REMEMBERING INDY IN 1958
BY
ROBERTO DIEGO
Copyright 1999 by Roberto Diego
This document can be printed for one-time reading. No copying is authorized without written permission of the copyright holder.
"It's the greatest race in the world," said my father. This was 1955. I had just asked him about the Indianapolis 500. I remember that day vividly. Dad was washing his car, a 1952 Ford, and while he did so, he listened to "the race" on the car radio.
My two brothers and I were excited about the idea of a big race in the town where we lived. This was the first thread of excitement we had discovered. Dad told us to listen carefully and we could hear the roar of the engines in the distance. We smiled at each other in the realization that the "race" was indeed very close to our home.
Bill Vukovich was leading at this point. Dad told us he was probably the best race driver in the U.S. He had won the past two Indy 500s and was favored to win this one. Few had ever won three of these races.
Later, Dad told us that Vukovich had been tragically killed while leading the race. His mood had changed and we wondered why the roaring engines in the distance had not stopped for such an event. It was real, live, here, and forever. We began to comprehend that this was truly an important event, something world shattering.
I attended my first race in 1958.
We were not a wealthy family, having emigrated from Texas only recently. Our father was a struggling young man of fine good looks and with a Spanish accent. We settled for the Northwest corner of the track, next to the fence. It was somewhere between the third and fourth turn.
When first I saw the size of the facility, I was amazed that so much land could be set aside for a race track. I soon learned that this was no ordinary track.
I wondered what it would be like to see a wreck. I had heard about great crashes in past races\; the cars going so fast the drivers could not contain them, squeeling rubber and bone crunching smacks against the wall..
The excitement built as the track announcer introduced the celebrities who would greet us as they rode around in convertible cars. Songs were sung over the loud speakers, as many colored-balloons flew, as the National Anthem was sung. I had never experienced anything like this. The buildup was incredible. The owner of the track, Tony Hulman, announced the most exciting event I would ever witness with the words, "Gentlemen, start your engines."
The moment was coming, a moment that captured my spirit, my soul, my every cell. From that point on, the Indy 500 would be the most important event not directly related to my own life. Through all the years since that day, I have either been there, watched on television, or listened to the radio while overseas with the military. I have experienced a myriad of incidents, most of which are etched in my mind as important--memorable. I remember more about the moments of the Indy 500 than I do about many events in my life. The one I remember most was the moment that was yet to come during that first race of my life.
When I first saw the eleven rows of cars, it was the first time I had ever seen a race car. Those were the days of the front engine roadster, Offenhauser engines, and drivers who made a difference to the outcome of the race. Pat O'Conner, Jimmy Bryan, Roger Ward, and a rookie named A.J. Foyt. These men and their race cars created an incredible, thunderous sight as they came around slowly for the pace lap, arranged in rows of three cars per row, eleven rows of some of the most beautiful and thunderous machines I had ever seen. I don't remember how many pace laps they took in those days, but this old memory says they only took one. "The next time around," my father said, "they will be racing." I stood next to the fence in silent, rapt attention to everything that was going on. For the first time, I smelled the fuel from the cars, I experienced what it is like to be at the Indy 500. This was a build-up like nothing I had ever seen or would ever see except in Indy in May.
Of course, every young person wants to see thrilling crashes. He wants to witness them before his eyes, to experience the excitement of a car out of control. You must attribute this to youth, to inexperience, to the joy that comes from life, and expects that in the midst of this excitement, there will be no consequence to life.
The next time the cars came around, one of the lead cars began a slide that started a chain reaction of crashes. One silver blue car with the number 4 leaped over another, landed upside down, then flipped right side up again, showing me my first example of seeing a man killed. Cars were colliding everywhere. Awestruck, I watched another car tumble over the racetrack wall and out of sight. My eyes could not keep up with the action as it continued for several seconds of mayhem.
Some drivers managed to steer clear of the bumper car scene. I was aghast. It was Jerry Unser who had tumbled over the wall. Pat O'Conner had been the man who had lost his life. (It was this accident that spurred the use of roll-bars in racing cars. Over the years it has saved hundreds of lives. It would have saved Pat's.
I later learned that Pat was one of the finest gentlemen in racing, that he was personable, intelligent, and well-liked by all. The fans loved him and many were hoping he would win this particular race.
Jerry Unser managed to survive his trip over the wall. Unfortunately, before the flower that graced the careers of his brothers he was later tragically killed in a racing accident.
Jimmy Bryan, a tough racing veteran with a lot of determination, a man of the blood and guts racing fraternity, won this race. A.J. Foyt had spun out of the race.
That day was eventful for me. Seeing a man get killed in a sport--of all things--seeing the blood and broken bones, made me decide that I never wanted to see racing again. It was too brutal and dangerous. I decided to stay home the next year when Roger Ward won his first race. During that race, which I listened to on the radio, I regretted that decision. Racing, in spite of Pat's death, had made an impression on me that I would never lose. As the years passed, I could not resist the attraction of the Speedway, the excitement, the color, the people and the drama.
Racing would continue to claim the lives of many men and each life taught something about safety. Each life, a precious waste, led eventually to the technology that would make racing, not only faster, but safer. Today, drivers are not getting killed every weekend, even every month as it seemed back then. Many young race drivers from those days have gone on to retire as legends. Up to a few years ago some were still driving. But names like Pat O'Conner, Bobby Marshman, Eddie Sachs, Dave McDonald, Tony Bettenhausen, Art Pollard, Swede Savage, and Mark Donohue, to name only a few, are the departed legends who paved the way for today's young drivers, men great not only because they were great racers who died, but because they helped create the structure that is the modern racing car. Their legacy continues and many living drivers, mechanics, and engineers marvel at their accomplishments and strive to make better, faster, safer race cars and passenger cars.
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