The first two years of his career he teamed with this father. Early on in this relationship he got a bit of a lesson from his owner. “In all the years I drove for Junior Hillenburg, he only got on to me one time,” he recalls. “It was 1982 or 1983 and it was a 50-lap race. Dad was leading and I was running second. We would get out of traffic and I would catch up to him. So I finally caught up and I ran over him. I knocked him up the track and he nearly spun out. Junior said, ‘You can run over anybody out there, but you can‘t run over your dad!‘ We still ran first and second, but he said let that be a lesson.”
In Crawford‘s rookie year his father was facing a difficult season, mainly due to a series of blown engines. Through all of this, what Donnie remembers were the post-race debriefings in the family home. “He was more concerned with how I was doing than the trouble he was having,” he says. “Dad was such a great asset. He would never let me win, but he would do all he could to help me.”
The lessons took, because in 1983 Donnie Crawford nailed down his first Tulsa Speedway championship. One could only imagine how proud Ray was of his son, and now he began to ponder his own exit from the sport. By 1984 Ray was content to step away and his departure paved the way for Andy Hillenburg to take the next step in his career.
The 1984 Tulsa Speedway championship tussle was one of the most memorable in the history of racing at the Oil Capitol. Significantly, it would be the last official season of racing at the fairgrounds, ending a 30-year run. It would go right down to the wire and the two combatants were Crawford and Hillenburg.
Two features were on tap for the final night, with Andy holding a slight advantage. Perhaps it was a sign of things to come when Hillenburg‘s team suffered a flat tire on the way to the track. However, when Crawford flipped in the first feature it appeared that his run to a second crown had ended. Then suddenly the car was back on its wheels and was headed to the pits for a quick assessment. He was able to continue. Andy would have nothing but awful luck. By the time the second feature was underway, engine woes were in full force and all he could do was slowly circle the track. In the end, Hillenburg never won a track title and soon he was off competing with the World of Outlaws.
Championship fights can strain the bonds of friendship, but not in this case. “I think we both cared,” Hillenburg says. “But not nearly that much.” This relationship ran far too deep for this point battle to ever matter. Donnie Crawford considered Harold Hillenburg a second father, and Andy felt the same about Ray Crawford. “Ray was my hero, first of all,” Hillenburg says. “I grew up idolizing him. Later he would come out and help me on the road when we were struggling. Afterwards I was by there once or twice a week for the last 20 years.”
Taking it a step further, Crawford adds, “When Andy‘s dad died, my dad felt like he needed to father Andy a little bit. And he did.”
Hillenburg would spend some time tending to the family business but, recognizing that he had no desire to attend college, he chose instead to pursue his racing dreams. Donnie Crawford continued to race too but, like his father, he made a conscious decision to stay closer to home. A part of that motivation came when he was introduced to a stunningly attractive young woman named Jodie Garcia. They naturally met at the racetrack.
Jodie was with a group that included Jon Werthen, and Crawford suddenly was interested in more than gear ratios and shock travel. Calling this a date, Jodie would make a trip to watch Donnie race at Muskogee. Laughing as she tells the story, Jodie recalls that her future husband was nearly comical on this significant evening. “His mother couldn‘t believe the story” she says, “because he is so reserved. He was singing songs like “Elvira” and “The Gambler,” and of course Donnie can‘t carry a tune.”
Because Crawford is reserved, humble, and chose to race close to home, a narrative emerged that obscures reality. In some ways he has perpetuated the myth as well. When he thinks about his own racing career, and places it next to one of his best and longest friends, he says, “Andy had more natural ability than I did. He was always a little bit better than I was and I accept that. I always did, because his natural ability and his style were really hard to beat. When we rode motorcycles when we were growing up, it was the same way. We didn‘t race, but it was hard to beat Andy, and he was two or three years younger than me.”
For his part, Hillenburg knows that Crawford deserves more notoriety than he has garnered outside of the state of Oklahoma, and is quick to dismiss any notion that he was just a good local racer. “The issue is, he never ventured out,” Andy says. “He stayed right here. I can guarantee you he could have made a living driving a race car. If you tried to outrun him at Tulsa, you would find out how good he was. Take tracks like Tulsa, Oklahoma City, Wichita, Dallas, Muskogee, and he was fast at all of those tracks no matter who was racing.”
Hillenburg also marvels at what transpired when the new Tulsa Speedway was launched north of downtown. “When they moved,” Andy says, “he had that place figured out. There was no contest. He was the best person at that track. Hands down. No one could argue that.”
