we feel the blues when we lose

bob jennings' WORLD O' RACING

we feel the blues when we lose

December 25, 2003

Tony Renna during "Indianapolis 500" practice on May 7, 2003

Here we are again at the absolute peak of the holiday festivities. It's Christmas day. We will be into a new year one week later.

Christmas season has always been fun although this yuletide is likely excluded from the long golden list of treasured memories of seasons past.

There are special holiday memories shared with loved ones and moments that speed the endorphins circulating through the cerebral region as we anticipate the future in hope of duplicating past joys and pleasures.

Getting that eagerly awaited toy we longed for as a child from Santa Claus; having two weeks off from school to spend carefree days with our neighborhood pals with the extra benefit of everyone having new toys to share (my stuff was better than theirs); being with mom, dad, grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles; lots of good food; treats; staying up late every night but Christmas Eve - that dreaded night when it almost seemed like my sister and I had to pay our dues to receive the next morning's windfall. Being children, we didn't realize our poor, weary parents had a full night of assembling miniature metal cowboy towns, bicycles, baby doll carriages, toy stoves and the like.

Remember how exciting it was anticipating all the "loot" we would get from Santa, Mom and Dad, Gramma and Grampa and wondering just what it would all be?

It was never quite as good as we hoped, but it was always good anyway. I am reminded of a Dennis The Menace cartoon appearing in The Indianapolis Star one Christmas morning when I was still a kid. The cartoon showed the family living room filled with a Christmas tree and pile after pile of unopened toys. Dennis had an annoyed look on his face as he asked "is this all?" or something like that.

Hold on for a moment. I have a revelation. I just figured it all out. The thrill of anticipating our childhood Christmas gifts later transformed into fantasies about what it would be like to make love to various women as we moved into and past adolescence into manhood. I am so brilliant!

As we grew older, the special times were sometimes spent with romantic partners or mourning their absence. Some years just being home at mom's from Chicago, drinking eggnog and brandy while watching old Christmas movies on TV, with Bitsy snuggling her furry seven pounds on my chest was what I wanted most. Christmas represents all that and more. The colorful lights outlining the houses we pass, festive occasions with people who share our work and personal life, the continuous generation of memories, it all happens as Christmas approaches.

The big party starts annually on Thanksgiving weekend and builds to the main event on December 25 four or five weeks later amidst a collage of crowded shopping malls, continuous budget realignment to accommodate growing gift expenditures, welcome and familiar Christmas records on the radio (where was I when I first heard that song?), combined with life's endless parade of complexities and stresses which occur regardless of the season.

I hope you enjoyed a happy Thanksgiving day and that your turkey was moist, your stuffing was full of oysters, your mashed potatoes didn't have lumps, your giblet gravy was spicy, your cranberry jelly was bittersweet, your rolls and croissants were fresh and flaky and your green bean casserole contained those little fried onions that come in a can.

I hope you were surrounded with family, friends and other special people, adding new memories to those accumulated throughout the years. I hope you ate so much that all you could do was take a nap afterwards, while the Detroit Lions or Dallas Cowboys played their traditional "turkey day" games.

I always loved Thanksgiving day. It meant happy family memories, two days off work, a four day weekend and the official start of Christmas season. To be honest however, this year I could give a damn. For that matter, in my selfish way, Christmas means next to nothing either in 2003.

I moved from my previous residence over Thanksgiving weekend. There's not anything much worse than moving anyway. But to have to do it on a cool, dreary, rainy Thanksgiving weekend after you finally realize your marriage is done - it's the old "stank."

Perhaps on December 25, 2004 I will once again enjoy the warmth and beauty of Christmas. I sure hope so. Being alone on this special day is not what I want. But it feels like the correct thing to do this time.

The bad news is that racing an Indy car at 220 plus miles per hour can kill. The good news is that it doesn't happen very often any more.

There's been a lot of discussion and action, since Tony Renna's tragic death at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway on October 22, about safety in Indy car racing. Death in the sport always produces issues about why the fatality occurred and what can be done to reduce the chance of the same circumstance recurring. That's as it should be. These examinations bring the big gains in safety racing has enjoyed the past thirty years.

However we who love racing should also feel somewhat fortunate that Tony Renna is the first driver to die at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway since Scott Brayton's fatal crash in practice for the 1996 "Indianapolis 500" and only the second in eight years of the Indy Racing League.

True, a lot of drivers have been badly hurt in the short history of IRL competition. Off the top of my head, Buddy Lazier, Alessandro Zampedri, Davy Jones, Sam Schmidt, Davey Hamilton, Jaques Lazier and Kenny Brack come to mind. "Indianapolis 500" winner Gil de Ferran missed the final race of the 2002 season at Texas Motor Speedway after suffering injuries in a crash during the previous IRL event at Chicagoland Speedway. Then de Ferran missed the inaugural IRL race at Twin Ring Motegi last April after being hurt in late race crash with Michael Andretti at Phoenix International Raceway a few weeks earlier.

When the Indy Racing League specification cars came into use in 1997, the big problem was the heavy structure of the Emco gearbox package at the rear of the cars. Jones, the second place finisher to Buddy Lazier in the 1996 "Indy 500," was a victim of the design of the original Emco package. A testing crash at Walt Disney World Speedway in early January 1997 essentially ended Davy's once promising career.

For those of you who may not remember, twenty years ago Davy Jones was one of the most exciting race drivers on the international scene. In 1982 or 1983, Ayrton Senna, Martin Brundle and Davy Jones put on an intense three way battle for the British Formula Three championship. That title is what catapulted Senna and Brundle into Formula One. Jones was a formidable challenger to the legendary Brazilian in those seasons leading up to F1.

The Indy Racing League took measures to correct the problem at the rear of the new IRL spec racing cars. Initially extensions to cushion rear impact were added to the 1997 - 1999 Dallara and G Force chassis layouts. What did they call them - "attenuators" or something like that? When the 2000 - 2002 IRL package was introduced, the rear end on the G Forces, Dallaras and Riley & Scott packages were redesigned to greatly reduce the risk of injury from rear end crashes.

