Two months ago, legendary NASCAR driver and longtime Fox Sports broadcaster Darrell Waltrip stepped away from public life at age 79 because of a progressive brain disease. His family said in a statement that his frontotemporal degeneration (FTD) diagnosis was complicated by possible chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) — “likely from injuries incurred during his racing career.”
Now Fred Lorenzen — another Hall of Fame NASCAR driver — has been diagnosed posthumously with CTE, according to a statement Tuesday from his children, Chris Lorenzen and Amanda Lorenzen Gardstrom.
His is the first known case of CTE in a NASCAR driver, according to the Concussion & CTE Foundation. CTE can only be diagnosed after death through a microscopic examination of brain tissue during an autopsy.
Lorenzen, who went by the nicknames “The Golden Boy” and “Fast Freddie” when he dominated NASCAR in the 1960s, died Dec. 18, 2024, at age 89. He lived with dementia for 20 years, yet had the foresight in 2016 to pledge to donate his brain for research. Lorenzen had been inducted into the NASCAR Hall of Fame a year earlier — one of the first 25 drivers to be enshrined — but was already living in a nursing home, unable to walk. His son, Chris, delivered his Hall of Fame speech for him.
Researchers at the Boston University CTE Center — a renowned research facility that conducts high-impact research on repetitive brain trauma in athletes, military personnel, and first responders — diagnosed Lorenzen with Stage 3 CTE, the second-most severe of four stages.
Although safety precautions for drivers have vastly improved since the heyday of Lorenzen and Waltrip, concussions and the prospect of CTE remain a constant fear within the sport.
Former NASCAR Cup Series champion Kurt Busch was forced to end his full-time racing career after sustaining a severe concussion during a qualifying crash at Pocono Raceway in 2022. Dale Earnhardt Jr. estimates that he suffered as many as 50 concussions over his 20-year racing career and 10 years ago tweeted that he intends to have his brain donated for concussion research after his death.
CTE is most closely associated with football players. A study published in the British Medical Journal in August reported that 315 of the 338 brains studied from players who died between 2008 and 2021 were diagnosed with CTE. It is becoming clear that NASCAR drivers may also sustain the kind of brain trauma that can cause the condition.
Lorenzen’s children made a $1 million donation to the Concussion and CTE Foundation, creating the Fred Lorenzen Memorial HelpLine to help drivers and their families find care when necessary.
Outgoing and friendly during his career, Lorenzen was the first driver in series history to earn $100,000 in prize money in a single season. He was voted NASCAR’s most popular driver in 1963 and 1965.
He won 26 races from 1961 to 1967, more than “The King” Richard Petty, and won the Daytona 500 in 1965 and the World 600 (now the Coca-Cola 600) in 1963 and 1965. He also won six times at Martinsville Speedway, famously launching the tradition of giving the winner a Ridgeway grandfather clock.
The most forgotten hero in Dodger history stepped out of the shadows in 1987 as their instant general manager and created the miraculous monster that came to be in 1988.
The resuscitation of a Dodger brand during what was quite possibly its darkest moment? It all started with Fred Claire, the longtime Dodger executive who died Monday in his Pasadena home on his 91st birthday.
His quiet presence will forever be missed. His audacious impact should never be forgotten.
Claire was an endlessly kind, disarmingly honest and eternally humble sort whose love for the Dodgers was perhaps best illustrated by the story of his most prized souvenir.
After the Dodgers clinched the 1988 World Series championship in a stunning victory over the heavily favored Oakland A’s, catcher Rick Dempsey approached Claire in the champagne-soaked clubhouse. In Dempsey’s back pocket was the game ball used by Orel Hershiser to strike out Tony Phillips for the game’s final out.
Fred Claire talks with Dodgers coach Joe Amalfitano at a batting cage during spring training.
(Kirk McKoy / Los Angeles Times)
Dempsey handed the ball to Claire in gratitude for the belief shown by the general manager in signing Dempsey and several other journeymen who helped lead the team to the title.
Claire quietly accepted the ball, took it home, put it on a shelf, but several years later realized it was needed elsewhere. At the time, the National Baseball Hall of Fame only had two final-out balls. Once again believing that the Dodgers were more important than himself, he donated his jewel to Cooperstown. The shelf remained empty.
“I just played one role in all this,” Claire told me several years ago. “In getting through our difficult times, I always believed in ‘We.’”
Referring to the Dodgers’ 1987 season as a difficult time was an understatement.
In April, longtime general manager Al Campanis was fired for making racist remarks about Black Americans on the TV show, “Nightline.”
Peter O’Malley, the Dodgers’ president at the time, made the sudden and strange choice to replace Campanis with Claire, the team’s public relations boss who had spent the first 11 years of his career as a sportswriter.
There was much criticism. There was overwhelming disbelief. But instead of apologizing for the promotion, Claire ran with it. One day after taking the job he cut popular pitcher Jerry Reuss and signed unemployed Mickey Hatcher and set the stunt man tone.
