Knievel would finally have the backing of the biggest motorcycle company in the States and he would be riding an all-American machine to match his all-American image. For Harley-Davidson, Knievel finally represented a chance to break free from the biker gang image it had been tarnished with, even if Knievel was no real saint in his own private life.
But as far as the public was concerned at that time – in an age before innumerable intrusive gossip magazines began revealing every sordid detail of celebrities’ lives – he was evil in name only.
Naturally, Knievel did not let the opportunity to make some serious money pass by, and in fact would years later say that the cash Harley offered was the only real motivating factor in signing for the firm. Knievel certainly provided good value for money for his new sponsors and never missed a chance to sing the praises of Harley-Davidson and the XR-750 machines they had provided him with. He officially announced the link-up in 1971 at Daytona Beach, Florida by saying, ‘My bikes are Harley XR-750s. I’ve got 60 horsepower to the rear wheel of the bike. It’s the most powerful set of wheels going. I can go from zero to 60 in four-and-a-half seconds.’
Looking back many years later, Knievel still had fond memories of his time with Harley-Davidson. ‘The people at Harley-Davidson were one of the finest families I ever did business with. They kept their word and stood by my side the eight years I worked with them. I was proud to be a part of the Harley-Davidson team.’ The firm presented Evel with a 100th Anniversary Edition Road King Classic for his sixty-fifth birthday in 2003.
The iconic Harley-Davidson XR-750 had only come into being in early 1970 when race-team manager Dick O’Brien slotted a modified Harley Sportster engine into an old Harley KR racing frame. But by 1972 the bike was winning American national dirt-track racing titles and, in various forms, continued to do so over the next three decades, ensuring itself a place in the history of motorcycling.
But it was Evel Knievel who first enjoyed any real success on an XR-750 and brought the bike to the attention of the general public, not that many of them actually cared what make of motorcycle he was riding since they were largely non-motorcyclists themselves. His Harley-riding debut at the Lions Drag Strip in Los Angeles also happened to be his last appearance of 1970 and Knievel ended the year on a high (quite literally) with a successful leap over 13 vehicles.
Life of Evel: Evel Knievel Page 9