The current problem looks like an aero situation with the third generation IRL Indy cars, which were introduced in 2003 to be run through 2005.The current spec chassis packages appear to have a tendency to fly through the air. Who can forget Mario Andretti's spectacular launch in the south chute at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway last April?

Mario's car became airborne after running over debris from Kenny Brack's Team Rahal Pioneer/Miller Lite Dallara - Honda, which crashed a few moments earlier. The disruption of air under Mario's Andretti Green Dallara - Honda, caused by the debris from Brack's crash, sent the Andretti car so high into the air, it nearly cleared the debris fence (which may be the highest in all of racing) at the south end of the Speedway.

The fact Tony Renna's death was such a rare occurrence doesn't lessen the pain suffered by the late driver's family and fiancé. It was a terrible loss of a young and coming racing talent and the sport is the worse for Renna's passing to be sure.

When I began to follow racing in 1955, fatalities were a regular part of the competition. As I have written several times on this website, it was the death of Bill Vukovich in the 1955 "Indianapolis 500" which drew me to racing in the first place. In the 1950s, the "grim reaper" came to "the track" several times each season. It almost seemed as if a driver only had about a fifty percent chance of surviving a career in racing.

I remember visiting my grandparents one Sunday evening, a couple weeks after attending my first "Indianapolis 500" on May 30, 1956. My grandfather Charles W. Yount informed me that Bob Sweikert, the previous year's "500" winner, had been killed earlier in the day. The next morning I awoke to read the details of Sweikert's fatal crash in a USAC sprint car race at Salem Speedway in The Indianapolis Star.

As I read about Sweikert's demise, my nine year old mind returned to little more than two weeks earlier. I watched Bob Sweikert finish sixth in the golden yellow D-A Lubricants Special number 1 Kuzma - Offy roadster in the 1956 "500." Less than three weeks later the 1955 "500" winner was gone from this world.

I still shiver when I recall my third visit to the "500" on a sunny race day 1958. Maybe a half hour into the race, after the horrendous first lap melee in turn three, that eliminated eight cars and damaged several others, Tom Carnegie asked for the attention of the crowd on the public address system.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Indianapolis Motor Speedway regrets to announce that driver Pat O'Connor was fatally injured" were Carnegie's words as he grimly reported the death of O'Connor in the big crash on the first lap of the race. Being only eleven, I wasn't sure what it all meant and when I asked my father, who was seated next to me inside turn two, Dad quietly said "he died."

I am reminded of the hush that came over the crowd following Carnegie's announcement. It seemed like a long time before the excitement of the race returned after the pall cast on the event by Pat O'Connor's death.

The 1958 race was noteworthy for me in that my earliest racing hero Tony Bettenhausen led the "Indianapolis 500" for the first time in his career. Bettenhausen's red Jones & Maley Special number 33 "lay down" Epperly - Offy roadster ran at the front for 24 laps in the 1958 event. For several laps, Tony battled eventual winner Jimmy Bryan for command of the race. However a slow pit stop in the final stages dropped Bettenhausen to fourth place at the finish, behind Bryan, George Amick and Johnny Boyd who passed away at age 77 a few months ago.

In the days following the 1958 "Indianapolis 500," the story of the win by three time National Champion race driver Jimmy Bryan, in the same yellow George Salih Belond Special Epperly roadster which carried Sam Hanks to victory one year earlier at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, was secondary to the controversy generated by the confusing starting procedure that was partially blamed for the crash that cost O'Connor's life. Ed Elisian, who qualified second (145.926) for the 1958 "500," was also considered responsible by many for starting the multi-car wreck with over aggressive driving.

There was anxiety in the racing community following the big crash and O'Connor's death. One of the things that resulted immediately was the announcement the Speedway would return to the traditional method of starting the cars in eleven rows of three on the main straightaway and abandon the two year experiment of bringing the cars on to the track single file from the pit area. Both years the Speedway used the single file procedure (1957 and 1958), the new method created difficulty for the thirty three drivers as they tried to line up in the official formation.

Two other safety measures were announced for the 1959 "Indianapolis 500." Cars would be required to have metal roll bars welded to the frame behind the driver's head. Helmets worn by racers in the "500" would require safety certification by Speedway medical officials.

A fiery crash by Jerry Unser on the second day of practice for the 1959 "Indianapolis 500" initiated another significant safety measure. Unser died two weeks following the crash from blood poisoning caused by burns suffered in the accident.

USAC mandated driving uniforms in competition from that point forward, specifying the outfit be soaked with flame retardant chemicals in a rather primitive attempt at reducing injuries from fire. No longer would we see race drivers manhandling those brutish roadsters around the four corners of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway with muscle bulging forearms exposed from grimy tee shirts.

Ironically about fourteen months following the 1958 "Indianapolis 500," I read about Ed Elisian's death in the USAC Indy car 200 mile race at the "Milwaukee Mile," known in those days as Wisconsin State Fair Park. My family was on vacation at Big Monon Lake, near Monticello, Indiana in August 1959, when I saw the headlines of Elisian's fatal crash in The Indianapolis Star.

If memory serves me correct, the Milwaukee race marked Elisian's return to Indy car competition following Pat O'Connor's fatal accident. Elisian was driving a "superstitious" metallic green Watson copy roadster, the Travelon Trailer Special owned by Ernie Ruiz. The car was built by someone named Christensen from blue prints provided by A.J. Watson, although the actual builder's first name escapes me now.

Hold on. I think it was Barney. Yes, it was Barney Christensen. Hey Donald Davidson has nothing on this cat.

After repairs from the Elisian crash at Milwaukee, the same car was repainted in metallic shades of lilac and violet for the 1960 "Indianapolis 500," where it was driven by a rookie by the name of Jim Hurtibise.

After O'Connor's death in the 1958 "500," fear became the primary emotion I felt at the race. Prior to that time, I was more concerned with the competition. But after the popular North Vernon, Indiana driver was killed, driver safety became my primary focus. I became very frightened by the dangerous side of racing.

I became so concerned for my earliest hero Tony Bettenhausen, that I was actually happier when the "Tinley Park Express" wasn't in a race car.

