In this episode, we conclude my series about my life as a race fan. I’ll read for you the magazine feature I wrote about the first time I went to the Indy 500 in May 1993. It appeared in the May 1994 issue. For our next episode, I will return to stories about my college days at IUPUI.

Hi, this is Chris Young. Welcome to a special episode of Contemplating Life. Episode 69.

In this episode, we conclude my series about my life as a race fan. I’ll read for you the magazine feature I wrote about the first time I went to the Indy 500 in May 1993. It appeared in the May 1994 issue. I will follow that up with some afterthoughts about the article including a funny story about an online version of the article I posted many years ago.

The magazine article only contained one color photo of me sitting at the track on a cool winter day in my heavy coat. But the online version contains several photographs that my mom or dad took that day at the race. I had scaled them down to thumbnail size because this online version was created in the days of dial-up internet. It would’ve taken forever to download full-size photos at those 1990s speeds. I’ve included those photos in the YouTube version of this episode but by the time I blow up these reduced-size photos, they are going to look pretty bad.

In previous episodes, I talked about my earlier appearance in that magazine – an award-winning autobiographical article titled “The Reunion” about my experiences in a special education school. At the time, they nearly rejected my article because they “never publish anything written in first person.” However, they changed that policy to publish my piece. It was so popular that they decided to continue publishing first-person articles and it became a regular feature of the magazine. This article titled “Being There” is under the heading “First Person”.

Like my earlier piece, this one is a bit dated in its use of disability language. It uses the word handicap instead of disability which was the acceptable term at the time. But it also includes some other language I wouldn’t use these days, especially the phrase “wheelchair-bound” which I used to describe both myself and my cousin Nancy. The subtitle written by the editor which is under my byline says “A wheelchair-bound Indy 500 fan finally sees his first race.” It then includes the introductory paragraph…

“Getting to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway was always half the hassle for computer consultant and race fan Chris Young. But though confined to a wheelchair since childhood by muscular dystrophy, he still made puttering around the track during May a yearly tradition, and last year realized his lifelong dream of attending the race in person. This is his story.”

And now here is my reading of the article itself.

– – – – –

Being There by Chris Young

I lived in Indianapolis all of my 38 years – past 35 less than a mile from turn four of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Yet, though my family and I had always been race fans and I made regular visits to the track during May, I always spent Memorial Day listening to the race on the radio. More than 400,000 other people watch the event in person with no complaints, so why was I so picky? I’m not –I’m handicapped.

My lifelong battle with muscular dystrophy and the lack of mobility it forced upon me kept me from seeing my first race until 1993. That’s because throughout most of my career as a fan, the Speedway offered only two poor options for wheelchair seating: infield grass areas (complete with drunks and near-naked women) or the wooden bleachers on the inside main straight, north of the Tower Terrace. While this was acceptable for practice or qualifying, a wheelchair on the very narrow walkway with a full race day crowd would have been a dangerous obstruction.

The situation improved about five years ago when the Terrence Extension was replaced with a grandstand topped with suites and a new wheelchair section installed inside the track just before turn two. But this new facility, though one of the finest I’ve ever seen, offers a very limited view that’s further diminished by my handicap, which keeps me from turning my head very far to the left or right. On less crowded practice or qualifying days I can take up two spaces and turn my entire wheelchair to get a better view, but on race day it would mean purchasing two seats just for myself.

In spite of the difficulties, when the Speedway announced it would host the Brickyard 400, I could no longer resist the urge to see a race in person. I decided to take my chances in the wheelchair area – an iffy proposition, since I didn’t order tickets until early May 1993, long after I figured all the slots had sold out.

After sending in my request, I resumed my usual race month routine, spending every spare moment tooling around the track. Because I work at home as a computer consultant and writer, I can take plenty of time to feed my need to be near the high-tech wheelchairs called Indy cars.

I spent most of my days at the track cruising Gasoline Alley in my motorized wheelchair, I’m quite recognizable as the guy with the bald head, beard, and video camera mounted on his chair (I’m told my 20 years of cruising the garages have made me a fixture there). Gasoline Alley holds such a strong appeal because I enjoy being close to the crews who tinker with millions of dollars worth of equipment.

