Father Vogel’s dad was there for Evel Knievel’s infamous Snake River stunt

Evel Knievel waves to the crowd before stepping into the cockpit of his steam-powered rocket (Courtesy photo)

By Philip A. Janquart

ICR Editor

Father Caleb Vogel—vicar general for the Diocese of Boise—wasn’t there the day a legendary daredevil came to Idaho.

But he’s heard the story from his father, Leon Vogel, who was part of the recovery crew following Evel Knievel’s infamous attempt to jump the Snake River Canyon near Twin Falls in 1974, three years before Father Vogel born.

For Leon, the memory is not simply about a daredevil, a rocket-powered vehicle and a spectacular crash. It’s a story about fear, prayer and a boat that, for a few tense moments, seemed dangerously close to sinking.

And it has always reminded him of another boat — the one carrying Jesus and his disciples through a storm on the Sea of Galilee.

Born Robert Craig Knievel on Oct. 17, 1938, in Butte, Montana, Knievel became famous for his daring motorcycle stunts and flamboyant image, including his iconic jumpsuit and red, white, and blue cape and jeweled, open-faced helmet.

During the 1960s, he adopted the stage name “Evil Knievel,” later changing the spelling to “Evel” because he thought “Evil” sounded too negative. His stunts were broadcast on national television, and his likeness appeared on lunch boxes, toys, clothing and other merchandise.

In 1974, Knievel came to Twin Falls with perhaps his most ambitious plan yet: launching himself across the Snake River Canyon.

At the time, Leon worked at a trout farm in the canyon. His job required a heavy riverboat capable of navigating the rapids and reaching areas otherwise difficult to access.

Leon was never particularly impressed with Knievel.

“I was interested in seeing what he was going to do, but that was as far as it went,” he said.

Leon had already encountered Knievel’s operation before the jump. During an earlier test, Knievel’s vehicle had shattered and fallen into the river, and Leon and his coworkers used their boat to retrieve it.

Knievel’s family also came to the area to fish. Leon was asked to guide Knievel’s wife and sons because he was known for his careful language and ability to get along with visitors.

He soon discovered Knievel’s wife was terrified.

“She was scared to death,” Leon recalled. “Yeah, she was in tears.”

She was Catholic and asked Leon to pray for her, her sons and her husband. “I told her I would,” he said.

The danger was obvious.

“If Evel Knievel didn’t make it across the canyon, he’s dead,” Leon said. “And he knew that, and that’s how serious it was.”

On the day of the jump, Leon and several others took the boat through the rapids toward the launch site. They stayed well away from the canyon wall because of the enormous crowd gathered along the rim.

“We were afraid that with that large group of people on top they’d throw down beer bottles or something,” Leon said.

From the river below, four men in Leon’s boat watched as Knievel’s steam-powered “space cycle” blasted from the ramp.

“He would have made it, but the parachute came out too soon,” Leon said. “It actually blew the back end of the space cycle off before it even got off the ramp. So, he was being held back by that parachute.”

The wind pulled the vehicle back toward the canyon wall. Leon watched as it struck the cliff repeatedly, like a pinball, with Knievel strapped inside and unconscious.

“He could have got killed four or five times ricocheting off that canyon wall,” he said.

The vehicle finally came to rest near the river. Remarkably, Knievel had survived.

Leon and the others immediately headed toward him. They found Knievel unconscious with scratches on his face and secured by a heavy racing-style seat belt that proved difficult to remove.

Leon reached down, grabbed Knievel and lifted him so the others could work on the belt.

“I was in tremendous shape,” he said. “I was strong and could hold him up.”

Leon Vogel, far right, in blue shirt, was part of the recovery crew that assisted Knievel following his crash. (courtesy photo)

They freed Knievel from the wreckage, carried him to the water a

nd placed him in Leon’s boat. A small aluminum recovery boat with two men in wetsuits had also arrived, along with one of Knievel’s managers in a kayak.

Because the rocky terrain and rapids made a nearby helicopter landing impossible, the group began moving downstream.

Then Leon realized they had another problem.

Eight people were now aboard his boat. He estimated their combined weight at 1,500 to 1,800 pounds, with nose of the boat dropping dangerously low and dipping into the water.

“I knew what that boat was doing,” Leon said. “I was hanging back on the motor, and we had to slow the motor clear down because it was plowing, going underwater.”

Leon knew he had to act.

“I knew I just had to back off on the motor a little bit and go up there and tell those guys to get their butts to the back,” he said.

The solution was simple: redistribute the weight, slow the boat and keep it steady.

But over the years, Leon came to see something more in that moment.

In the Gospel of Mark, Jesus and his disciples are crossing the sea when a violent storm arises. Waves break over the boat while Jesus sleeps. Terrified, the disciples wake him, asking whether he cares that they are about to perish.

Jesus rises and calms the wind and sea. Leon saw something familiar in their fear.

“They’ve always had rough times, rough water that came close to filling the boat because there were 12 Apostles and Jesus in that small boat,” he said. “All it takes is a little bit of wind coming up, and they’re ready to sink.”

The Apostles didn’t understand how Jesus could sleep while they feared for their lives. But it didn’t mean Jesus was ignoring them or had abandoned them.

For Leon, the lesson became inseparable from what happened on the Snake River that day. “Don’t rock the boat,” he said.

The experience also brought him back to the prayer request Knievel’s wife had made before the jump. She knew her husband might not come home. Leon knew it, too.

After the crash, as Knievel regained consciousness, he remembered the battered showman repeatedly saying the same words.

“He just hung his head down and said, ‘No more, no more,’” Leon recalled, noting his surprise when he saw a picture of himself and the eight men in Sports Illustrated.

He believes Knievel may have made another small motorcycle jump afterward, but the canyon attempt marked the end of his most dangerous stunts and his career.

The experience did little to change Leon’s personal opinion of the famous daredevil. He remembers seeing Knievel “strut around” with a cane topped by a large diamond.

“I have to confess, I was terribly unimpressed with him, and that was before the jump,” Leon said. “I was more excited about being in Sports Illustrated than being in a boat with Evel Knievel.”

Leon said he reached his own conclusion years later.

“He wasn’t the friendliest of people,” he said. “Over the years, I decided he had more guts than he did brains.”

But Leon does not claim to know much about Knievel’s faith, nor does he judge him. What he remembers clearly is Knievel’s wife and her Catholic faith, as well as her tears and request for prayer. And he remembers the boat.

Sometimes faith does not mean the storm will never come. It means remembering who is in the boat when it does.

For Leon, that lesson has endured far longer than the spectacle that brought Evel Knievel to the Snake River Canyon more than five decades ago.

“That’s been kind of my motto ever since then,” he said. “‘Keep ’er steady, and don’t rock the boat.’”