I watched Bettenhausen, clad in a powder blue traditional road racer's uniform with a small red Dow (chemical) diamond shape sponsor patch over the chest pocket, nervously puffing a cigarette as he stood by his car during the pre race ceremonies for the 1960 "Indianapolis 500." It was an overcast day while I sat with my dad in the Tower Terrace seats behind the pits, watching activity on the track as crews prepared for the approaching competition.

By 10:30 AM May 30, 1960, dread overwhelmed me as I watched the clock tick away in the final thirty minutes before the start of the race. The feeling was trepidation. It was like I wanted to hit the pause button and stop time in an effort to hold off the start of the race because I wasn't ready to confront the drama generated by the beginning moments of the "Indianapolis 500." I didn't know which driver might be lost forever during the early laps of a contest that held so much potential for violence and danger.

I was almost relieved when Bettenhausen dropped out of the 1960 "500" with a broken connecting rod after 125 laps. Tony's metallic blue with day glow red trim number 2 Hopkins Dowgard Special Watson - Offy was running fourth at the time of the breakdown. I knew Bettenhausen didn't have the car to beat Jim Rathmann or Rodger Ward. So I was somewhat happy to see the smoking Dowgard Special limp to the pits.

I wrote previously on this website that I was so frightened with the speeds and noise of the cars when I attended my first "Hoosier Hundred" at the Indiana State Fairgrounds in September 1960, my dad had to coax me out of his automobile to watch the race.

I finally went to watch the race and saw Tony Bettenhausen finish second to a young third year Indy car racer from Houston, by the name of A.J. Foyt, who won his second career Indy car event. But I was holding my breath the entire 100 laps around the mile dirt fairgrounds oval and was relieved when the race was over.

By the time of the 1960 "Hoosier Hundred," more racers had given their lives in pursuit of speed and competition.

Jimmy Reece, one of the more promising Indy drivers of the time, was killed in a crash in September 1958 in an Indy car race at Trenton, New Jersey. Reece qualified on the outside of the front row for the 1958 "Indianapolis 500" and then overcame heavy damage to his car in the first lap crash that claimed Pat O'Connor, to finish sixth in the ill fated race.

George Amick, who finished second in his rookie appearance in the 1958 "Indianapolis 500," was decapitated in a mishap on the final lap of the Indy car race that opened competition at the brand new Daytona International Speedway in early February 1959.

1958 "500" winner Jimmy Bryan was killed at the start of the 100 mile USAC National Championship race at the treacherous Langhorne circular oval in eastern Pennsylvania in June 1960. Ironically Bryan was substituting for Rodger Ward in A.J. Watson's Leader Card entry because Ward refused to run Langhorne. It was Bryan's first Indy car dirt track race since the end of the 1957 season. Jimmy started on the outside of the front row, but hit a rut in the first corner and his car was thrown violently into the air.

If you have been around a while like me, you might remember the photo of Bryan's racer beginning its deadly climb while the arms of the 1958 "Indy" winner were thrown into the air and Jimmy took his merciless ride to eternity.

Johnny Thomson, one of the very best in the Indy cars in the second half of the 1950s, was killed in a sprint car race during summer 1960. Al Herman, another Indy regular, died in a crash in 1960 the same weekend as Bryan's fatal accident.

Look at a list of the 33 drivers starting the 1955 "Indianapolis 500." Bob Sweikert (winner), Tony Bettenhausen (second), Jimmy Davies (third), Johnny Thomson (fourth), Walt Faulkner (fifth), Al Herman (seventh), Pat O'Connor (eighth), Shorty Templeman (eighteenth), Keith Andrews (twentieth), Jimmy Bryan (24th), Bill Vukovich (25th), Jack McGrath (26th), Al Keller (27th), Ed Elisian (30th), Jerry Hoyt (31st) and Jimmy Reece (33rd) all lost their lives in race cars.

That's sixteen drivers of the 33 that started the violent 1955 "500." Look at some of the seventeen racers who survived to live beyond their racing careers however.

1955 sixth place finisher Andy Linden, a tough, muscle bound U.S. marine during World War II was injured critically in a midget race in California in 1957, never raced again and was crippled and incapacitated the rest of his life.

The Linden crash was especially disappointing to me personally. I cheered for Andy Linden when I attended my first auto race in person in August 1955, an AAA midget race at the old West 16th Street Speedway directly south of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. After the race, my parents took me to the pits where I was able to meet Linden and get his autograph.

After he finished fifth in the 1957 "Indianapolis 500," Linden appear to be moving into the realm of contention. For instance, I remember looking at an old USAC newsletter during summer 1957 and discovering that Andy was giving Jimmy Bryan fits on the way to a third Indy car National Championship for the Arizona racer. In addition, Linden was one of the primary contenders in the USAC sprints and midgets too.

Pat Flaherty finished tenth in the 1955 "Indianapolis 500." Flaherty hooked up with John Zink and A.J. Watson to dominate action at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway in 1956. Flaherty, a Chicago bar owner by way of Southern California, set new one and four lap track records on the way to the pole for the 1956 "500." Then Flaherty established control over a very competitive field just past the one quarter mark of the race to win in impressive fashion.

The unlucky Flaherty was barely able to enjoy his Indianapolis victory however. In August 1956 at Springfield, Illinois, Pat Flaherty experienced a serious crash which kept him out of racing until the 1959 "Indy 500."

In the 1959 race, Flaherty charged early to grab first place on lap 31. For the next sixteen laps, the 1956 "500" winner looked like his old self, engaging Jim Rathmann in a torrid battle in which the two rivals exchanged the lead five times.

Eventual race winner Rodger Ward passed Flaherty for first on lap 146. As the race wore on, Flaherty began to feel fatigue and after 162 laps, the exhausted driver slammed into the wall at the entrance to the pits. Although Pat Flaherty was entered briefly for the 1961 "500," I recall that he actually made his retirement announcement sometime during May of that year.

The Bill Vukovich fatality on lap 57 was not the only serious incident during the 1955 "500." One legged driver Cal Niday crashed hard on lap 170 of the 1955 race and was critically injured. To my knowledge, Niday never raced again.