”I wanted some fire, and Mickey was the guy who could give us that,” Claire told me. “I don’t know if there were people who doubted me, but I never doubted myself. I knew I had the job for today, and I was going to make the most out of that day.”
He slowly turned a stuffy and entitled team into a lean and scrappy one, and by the time he made the brilliant move of signing free agent Kirk Gibson in January of 1988, the stage had been set.
Nine months later, it was only fitting that Gibson’s famous walk-off homer against Dennis Eckersley of the A’s in the World Series opener scored Mike Davis, who was also signed by Claire.
And the most valuable position player in that series? None other than the guy Claire signed first.
“Fred Claire was amazing,” Hatcher told me. “For a guy who was suddenly put into the limelight, he asked all the right questions, listened to everyone, and believed in all of us.’’
It was this great belief in collaboration that burned Claire in 1993 when he traded seemingly frail pitcher Pedro Martínez for second baseman Delino DeShields on the advice of his medical staff.
Martínez, of course, became a Hall of Famer while Claire became saddled with the stain of one of the worst trades in Dodger history. The perception surely irked a man who was just following organizational advice, but Claire never backed down from his role in the deal.
“The facts have to be the facts, and those facts are, I traded Pedro,” Claire told me.
That was Fred Claire personified, honest to the end, refusing to sacrifice his integrity, never surrendering his dignity.
Because he was too modest for acclaim and too quiet for headlines, Claire essentially disappeared from the Dodgers orbit for nearly two decades after his firing, instead focusing on teaching, consulting, and co-writing an autobiography entitled, “Fred Claire: My 30 Years in Dodger Blue.”
During this time he also became a touchstone for all Dodger alumni, as many former players contacted him daily for advice or help or just to remember the good old days. He never failed to answer a call, never turned down a request, seemingly every former Dodger knew his number and leaned on his goodness.
He was finally honored at Dodger Stadium in the summer of 2017 in an emotional ceremony that was long overdue. By then, he was heavily involved in the last great fight of his life, a battle against cancer that led him to become an important advocate and fund raiser for City of Hope.
In one of his final visits there last month, Claire didn’t focus on his illness, but rather his room number. He was quite proud that it was 4217, because Jackie Robinson was 42. Claire was with Robinson shortly before his death and constantly stressed the connection between the icon and his franchise.
In our final correspondence, on the day before he died, Claire texted me and several others with seven photos.
There were images of him with wife Sheryl, with Lasorda, with Dave Roberts, with several champagne-stained Dodgers in a celebratory clubhouse.
There was also a picture that did not contain him but spoke volumes about his character. It was a simple photo of a plaque bearing the number 42 and accompanied by a quote.
“A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives.”
Fred Claire was an unorthodox choice for general manager, a former sportswriter and public relations man who didn’t play baseball beyond the junior varsity level in high school, and his 1987 promotion to head the Dodgers’ front office was met with skepticism around the game.
A year and a half later, after his shrewd moves helped turn the Dodgers into World Series champions in 1988, Claire was named Major League Baseball’s executive of the year by the Sporting News.
Claire, who spent 30 years in the Dodgers’ front office, died Monday on his 91st birthday. The news was shared on social media by former Dodger broadcaster Ross Porter.
An avid runner and golfer fit and trim enough to pass for a man a decade younger, the silver-haired Claire was diagnosed with squamous cell carcinoma in 2015 when what looked like a harmless spot on his lip turned out to be cancerous.
The growth was surgically removed, but the cancer returned in August 2016, and spread into the left side of his face. Claire underwent radiation and chemotherapy treatments to kill the malignant cells in his body, but the cancer returned again in 2017.
An immunotherapy clinical trial saved his life, according to a story in Pasadenanow.com, but then an infection forced him to undergo even more extensive facial reconstruction surgery at City of Hope in Duarte, replacing his jawbone with a bone from his leg.
Claire was so impressed with his treatment at City of Hope that he teamed with author Tim Madigan in 2021 to publish a book chronicling his career and capturing the hospital’s history as well the stories of patients and doctors. The book, “Extra Innings,” can be purchased at Amazon, with all net proceeds donated to City of Hope.
“The main thing that I liked and appreciated about the book was people buying it because of their interest in baseball,” Claire told the Desert Sun in 2021, “then to discover what a great place [City of Hope] is after reading it.”
Claire was also active in helping fund research — he and his wife, Sheryl, set up a scholarship fund with the USC Keck School of Medicine for research in head and neck cancer.
Claire was born Oct. 5, 1935, in Jamestown, Ohio. His parents moved the family — Claire had a brother and a sister — to Torrance when Claire was a teenager. After graduating from Torrance High, Claire earned a degree in journalism from San José State in 1957 before taking his first newspaper job.
“I graduated on a Sunday afternoon,” Claire told The Times in 1997, “and by Monday morning, I had a job at the Whittier Daily News.”