When you press Crawford on how many races he won in his career, true to form, he says, “I really have no idea. We had lots of people behind us and I was really lucky to have the opportunities I had.” He also makes no apologies for the decisions he made in his career. “We did go out a little bit,” he says. “But we did it for fun. When Andy was running the Outlaws, we ran at Oklahoma City and maybe Dallas a few times. I would say I did somewhere between 15 to 20 World of Outlaws races. I just wasn‘t quite as good as those guys were. Not quite good enough to get a win. But that was because we just didn‘t do it enough.”
If there was a temptation to follow Hillenburg on the road, it really was a fleeting thought. “Jodie and I talked about it,” he says. “And there were probably some opportunities to do it. I just chose not to. We were successful staying at home. I had a great family, we had great jobs and had a great life together. We all want to be a sprint car champion, but we all can‘t be one. Sometimes you have to do what is best for you and what is best for your family. I have no regrets at all.”
The record shows there is no reason for regrets. Crawford adapted as racing in Tulsa evolved from the classic Midwest-style supermodifieds to 410 sprint cars. All he did was win. When the accounting was done, Donnie had won 14 Tulsa Speedway championships and he closed out his career winning five straight 410 sprint car titles from 1997 to 2001.
As life goes full circle and we moved into a new century, Donnie Crawford could easily empathize with his father. He was still racing and he was still winning. Still, something told him it was time to step away. It was a decision made easier when Tulsa Speedway dropped 410 sprint cars and essentially began to fade away. “I‘m not going to tell you I was ready to quit; I still really enjoyed it. I am not even sure if I was at the top of my game, but it was time for me to quit as a family man and a married person. I was a dad. Fortunately, I had Donnie Ray, and I was able to go right into it with him. It is not like I really ever quit, it was just like I became a mechanic instead of a driver.”
For a time, it appeared that Donnie Ray Crawford‘s introduction to the speed game was going to mirror that of his father and Andy Hillenburg. The instigator was Harold Hillenburg. “Junior had bought him a brand new motorcycle — a KX65 — when he was eight years old,” Donnie says. “And I got on that bike and it was going unbelievably fast. I thought, I can‘t put him on that at eight years old, so I stuck it away. Now I regret it, because he didn‘t get to ride that bike that much, and I still have it.”
However, there did come a time when Crawford felt good about his son moving into the micro ranks. He first turned to the late Pete Frazier. Frazier, who would eventually race for Lloyd K Stephens‘ OFIXCO team, was a legend in the micro ranks. Donnie spent some time alongside Pete putting a 250 micro together, noting that it was an economical motor to race. Later, the family secured a car from Bobby and Scott Sawyer. To no one‘s surprise, Junior Hillenburg chipped in to support the effort.
Just because your name was Crawford didn‘t mean you were going to set the world on fire. It was a process. But as Donnie Ray accrued more seat time the results followed. According to his father, when his son moved to the restrictor class at Port City he did reasonably well and did win a championship. Then the switch really flipped. “We started running in the A-Class at Port City and Claremore on Friday and Saturday night,” Donnie recalls. “and we started running two classes. We didn‘t worry about what we were going to do on the weekend because that‘s what we did. We were going between Port City and Claremore.
I had learned enough about racing micros, so the last several years I got pretty good with the cars. Without Dad I couldn‘t have done anything either, and with Donnie Ray it was the same way. He counted on me to get done what needed to be done, but I tried to make him make some decisions also. That was a great time for the family.”
Something else was happening, as well, for it was in this period that Crawford realized his son was truly becoming a young man.
Now the shoe was on the other foot once again. Donnie, while deeply involved, was another spectator when the race began. It was just like those days when he sat in the stands and watched his dad. It turned out that it wasn‘t that hard to do. “I was never nervous with Donnie Ray because he was just so tough and resilient,” he says. “I mean, he was just a tough kid. He started winning a few races and he decided it was a lot more fun to win than run second. He also got physically tough. It‘s like Frank Flud is right now. There are a lot of good micro drivers out there, and he‘s not a bodybuilder but Frank can go out there and run 500 laps. Donnie Ray could do that too. There are a lot of guys out there, if it is a 55-lap race, at lap 45 they are falling out of the saddle.”
Just like his father and grandfather, winning became a habit for Donnie Ray as well. He captured six Golden Drillers in the Tulsa Shootout and began to find his way into full midget competition. He got a real opportunity at the 2007 Chili Bowl Nationals when offered a chance to race for Pete Willoughby and Keith Kunz. He was an immediate hit. In a stellar performance, Donnie Ray was an easy choice for Rookie of the Year, capped by a sparkling fifth-place finish on Saturday night. He was 16 years old and it looked like the door had swung wide open for him.