I’m also a bit of a tinkerer, though on a much smaller scale. One year, for instance, I spent $80 on an electric stopwatch, gambling that I could adapt it for my use. My dad disassembled it and, under my direction, soldered on new, easy-to-use buttons that I could work myself. But the biggest such gamble was the $700 video camera that we adapted to my chair with new controls and a feather balance camera mount. That bit of gadgetry caught the attention of chief mechanic Peter Parrott one year as he worked on Rick Mears’s car in the Penske garage. When he complimented me on the clever job I’d done, I told him, “I just like buying high-tech toys and then betting that I can make them do what I want them to do.”

“Hmmm, that sounds like my job description,” he said. “But in my case, it’s Roger (Penske) who loses money when I’m wrong.”

Perhaps Gasoline Alley was such fun for me because it is the home of high-tech tinkerers like Team Penske. Roger is the most determined and competitive man in racing today, and if I have a favorite driver in any year, he’s probably a Penske employee. With drivers like Mark Donahue, Mario Andretti, Danny Sullivan, Rick Mears, Emerson Fittipaldi, and now Paul Tracy, Penske has shown that the smartest drivers and the newest cars win races.

Unfortunately, it seemed that my garage fun was about to end. My muscular dystrophy leaves me a tiny bit weaker every year, and it taxes me to the limit when I maneuver my wheelchair over bumpy pavement, in a crowd, and in the hot sun or cold wind while trying to operate a video camera. I needed to prepare myself for the possibility that I might spend 1993 in the handicapped section just watching, which meant I needed a new high-tech toy to play with in the grandstand.

A scanner radio for monitoring conversations between the crews and drivers proved the perfect solution. After doing some research I discovered that the Frequency Fan Club offers an excellent deal on a 200-channel 800 MHz model and also those in a subscription to their newsletter containing up-to-date lists of frequencies. Other information on where to tune and what to listen for can be found on CompuServe’s Racing Information Service. I ordered my radio a bit late and didn’t receive it until the end of the first week of practice, giving me time to try the video in the garage area one more time.

The first week of May, my mother went over to the Speedway to pick up our season gate passes and garage badges. Mom is also a great race fan and enjoys sitting in the stands watching cars while I’m in the garages. At the ticket counter she asked what seemed like a silly question: “You wouldn’t have any leftover handicapped seats this year, would you?” It’s common knowledge that the race sells out months in advance, so we were amazed when the ticket agent said, ”Yes, how many do you need?”

We owe our good fortune to the fact that a new grandstand with a wheelchair seating area had been completed in time for use in 1993, but too late to be listed on the ticket order forms. All sales had been over-the-counter by word of mouth.

This dream-come-true was even better than I had imagined, because the new wheelchair seats, called the North Vista Wheelchair Platform, run all the way from turn three to turn four on the outside of the track, offering a better view for my limited head movement than the wheelchair area inside the south chute.

We came back the next day with the necessary cash to buy one wheelchair seat and two companion seats for Mom and Dad to go with me. I also participated in the word-of-mouth publicity campaign, enabling wheelchair-bound cousin Nancy to pick up the last three available tickets.

Family commitments kept me from the first two days of practice, but on May 10, I was there, full of anticipation and excitement. Mom always sits in the stands just south of the garage entrance, so I know where to find her if I need her. I spend most days touring the garages, with the month-long goal of getting one good video shot of every car that qualifies. We check in with each other about once every hour and then head home about 4 or 5 p.m., depending on how tired and sunburnt we are.

That first day was a disappointing mess. My tour of the garages went well, but a minor problem with the camera left me with no video. At the designated time I went to meet Mom, but seemed to have more difficulty than usual driving over the bumpy asphalt behind the grandstand. Finally, I made it to the right spot, and Mom arrived with a Coke for me. We diagnosed and fixed the camera problem and I took off again for the garages.

But no sooner was Mom out of sight than I hit a bump too hard and slumped forward. My hand slipped off the wheelchair control and I was stuck – the start of a truly phenomenal run of bad luck forced me to call on the help of three different Good Samaritans that day. I gave up and returned to my meeting spot behind the stands. When Mom showed up, I told her what happened and I decided I wanted to go home.

Monday evening found me sitting at home in silent frustration. It seemed I no longer had the ability to get around on my own in a hostile environment. After a suitable amount of sulking, I entertained a new strategy: perhaps converting my wheelchair from hand to mouth controls, a step I wanted I wanted to delay until I lost all use of my arms. Still, it was the bumpy pavement that was my downfall, and Gasoline Alley itself had smooth concrete. If I could get in and out of the garage area, I was sure I’d be back in business.

After some discussions with Mom, we changed our plan of attack, on Tuesday she escorted me into Gasoline Alley and left me on the smooth pavement. The new arrangement worked beautifully, and in the following days, I shot some great video and enjoyed every minute of it.