The day Tony Bettenhausen was killed, testing his pal Paul Russo's race car at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, is as clear as yesterday in my mind. This happened while I lived in Carmel, Indiana in May 1961.

Marvie Myers was chief of police for Carmel, which was then an unincorporated municipality with a little bit of the early twentieth century farm village still in the community's personality mix. Myers, an old guy, drove around in a black and white Ford police car. Marvie might have been the first policeman in Carmel history. Perhaps before old Marvie hit the scene, the Carmel townsfolk relied on the Hamilton County Sheriff for law and order. Marvie set off a siren every evening at 11 PM that could be heard from my home on Mohawk Road, about a mile south of the center of town. The siren was the signal that you had to be eighteen to be on the streets.

There was no mayor, rather a town board and city manager. Donald Swails was the fire chief. He was the only Carmel fire chief I ever knew about. I can still visualize Swails' rugged appearance, highlighted by a large nose and a close crop crew cut hair style. If a man looked like a fireman, it was Donald Swails!

Crusty old "Doc Donahue" was the town doctor and operated out of an office near where the Carmel chapter of the Veterans of Foreign Wars is located now, at First Avenue N.W. and First Street N.W., one block north of the downtown business district along Main Street, or as we locals called it, "highway 234."

The good doctor's wife was the librarian at Carmel High School. Whew she was something! Talk about the librarian stereotype, Mildred Donahue was it. The Donahue's lived in a big brick house east on Main Street halfway between "downtown" and Carmel High School.

Elsie George must have been a first grade teacher at Carmel Elementary School since the beginning of time. If I had a dollar for each time I saw Ms. George and her sister walking together along main street on spring evenings, I would possess a tidy nest egg.

Meredith Smith, a long time photographer who had a studio in nearby Zionsville, Indiana, did the annual student pictures for all the Clay Township schools. Smith was a no nonsense guy, who conducted his business much like Mrs. Donahue the school librarian. Smith wore black rim eye glasses and had dark wavy hair that was always parted in the middle. I saw Mr. Smith several times during my years in the Clay Township system and each time, he wore a bow tie and an impatient expression.

Bill and Buck's Barber Shop, "Pood" Applegate's pool hall, Tom Jewett's clothing store, Sy Burger's jewelry store, Brown's pharmacy, Deering Cleaners, O.W. Nutt hardware store, Cruse & Company variety store, Whitaker's tavern, the Butler Oil station and Carmel Theater, owned by "Doc" Jones and operated by the Ford family, Jack, Gladys and son Louie, were the key spots in downtown Carmel. There was also McMahon's food market, the Foster Kendall grain elevator and the local Indiana Bell office run by Minnie Doane at the center of the Carmel business district.

One block west of "downtown" Carmel was Rue Hinshaw's fix it shop. That old guy, who I visited many times with Steve Schern, knew his way around things mechanical like a small town doctor knew how to cure the ailments of his fellow town folk. Hinshaw did business from a dusty, cluttered roll top desk in the corner of the repair shop. Rue was a kindly old guy, who would peer at you over his eye glasses, with a slight smile on his face as he analyzed the best way to fix a problem.

Cox's Market, Toots Drive In, Carmel Welding and Szabo shoe repair did business on the south edge of town. Parsley's Standard service was located near Carmel Theater, on the other side of Range Line Road. Kay's Flower Shop, Smith Mortuary and Jack's Tool Rental were the principal commercial enterprises at the north end of Carmel.

Keystone Avenue was under construction in May 1961 however, and once the divided highway was completed, the urban and commercial personality of Carmel began to change, stretching away from the traditional Main Street and Range Line Road corridors.

Bill Shepherd was the basketball coach of the Carmel High School Greyhounds while Dick Nyers coached the football team. Pete Bullard, Larry Isley and Johnny Marsh were star performers in "C.H.S. blue and gold" in 1961 who come to mind right now. Earl Lemme was principal at Carmel High School. Forest Stoops was the superintendent of Carmel Clay Schools.

Every time I went into Bill and Buck's barber shop I heard the crowd, that was always gathered, talking the latest gossip and complaining about the local sports scene. I remember that during his earliest winters in town, Bill Shepherd took a regular whipping in Bill & Bucks. I wonder if the coach had ringing ears in those days, since his coaching abilities were analyzed so often and the gang at the barber shop were giving Shepherd the going over on such a constant basis.

Bobby Knight graduated from Ohio State in 1960 and was ten years from coaching the Indiana University Hoosiers. The Indiana Pacers were six years away from opening play in the ABA, which was also six years away. The Indianapolis Colts were 23 years from being anything but the Baltimore Colts and in 1961, that famous Indianapolis hater Johnny Unitas was still "lord of the manor" in Colts blue.

The key phrase in those days was Indiana State High Scholl Athletic Association (I.H.S.A.A.) and there was nothing larger in sports in Carmel 1961 than high school basketball. The state tourney was as important as things got in those days. May at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway was a possible rival for most popular honors, but certainly not with a clear cut audience over that which closely followed the four week high school championship run.

In other words, while Tony Hulman, Rodger Ward, A.J. Watson, Jim Rathmann, Eddie Sachs and Tony Bettenhausen were all big names in the central Indiana, metro Indianapolis vocabulary, they weren't any bigger than Bobby Plump, Oscar Roberston, Ray Crowe, Jimmy Rayl, or the Van Arsdale twins.

I am reminded of attending a Carmel Greyhounds basketball game on the road, one Friday night in mid to late January 1961. I must have ridden the fan bus to the game although I can't recall exactly where C.H.S. was playing. Right now I want to say Zionsville or Sheridan, 35 or forty miles from Carmel, in the extreme northwest corner of Hamilton County, Indiana. I don't even recall whether the blue and gold won or lost.

But what I do recall vividly is that a number of the spectators attending the Carmel game were carrying transistor radios tuned into a regular season contest between the two best teams in the state, both undefeated to that time. I don't even recall whether the Muncie Central Bearcats or the Kokomo Wildcats won the game to which so many Carmel supporters were tuned in. However I think this gives you an idea about what I am talking about and what it was about in Carmel, Indiana in 1961.