Unfortunately, he just ran into some bad luck. Pete and Keith were willing to take him on the road, and his father felt that he was mature enough to deal with it. It was going to be a whole new arrangement. This was a professional race team, and Donnie knew that his role was to be a supporter. Dangled in front of Donnie Ray were opportunities to do some pavement racing and even get some time in a sprint car. These would be all new experiences. Then it seemed everywhere they went the rain followed.
In the end, it really didn‘t pan out as planned.
He drifted back to micros, and in 2008 while at Oklahoma City‘s I-44 Speedway Crawford was a key player in an event which would impact the lives of many. In spite of how much he downplayed what transpired, in the eyes of many Donnie Ray Crawford was nothing short of a hero. Crawford was strapped in his car prepared to start from the pole in his race, when he saw a car flip, land on its side and erupt in flames. In the car was 12-year-old Harli White, and she could not escape.
Donnie Crawford remembers the moment well. “I was on the back straightaway clear across away from the fire,” he says. “And I knew there were children out there. I didn‘t find it in myself to do anything. I can name you every excuse in the book, but I just didn‘t do anything. As I turned my back I thought, ‘Oh this is terrible,‘ and I started walking toward Donnie Ray. I already knew in my mind he was going to be right in the middle of it. So I started jogging, and when I came around the corner he was gone. He had already peeled out of his car. So, I kept running and I saw he had just pulled her out.”
After he extracted Harli from her car, Crawford covered her body in an attempt to extinguish the flames. Her injuries were severe, she had a long road ahead of her, but she was alive. She knows to this day who she has to thank for that. “He‘s not the only kid who would have tried to have done that,” Donnie says. “And others helped out. But he got the recognition for it. He did a big part of it. I‘m not sure I could have done it, and I would do just about anything for a kid.”
What probably gets less attention is the aftereffects that arise in these situations. It‘s great to be seen as a hero, but the trauma that comes from experiencing a horrific incident firsthand can‘t be minimized. Donnie Ray had every right to be knocked off his moorings for a time, but he brushed himself off and was prepared to get on with life. He pondered being an EMT for a time and, as always, he raced. He enjoyed a level of success with the Southern Midget Racing Series, earning Rookie of the Year honors, and eventually made his way into sprint cars. In 2011 he was also back in the national spotlight by taking a preliminary win at the Chili Bowl Nationals.
While racing was still fun, and he was still capable of finding victory lane, Donnie Ray took a harder look at his future. Like his father and grandfather before him, he harbored racing dreams, but also had the ability to look at the big picture. By January of 2012 he had decided that it was time to get serious about his education. He had been accepted at the University of Oklahoma, with a plan of pursuing an engineering degree. Everything was in place. Because of the relationship that had developed on that fateful night in 2008, Donnie Ray was set to move a bit west and live with Harli White‘s family. His new journey would begin immediately at the conclusion of the Chili Bowl.
That‘s where one part of the story ends.
Donnie Ray Crawford‘s death was a tragedy that struck a chord in the greater Tulsa area and the racing world. It was unfathomable. Somehow, the entire family was forced to find a way to survive this. It was not going to be easy. The statistics show that marriages crumble in such times. It is so easy to turn within, fail to be emotionally available to each other and drift apart. Chassi Crawford had also lost a brother that was dear to her. Somehow Donnie and Jodie Crawford had to be a guiding and steadying force in her life at the same time that their world was turned inside out. To this day, Jodie Crawford marvels at her daughter‘s ability to understand at this critical time. “Bless her heart,” Jodie says. “She understood my grief. She said, ‘Mom, you carried him and you nursed him.‘”
The death of Donnie Ray Crawford cast a pall over the Chili Bowl crowd. Emmett Hahn‘s eyes were visibly red from crying, and he constantly struggled to keep it together. He had fought many a battle with Ray Crawford but could only smile when his grandson Blake and Donnie Ray Crawford were teammates.
It was a tough night for so many. In a fitting gesture, it was announced that thereafter the Saturday night main event would be 55 laps in recognition of the number the Crawford family had carried on their race cars for so many years. Predictably, the fans did their part, offering monetary contributions in support of the family.
It was the money that sparked an idea. In typical Crawford family style, they decided that the best way to honor Donnie Ray was the establishment of a foundation. It was here that the Donnie Ray Crawford Legacy Foundation was born.
The primary focus of the foundation is to support individuals interested in furthering their education. There is, however, one unique twist. “We aren‘t looking for the best and the brightest,” Jodie says. “And it‘s not just for kids. We wouldn‘t hesitate to help a single mother who wanted to go back and get a degree.”
