The inspiration to write this book came from my father. Also a writer, Tom Fitzgerald started work in 2002 on an epic fable about Benjamin Franklin. At the outset, he anticipated that it would take him about a year to complete it. One year turned into two, two became three, four, and more, and still he was not satisfied. Tom held the manuscript close to his vest through this long incubation. Finally, after six years, he decided that Poor Richard’s Lament was ready to be shared with a small number of critical readers, among whom I was lucky to be included.
I expected it to be good. I did not expect to discover that my own father had written one of the best novels I’d ever read (and I read a lot of them). I had known, of course, that he was a capable writer. I’d just had no idea he was capable of such unalloyed brilliance. Nor had he. The book showed me what is possible when a man of mortal gifts makes a total commitment to doing the very best he can. No sooner had I read the last page of Poor Richard’s Lament than I began to search for my own way of giving 100 percent.
The debt of gratitude that I owe my dad for his contributions to this book begins with the mentoring he offered when I was 9 years old, after I told him I wanted to be a writer too, and does not end with his ardent championing of my most challenging project all the way to the printer more than thirty years later. But I am most grateful to him simply for achieving something great on his own and inspiring me to try to do the same.
The first thing I did after deciding to write this book was to walk fifteen feet from my desk to Bob Babbitt’s office at the Competitor Group building in San Diego and ask for his help. Bob had given Iron War its name, after all, and had done more than anyone to build and sustain the legend of the greatest race ever run. He was the unofficial curator of the Iron War Museum, if you will. An eyewitness to the race who was close enough to both of its heroes to have ghostwritten two books for one and served as an agent to the other, Bob knew more about the 1989 Ironman, Dave Scott, and Mark Allen than anyone, and infinitely more than I did. I would need him on my team to make my telling of the story all it could be.
Bob provided invaluable help in the form of stories and memories; relationships and contacts; and cold, hard documentation of the race, the rivalry, and the lives of the rivals. Beyond that, working with Bob made the project immeasurably more fun and fulfilling for me than it otherwise would have been.
Iron War is unlike anything else I’ve written. Put another way, I had no idea how to write this kind of book when I started it, and my unpreparedness showed in my early drafts. Every writer needs a good editor, but I needed a great editor to avoid disappointing myself, and I was extremely fortunate to have such an editor in Renee Jardine at VeloPress. It would have taken years of fumbling along on my own to get the manuscript to where Renee quickly brought it with her incisive critical readings and spot-on suggestions. What’s more, although her name does not appear on the cover, Renee dedicated herself to the book as fully as if it were her own. As a result, it is very much hers too.
Nearly every person whose name is to be found in this volume granted me one or more personal interviews. I am profoundly grateful to all of these men and women for so generously sharing their time and recollections. Scott Molina, Julie Moss, Mike Plant, Anna Scott, and Dave Scott deserve special mention. Others whose names are not seen in these pages made contributions that were no less valuable and are no less appreciated. I am especially thankful to Ted Costantino, Jaime Gamboa, Steve Gintowt, Linda Konner, Connie Oehring, and Dave Trendler for their efforts and support.