The old line families in Carmel were the Kinsers, Hinshaws and Moffitts. Folks with those names lived all around Carmel and Clay Township.

The four largest churches in the community were the Carmel Friends Church, organized by the original Quakers who settled in Carmel around 1830, the First Methodist Church, which stood on land originally owned by my grandfather, Our Lady of Mount Carmel Catholic church out on the northwest edge of town and Orchard Park Presbyterian, at the corner of 106th Street and Westfield Boulevard.

The number one "hangouts" for the Carmel teenage crowd in were the Northwood Drive-In at 91st Street and Meridian (the hamburgers and cheeseburgers were served on toast) and the Tee Pee Restaurant next to the Indiana State Fairgrounds, at the corner of Fall Creek Boulevard and East 38th Street. I can't recall whether the Northside/Mark Twain drive-in theater was operating in May 1961, at the corner of 99th Street and Westfield Boulevard, or if that came in 1962.

My main pals of the day were Dave Willmuth, Steve Schern, cousin Steve Yount and Danny Renick. As my "homeys" and I wandered the streets of Carmel or Home Place (four miles to the south of downtown - where ironically I now reside), sneaking Camel cigarettes and drawing local outrage for smoking in public, coughing and choking as we walked, we laughed our way through life.

I felt the sting of a college fraternity paddle on my pimply ass more than a few times, from the school principal Carl Bailiff. However I was able to get revenge on Bailiff, who lived a few houses away, each October as I applied countless bars of soft Ivory soap to the windows on his house and car. Bailiff was a tough guy but no tougher than my pal Danny Renick - or so I thought at the time. I can't count the number of times Danny was suspended from school in those years.

In May 1961, there were few things I took seriously. Primary among these were the "Indianapolis 500," Tony Bettenhausen and the next opportunity for silliness.

I worried about Khrushchev dropping nuclear bombs. I still wasn't happy that John Kennedy stole the presidency (thanks to the late Chicago mayor Richard J. Daley (Sr.) in Illinois and JFK's running mate Lyndon Johnson in Texas) from Richard Nixon the previous November. I feel differently about Nixon versus Kennedy today of course.

My early political favorite Richard Milhous Nixon comes off in December 2003 as an emotional mutant, who by the time he finally gained the cautious acceptance of the American public with his landslide reelection in November, 1972, was so filled with venom for past disappointments, he was absolutely useless as the leader of the free world. It look like poor old "Tricky Dicky" done lost his mind to me.

Each day was mostly a game for adolescent, chubby Bob Jennings as I made my way through year fifteen and laughed with my pals while we listened to each other's farts, the louder and smellier the better.

Elvis Presley was out of the army, making the foolish movies which eventually ended phase one of his career (although I didn't see it that way at the time) and life was mostly good.

On Sunday May 7, 1961, cousin Peggy Yount drove me to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway to watch "Indianapolis 500" practice. I got a good look at Tony Bettenhausen's ride for the "500," the Autolite Special number 5, both in the pits and at speed on the track.

Bettenhausen's car was a "lay down" Offy roadster built by Quinn Epperly. The car was constructed for the 1960 "500," but didn't qualify for the race. Tony persuaded Lindsey Hopkins to buy the car for him to drive in 1961. It was painted white with day glow red trim, looking sleek and small when compared to the predominant "up right" Offy roadsters built by A.J. Watson.

The Autolite car had a dynamic appearance and "number 5" ran fast. In fact, Bettenhausen topped the speed charts for the second consecutive day with a lap in excess of 147 miles per hour, while I was at the Speedway. Now that I think about it, the trip on May 7, 1961 was my first time to watch "Indianapolis 500" practice, the first of hundreds of days watching "Indy" practice. It was also the final time I saw Tony Bettenhausen alive in person.

I purchased an 8 by 10 inch, black and white glossy photo, pit pose of Tony Bettenhausen, in his new Hopkins Autolite race car, for $1.00 from the old track side Speedway photo shop under the Tower Terrace seats that day. I still have that photo. Maybe I'll do a water color rendering of that painting some day. Maybe not.

You have to be up in years to recall the significance of the 150 mph lap barrier at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. That was a big deal, even bigger at the time than when the 200 mph barrier was broken at the Speedway by Tom Sneva in qualifying for the 1977 "Indianapolis 500." Perhaps the primary importance of the accomplishment was that it meant a racing car was getting around the 2.5 mile oval in exactly one minute.

Increases in lap speeds were made in more subtle fashion in the 1950s and early 1960s at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. The pace of racing technology was a lot slower in those days. Some Mays, like 1957 and 1959, the four lap "Indianapolis 500" qualification records went unsurpassed. I remember being disappointed during the years when May activity failed to yield new "track records" during time trials.

On pole day May 14, 1960, Eddie Sachs set a new one lap record of 147.251 during his four lap qualifying run for "500" pole position and also set a new four lap average speed mark of 146.592 mph.

On Sunday May 22, 1960, rookie Jim Hurtibise blasted Sachs' new records in a way that hadn't been done since Jack McGrath (143.793) stole the one lap mark from Bill Vukovich (141.309) on May 15, 1955 or Jim Rathmann (145.120) surpassed McGrath's 1955 four lap mark (142.580) on May 19, 1956.

Hurtibise's one lap record was 149.601 mph and his four lap average was 149.056 mph. I recall that Sachs, in an extraordinary act of good sportsmanship, interviewed Hurtibise on the public address after the rookie had completed his record run. Sachs good naturedly told Hurtibise he would have felt badly if Jim had barely beaten Eddie's week old records. But Sachs exclaimed that Hurtibise had really beaten them, moving his arms apart to indicate size, as he congratulated the new record holder.

I can still remember the day Hurtibise took one and four lap records at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. It was the day we now call "bump day," and the 1960 "500" was eight days from being run on May 30.

I was riding an old lawn mower that day in May 1960, cutting the grass at my dad's request when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see Steve Schern, shouting over the noise of the mower's engine, in an excited way about Hurtibise's run. Steve, my original racing mentor, was already on the Hurtibise band wagon and very excited about the rookie from Lennox, California by way of North Tonawanda, New York.

