We’ve seen the scenario play out time and time again.

People take inherent risks and then seem surprised when the end result plays out as it should have.

Blame Stella Liebeck.

She’s the 79-year old woman who spilled McDonald’s coffee on her lap and then sued McDonald’s for making its coffee too hot.

Along the same line, it should come as no surprise to someone who moves down the street from a drag strip that it can be noisy.

Just as Liebeck found a sympathetic and enterprising lawyer, all too often these unsuspecting neighbors are finding sympathetic elected officials all too happy to assist in their ignorance.

There’s also a Dan Porrevecchio in most every action against these facilities.

Now, in your everyday conversations, Porrevecchio’s name might be as common as Liebeck’s.

Porrevecchio represents the neighborhood community leader, and we happened across his name in reading a Kansas City Star article regarding the closing of Kansas City International Raceway last month.

Porrevecchio, described in the article as the past president of the Little Blue Valley Homes Association, a group located in the general area of the soon-to-be-closed drag strip, is clearly not a drag strip’s fan.

According to the article, Porrevecchio said his neighborhood group had been trying for a long time to relocate the racetrack, which was noisy.

Clearly he’s at fault here but maybe it takes two to tango in this dance of wills. Could it be that many drag strip owners are acting ignorant and could help their cause, or the longevity of their livelihood by merely reaching out to the neighbors? Just closing your eyes and wishing away a problem does not solve it.

Getting your hands in the dirt and working on a peaceful solution does.

Just ask the Napp Family.

A lot can be learned by the example of David Napp, the third-generation of the Old Bridge Township Raceway Park track owners. When the Englishtown, N.J. facility was built in 1965, it was described by a local newspaper as surrounded by miles and miles of untouched woodland. Today there are more than 25,000 residents who live within earshot of the facility.

Maybe some tracks could be saved by trying to follow the Napp family’s lead.

The Napp family has had its share of court cases leading to the implementation of operating curfews and eventually the construction of $600,000 in noise barriers.

Napp admits for the last quarter century he’s heard threats of the track being closed down by unhappy neighbors who moved in after the track was built. This doesn’t mean he’s backed off of making an attempt to appease the neighbors through trying to be a good neighbor in faithfully observing curfews and also providing those within a mile of the track with lifetime passes to visit the track.

Because of these suits in the past, anyone buying a home within hearing distance of the Englishtown facility must sign a document acknowledging the noise from the track is acceptable.

But we can promise you, once Englishtown changes ownership or closes, we will have heard the last of racing in this area just as the fans of KCIR have heard the last of the drag strip in their community.

Yes, the home owner group which lobbied for KCIR’s closing said they would help in finding a suitable replacement, but this rarely happens. What usually happens is the beleaguered track owner makes a sound business decision to take the money and find something else to do. In today’s economic state, the risk just isn’t worth the reward and they walk away.

I learned early in life how this game is played.

Next week will mark 28 years that Spartanburg Dragway, my local track, met a similar demise. This facility was a staple in the town’s history but quickly became history when faced with soon-to-be neighbors.

In 1983, textile magnate Roger Milliken and his band of snobbish commandos sought a parcel of land less than a mile from the strip to put in, of all things, a golf course and a gated community for the wealthy. They eventually sought the property the drag strip was on, for of all things, a private landing strip.
 
In the end, days after the sale, bulldozers were brought in to rip up the asphalt, and to this date no plane ever landed there. It’s just an overgrown mess of briar patches, poison oak, and trees with remnants of a drag strip. They bought it to close it.

I’ll give the Spartanburg group credit. At least they made the purchase before their development.

However, had their offer been turned down, this is the scenario which would have likely transpired.

The group would have brought ordinance after ordinance, until the city eventually cried imminent domain under the guise of a private jetport, leaving the owner to accept the measly offer they’d produce. This deal would be brokered by a council person who would take credit on his or her way up the political ladder.
 
Of course the jetport would have never been built.

But the track would have been closed. Mission accomplished.

Sure smells a lot like political extortion.

In reading the various accounts of Councilwoman Cindy Circo’s apparent actions with the rushed KCIR sale, I can’t help but think this was along those lines. Sell us the track or
we condemn the land, your choice.

But, they likely always will deny it.

I have been thinking, in this day of frivolous lawsuits, to try to score a victory for myself and everyone who lost our local track.

What if I bought my childhood home, and on the first summer night went out on the front porch, and enjoyed a peaceful evening. For me, the peacefulness was generated from hearing the screams of a stick-shift, small block resonating over the cricket chirps in the country. Every gear shift was clearly defined in the humid Carolina night.
 
And when, the memory doesn’t produce the kind of horsepower symphony I used to immerse myself in, I will wake up early on Monday morning and march down to the county administrative offices where I will file a complaint.

The old neighborhood is just too quiet.

Maybe I will call Porrevecchio for some tips and Circo for muscle.

Our cause will have solid footing. The silence is deafening.