The All-American Soap Box Derby

The thrill of the hill awaits racers in the All-American Soap Box Derby

Curtis Feldpausch scrunches into his shiny, white racecar and tugs his helmet down to his serious blue eyes. He’s chockfull of advice from eight older brothers and sisters who have competed at Derby Downs and he’s ready to roll.

"Good luck, champs," says the announcer of the 67th All-American Soap Box Derby world championship in Akron, Ohio. "Drivers, you have three seconds. Three, two, one, go."

Wheeeee . . .

It’s downhill all the way for Feldpausch, 9, and the other young racers as they coast in home-built cars without engines to the bottom of the 989-foot track. At the end of the day after all 483 youngsters have raced, the first-place winners in three divisions—stock, super stock, masters—take home $5,000 scholarships, championship rings, free airline tickets and trophies half as tall as they are.

For Feldpausch of St. Johns, Mich. (pop. 7,483), the derby is a family tradition. His brother Matt, 29, the oldest of 11 children, read about the race in fifth grade and hankered to build a car. He entered his first race in 1987 and his siblings have been competing ever since.

Sister Annie, 19, placed seventh in the stock division in 1996 and brother Josh, 22, claimed a fourth-place trophy in 2000. As soon as Curtis reached the ripe racing age of 8, he entered the local qualifying races in nearby Saginaw (pop. 61,799).

"We have quite a museum’s worth of cars," says Steve Feldpausch, the kids’ father. "The family is always working together. This has kept them all together for a good reason."

Clustered near the finish line, members of the Feldpausch family yell, "Come on, Curtis" and "Nice and smooth" as the white stock car rolls down lane three. Mom Eileen watches behind a camera.

"I think I’m more nervous than he is," says Curtis’ sister Annie.

Homemade contraptions

Competitors, ages 8 to 17, build their cars from kits, which cost $385 to $485 and include a plastic shell, floorboard, axles, brake and steering assemblies, and hardware. Wheels are sold separately. The smallest and simplest stock car can be assembled in three or four hours and help is available at car-building clinics.

Qualifying races for the "Gravity Grand Prix," as the world championship is appropriately called, are held in 150 cities in 43 states, and in Japan, Germany and New Zealand. Racers also can advance to the finals in Akron by earning points at Derby-sanctioned "rally" races. Top point earners compete for the World Rally Championship and a $2,500 scholarship.

Although the prizes are much grander and the cars more polished than they were 70 years ago, the thrill of the hill hasn’t diminished since a photographer for the Dayton (Ohio) Daily News organized the first competition in 1933. Myron Scott saw three boys racing their homemade contraptions down a street in Dayton and invited them to round up some buddies to compete the next week for a trophy. Nineteen showed up.

Knowing he had a winner, Scott convinced his newspaper to promote the first All-American Soap Box Derby on Aug. 19, 1933. A throng of 362 boys turned up with cars cobbled together from orange crates, scrap tin, baby-buggy wheels and other castoffs. Forty thousand spectators cheered as Robert Turner, 11, of Muncie, Ind., crossed the finish line and claimed the $500 first prize.

The derby went national and moved to Akron the next year, and in 1936, the federal Works Progress Administration (WPA) built Derby Downs. The family-friendly competition has wobbled and whooshed its way into America’s heart ever since.

Joy in the journey

Winning is glorious, but the joy is in the journey for Kat Ozols, 15, of Kodiak, Alaska (pop. 6,334).

"You can hear the rumbling of the wheels. It’s a wonderful sound," Ozols says. "I’ve raced in 25-mile-per-hour winds and you can feel the car sliding down the track sideways. It’s scary." Masters-division cars can reach 30 mph.

Ozols wears ballet slippers so she can feel the brake through the flexible soles. Cars have a brake and steering wheel—that’s it—and dazzling paint jobs and decals. Ozols and her father painted the car to resemble an igloo, in honor of her home state. Actually, they painted the car five times until they were satisfied that it looked igloo-perfect.

Ozols says her dad taught her how to use basic tools, such as a jigsaw and socket wrench.

"It took 60 hours to build this masters car and I’d spend three or four hours a night working in the garage with my dad," she says. "That was the best part of the Soap Box Derby for me."

Building an aerodynamic car is a serious matter in a sport ruled by gravity. So is weight. Cars are inspected and weighed before each race and the winning cars of each heat are weighed between races.

"You want to get as close as possible to the weight," says Leslie Caron of Bantam, Conn. (pop. 802), who conducts the official weigh-ins in a tent on the hilltop at Derby Downs. The combined weight of a driver and car can’t exceed 200 pounds for stock; 230 for super stock and 255 for masters division.

Typical of the more than 700 volunteers who work during Derby Week, Caron and her husband, Val, got involved with the sport when their daughter competed. Seven years later, they happily give up a week’s vacation to help out.

"In other sports, the child can do it on his own, but the Soap Box is family," Leslie Caron says.

Family togetherness makes the Soap Box Derby a standout, says Jeff Iula, the derby’s general manager.

"You’ll have dad at the starting line, mom catching the kid at the bottom of the hill and little sister cheering in the stands," Iula says. "A lot of times we get second-, third- and even fourth-generation competitors."

Iula, who has worked 29 years with the organization, has watched the kids and cars become more sophisticated. But what hasn’t changed, he says, is the building of lifelong friendships during Derby Week.

Friendship clicked five years ago for Cat Hunton, 16, of Danbury, Conn. (pop. 74,848), and Kim LaPointe, 17, of Hampstead, N.H. (pop. 8,297), when they met at their first race. They keep in touch daily via e-mail and chat nonstop while waiting to race.

"When I’m racing, I sing a song to keep my mind clear," Hunton says as the girls talk strategy.

Racing at Derby Downs is heavenly, LaPointe points out, because the track is perfectly smooth.

So far, the best friends haven’t had to race side-by-side on the three-lane track, but if it happens, it wouldn’t be a problem.

"I’d be so happy if Kim won, I’d cry," Hunton says.

Bragging rights

After four victorious heats, Curtis Feldpausch awaits the final race at the top of the hill with his brother Matt, his official car handler. Without a flicker of nervousness or emotion, he listens intently.

"When you find that spot on the track, grit your teeth and hold that steering wheel tight," Matt tells him.

In a mere 28.72 seconds, the first-place winner crosses the finish line and the world championship race is over in the stock division. Perrin Norris, 10, of Tullahoma, Tenn. (pop. 17,994), claims first. Second goes to Feldpausch. He receives a $3,000 scholarship and bragging rights as the youngest racer in the family with the biggest derby prize.

As the victory soaks in, a smile creeps across his freckled face.

"It feels good," Feldpausch says.

Like the other young competitors at the 67th All-American Soap Box Derby, today he’s king of the hill.

The 68th All-American Soap Box Derby is scheduled July 30. For more information, call (330) 733-8723 or log on to www.aasbd.com.

Marti Attoun is a freelance writer in Joplin, Mo.

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