The following is an excerpt from A.J. Foyt: Volume 1 by Art Garner. Anthony Joseph “A.J.” Foyt Jr. is one of the greatest race car drivers in history—some would argue the best—and he has the statistics to back it up. Numbers alone can’t begin to tell Foyt’s story. Through tireless research and extensive interviews with the biggest names in motorsports, author Art Garner has compiled an unprecedented look at the life and career of one of America’s most popular sports heroes. In this excerpt read about Johnny Rutherford's fiery crash at Phoenix International Raceway in 1968.

Phoenix, April 7, 1968. A.J. Foyt was in a foul mood. He’d been stunned earlier in the day by news of Jimmy Clark’s death in a minor Formula Two race at Hockenheim, Germany. Just a week earlier Clark was testing a new Lotus turbine at Indianapolis and came away so confident he uncharacteristically predicted victory. The normally quiet Clark was one of the few foreign drivers Foyt could stomach and he was visibly upset by the news, managing only short whispers in response to reporter questions. “It’s terrible,” he told one. “It makes me sick,” he said to another before turning away.

“Clark was a good guy,” Foyt would say. “He wasn’t cocky like Graham Hill or Jackie Stewart. He drove hard, but drove clean, and I had a lot of respect for him.”

“The way I look at it, in all of the years I ran against Formula One guys, I think in my lifetime the best driver was Jimmy Clark.”

Now Foyt was standing along the inside guardrail of Turn Three at Phoenix International Raceway. For the second time in six races, his car had failed to complete a single lap before blowing its engine. Phoenix didn’t yet have an access tunnel under the track, and as a result, he was trapped inside the course until the race was over. Not wanting to face reporters back in the garage area, he’d stayed where the Coyote rolled to a stop to watch the race.

And a pretty good race it was. Eighty laps into the 150-lap event, Roger McCluskey looked unbeatable. He’d stretched his lead to nearly seven seconds over Mario Andretti and was about to lap Johnny Rutherford for a second time. That’s when Al Unser, running just ahead of both cars, blew his engine, dumping oil on the track and setting off a chain-reaction accident.

“The way I look at it, in all of the years I ran against Formula One guys, I think in my lifetime the best driver was Jimmy Clark.”

–A.J. Foyt

Rutherford hit the oil and spun, sliding up to the top of Turn Three. McCluskey did the same, sliding into Rutherford. Andretti arrived on the scene and lost control, spinning up the track and crashing into both cars. The last impact ruptured the fuel tank in Rutherford’s car, sending up “a wall of flame around all three cars.”

The accident happened right in front of Foyt. He jumped the guardrail and ran up the track, finding a way through the fire. McCluskey and Andretti were nearly out of their cars, and he turned his attention toward Rutherford, lifting the struggling driver out of his cockpit and guiding him away from the flames as safety crews arrived. Like Foyt, Rutherford wore golf gloves while driving, and he was moaning and holding up both hands, the gloves shredded and melted. But it wasn’t his hands that were hurting.

“A.J., my feet are burning,” Rutherford yelled. Foyt dropped to his knees and pulled the smoldering laces away and then the shoes. He ran to check on McCluskey and Andretti, who seemed shaken up but okay, and medics were placing McCluskey on a stretcher and preparing to put him in the lone ambulance.

Seeing Roger wasn’t seriously hurt, Foyt took charge.

“Sorry, Roger, you’re not hurt bad enough,” Rutherford said he heard A.J. saying. “Look at Rutherford over there.”

Foyt ordered the attendants to replace McCluskey on the stretcher with Rutherford and then climbed in the ambulance for the ride to Good Samaritan Hospital. He told nurses he was Rutherford’s brother so he could stay with the driver. Having been through his own hand burns two years earlier at Milwaukee, he peppered doctors with questions. About every thirty minutes, he made a reassuring phone call to Betty Rutherford, who was pregnant and at home in Fort Worth.

“A.J., my feet are burning!"

—Johnny Rutherford

Fortunately for Rutherford, his burns weren’t bad and he was treated, bandaged, given meds for the pain, and released to Foyt. Lucy, making one of her rare trips to a race, arrived at the hospital with a car, and the couple started to drive Rutherford to their hotel. On the way, Rutherford began to feel the effects of the medications.

“I became nauseated and told A.J. to stop the car,” Rutherford recalled. “He immediately pulled off to the side of the road and ran around to the passenger side so he could hold my forehead while I threw up. Once he was convinced I was okay, he sped back to the hotel. A.J. and Lucy kept an eye on me overnight and took good care of me. He made arrangements for me to fly home to Fort Worth and put me on the plane the next day.

“This is a side of A.J. that a lot of people never get to see.”

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