Against All Odds: My Story (25 page)

Divorce was a shock to my system. Besides the emotional issues of dealing with a sense of failure, I was suddenly thrown into a whole new lifestyle, one I wasn't particularly sure I was going to enjoy. All my life I had been accustomed to being taken care of and nurtured by strong, wonderful women, first by my mom and Granny, and then by my wife, Dianne. I have to admit that I was more than a little scared about being single and alone in Hollywood. Nevertheless, the thought of being available to the women of Hollywood seemed intriguing. So, I dated … and I dated … and I dated for about eight months. That's as long as the thrill lasted.

I was making one to three films every year, and by the time each movie was completed, I was drained emotionally, physically, and spiritually. To counter my workaholic tendencies, I recognized that I needed some time away from work for rest and relaxation. Not the type of guy to sit around for long, I wanted to find some activity that would fill the void in my life yet transport my heart and mind away from the workplace for a while.

I remembered Steve McQueen telling me that his favorite form of relaxation was racing a car or a motorcycle since racing required his mind to be totally focused and completely centered on the task at hand rather than on his latest movie. When the race was over, he relaxed thoroughly, mostly from exhaustion! Steve's method sounded like something that might work for me.

Being competitive by nature, I entered a celebrity truck race behind the wheel of a souped-up Nissan in the Frontier 100 Mile Off-Road Race held in Las Vegas, competing against other celebrity drivers, many of whom had been racing for years. Amazingly, I placed first! Not surprisingly, after winning that race, I was hooked.

Soon after that first win, I entered another celebrity off-road race with my son Eric—then nineteen years old—as my codriver. We were in the lead until I rolled the truck over three times. Fortunately, we weren't hurt, but the wreck left Eric and me stranded in the desert for hours!

I had entered and won several more celebrity races when the Vegas race promoters told me they had a ringer to race against me in the Mint 400 in Las Vegas. The night of the pre-race party, a man walked in wearing a racing helmet that covered his face. I stared at him, trying to figure out who he might be. He walked up to me and took off his helmet. To my surprise, it was my brother Aaron!

Aaron is as competitive as I am and had been a stunt driver in many films, so I knew I was in for a real challenge. The following morning, when the race began, Aaron immediately took the lead with me following behind, a close second.

During off-road races there are designated stops where drivers are given beads to prove they have not taken illegal shortcuts. Every time I came to a stop, I'd ask, “How far is Aaron ahead of me?”

The first reply was, “Ten minutes.” The second reply was, “Six minutes.” The third reply was, “Two minutes.”

Aaron later told me that he believed he was way ahead of me, so he slowed down as he got closer to the finish line. He was shocked when he crossed the finish line and six seconds later I came flying through. Steve McQueen was right. The most relaxed I ever felt was after driving that Nissan truck in an off-road race.

In 1985, Michael Reagan, President Reagan's son, broke the world powerboat record from Chicago to Detroit with a time of twelve hours, thirty-four minutes, twenty seconds. In 1989, I was offered the opportunity to break Michael's world record in a race sanctioned by the American Power Boat Association. I jumped at the chance.

I was to drive a forty-six-foot V-hull Scarab boat with twin 425-horsepower engines that reached speeds of seventy miles per hour! The course was 612 miles from the harbor in Chicago to the Renaissance Center in Detroit. My codriver was Walter Payton, famed running back for the Chicago Bears, and the throttleman was Eddie Morenz. My friend, Bob Wall, came along for the ride.

We left the harbor in Chicago at 7 AM and had smooth running over the Great Lakes to Mackinac Island, where we refueled and then took off again, streaking across Lake Huron, headed for Detroit. We were ten miles from the finish line, and within reach of setting a new record, when we encountered a storm that knocked out our navigational system. We got lost in the Detroit channels for more than three hours before finding our way to the finish line. When we finally moored, Walter flopped down on the boat deck and said, “I'll never do this again!”

Undaunted, the following year, I decided to try again to beat Michael Reagan's record. Try as I might, I couldn't talk Walter into returning with me, so I became the lone driver. Eddie Morenz returned as my throttle man, but I did all the driving myself. We had a smooth run, didn't get lost, and arrived in Detroit with a time of twelve hours, eight minutes, and forty-two seconds, bettering Michael's record by twenty-six minutes!

I thought that would be the end of my boat-racing career, but a few months later, Al Copeland, the owner of Popeye's Chicken, asked me to replace him as the driver of his Popeye Super Powerboat.

I had seen these powerboat races on television and was very impressed. The boats are fifty-foot-long catamarans with jet engines capable of speeds up to 140 miles per hour! A dozen boats race one another around buoys that stretch out over the water for miles. Again my competitive spirit kicked in, so I told Al I would do it.

My first race was to be in Long Beach, California. I arrived on the morning of the race, and Al took me to see the boat for the first time. It looked like a spaceship, much more ominous up close than viewing it on television. I asked Al if I could test-drive it. “Oh, no, I'm sorry,” he said. “It's tuned just right for the race. You will just have to go for it.”

At race time we pulled out to the starting line and took off. In seconds we were running neck and neck with five other boats, hitting speeds of more than 120 miles per hour! The first buoy we had to go around was about five miles from the start, and as we approached, I told Bobby, the throttle man, that I wasn't sure how to get around it with so many other boats around us. Bobby backed off the throttle, and the five other boats pulled in front of us. Suddenly the boat right in front of me hit a wake and flipped about twenty feet into the air. I barely managed to get around it as the catamaran crashed upside down on the water. When I finally got my heart out of my throat, I thought,
Hey! This is a dangerous game! This will be my one and only race, but at least I can say I tried it
.