Jim Hurtibise became an instant hero with his qualifying run for the 1960 "Indianapolis 500." However keep in mind that by May 1960, "Hercules" was already an established Indy car competitor.

Hurtibise came east from the Southern California Racing Association (or whatever they called the west coast sprint series in 1959). "Herk's" primary competitor in West Coast competition was Parnelli Jones, who Hurtibise preceded at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway by one year. After Hurtibise's record run at the Speedway in May 1960, Jim told the media that he had a racing buddy (Parnelli Jones) in California who was even faster than he was.

By the end of 1961, Jim Hurtibise, Parnelli Jones and A.J. Foyt would be the biggest attractions in USAC and Indy car racing. During the second week of practice for the 1961 "Indianapolis 500," Foyt was the 1960 Indy car USAC National champion, Hurtibise was the one and four lap record holder at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway and Parnelli Jones was the most heralded rookie driver to that time perhaps. Each of the three were somewhere on the list of potential winners. However certainly none of the trio were at the top of the list yet.

In the sad days leading to the 1961 "Indianapolis 500" after May 12 and the Bettenhausen crash, Eddie Sachs and Rodger Ward looked like the guys with the best chance to me.

As the pace of practice activity picked up at the Speedway after my May 7 visit, it became apparent Tony Bettenhausen figured out the key to speed heading into the first weekend of "500" qualifications. On Wednesday May 10, Bettenhausen engaged in a battle for high speed honors at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway with veteran Dick Rathmann.

Rathmann, the pole sitter for the 1958 "Indianapolis 500" and older brother of the 1960 "Indy" winner, was entered in the same conventional Watson - Offy roadster he had driven since 1958, the maroon number 97 Jim Robbins Special. But Rathmann was flirting with one of the legendary Novis, which were now owned by Andy Granatelli. Dick ran a lap at 148.26 mph in the Novi on May 10.

Tony Bettenhausen's "little" Autolite Special number 5 was faster though. The white and florescent red-orange-pink Hopkins car turned a top speed of 149.25 mph, making the 44 year old "Tinley Park Express" the second fastest driver in the history of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

During his fifteen plus seasons racing Indy style "champ" cars, Tony Bettenhausen was victorious twenty two times. At the time, Bettenhausen's win total represented the all time record in the oldest form of motor sports competition. Tony was the 1951 AAA Indy car champion with a eight victories. He repeated in 1958, winning the USAC (Indy car) National Championship by running consistently without victory.

At the Indianapolis Motor Speedway however, Bettenhausen's record was a different story from all the success he enjoyed at other race tracks around the country. His best finish in the "Indianapolis 500" was second in the 1955 race. In his race to be runner up, Tony shared the drive with Paul Russo. As I wrote earlier, the only time Bettenhausen ran in front at the Speedway were the 24 laps he led the 1958 "500."

Although Bettenhausen started the 1955 "500" from the middle of the front row, Tony wasn't the second fastest driver in the field for that race. However given his 1961 practice speeds, a lot of "railbirds" (that's what they used to call the folks who hung out at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway throughout May) were predicting a big day for the Tony and the Lindsey Hopkins team on Saturday May 13, the opening day of qualifications for the 1961 "500."

I was feeling pretty good too and could hardly wait to get to the Speedway on pole day. I wanted to see Tony Bettenhausen win the "Indianapolis 500" more than I wanted to escape from puberty. Things looked like they were falling into place for Bettenhausen to have his best shot at winning the "500." Pole position and being the first driver to beat the 150 mph mark at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway were excellent ways to prepare for that all important winning "500" drive I had been waiting for since summer 1955 when I designated Melvin Eugene Bettenhausen as my hero.

Bettenhausen didn't get on to the track on Thursday May 11. When Dick Rathmann blew the Novi engine, the track was shut down for the day. Perhaps Tony might have beaten 150 mph that day had the Autolite car made it on to the Speedway oval.

About 1 PM on Friday May 12, Tony Bettenhausen was on the 2.5 mile Indianapolis Motor Speedway oval, testing the number 24 Stearly Motor Freight Special for his buddy Paul Russo. Russo was assigned to the 1959 model A.J. Watson roadster, which carried Rodger Ward to victory in the "500" that year, but was having problems getting the car up to competitive speed.

Bettenhausen ran a few laps with the Stearly car, then started to slow and enter the pits but changed his mind and accelerated for another circuit. As Tony braked for the first corner (they hit the brakes back then) an anchor bolt in the front radius rod support fell off. The car veered to the right at the south end of the straightaway and climbed the wall.

In 1961, the retaining walls at the Speedway were much lower than they are today, something like 2 1/2 to three feet on the main straightaway. The safety fencing on top of the walls had been enhanced from the previous year, with three railroad cables attached to the front of the fence at even intervals. The Stearly car did a series of flips on top of the wall, knocking out six poles before becoming caught in the wire mesh.

Miraculously the car stayed out the spectator seats, which were empty at the time. However since spectator seating was located against the wall in those days, had the crash occurred the following day with a large crowd assembled for the opening of qualifications, the tragedy would have been much greater.

Like Tony Renna's fatal accident, there is no film or video footage of Tony Bettenhausen's crash that I am aware of. I saw film clips of the car after it crashed but I haven't seen actual clips or photos of the mishap on May 12, 1961. The nature of the Bettenhausen and Renna crashes, separated by more than 42 years, are remarkably similar.

"My most vivid "Practice Friday" memory occurred on May 12, 1961. It was a beautiful May afternoon as my buddy Dave Willmuth (hey Dave if you're still with us and you read this get in touch) and I walked home from school at Carmel Junior High. I was excited. The previous Sunday I went to the Speedway for practice for the first time. I watched my hero Tony Bettenhausen sorting out his 1960 model Autolite Dealers Association Epperly chassis number 5 with a laydown Offy engine. The Autolite car was owned by Lindsey Hopkins. It was a beauty, obviously the fastest car at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway in May 1961, dazzling in white and day glow red. As the week before qualifications progressed, Bettenhausen was running two mph faster than any one else. Two days earlier, on Wednesday May 10, the 44 year old "Tinley Park Express" had a practice lap at 149.25 mph, just a tick off the official Indianapolis Motor Speedway one lap record of 149.601 mph set by Jim Hurtibise in qualifications for the 1960 "500."

