How do you make a race fan out of a school teacher? Take her to the Indianapolis 500! No one can understand that electricity until ignited by that very first time at the Speedway. The race can be watched on TV (outside of the Indy area) but it never compares to the excitement of being there in person. The whole month of May in Indianapolis, Indiana--really the whole state--is steeped with the 500's traditions that now span 105 years. I loved it from my very first time!
The race is always on the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend in the USA. My now ex-husband and I were adventurous souls. He is a Hoosier (Indiana native) by birth, even though we were both residents of Illinois at the time. I asked one time--very early in our relationship: When are you going to take me to the 500? (This was early-1970s.) As it happens, his parents, who lived in Greencastle, IN, had long-standing tickets in the same seats and same box for years, but they were aging and were ready, willing, and able to "give" them to us. (I think they gave us the tickets the first year. Thereafter, we bought them directly from the same family friend that controlled much of that section of seats. Every year, on race day, we gave that person our check for the next year's tickets. And every year, the tickets went up in price!)
After we'd been once or twice, my husband was able to secure two more tickets. That got expensive, but it assured that we could always invite someone to go with us. We invited my sister and her then-husband, and they accepted. The plan that evolved over time was that we all would drive from IL to Greencastle on Friday. On Saturday, we would venture into Indy to "tour" 16th Street and Georgetown Road (where the Indianapolis Motor Speedway is located) to watch all of the crazy people and see what the trailer venders were selling. There were plenty of sloppy, happy drunks to entertain us!
At the end of our Saturday excursion, we drove back to Greencastle and had a cookout that our hosts had graciously prepared. We hit the sack somewhat early because we had to be up early on Sunday in time to be in our seats at 8:00 AM when the march of bands began. I loved it!
Somewhere in this process early on, we managed to snag a parking space in an insurance company parking lot just three blocks from the track on 16th Street. We were able to secure that spot for many years thereafter by staying in touch with the guy who was taking the reservations. (Funny thing, long after my husband and I divorced, I saw that guy at the Indy airport on my way to Oklahoma City. We actually recognized each other!)
After my first or second trip to the 500, my husband got his hands on Drivers' Meeting tickets. The Drivers' Meeting was, at least at that time, mandatory. The race drivers were placed on bleachers facing the Pagoda stands and were briefed on rules, etc. (It was totally unnecessary, but provided good PR for all.) The tickets gave us access to Gasoline Alley, the garage area that housed the cars and kept the drivers close by. There were plenty of other civilians like us, but I felt like an absolute celebrity. There was a dress code in the garage area. As I recall, shorts weren't allowed. Never know when cameras will be there, ya know. That was before the time when my sister and bro-in-law were in attendance. By that time, access to the Drivers' Meeting tickets evaporated. It was okay with me. It was fun while it lasted...maybe two years.
We had great seats in Stand B. It was under cover, so we didn't have to worry about sunburn. The seats were on the outside part of the track, situated right at the end of Pit Road. From there, we could see Pit Road, the front straightaway, turn one, the short chute between turns one and two, turn two, and some of the back straightaway. When the cars came through turn four, we could see it all. The color; the excitement; the speed. All very intoxicating!
My poor brain can't put names or dates to my experiences. As near as I can figure it, I went to the 500 for about 20 years, in the same seats. My sister and hubby went with us on most of those. Roger (her husband) had a bad back. It gave out on one of the Saturday excursions. I watched him crawl up the patio steps on his hands and knees when we returned to Greencastle. They decided very early on race day that they couldn't attend, and headed home to Springfield, IL. (They didn't make it all the way. Had to take a motel for respite for Roger. I never felt so sorry for anyone in my life!) Thus, we had two paid tickets to use up. I woke my 5-year-old daughter at 5:30 AM to ask if she wanted to go. She reared up out of bed and was dressed in a heartbeat. Never saw her that enthusiastic before!
As close as I can figure it, I think we attended the race for about 20 years non-stop. The only thing that stopped me after that was our divorce. Even though we had four tickets, and I should have gotten two of them in the settlement, they weren't in our name, so it couldn't be legally enforced. I did attend four times after that...once by stealth. My ex was offering tickets to his children and stepchildren. One time, when it was our daughter's turn, she offered the tickets to me. By this time, I was quite disabled, but I invited my sister, who needed a break from her demented husband, and we went. It created hard feelings with my ex. Somehow, he didn't think I should be able to go to the 500 with those tickets. (Long story that I don't understand to this day.) Ex wasn't happy; daughter took the hit in my behalf. I will always be grateful for that one last time, years ago. My sister desperately needed the time away from her husband who was displaying more and more of his FTD dementia, and I knew this was my one last shot at the race. It was officially the hottest race day, ever. Of course!