She draws inspiration from her own son, who began college and, perhaps for a time, lost his focus. Every educator has seen this. When Donnie Ray Crawford was prepared to begin anew at the University of Oklahoma, he was now ready to give college his total attention. This is the kind of individual the Foundation is poised to help. There is no requirement to have been a model student your entire life, but what you do need to demonstrate is that a little boost can be a key in changing your life.
It is an example of the unique niche the Donnie Ray Crawford Legacy Foundation occupies. The Foundation has fundraisers at the Tulsa Shootout, the Chili Bowl, events at Port City Raceway (including the Donnie Ray Crawford Memorial) and a bass fishing tournament. To date, the Foundation has given out over $175,000 in support. There are also incentives in place to receive continued funding over several years based on academic performance. The bottom line is that this Foundation is making a difference, and it has the chance to continue to do so for years to come. There is a Crawford racing legacy, but this is another example of the Crawford family legacy. When you follow the thread of this story, you find that all of this hangs together.
Doing good work for others helps ease the pain some. Still, as can be expected, there are still very difficult moments. Jodie Crawford is very candid about how difficult it can be. “I am so blessed,” Jodie says. “I thank God every day because I can‘t think of another man who would stand by what we have gone through. Marriages do not typically last through things like this. I can see every reason why. We‘re still making it through it.
“Sometimes it is so quiet, and sometimes I may be thinking about the whole situation that took place in our home and I don‘t know if he is thinking about it too. And so, you sat there, and you kind of go through the whole process kind of by yourself because you don‘t want to bring the other one down. To live that way is still really hard. We talk. We talk about it. Sometimes he is quiet and I wonder if he is thinking about it. There are times I am quiet too, but I really need to talk.”
In October Donnie lost his beloved father. Within months, he stared at a calendar facing another dark anniversary. At such times it is inevitable that he ponders what could have been. The good thing is that he shared a trait with his son. He‘s tough too. Hopefully in his best moments he thinks about what was, and how much good has come from the worst of tragedies.
For 35 years he has worked for Snap-On Tools. It is a hectic job, but he loves it. Still, it‘s a different world he lives in now. The old fairgrounds grandstands have been torn down, and the track on the north side of Tulsa is covered in weeds. It‘s just not the same. Donnie says that one of his favorite stops is a motorcycle shop where he calls on some younger men that he really enjoys. “They love tools,” he says. “And they don‘t have a clue that I ever raced.” The funny thing is, as so many know, he‘s never going to tell them.
Maybe there is an essential lesson here, and one that is so often overlooked. Racers aren‘t necessarily heroes. Generally they are everyday people doing an odd job. It is a job that a select few do unusually well. No one denies that the Crawfords have been very good at racing. Yet, most important of all, the Crawfords have been good at just being people. Ray Crawford made legions of fans by the way he conducted himself. Donnie Crawford has been as concerned about being a good husband and father as he ever was about being a great race driver. And Donnie Ray Crawford, without a second thought, hurled himself into a ball of fire to save a young girl from certain death. Greatness takes many forms, and rarely is it an account of wins, awards and accolades. More often, being great is a matter of character.
Andy Hillenburg and Donnie Crawford remain great friends to this day. The families, it seems, will be forever intertwined. In time, Andy‘s daughter Sawyer would marry Donnie Ray Crawford‘s best friend, Kyle Evans. When the couple welcomed a daughter into the world, they named their little girl Crawford.
There‘s more. In the aftermath of Donnie Ray‘s death, fellow racer Jake Rosario stepped forward to offer the family support. He had spoken at Donnie Ray‘s services, and he asked permission to visit the family. Jodie Crawford, for one, was impressed by the young man‘s level of empathy. He was also able to offer support to Chassi Crawford, who was understandably struggling too. Both would insist that they were not a match. Maybe it was the passage of time that helped each take a deeper look. In the end, the pair fell in love and married.
Everyone was ecstatic when Chassi announced she was pregnant with the couple‘s first child. It was a boy. Jake then came to the Crawfords with a request. He felt strongly that the Crawford legacy must continue, and requested permission for the child to be named Donald Ray Crawford IV. It was a selfless gesture that still leaves Donnie and Jodie Crawford nearly speechless.
To learn more about the Donnie Ray Crawford Legacy Foundation or to make a donation, information can be found at donnieraycrawford.com
Is racing in this child‘s future, or his younger brother Lambert Drake Rosario? That decision will naturally fall to the parents and the boys. If the boys do choose to go in this direction, Donnie Crawford is all in. “I will support it because racing is such a good thing for anybody if you choose to do it,” he says. “You know, there are so many distractions now days, but racing has made me and all of my friends much better persons than we would have been otherwise.”