Tony Bettenhausen was a strong favorite to win pole position the next day and a good bet to become the first driver to turn the elusive one minute 150 mph lap. This was to be the sixth time I attended the "Indianapolis 500" and it was shaping up as the very best of the six.

Dave and I were walking up the hill on First Avenue, at the south edge of the old Carmel city limits, about a block from the Carmel Methodist Church, when we saw Steve Schern approaching. I can still remember the exact words Steve said. "Hey guess what, Bettenhausen was killed." Steve's words hit me like a shot to the head.

Bettenhausen was killed instantly about 1:00 PM when the race car he was driving climbed the outer wall at the south end of the main straightaway and tore through the safety fencing atop the concrete. Miraculously the car stayed out of the empty seats on the other side of the wall. Ironically, Tony was driving Paul Russo's car, the Stearly Motor Freight Special, when he crashed. Russo was having trouble getting the car, an A.J. Watson roadster that Rodger Ward drove to victory in the 1959 "500," up to speed and he asked Bettenhausen to check things out.

What had been a beautiful May Friday full of anticipation and magic a few moments earlier turned into one of the two darkest racing moments I ever experienced. Tony Bettenhausen was gone and with him the focus of my boyhood racing attention."

During the rest of the day, I was in shock. Tony Bettenhausen's death didn't seemed possible and I had to constantly remind myself the "Tinley Park Express" was gone not only from racing but from this world forever.

I wanted Tony Bettenhausen to win the "Indianapolis 500" so badly. That dream was over and from then on, the 44 year old racing veteran was no longer flesh and blood, a living thing, but rather a memory to be seen only in films, photos and words in books and newspaper coverage.

My plan was to attend the next day's qualifications with cousins Peggy Yount and Joe Andrew Yount. The next morning, I woke up early to read The Indianapolis Star. The front page headline was large and sad - "RIDE FOR PAL KILLS TONY." It tore at me like nothing had to that time in my fourteen years. My hero would not be at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, win the pole for the 1961 "Indianapolis 500" and break the 150 mph barrier. My hero would be around no longer.

By Pole qualifying day for the 1961 "Indianapolis 500," I had been to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway a total of thirteen times in May for on track activity. That tally included five consecutive runnings of the "Indianapolis 500," seven qualification days and one practice day. Prior to May 13, 1961, I always made each trip full of electricity and anticipation.

However with Tony Bettenhausen's death staring me in the face from the front of the morning newspaper, I approached Pole day 1961 more with a sense of obligation than excitement. Basically, I was going to the Speedway because I figured Tony would have wanted me to go and perhaps more importantly, because I didn't know what to with myself otherwise.

It didn't particularly bother me when Peggy took her time leaving for the Speedway, less than an hour before the 11 AM scheduled start of qualifications. I was still in shock from the previous day and there wasn't much that mattered to me.

While Peggy was driving younger cousin Joe Andrew and I to the Speedway in Aunt Ruth Yount's baby blue 1960 Ford station wagon, she rear ended another car on West 16th Street less than one mile from the track's east end. By the time the applicable Indianapolis Police Department personnel arrived and all the official documents were signed, sealed and delivered, a couple hours of "500" qualifying had already taken place.

I didn't really care. Peggy, bless her heart, was really a sweet gal, very good to her cousins. The only driver I can recall being on the track that afternoon, although I saw more drivers qualify, was 1959 winner Rodger Ward, who ended up with the fourth grid position after a four lap qualifying run of 146.180 mph.

I recall that Peggy, Joe and I climbed to the penthouse section of the new Paddock grandstand on the outside of the main straightaway, across from the pits. Someone brought a pair of high powered binoculars which Joe and I played with while activity took place on the track. I think I tried to simulate a TV camera with the binoculars but generally my heart wasn't in it.

In retrospect, May 13, 1961 might have been the least enjoyable day at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway among the hundreds I have experienced throughout the years.

However there was a notable occurrence that mid May Saturday afternoon during my fifteenth year. From that day forward, I threw away my racing fear. What else could occur on the race track worse than Tony Bettenhausen getting killed? From that point forward, my racing focus was on the competition on the race track.

From a historical perspective, Tony Bettenhausen's death might have been significant in more than the expected ways. If Bettenhausen conquered the 150 mph - one minute barrier at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway on May 13, 1961, the prized record would not belong to the great Parnelli Jones. If Tony lived to finally tame the 2.5 mile oval on race day May 30, 1961, A.J. Foyt would have been deprived of his first "Indianapolis 500" victory.

True Foyt won four of the previous season's final events (all on dirt) to come out of nowhere and beat Rodger Ward for the 1960 USAC National (Indy car) championship. However I can't recall any one being overwhelmed by the 26 year old Texan during the pre-race in May, 1961. Sid Collins, Tom Carnegie, Jep Cadou (The Indianapolis Star) and William F. Fox (The Indianapolis News), the principal local pundits, all seemed somewhat tempered in their enthusiasm for young Anthony Joseph Foyt Jr. in those immediate days leading to the 45th running of the "greatest spectacle in racing."

Foyt was in George Bignotti's brand new A.J. Watson copy, which was built by veteran "500" mechanic Floyd Trevis, the number 1 Bowes Seal Fast Special. The Foyt car was striking in its pearl, candy apple red and black colors, very exotic and "west coast hot rod" appearing when compared to most of the other cars. A.J. qualified for the "500" seventh at 145.900 mph, behind Eddie Sachs (147.480), Don Branson (146.840), Jim Hurtibise (146.300), Rodger Ward (146.180), Parnelli Jones (146.080) and Dick Rathmann (146.030).

Interestingly, Tony Bettenhausen's replacement in the Hopkins Autolite number 5, Lloyd Ruby, qualified on day three in twenty-fifth position. But Ruby's four lap average of 146.900 mph would have put Lloyd in the middle of the front row, had he qualified with the same speed on May 13.

