The Evel that men do

Evel Knievel has cleared the last great jump that awaits us all.

If that sounds overly dramatic, it’s no more so than the stuntman’s life, a history of hard-living, pithy sound bites and breathtaking stunts that ended last week with his death at the age of 69.

If you grew up in the ’70s, Evel was part of the backdrop of childhood. He was a real-life superhero decked out in a red, white and blue costume who did the kinds of crazy things that characters only did in comic books or cartoons – jumping over buses or through rings of fire on a motorcycle, or strapping himself to the back of a rocket to hurtle over Snake River Canyon.

To an 8-years-old, that’s heady stuff.

He broke bones. He shattered his pelvis. He was comatose for a month. But nothing stopped the guy. Like the Energizer Bunny, he kept going and going and going.

As a kid, I had the Knievel action figure, its rugged good looks sculpted in plastic. More importantly, I had the stunt cycle little Evel perched on. It came with a ripcord that you pulled to rev the back wheel and put the toy into motion.

My little Evel sailed off the top of the basement steps, over the family dog and into its water dish, across the tabletop and into the great airy expanse of the kitchen.

Some of the simulacrum’s stunts were successful, some were not. My little doll was pretty banged up, but unlike the real Knievel, his convalescences were short, often nonexistent.

I’ll bet, despite millions of Knievel toys and accessories sold, collectors have a hard time finding them in mint condition today. We didn’t keep our Knievels in their for later resale value. We took ’em out and ran them through mud and water, dangnabit.

The only other stuntman vying for a piece of the collective hearts of kid-dom in the 1970s was The Human Fly, a more obscure thrill seeker who took the Knievel mystique one step further by never appearing without a red-and-white mask. Marvel Comics published a short-lived comic book based on him, but the stories that were far more make-believe than real.

The ’70s Human Fly should not be confused with the Human Fly from earlier in the century, Harry H. Gardiner, hired by the Detroit News in 1916 to scale the Majestic Building in downtown Chicago.

No, the disco-era Fly was allegedly Canadian stuntman Rick Rojatt, who jumped 27 buses on a rocket-powered motorcycle inside the Montreal Olympic Stadium. I say allegedly because Rojatt has disappeared from public view; Internet searches for his name produce only a few scattered hits, mostly to the comic book series.

Despite his mystique – or maybe because of it – the Human Fly never captivated the world the way Evel did. There was just something about Knievel, garbed in those American colors, defying death and making a heck of a good living at it, that epitomized capitalism and coolness in equal measures. Other people might come along and top his records – indeed, most of his stunts have been replicated and surpassed – but Evel did it first, or at least did it with more flair than the barnstorming daredevils who inspired him.

That counts for something.

Ladies and gentlemen, Evel Knievel, the man for whom the expression “Kids, don’t try this at home” was invented.

Or if it wasn’t, it should have been.

Originally published December 2007