Some of my memories of the 500, on a personal basis:
*God bless my inlaws for putting up with our yearly invasion.
*My daughter was born in March of 1979. When we left for the race in May, I was breastfeeding, but left her with the McNary grandparents, with formula and breast milk. Got engorged in the middle of the day and found myself pumping breast milk in a restroom that was a painted plywood stall with a hole in concrete that went down to a trough that had water flowing through it to deliver the human waste elsewhere. What we don't do for our babies!
*Back in the day, Indiana was "dry" on Sunday. You couldn't buy packaged alcohol anywhere in the state...and yet, the 500 was on Sunday. (This only changed about 2-3 years ago.) Apparently, the Speedway had special dispensation to sell alky at the track, but it wasn't cheap. A compromise was that fans were allowed to bring in their own booze in limited-size coolers, as long as they weren't packaged in glass. (In the beginning, any size cooler was acceptable until the Speedway got smart.) Often, people went into the Speedway early in the morning still inebriated from the night before. They didn't come out at the end of the race in any better shape. Once, as Joe and I were leaving with a rush of other people, we happened upon a pile of vomit on the concrete close to the stands. One young lad observed it and said to his father, "Look, Daddy...chicken!" It was all I could do to hold down my own lunch after that...
*At the track, we were rubbing elbows with the elite and the bubbas. Some women were dressed to the nines. Others were in tank tops and Daisy Duke shorts. Every track goer watched the weather forecast to determine if he/she needed a winter jacket, an umbrella, or nothing at all to stave off the weather. Any rain at all demanded a race delay. If the rain stopped, the track dryers would go out to try to dry off the track so the cars wouldn't slip and slide with their tire "slicks". That took at least two hours, hoping the rain had stopped for good. Fans in their seats would get bored and start their own entertainment while waiting. In our area, a beach ball appeared. We kept it in the air for a long time. Another time, someone started a wave. (For the uninitiated, a wave is when people stand and raise their hands, then sit down, while adjacent fans do the same in their turn, making a huge ripple effect. The first wave went along the front straightaway. When the other fans caught on, it went around the track in two directions and back again. Impressive!) The track announcer broadcast over the PA: "Ladies and Gentleman, you have just witnessed the first official one lap wave!" The crowd roared. We were so proud of ourselves! Once, we actually got rained out, but the Speedway rescheduled for the next day, which was still part of the Memorial Day holiday, so we were still able to attend. (Good because we lived almost 200 miles away and would not have been able to attend if they rescheduled for another time.)
*One time, when I was "working" at the track, we got rained and sleeted on. (More about that later.) Some races were blistering hot. People whose seats were in the sun got toasted, and there was heat exhaustion. Other races were chilly and windy. Ya pays yer money and ya takes yer chance!
*I was there the year that the 200 mph barrier was broken in qualifying. I was there when there was an official race lap run at over 200 mph. I was there when a fuel spill during a pit stop ignited Rick Mears. I could see the smoke in the pit...then Mears jumped out of his car and started dancing around and slapping himself like he was being attacked by bees. Ethanol is largely invisible when it burns. He was on fire!
*I was there for the big names: A.J. Foyt; Johnny Rutherford; Gordon Johncock; Rick Mears; Mario Andretti; Gary and Tony Bettenhausen, and more. (Side note: Gary Bettenhausen's wife, Wavelyn, was the office secretary in the schools where I taught. She's gruff on the outside and a total marshmallow on the inside. I love her to pieces!)
*I was there when Gordon Johncock ran out of fuel right in front of us on the very last lap around the track. He was the lead car at the time. I can only imagine how he felt.
*After my divorce and, therefore, lack of tickets, I decided I was going to find a way to go, anyway. I managed, three times. Once, I was on a bleacher seat, first row, right across from the pit. Another time, I somehow obtained two tickets for the elite seats on the inside of the track, right in front of the Pagoda. The third time, I sat near turn four. None of the three experiences were anywhere near acceptable. Couldn't see crap, and didn't enjoy the experience. Thus, I decided that any old seats at the 500 weren't good enough. I'd been spoiled.
*My amateur radio club in the next county over from the Speedway was looking for ways to raise funds. We signed on a paid volunteers with IMS for about three years. Our job was to assist at Gate One. We were to check coolers for glass containers, check backpacks and purses/bags for weapons, and rip tickets. That worked well in the beginning when the track first opened for the day, but when the crowds increased--as they always do--it became impossible to do it all. We also had to enforce "no pass out's". People whose tickets had already been ripped were not allowed out of the track with the intention to return. While I was there, we had one dude who begged. Someone in his party was in need of insulin which had been left in his car. We allowed it, but made sure that he checked in with the same person who gave him permission to leave. We were also trained how to spot fake tickets. Some long-time race-goers would beg to have their tickets not ripped because they kept them intact for souvenirs (or so they said). When people are coming at you nonstop in droves, it gets hard to be tough!
