By Mike Kitchel
Motorsports isn’t a world for people obsessed with sticking to a plan or those who draw comfort in the monotony of working nine-to-five. Part of what makes this business fascinating is the inevitable consistency of the unexpected. It’s remarkable, at times, to analyze just how far you deviate off the map and still manage to hit the mark. No matter how much you prepare, or how deeply in stone your original plan is etched, a time will arrive where its relevance becomes moot.

Pole Day at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway is one of professional sports’ true anomalies – even within the very sport that’s made it an annual staple for over a century. Here, a collection of the world’s most brash and fearless athletes – explicitly wired to exceed speeds most humans cannot comprehend – line up to dance along both sides of the razor’s edge.

If anxiety and tension were palpable, then Pole Day would be a feast.

Pole weekend in 2015 was no exception. The qualification line hadn’t even opened when Ed Carpenter’s No. 20 Chevrolet unexpectedly spun in the second turn during practice and was ripped to shreds as it soared into the catch fence. Carpenter was uninjured. But the angst – which typically dissipates in an instant when drivers climb out of the car – remained.
 
I was the INDYCAR communications director at the time, a job that included running point in the medical center during any on-track incident. My trips from the media center to medical often happened so quickly – and frequently – that I rarely remembered them. This was an exception. I’d stayed in the media center long enough to see that Ed was uninjured, but I knew the way in which his car went airborne – eerily similar to crashes earlier in the week involving Helio Castroneves and Carpenter’s teammate Josef Newgarden – was assurance we were headed for the eye of the storm. Brand new aero package on the cars. Three crashes. Three cars airborne. We had a serious problem.

“What are they going to do?” a colleague asked as our golf kart sped towards the medical center. “I mean . . . are they going to cancel Pole Day?”

I’d been debating the exact same question from the time the wheels on Carpenter’s car left the ground. Surely everybody on the grounds at IMS, and throughout the world, was thinking the exact same thing. Through all the speculation dancing around in my head, I could come to only one conclusion:

“I have no idea.”

The procedure in the medical center includes an official diagnosis from INDYCAR’s Medical Director and, when released, a short PR briefing with the driver to prepare them for speaking with media. With incidents of this magnitude the crowd of journalists, TV cameras, microphones and casual observers gather outside the medical center quickly. My conversation when a driver is released from medical isn’t overly elaborate; a quick rundown of the situation, a few potential questions and – if necessary – suggested talking points for the response. I typically kept it extremely short. With veteran drivers little council is necessary.

Moments after they climb from a destroyed racecar is not a time drivers are interested in much coaching.

I’ve known Ed as long as any driver in the paddock and consider him a friend, but I’ve also learned to never underestimate the temper of a team owner who’s written off his second tub in less than a week. Carpenter is nothing if not passionate and the IndyCar Series could use more competitors with his fiery spirit. I’d worked with him briefly while at Panther Racing and when he won the pole at Kentucky Speedway in 2011 he gave me a high-five so hard I had a blood blister on my palm for weeks. My assumption, while waiting for him to be released from medical, was that losing his chance for another pole position at Indianapolis could provoke a more dramatic response than winning one at Kentucky.

I was correct.

He burst through the door that separates the examination room from the lobby and made a B-line for the exit door – which was all that separated the two-time defending Indy 500 pole sitter from the nation’s media. Unlike most PR people, I’m typically more inclined to push a pissed off driver in front of a TV camera than pull him away from one, but this was a unique circumstance. A media storm had caught fire the minute the wheels on his car left the racetrack and I knew a driver in a rage would only serve as additional fuel to our problem.

I took two steps towards him, but made it no further. I would have proceeded if not for the near certainty that if I took another step I would likely be carried into the examination room from which Carpenter had just departed.

“Kitch,” he said, his eyes piercing a hole through mine. “I’m going to say whatever I want.”

This brings us to a piece of valuable career advice for aspiring public relations professionals: When you have to decide between flaking on your job for a few minutes or getting punched in the mouth by a furious athlete – take a smoke break.

Knowing the severity of the situation I deviated from my normal route back to the media center and headed straight for the INDYCAR Competition trailer in the garage area. Although, upon my arrival, I hardly noticed a difference as seemingly the entire media center gathered outside the trailer – desperate for an ounce of information about what was going to happen. The addition of fans and curious onlookers to the crowd created what bordered on a mob scene.