As I remember it after the Bettenhausen fatality, a lot of people felt like it was Eddie Sachs' turn to win the "500," myself included. Of course, Rodger Ward and A.J. Watson, the irrepressible "top dogs" of Indy car racing at the time, always loomed as large threats at every race and especially at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

As things developed in the race, Foyt took the lead for the first time on lap 76. Prior to that, Jim Hurtibise, Jim Rathmann and Parnelli Jones set the pace but each of that trio faded or fell out of the race. Shortly after the two thirds mark, the contest came down to a battle between Foyt and his more experienced rival Sachs.

As most of you know, the Foyt - Sachs battle for victory in the 1961 "Indianapolis 500" is considered by many to be one of the all time classic moments in racing history. Beginning on lap 124, A.J. and Eddie exchanged the lead twelve times. The winning tide turned from Foyt to Sachs and back to Foyt in the final segment of the race.

Foyt was the initial victim when he failed to receive a full supply of fuel during his final stop, due to malfunctioning equipment in the Bowes Seal Fast pit. That necessitated an additional stop, which seemingly handed the win to Sachs and the Clint Brawner led Dean Van Lines crew.

When Sachs, a sure winner, rushed to the pits on lap 197, with white cord wear indicators showing on his Firestone tires, the glory was handed back to Foyt and the start of one of racing's greatest legends was truly born.

Prior to pulling into Victory Lane at the Speedway on May 30, 1961, A.J. Foyt was essentially just another promising driver, sort of the way current Indy car champion Scott Dixon is looked at today. After he became part of racing history with his first "Indy" win (which incidentally in my view is the very best of A.J.'s four), Foyt became the all conquering giant for the next several years and especially in 1961 and 1964.

So there is a little morsel for you to chew on after taking Alka Seltzer because you consumed too much Christmas dinner, unlike me, who hasn't had anything but Ibuprofen, coffee and a couple shots of Woodford Reserve Kentucky whiskey (90 proof) to sustain me on this most miserable of all Christmas days.

I stayed home from work with the flu yesterday and slept most of the day. Not wanting to expose my 82 year old mom to my poison, I refrained from any yuletide revelry and these final tasty shots of Woodford help me complete this piece which I started six weeks ago, before the move, Thanksgiving, lonliness and the Christmas season descended upon me.

I'm feeling sorry for myself and my Christmas solitude but in a convoluted way, it's somewhat soothing to suffer, especially when I have about two more shots of this Woodford Reserve left on my glass. You know it just seems like the most appropriate thing to do - suffer that is, wallowing in my self pity like a fat hog in slop.

A few more words and I'll post this "s.o.b" and it will be preserved for all time or at least until I forget to pay my web site host. Then I will take a nap for a few hours because I am beginning to feel like hell again.

Racing became safer during the 1960s, after Tony Bettenhausen was killed on May 12, 1961.

To be sure, race drivers still were killed on a frequent basis. Wofgang von Trips (Formula One), Al Keller (Indy cars), Joe Weatherly (NASCAR), Eddie Sachs (Indy cars), Dave MacDonald (Indy cars), Fireball Roberts (NASCAR), Chuck Rodee (Indy cars), Don Branson (USAC sprints), Jud Larson (USAC sprints), Dick Atkins (Indy cars), Billy Foster (NASCAR), Lorenzo Bandini (Formula One), Mike Spence (Indy cars) were killed in racing accidents during the 1960s among others, because I am sure I have forgotten one or more of the notable racing fatalities during the 1960s.

The next big hurt for me came on April 7, 1968. It was as deep a cut as the Tony Bettenhausen fatality on May 12, 1961. Jim Clark, the greatest driver of them all, was killed in a meaningless Formula Two race at Hockenheim.

Less than two weeks earlier, I watched Clark test his new car for the 1968 "Indianapolis 500," the radical wedge shape STP Lotus 56 turbo car, at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway and swooned, dreaming of the heavenly days in May that were approaching.

As in 1961, my May dreams were cut short with Jim Clark's death one month following the Scot's thirty-second birthday. In an earlier offering on this website, I made reference to Jim Clark's passing accordingly:

"Not to forget, 34 years ago today I got a knock on my boarding house apartment door in the 3100 block of North Pennsylvania Street. It was my sister who came to tell me Jim Clark had been killed racing in Germany. That was the worst racing day of all. Despite having a hangover from the previous night's 21 year-old revelry (with Debbie), my first thought upon hearing of the magical Flying Scot's death was where I could find a half pint of Heaven Hill since it was Sunday and the bars and package stores were closed."

Despite the fatal crashes by Jim Clark and those of his 1960s contemporaries, racing did become safer. Perhaps the primary reason for improved safety in racing was the flimsy appearing rear engine cars basically disintegrated upon smashing into concrete and that dissipated energy away from the helpless driver's body.

There were other big gains too. After the violent crash on lap two of the 1964 "Indianapolis 500," which claimed Eddie Sachs and Dave MacDonald, and also eliminated a total of seven cars and stopped the race for the first time in history, gasoline was banned from Indy car racing and fuel cell technology was accelerated.

Racing became even safer during the 1970s. A rash of front end crashes, which threatened to destroy the legs of Rick Mears and Derek Daly among others in the 1980s, brought about chassis reconfiguration that specified longer cars with more protection for the feet and legs of open wheel drivers.

As expected, Tony Renna's death, on October 22, initiated drastic measures to correct the problems that resulted in the loss of the young driver from Deland, Florida at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. The Indy Racing League announced recently that beginning with the practice for the 88th "Indianapolis 500" in early May, engine size will be decreased from 3.5 to three liters.

This is a big decision and it will cost the three IRL engine manufacturers a bunch of money. To the credit of Toyota, Honda and Chevrolet, each auto maker enthusiastically supported Tony George in an attempt to reduce speeds in Indy car racing. Initial expectations are that top qualifying speeds for the 2004 "500" will drop below 220 mph for the first time since 1997.

This is really a big deal that is going to have large implications! Despite what takes place in the Indy Racing League events prior to May, the 88th "Indianapolis 500" is going to be the very first race for an entirely new set of engine specifications. To be honest, no one will know exactly what these changes will bring in terms of what occurs during the 2004 "500."