Late in the first week of practice, my new scanner arrived. Some days I spent more time in the wheelchair area watching cars while listening to the radio than I did shooting video in the garage. I spent the last days of practice taking pictures, monitoring the radio, and counting the minutes until the race. The night before the big day I felt like a kid on Christmas Eve. Somehow I managed to sleep a reasonable number of hours. When I woke up I joked with my parents, “Did Santa come last night and make it become race day?”

It didn’t take long to pack everything in the van. Give my mom a month to plan for an event and she’ll gather in left supplies to invade a small country. Dad shook his head in amazement. “Gee, the race only lasts three hours. This looks like a week’s vacation!”

“If we spend all day in the van waiting on the rain, you’ll be glad I brought this stuff”, Mom replied.

Considering that some folks spend hours in traffic jams trying to get to the race, it seemed almost sinful that we took only 10 minutes. Thanks to a special window sticker given to all handicapped ticket buyers, we drove right by the long lines trying to park in the Coke plant lot to a reserved area near the grandstand.

We parked close to our assigned seats in Section 22, very near the entrance to the fourth turn. Upon reaching the grandstand we encountered a well-designed wheelchair ramp with level places every 30 feet to allow for rest breaks. We presented our tickets to the patrolman, and he pointed to a spot right in front of the ramp. We were finally there!

But my heart sank when I saw where “there” was. The wheelchair seat was at the front of the platform up against the railing, placing the concrete retaining wall and steel fence only about 10 feet in front of me. I had no idea that I would be so incredibly close, and I nearly cried at the thought of spending the next three hours staring stiffnecked at a few feet of track.

Dad pushed my chair into the right space assigned to me, and I tried looking to my right. My head barely moves that way, so I could see but a few feet into the turn. Then I turned my head left, and before me stretched a breathtaking view of the last half of the third turn, all of the short straight, and the entrance of turn four.

The location was perfect, the view was perfect, the weather was perfect and I was perfectly ready to see my first live, in-person Indy 500. All of the traditional pre-race festivities began at 10 a.m. as Mom helped me jot down some last-minute scanner frequencies broadcast by the Frequency Fan Club. A parade of celebrities drove by in pace cars and waved. I had a great, fence-hugging view of them.

From the sounds of Taps to a roaring F-16 fly-by to Back Home Again in Indiana to “Lady and gentlemen, start your engines,” the festivities continued. Soon the parade lap, led by three pace cars, rolled into view out of turn three and headed toward me. As the cars rolled by, a stiff breeze blew a wave of exhaust in my face. I chuckled to myself as I recalled Robert Duval in Apocalypse Now, thinking of the methanol fumes smelled like victory.

The next sight was a lone pace car speeding out of turn three, followed by the near-perfect rows of three abreast led by Arie Luyendyk, Mario Andretti, and Raul Boesel. The field rocketed by, and Tom Carnegie announced that the green flag was out. The race was on!

Boesel appeared in the lead as the field came toward us from turn three, prompting a large contingent of Brazilian fans in the stands behind me to cheer and chant their approval. Over the first few laps, his lead widened until Jim Crawford drove by in the warm-up (or is it slow down?) lane in turn four. Smoke trailed from his car, and moments later the wind delivered a new scent.

As I listened to Frenchman Stephan Gregoire speaking his native tongue on the scanner, I wished I had studied harder in high school and college French class. My D+ average was of no use to me today.

A few laps into the race I saw a large puff of white smoke erupt from a dark blue car as it bounced off the outside wall just out of turn three. Although I have seen cars spit out before, I had never seen an actual impact in person. As the car ruled by me with a badly mangled right front suspension, I could see it was Danny Sullivan. He rolled to a stop too far into turn four for my stiff neck, but Mom reported he had climbed out. She snapped a photo and safety vehicles towed the car away.

I knew one race fan who was ecstatic when Mario Andretti took the lead shortly thereafter. My cousin Nancy was sitting about eight wheelchair seats to my left and cheered her hero as she witnessed her first 500. Nancy has been a lifelong fan and, like me, spends what time she can at the track. Mario has been quite kind to her over the years, knowing what a devoted supporter she is, and always takes time to give her a hug and a kiss and they pose for a picture.