In the main office inside the trailer all the essential executives were already assembled: INDYCAR President of Competition and Operations Derrick Walker, CEO Mark Miles, IMS President Doug Boles, Hulman & Co. lead counsel Gretchen Snelling, and my boss – CMO C.J. O’Donnell. We were joined at points by VP of Competition Brian Barnhart, VP of Technology Will Phillips as well as several other support staff members from various departments, who were in-and-out of the office as needed as the group worked through its options and quickly toward a plan.

The situation was explicitly unique to the Speedway’s 100-plus years and had seemingly put the motorsports world on a hold, but the decision-makers at its epicenter were operating at maximum efficiency. The tenor of the room was calm, organized and deliberate. The air was packed with intensity but lacked so much as an ounce of panic or uncertainty. The proposition of every potential solution was examined thoroughly, with analysis from applicable outside sources, for both feasibility and potential outcomes. The pace was quick, but calculated. Emotions were firmly in check. The calm of the executives in the room was contagious and provided a needed offset to the severity of the situation. Every conversation was solution-oriented and singularly focused on safety.

The scene was fascinating to experience.

All the major players were quickly assembled to be briefed and for their opinions to be heard. Meetings with Chevrolet and Honda were conducted separately. Teams and drivers were consulted. Various factions within each group had a different take on the situation. Everybody had a solution – typically with their own best interests in mind. When you’re dealing with the diversity of personalities and the sheer competitiveness contained within the INDYCAR paddock it can often be been difficult to get them all to agree the sky is blue. But, in racing, one of the few common bonds that tie the paddock together is an unwavering interest in safety. And, ultimately, that was the driving force in INDYCAR’s decision.  

When the procession of meetings concluded, a plan was cemented: Engine boost levels would be returned to race levels and all cars would qualify in race configuration.

Separately, the ABC television crew was consulted to ensure the alternate plan fit into the TV window and that the day’s audible wouldn’t cause us to lose valuable national television time. Normally, the INDYCAR communications team works tirelessly every day to generate media interest in the sport across the country. For this day at least, Mr. Carpenter had taken that responsibility off our plates – there would be no shortage of national interest or media coverage today.

With a decision of this magnitude, the process of communicating the plan – and accounting for the residual impact on a litany of other elements – is thorough and time consuming. The communication tree that outlines how these decisions make their way to internal league staff, teams, fans, and sponsors is expansive. This process is also essential – often times it isn’t the substance of the news that upsets your stakeholders, it’s if they hear it from another source that isn’t you. The voice that comes from the horse’s mouth is the most important one.

I made my way out to address the hoard of media huddled outside. They were desperate for, and deserved, answers. In retrospect, I should have done this a lot sooner, but the situation was so fluid and tenuous, I wanted to ensure we didn’t put out any misinformation. There had been talk of Miles addressing the media outside the competition trailer, amidst the chaos, but the thought didn’t last long. We certainly didn’t want what had been a calm and controlled decision-making process to conclude with an impromptu, and unorganized, press conference with our CEO standing in the middle of the garage area. Given the magnitude of the moment, the Chris Economaki press conference room in the IMS Media Center was the only choice.

As our security director Ed Harris rounded up a golf cart to take us to the press conference I handed Miles a copy of our release announcing the schedule changes, as well as a statement I’d written from comments he’d provided me earlier. He calmly huddled with Walker and took a moment to jot down his own notes to prepare remarks for an overcrowded press conference room that was eagerly awaiting his arrival. Ultimately, his delivery of the news to the media was every bit as calm, controlled and deliberate as the process under which the decision was reached.

“Perhaps we’re being cautious,” Miles proclaimed to a standing-room only crowd. “But that’s the responsible thing to do.”

And, with that, the crowd – and the chaos – dissipated. We all went back to work as usual.

Hours later, on the same day, a smaller and more subdued crowd gathered in what hardly seemed like the same press conference room. At the microphone Scott Dixon was all smiles as he discussed securing his second career pole at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. While the speed of his four-lap average may not have been quite as high as anticipated at sunrise, he was one of 33 drivers who secured a spot in the 99th Running of the Indianapolis 500 Mile Race.

Which was the plan all along.

The Catalyst Blog