For 30 years, Dodger Stadium was Fred Claire’s home. “Honestly, in my heart and soul, it was a thrill and honor to have the opportunity to walk into Dodger Stadium every day and go to work,” Claire told the Times in 2017.
(Jack Harris / Los Angeles Times)
Claire spent 11 years as a sportswriter and was covering the Dodgers for the Long Beach Press-Telegram in the spring of 1969 when a position opened in the team’s public relations department.
Claire, who always longed to be involved in baseball, expressed interest in the job and was hired as a public relations assistant, remaining in the position until 1975, when he was promoted to vice president of public relations.
He was instrumental in creating the branding that came to be known as “Dodger Blue” and was directing the team’s marketing efforts when the Dodgers passed the 3-million mark in attendance for the first time. He also hired Ross Porter, a Dodgers broadcaster from 1977 to 2004.
In April 1987, then-Dodgers general manager Al Campanis was fired after making controversial and what many said were racist remarks about Black Americans on “Nightline,” during which he told the show’s host, Ted Koppel, that Black people may lack “some of the necessities” to be the field manager or GM of a major league baseball team.
Claire was then-Dodgers President Peter O’Malley’s surprise choice to replace Campanis, and his hiring raised the eyebrows of his new peers, who saw Claire as an outsider with no background as a player, coach, manager or scout.
“I knew some people might say, what does this guy know about baseball, he covered it from behind a typewriter?” O’Malley said in 2017. “But I knew Fred could do it. And he did it. He deserves a lot of credit for stepping in quickly, without advance notice, and doing a great job.”
The Dodgers suffered their second straight losing season in 1987, but Claire made several off-season moves — acquiring outfielders Kirk Gibson and Mike Davis, shortstop Alfredo Griffin and pitchers Jay Howell and Jesse Orosco — that fortified the club.
The Dodgers, led by National League Cy Young Award-winning pitcher Orel Hershiser and most valuable player Gibson, won the National League West in 1988 and upset the 100-win New York Mets in the NL championship series.
The gimpy Gibson hit his memorable pinch-hit, walk-off homer off Oakland closer Dennis Eckersley in Game 1 of the World Series to push the Dodgers toward their fifth championship since moving from Brooklyn to Los Angeles in 1958.
Kirk Gibson reacts to his game-winning two-run homer in Game 1 of the 1988 World Series.
(John Swart / Associated Press)
Claire dealt a smallish and seemingly fragile pitcher named Pedro Martínez to Montreal for second baseman Delino DeShields in what turned out to be one of the game’s most-lopsided trades. DeShields hit .241 in three years in Los Angeles, while Martinez went on to have a dominant 17-year career that earned him a 2015 Hall of Fame induction.
But during Claire’s 11-year tenure as GM, the Dodgers won a World Series, two division titles, a wild-card berth and a first-place finish in the strike-shortened 1994 season.
Claire also changed the culture in the front office, hiring an analytics expert, holding regular conference calls with coaches and scouts and canvassing the clubhouse to talk with players about everything from their families to their on-field performance.
“Fred gave us that first edge of being progressive and aggressive,” Hershiser told the Times in 2017. Added former Dodgers utility man Mickey Hatcher: “Fred Claire was amazing. For a guy who was suddenly put into the limelight, he asked all the right questions, listened to everyone and believed in all of us.”
Claire was fired along with then-Manager Bill Russell on June 21, 1998, five weeks after executives from Fox News Corp., which purchased the Dodgers earlier that year, engineered a blockbuster trade — deflating to many fans — of All-Star catcher Mike Piazza to the Florida Marlins without Claire’s involvement.
Claire, a man of “integrity and dignity,” as former Times baseball columnist Ross Newhan wrote, walked away with no harsh words or public regrets.
“Honestly, in my heart and soul, it was a thrill and honor to have the opportunity to walk into Dodger Stadium every day and go to work,” Claire told the Times in 2017. “This is truly enough for me.”
After his departure from the Dodgers, Claire worked as a columnist and analyst for MLB.com, a radio show host, an instructor at USC and a consultant to companies involved with sports. He co-authored an autobiography, released in 2004, titled “Fred Claire: My 30 Years in Dodger Blue.”
His response during an interview with Business Renaissance Quarterly in 2007 shed some light on Claire’s philosophy. The question: What do you want to be remembered for?
“I was once in the presence of the late Dodgers owner Walter O’Malley when he was asked this question by a reporter from United Press International,” Claire said. “Mr. O’Malley spun his ever-present cigar, paused for just a second and replied, ‘I want to be remembered for planting a tree.’
“Walter O’Malley’s answer, in my mind, overshadowed the great question. He wanted to be remembered for helping things grow, and in my mind, that meant his family, his friendships, the good causes he was involved in.
“I have seldom planted a tree, but I would proudly borrow Mr. O’Malley’s answer to this question.”
Claire is survived by his wife, Sheryl, and their three children, Jen, Jeff and Kim.