It seemed that the race had just started when I noticed the halfway point had already passed. The quiet moments when the field was on the far end of the track moving slowly under caution, offered time to relax, talk, and grab a bite of lunch. Lap after lap under green is an assault on one’s senses when sitting that close to the action, where the noise is felt as much as heard. I noticed a fine layer of grit accumulating on my skin, my eyeglasses were getting dirty, and I had a strange oily taste in my mouth. I wasn’t just seeing the race – I was immersed in it.

The radio was abuzz with strategy for the final pit stops. Nigel Mansell led, with Emerson Fittipaldi in second place and Arie right behind. I heard the Penske crew warn Emmo to watch for Arie on the restart. I should have known something was up Emmo’s sleeve. The green flashed on, and an unaware Mansell had dropped to third place by the time he reached the first turn.

While hundreds of thousands cheered Emmo, Arie, and Nigel onward, I sat in shock as I heard USAC reports that all three had passed under the yellow. I couldn’t believe that a last-minute stop-and-go penalty might hand the race to Boesel, who was in fourth place. As I waited for the word on penalties, the radio blared with a familiar British voice saying, “I’ve hit the wall in turn two!” It was obviously Mansell, who somehow continued on to finish third. The penalties to the leaders never materialized and Emerson Fittipaldi earned his second 500 victory. Arie finished second, with Mansell and Boesel not far behind.

My hero, the high-tech tinkerer and car owner Roger Penske, had won his ninth Indy 500 in 25 years. The Brazilian contingent behind me sang and cheered their approval as their countryman Fittipaldi took a victory lap. I was hot, dirty, tired, and fulfilled. It was an experience I’ll never forget.

Upon arriving home, I turned on my computer and began composing this reflection. As I wrote through the next day, pausing only to fill out my application for tickets to this year’s race, I began to understand why I’m a race fan. It’s more than affection for technology or the thrill of speed or the quest for victory. It’s the struggle itself that appeals to me.

My month of May had its ups and downs, but in the end, my best efforts in the grace of God made it a wonderful experience – something akin to what the drivers must feel. After all, life isn’t about winning; it’s about racing. It’s about doing your best against the odds and discovering the rewards of participation itself. It’s about bouncing back when things go wrong and constantly growing, no matter how much you have already accomplished.

That’s why I’m a race fan.

– – – – –

So that’s the article as it appeared in the May 1994 issue of Indianapolis Monthly Magazine. Race winner Emerson Fittipaldi graced the cover.

For many years, my personal website contained a version of the story with the label, “A shorter version of this article appeared in the May 1994 issue of ‘Indianapolis Monthly’ magazine. This is the story as it was originally written.”

In June 2021, while preparing a blog post in my Author’s Journal series, I decided to dig out the original article and put up the published version of the story. That is, the version I just read to you. Upon reading both versions, I was a bit shocked by the differences. The online version must’ve been an early draft and not the version that I ultimately submitted to the magazine. Some of the writing in the online version is terrible. Also, some of the rewrites in the published version sounded exactly like something I might have written. I don’t believe the editor did the rewrites. It just sounds too much like me. Unlike, “The Reunion”, the editor did not give me the opportunity to rewrite this article. She purchased it as is and made her own edits.

I’ve provided a link to the long version that has appeared on my website for decades.

The longer version of the article gave much more detail about the opening ceremonies. I mentioned that the celebrities who were visiting the race drove around the track in pace cars waving at the crowd. One of them was actor Eric Braeden. I included a photo of him riding by and waving at the crowd. If you clicked on the photo, it popped up a small page titled “Dr. Foreman I presume?” It included text that read, “Here actor Eric Braeden speeds by in a pace car during pre-race festivities. He played a computer science genius Dr. Forbin in one of my favorite cheesy sci-fi thrillers ‘Colossus: The Forbin Project’ and he played the German Field Marshall in the ’60s TV series The Rat Patrol. He is however more widely known as the rich and powerful Victor Newman in the soap opera The Young and the Restless. (Which I’m embarrassed to say, I watch every day.) But part of me still thinks of him as Dr. Forbin.”

The article was up for maybe two or three years before I got my first email in regards to it. It wasn’t about the 500. The first one was in reference to write I said about the TV show “The Rat Patrol.” It was a World War II action show that ran for 56 episodes from 1966-1968. The email was from a self-proclaimed expert on Nazi uniforms who explained to me that the character was not a Field Marshall but in fact a captain. It included a detailed explanation of the various patches and ornaments on his uniform. A simple search of IMDb also provides information that the character was called “Captain Hans Dietrich” but I think the guy wanted to show off how much he knew about Nazis – not that was something one would brag about. Excuse me for not being an expert on Nazi memorabilia. The guy probably had a collection of such uniforms in his closet. Maybe he can get a job in the upcoming Trump administration.