We raced hard, and just when it looked as though we had no chance, the two lead boats broke down, and we wound up winning the race! Now I was hooked! I raced superboats nine more times that year and finished the year in third place.

The next year my team and I won the National Superboat Championship. Sadly, Stefano Casiraghi, the husband of Princess Caroline of Monaco, was killed in one of the races, and his death became international news. He was only thirty years of age. I was under contract with Cannon Films, and Yoram Globus, my boss, heard about the tragic accident. “Is that the kind of racing you are doing?” Yoram asked.

I said, “Yes, it is.”

“Not anymore,” Yoram said bluntly.

My boat-racing days were over. I had won the national superboat title, and I had broken a world record, so what more could I ask for? (Famous last words!) Well …

As I previously mentioned, I've always had an incredible respect and immense regard for the men and women who serve in the United States Armed Forces. As a former Air Force man myself, I know all too well the many sacrifices these men and women make to defend our country and to fight for peace and justice around the world.

That's why when I was invited to fly with the Blue Angels, I again jumped at the chance to live dangerously. I flew with the Blue Angels twice. On my first flight in 1991, Kevin, the pilot, buckled me in and told me, “Chuck, about 90 percent of my passengers throw up.”

“Why did you have to tell me that?” I asked him. “The thought never entered my mind until now.”

Soon after we took off, Kevin tried to get me to barf by doing barrel rolls and other maneuvers. Sure enough, I felt sick. I pulled out the barf bag, but I knew that Kevin would tell everyone that I threw up, so I swallowed it back down. When we landed, I was white as a sheet, but I didn't throw up!

The next time I flew with the Blue Angels, I asked Wayne, the pilot, not to put me through that ordeal again. He said he wouldn't and he didn't. He asked me if I would like to see how he approached an aircraft carrier for a landing. “Sure!” I said.

Wayne told me over the intercom that he would have to slow the jet down from a cruising speed of 550 knots to a landing speed of 140 knots. To do that he would have to bank the plane hard left, which would give it a G force of about six Gs.

When we banked the jet, I saw a bright tunnel closing to complete darkness, and I blacked out for a moment. When the tunnel finally got bright again, I asked Wayne if he was OK.

“Yeah,” he said. “I have a pressure suit on.”

“Oh, good,” I said. “Can I have a pressure suit, too, next time?”

One day at a White House function, I had the opportunity to meet the Secretary of the Navy. I said, “Mr. Secretary, I have spent two days on the
USS Constellation
. I've been on the
USS Kennedy
, and I've flown with the Blue Angels twice, but my dream is to land on an aircraft carrier.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

He smiled and said, “I'll see what I can do.”

About four months later I was invited to go to the Top Gun facility at Miramar, near San Diego, where I was to train for two days to prepare for my ride in an F-14 Tomcat and a landing on the
USS Nimitz
, which was 250 miles out at sea.

When I arrived at the facility, I met several of the Top Gun pilots including the one who would be flying me. His nickname was Maverick. Tom Cruise chose Maverick's handle for the name of his character in the movie
Top Gun
.

On the first day I was to train in water-survival techniques since we were scheduled to fly over the ocean. I was taken to a pool that looked to be a hundred feet long. I was wearing my flight gear and boots that felt like they weighed ten pounds each. I was told to swim to the other end of the pool. I was thinking,
I don't know if I can make it with this flight gear on
. The next thing I knew I was in the pool, swimming for the far end. I barely made it across. I was hanging on to the side thinking,
I can't believe I made it
, when I heard someone shout, “Now, come back!”
Oh, boy
, I thought, and started to swim back. I got about half way across, when I was so tired that I stopped kicking, and with the weight of the heavy boots pulling me down, I dropped straight to the bottom of the pool. I kicked up to look for help, but there wasn't any. I went down and popped up three more times, thinking,
They're going to let me drown out here!
Finally, I saw a life raft being shoved out toward me.

“Climb into it!” I heard.

I struggled into the raft, using my last ounce of strength.

The next day I went into the altitude chamber with several military officers including an admiral with whom I was teamed. I told him about my water survival experience. “Ha! You didn't have to do that,” he said with a chuckle. “They just wanted to see what you were made of.”

“Well, they found out!” I said.

On the third day I was fitted with a flight pressure suit, and I was ready to go. Maverick and I took off from Miramar air base and headed out to sea to land on the
Nimitz
. As we approached the carrier, Maverick decided to do three touch-and-go landings before setting down on the deck.

Following the third approach, Maverick brought the expensive jet in perfectly, bringing it to a stop with plenty of room to spare on the edge of the aircraft carrier. I climbed out of the fighter jet, toured the carrier, and shook hands with about five thousand sailors and Marines. Then I went up on the bridge to meet the captain.

All too soon, it was time to take off for home. As we were heading back to the base, Maverick told me he was going to show me what it would be like to experience an aerial “dog fight” with an enemy aircraft. He flipped, twisted, and turned the jet every which way. After a few minutes, I felt my stomach doing much the same! I was getting real queasy. I pressed the intercom button, and said, “Maverick, we lost him.”

Maverick laughed, and said, “Oh, I get your meaning.”

CHAPTER 21

A SIN THAT BECAME A BLESSING