By William Smith
When she’s at school, 11-year-old Grace “Red Death” Copeland hardly makes a squeak, her introverted nature at odds with her bombastic moniker.
Not that she goes by “Red Death” in the classroom.
“They say at school she is very shy,” her mother Tabitha Copeland said.
But every Monday night (which will resume after the coronavirus threat passes) at Kenny’s Roller Ranch in Burlington, Grace embodies a crimson reaper. She roars as a youth member of The Big City Brawlers roller derby team, her long red hair bound by a hard-shelled helmet.
“I enjoy it because I get to hit people,” Grace said, casting her eyes downward after the uncharacteristic admission.
“Hit” is a pretty broad term in roller derby, more accurately described by a hip or shoulder bump. It’s the only legal way to make contact in the sport and by far the safest.
Big River Brawlers coach Carrie Vass demonstrated in early March on fellow team member Dominick Schaefer, who just happens to be her son. With only nine current team members, including three adult coaches, age and gender classifications hardly matter.
“You have to try to get underneath them and go up,” Vass said, nearly knocking Schaefer over as she demonstrated.
Any kind of hitting or striking is strictly forbidden. The biggest hazards are errant elbows flying in close quarters, the danger fairly equivalent to a basketball game. Vass is a certified member of the regional Dark River Derby Coalition, providing her the qualification to run the team safely.
“We stress safety first, but it can get pretty rough. We’ve had some bloody noses,” Vass said.
Just like learning to dribble in basketball, the first, second and third lessons in roller derby cover the basics of skating. It’s an increasingly rare skill in the digital age.
“My very first job was at a skating rink. I was on the speed skating team, and my mom used to watch roller derby all the time,” Vass said.
Back then, roller derby was more akin to pro-wrestling — part sport, part staged entertainment — with ladies duking it out while avoiding alligator pits.
Vass joined the team shortly after it was founded nine years ago, still harboring fond memories of her skating past. Her dry-rotted skates from a decade earlier fell apart on first use, but it didn’t matter. Vass was hooked again.
“It’s so much fun you don’t realize how tired you are until it’s over,” she said with a laugh.
Roller derby is 100 percent legit these days, but don’t confuse it with the hard-hitting action in the movie “Whip It,” either. The Big River Brawlers only participate in the much safer flat-track derby, not the banked courses that look like NASCAR tracks from the movie and old TV broadcasts.
“We play wherever we can find a scrimmage,” Vass said.
In a sport as niche as roller derby, that isn’t always easy. Though the team mostly sticks to Iowa and the tri-state area, they’ve traveled as far as St. Louis for a game. The combined comraderies and adrenaline rush is too addictive to ignore.
“I do a spin class and I do yoga, but that’s not enough,” Tabitha Copeland said, “There’s no challenge.”
While much safer than it used to be, roller derby still maintains the over-the-top spirit of the sport’s heyday. Schaefer goes by the name “Deadpool” on the court. Grace’s personality transforms when she’s wearing skates, opening a spigot of pent-up aggression that defines her moniker of Red Death.
And much to her delight, Grace’s mother has watched her carry that newfound confidence off the court, into everyday life. The sport doesn’t define Grace, but it has made her a more well-rounded person.
And she expects to keep rolling for years to come.
(Editor's Note: During the coronavirus outbreak, roller derby has been put on temporary hiatus. The interview for this story was conducted before mandates were issued.)
Photo by Anthony Dewitt
The Big City Brawlers roller derby team members are shown earlier this month practicing at Kenny's Roller Ranch in Burlington. The flat-track roller derby organization offers co-ed adult and co-ed junior, ages 8 to 17, teams.