Anyway moving on… Sometime later, I got another email from a guy who done a search on the 1970 movie “Colossus: The Forbidden Project.” This was in the days before Wikipedia and possibly before Google. I don’t know what search engine people were using but the guy had done a search on the movie and found my website. He said he had watched the movie late at night on TV and fell asleep before it ended. I had said it was one of my favorite cheesy sci-fi thrillers so he wanted me to tell him how the movie ended. I won’t spoil it here except to say it didn’t have much of an ending. So he didn’t miss much by not seeing the ending.

This was the early days of the internet. Today someone searching for information about the actor would never get to my old, hand-coded HTML webpage. That page still exists on my website even though it’s not linked to anything anymore. I did a Google search on the exact phrase, “Dr. Forbin I presume?” which is the exact title of the webpage. Google couldn’t find it. I’m pretty sure the way Google finds webpages is if it’s linked to a webpage Google already knows about. This old inactive page is left anywhere. Well, it will be. I will link it in the description of this podcast. But I doubt Google will find it for a long time.

I don’t know what year I got those emails. It’s no longer possible to put up a tiny little handmade webpage and add people to find you by doing a Google search for it. Besides, more authoritative sources exist than me. After all, what do I know about Nazi uniforms?

So that wraps up our series on my life as a race fan. I’ll still watch as many races as I can on TV especially now that so many of them are on streaming I can go back and watch anything on this without cluttering up my DVR with several hour’s worth of race coverage each week. I’d like to get back over to the track someday to watch them run perhaps on a practice day if the weather isn’t too bad. The Speedway Museum is currently under renovation so I might wait until it reopens so I can take another tour through it and see what they’ve done to the place. When and if I do, I either blog or podcast about the experience. I’m sure it will bring back a bunch more memories.

For our next episode, I will return to stories about my college days at IUPUI.

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I will see you next time as we continue contemplating life. Until then, fly safe.

This week we take a break from reminiscing about my college days to talk about my lifelong obsession with motorsports.

Links of Interest

• Indianapolis Motor Speedway: https://www.indianapolismotorspeedway.com/
• Indianapolis 500 on Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Indianapolis_500
• Documentary by Michael Moore “Roger & Me” (1989) which has nothing to do with this podcast except I parodied the title: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0098213/
• Comedian Steven Wright’s first appearance on the Tonight Show: https://youtu.be/4GGyQNMPDkk?si=4qn4WLN035iHO7G7&t=300
• My first VCR RCA Selectavision VFP-170: https://www.ebay.com/itm/255996314377
• Another article about that model VCR: https://www.radiomuseum.org/r/rca_selectavision_vfp170.html
• My Uncle Keith’s VCR that I used for editing: https://www.ebay.com/itm/156244252376
• Roger Penske on Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roger_Penske
• 2024 Indy 500 winner Josef Newgarden Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Josef_Newgarden
• Mario Andretti on Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mario_Andretti
• Paul Newman on Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Newman
• Richard Petty on Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Petty
• Darrell Waltrip on Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Darrell_Waltrip
• Dale Earnhardt Jr.: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dale_Earnhardt_Jr.
• Michael Schumacher on Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Schumacher
• Pixar film “Cars” (2006) on IMDb: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0317219/
• Clip from “Cars” Mario knows me: https://youtu.be/trwQkhe_gCc?si=6D1ASXmUAE7sjiBv
• Shrine Circus on Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shrine_Circus

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YouTube version

Shooting Script

This week we take a break from reminiscing about my college days to talk about my lifelong obsession with motorsports.

Hi, this is Chris Young. Welcome to episode 65 of Contemplating Life.

This week we take a break from reminiscing about my college days to talk about my lifelong obsession with motorsports. In May 1959, just two months short of my fourth birthday, my family moved into a newly built house in the Eagledale neighborhood on the northwest side of Indianapolis. 65 years later I still live in the same house located about a quarter-mile northwest of the fourth turn of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. IMS is the site of the annual Indianapolis 500 race. You can hear the cars practicing throughout the month of May in preparation for the big race. My parents are natives of Indianapolis and have been race fans for most of their life and living so close to the track it’s only natural that I caught the bug as well.