*I confess that my day each year as a Yellow Shirt wasn't my most glamourous. We had to wear the track's yellow shirts, the track ball caps, black pants, and black shoes and socks. My hair wasn't inclined to look good in a ball cap. I felt like a guy! As I was ripping the stubs off of the tickets, one very young (and drunk) dude commented, "I'll bet you were a looker in your day." Um...I think he meant it as a compliment, but still.... As he walked by me, I turned my head to follow him as he apologized all the way, finally understanding that what he said was not a compliment at all! Yeah, thanks buddy!
*The Piece de Resistance for all of my 500 experiences arrived on Race Day of 2004. My daughter and family lived in a house at Friendswood Golf Course where her husband was superintendent of the course. I was working Gate One at IMS with my radio club. Once the race started, we were always told we could go home or stay for a little pot luck picnic at Gate One. That particular day, one of our radio club members who had been monitoring Skywarn on the radio told us that there was a tornado watch for our home county, the next county over. Most of us headed for home. (Not as easy as you'd think. Our vehicles were parked at the north end of the track. Gate One was at the south of the track. It was probably a mile's walk just to get to our vehicles, with storms threatening.) We were all quite exhausted, having been at the track since 5:30 AM, hot and hungry.
As soon as I got home, I threw on a pair of shorts but was still wearing my iconic yellow track shirt, turned on my radio and checked into the Skywarn weather net, which had gone from "watch" to "warning". I was listening when I heard one of our very responsible mobile volunteers check in as "priority". Given priority to transmit, he announced, "We have a tornado!" As he described the tornado's trajectory from his location, I began to worry about my family. I called Megan who asked, "What should we do?" I called several times with information, as I had it. I finally advised her to gather the family and take cover. That was the last time I could reach her by phone. Then, on the air, I heard "considerable damage at Friendswood Golf Course". OMG. My babies are there! I tried to call As soon as it was safe to do so, I hopped in my car and headed in that direction, six miles away. The minute I turned onto the road to Friendswood, I noted that the road was blocked by more than one tree across the road. I left my car and started to run on foot to the "yellow house" where my family lived, and ran into a man I didn't know but seemed to be in charge. (Turned out that he was the course owner's grandson, who was patrolling the property by the road to keep vehicles from driving on the course to circumvent the downed trees.)
I yelled to him, "What do you know about the yellow house?"
"The yellow house is fine, and so are the people."
"Where are they?"
"They left. Said something about going to a grandparent's house."
Oh. I realized that would probably be my house, so I returned to my car, turned around, and went home the way I came. (Obviously, the kids had departed from the other direction.) When I got home, my then-son-in-law, Nathan, was in the front yard, pacing, holding baby Ryan. I mumbled something about "thank God you're here"...and with a dazed look in his eye, he said, "Did you see the golf course?" I admitted that I hadn't. I'd been too worried about them to worry about the golf course. When I went inside, Megan, Robin, and Frodo the Wonder Dog were there. Meg was shaken. She wanted wine, and she's not a drinker! (Even more surprising was that I didn't have any in the house, and we couldn't buy any because it was Sunday!)
We put out a call to Nathan's parents who came over with a bottle of wine that they had been given as a gift. (They also weren't drinkers.) We all traded stories to determine what had happened. Bottom line: the tornado did a direct hit on the golf course, taking down about 125 trees and a barn. As it hit, the siren at the clubhouse was sounded to bring golfers in, but there were still some out, including Nathan. Megan was shouting for him to come in. They gathered both babies and the dog, and hid under a mattress in a hallway without windows. The house shuddered and creaked, and the power and phone went out. When they emerged, the house was still intact, but they had no power or phone. The mailbox was gone, as was Robin's Little Tykes play slide combo. Robin's sandbox was impaled to the ground with a tree branch that pierced it as the whole tree came down, missing the house by inches, and the world around them was filled with downed trees.
The family spent the night with me. I did an emergency run to the grocery store to get some supplies in order to feed everyone. The next morning, around 5:30, Nathan and Megan left to go to the golf course. I kept the babies and dog with me. The power was restored that day, as was the phone line. Grandpa Phil helped to restore the mailbox. Nathan got out the fork lift and started moving the downed trees to the perimeter of the course. Salvation Army volunteers from their rehab program provided some assistance, as did Grandpa Phil. The family was only with me that one night. Nathan, of course, had a lot of work ahead of him in order to get the golf course ready for business again.
The whole tornado experience was nerve-shattering. Thank God, it all turned out okay. It certainly was a Race Day to remember!
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