The title of this episode is “30 Days in May” which may seem strange because obviously there are 31. But in Indianapolis, we talk about 30 days in May and that is often the title of several TV shows about the Indy 500. That’s because traditionally, practice for the Indy 500 opened on May 1 and culminated on May 30 with the race. When I was growing up, May 30 was the fixed date to celebrate Memorial Day. In 1971, Memorial Day and other federal holidays were made into Monday holidays. Practice sessions for the race still began on May 1 but the race was moved to the Sunday before Memorial Day giving Monday as a potential rain date. Practice for the race now starts even later in May but people still talk about racing in Indianapolis as occupying “the month of May” as if it was still taking up 30 of the 31 days of the month.

As I mentioned before, my parents were both lifelong race fans. I heard many stories about their visits to the track when they were young. My dad’s favorite story was from his teenage years. He and a bunch of his buddies got in a car and lined up extremely early in the morning to get a good parking spot in the infield. It was probably at the north end of the track inside the third or fourth turns. He was designated to walk the entire length of the infield to Gate 2 on 16th St. at the south end of the track to meet my mom and the other gals. This was before they were married. He then escorted them to where the guys had already been hitting the beer pretty heavily. As he walked the length of the infield escorting a half dozen attractive women, other guys kept calling to him saying, “Hey buddy… That’s not fair! You got to share some of that with us.” Dad said he just kept smiling and walking and enjoying all the attention being surrounded by all these pretty women.

In May 1961, my parents took me to the track for the first time. I was a couple of months short of my sixth birthday. There are photos of me that day in the YouTube version of this podcast.

It was on a Saturday or Sunday when qualifications were underway. Only the fastest 33 qualifiers would make the race and in those days there were many more than 33 entries so you’re not guaranteed a spot unless you were in the top 33 speeds. According to Wikipedia, 26 drivers failed to qualify for the 1961 race. Qualifications consisted of running four consecutive fast laps. Your average speed for those four laps was your qualifying time. Qualifying took place on the two weekends prior to the race. I don’t know which of the four qualifying days we attended back in ‘61.

We sat in the grandstands on the outside of the main straight. My dad carried me and my wheelchair up a few steps, removed a folding chair, and put my wheelchair in its place. I had been hearing racecars from my house since I was three years old and had seen them on TV but seeing it in person and hearing the roar of the engines up close was a phenomenal experience.

On the other side of the track were the pits where the cars were serviced. There was another grandstand beyond that facing us. I could see people in the top row of that far grandstand turning around to look at the cars as they went down the backstretch. I thought that the backstretch was just beyond those grandstands. I didn’t realize that they were almost a quarter mile away but with something to block the view, you could see the cars going down the backstretch from high atop the stands.

Later in the day, my dad took me through the Gate 7 tunnel under the track into the infield. As we walked along a paved walkway behind the infield grandstands, I thought we were walking on the backstretch of the track itself. I kept saying to my dad, “Don’t we need to get out of the way?” He explained the backstretch was way over that way as he pointed east.

While we had been sitting in the front stretch grandstands, driver Norm Hall spun out in the first turn beyond where I could see. The PA announcer said, “Norm Hall hit the wall.”

I said, “Hey, that rhymes.” And I begin singing, “Norm Hall hit the wall. Norm Hall hit the wall.” Although the driver wasn’t injured, Dad stopped me and explained that hitting a wall at over 140 mph was not something to sing about.

When we went into the infield, Dad took me to the fence around the famous Gasoline Alley garage area. Looking through the fence I could see the damaged car that had been driven by Norm Hall. I realized how right my dad was.

I’ve told that story many times over the years but as I was looking up details about that era while preparing this episode, I just learned something new about the 1961 Indianapolis 500 season. According to Wikipedia, Tony Bettenhausen, Sr. was killed in a crash during a practice run on May 12, 1961. That was the Friday before the first weekend of qualifying. Wikipedia says, “He was testing a car for Paul Russo. It was determined that an anchor bolt fell off the front radius rod support, permitting the front axle to twist and misalign the front wheels when the brakes were applied. The car plunged into the outside wall, then rode along the top, snapping fence poles and tearing segments of the catch fence. The car came to rest upside-down on top of the outside wall, and Bettenhausen was killed instantly. Before the time trials Bettenhausen had been the favorite to become the first driver to break the 150 mph barrier at the Speedway.”

I’m certain that my dad must’ve known the driver had been killed just a few days before. Although he didn’t tell me about that fatal crash, I’m sure that’s why he made sure I understood that racing is a dangerous sport.

The following year, driver Parnelli Jones became the first to break the 150 mph barrier at the track during qualifying. His first lap speed was a track record at 150.729 mph. All four laps of his qualifying attempt were above 150 with a four-lap average of 150.370 mph. I have vague recollections of this milestone. They made a big deal about breaking the 150 barrier

As I researched the 1962 race to see when the 150 barrier was broken, I also read that Norm Hall crashed twice in 1962. He was uninjured the first time but he had another crash in a backup car. He hit the first turn wall backwards and was severely injured, including a fractured left leg and possible skull fracture. He eventually recovered and went on to race in the 1964 and 1965 raising seasons. He died in 1992 at the age of 66.

I don’t recall returning to the track for many years but I remained a race fan. There was extensive news coverage of the race each year. The three major TV stations had film crews at the track every day and there would be a 15-minute segment of the local evening news dedicated to track coverage. If you had occurred there was an accident that day, you were always anxious to see if they had film of it. There would be driver interviews and each station had their own driver expert to comment on the day’s events.

The race itself typically was not televised in those days. According to an article in the Indianapolis Star from August 2020, the race was first televised in 1949 in an attempt to sell televisions. TVs first went on sale in Indianapolis early that year. The Speedway permitted local station WFBM Channel 6 to televise the race live locally. They had three cameras along the front stretch and covered the entire race. It’s estimated that 3000 households tuned in. The race was televised again locally in 1950 and there was talk of a nationally syndicated broadcast but the Speedway decided it would hurt ticket sales and refused to let the race be televised for many years.

Since 1951, the Indianapolis Motor Speedway Radio Network has provided live coverage of the race each year and that was my primary way of following the event for many years. We would typically have some sort of cookout or other festivities for Memorial Day and we would sit and wasn’t to the radio intently. My mom would take notes as they would give a rundown of the position of each car about every 20 laps so. She wanted to see where her favorite drivers were. I took up the practice for a while myself.

The 1964 race was memorable for all the wrong reasons. My dad and I were in the backyard listening to the race on the radio. My mom went with some friends to see the race. They had good seats in the infield grandstand of the main stretch. My next-door neighbor Mike Tillery who would’ve been around 11 years old by my estimate had climbed up onto a storage shed in his backyard. Each year at the start of the race, they would release thousands of helium balloons from a tent and he wanted to see the balloons flying through the air. Just a couple laps into the race he shouted, “There must’ve been a big wreck! I can see black smoke.”

Indeed, reports came over the radio that there had been a massive fiery crash in the fourth turn which was the turn closest to my house. The race was stopped while the track was cleaned. We eventually got word that popular veteran driver Eddie Sachs and rookie driver Dave MacDonald were killed in the incident.

My mom could not see the wreck clearly from where she was sitting but she could see the flames and the plume of black smoke. It sickened her when she realized that there had to be drivers burning alive in those flames. She said that when the PA announcer revealed to the crowd that two drivers had been fatally injured, a creepy silence came over the crowd. All you could hear was transistor radios that people had that were listening to the race coverage while they were there. The radios were still on the air because they did not release the news until it was released to the crowd at the Speedway.

My mom did not return to the Speedway for many years. She had been a big fan of Eddie Sachs who was one of the most personable and popular drivers of that era.

I’ve linked a Wikipedia article about the incident. There was controversy because MacDonald’s car was a radical new design. Other drivers had refused to drive it and some drivers who saw it race in practice and in the opening wraps felt that it was a dangerous design and should not have been on the track.

Normally when I talk about historical events, I try to put YouTube clips into my YouTube version of this podcast but I will not be doing that for these fatal crashes. They are quite gruesome. I will provide links to such videos but viewer discretion is highly recommended.

I have a few more stories of fatal accidents at the Speedway that occurred when I was present but I will save those stories for later.

I believe that my next visit to the Speedway must’ve been when I was eight or nine years old and my mom was the den mother of my Boy Scout troop. It was a troop consisting of all handicapped kids from my Roberts School. I don’t remember many details of the visit but I know she or one of the other troop leaders persuaded a few drivers to come over and sign autographs for us.

As I mentioned previously, practice for the race typically opened May 1 and there was qualifying during the two weekends prior to the race itself. In the week between the last day of qualifying and race day, there was only one short day of practice on Thursday. Traditionally this has been called “Carburetion Day”. It was a day in which drivers could have a final practice session to adjust their carburetors. Although IndyCars have not had carburetors for decades, the name Carb Day still persists. It was a great tradition in Indianapolis for kids to cut school that day. That is kids of all ages. Adults are also known to take a personal day off on the Thursday before race day.

I don’t recall specifically any other trips to the Speedway although I might have gone to qualifying days when I was a teenager.

After graduating high school and entering college, my final exams were always the first week of May. I was on summer vacation the entire rest of the month and until late August. In high school, school was not let out until the first week of June. When I realized I was going to be free for much of May, I was ecstatic. I would have my mom drop me off in the early afternoon and I would roam around the infield all day. She would then pick me around dinner time perhaps a little before 5 PM. The track would close at 6 PM.

We discovered that there was something called a “season pass” available. It would give you admission to the grounds for all the practice and qualifying days but not for race day itself. You need a separate ticket for that. Included with the package was a garage pass that would give you access to the Gasoline Alley garage area. Technically you’re supposed to be age 21. However, at age 18 if I had a garage pass no one was going to question me for further ID.

I had a Kodak model 20 Pocket Instamatic camera that I could use to take still pictures. Together my dad and I designed a gadget that was attached to the camera. It included a lever about 3 inches long that would help me to push the shutter button. I had to hold the camera upside down but that was no problem. I recently discovered a large stack of old photos in a box and I have scanned many of them and included them in the YouTube version of this podcast.

In many ways, I enjoyed hanging out in Gasoline Alley watching them work on the cars more than I enjoyed watching the cars themselves. Part of that was because there was not a good place to see the track in a wheelchair. You could roam up and down the fence along the pits but it was difficult to see the track itself from ground level.

The infield area of the first turn was a fun place to hang out. Somehow it was given the nickname “The Snake Pit”. Young people would gather there to party and drink. The girl-watching opportunities were phenomenal. Lots of women would run around in bikini bathing suits or skimpy halter tops. If they were drunk enough, sometimes the guys would persuade them to flash their tits. Now that I think about it, I think that was the first place I ever saw bare breasts in real life that wasn’t in a magazine.

Sometimes, the Snake Pit was a treacherous place for a wheelchair because it was often quite muddy. I recall one time venturing there after a heavy rain and the front wheels of my wheelchair sank into the mud all the way up to my footrests. I had to rely on help from strangers to get out of the mess. My front wheels were about 6 inches in diameter, very narrow, and had spoked wheels. I came home with them caked solid with mud as well as a considerable amount of mud on my real wheels. My mother was not very happy. We had to turn the hose on the wheelchair before I went in the house.

I remember one rainy qualifying day that I spent at the track with my cousin J.R. I was probably 18 or 19 and he would’ve been about 12 or 13. My Aunt Jody was volunteering at a concessions stand as a fundraiser for some organization. She was counting on me to keep J.R. out of trouble. Naturally, we went straight to the Snake Pit to party. I don’t believe we saw any naked women there that day but unfortunately, we did see a naked man. This was the time when the practice of “streaking” had become popular. Someone stripped down, ran across the track which was closed because it was still drying out from a rainstorm, and tried to climb over the fence. He got various tender parts of his body hung up on the wire along the top of the fence. He was arrested after he managed to get entangled and down off of the fence.

I mentioned that during my first visit to the track, the cars were going over 140 mph. The following year the track record broke 150 mph. Throughout my years growing up as a race fan, the records fell on a regular basis. The first day of qualifying each year is known as “pole day” because it establishes the pole position for the start of the race – that is the number one position. Massive crowds would attend pole day qualifying in anticipation of seeing track records fall.

Famous track announcer Tom Carnegie had a unique way of announcing it. He would say “It’s a new track record!.” The crowd would cheer wildly.

I was in attendance on May 14, 1977, when driver Tom Sneva was the first to turn an official lap at over 200 mph. I don’t recall if I was there for earlier track records but I know I was there for many more after that. Some of them were in attendance with my friends Rich and Kathy Logan.

I know for a fact that I was there on May 11, 1996, when the track record fell 4 times. When it was all over with, the record was held by Arie Luyendyk with a single-lap speed of 237.489 mph and a 4-lap average of 236.986 mph. Those records still stand today because the following year rule changes to slow the cars down. Last year’s 4-lap average speed for the pole position was 233.947 mph. I don’t think we will ever see a new track record again because if the cars go much faster, they will make additional rule changes for the sake of safety. They have tried to modify the qualifying procedures to make pole day more exciting but they will never recapture the excitement of seeing those records fall. And it just wouldn’t be the same without the late Tom Carnegie announcing… “It’s a new track record!”

Next week we will tell more stories about my history as a race fan including the first time I ever attended the race in person.

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