Favorite Cars of my Indy days...

1979 - Pennzoil Chaparral

The very car from which this blog derives its name and first I saw live in an Indy 500.  While reading about this car in Sports Illustrated (I think it was), I realized this car was the 'next wave' of Indy cars which was the beginning of the ground effect era.

Sleek and fast and in the brightest yellow than I'd ever seen, this chassis still holds my title for 'best looking Indycar nosecone'.  My dad was an Al Unser fan (which pretty much made me al Al Unser fan), and for Al to not win in 1979 with this superior machine was disappointing to the extreme.  That winter I made my Pinewood Derby car in it's color and numbering treatment.  To see it one year later with the angular red 4 on that nose and some guy named Rutherford driving into victory lane was, to me, a jab that the fates could've done without.  That Chaparral that sits in the IMS Hall of Fame museum will always be the No. 2 Pennzoil car in my mind.

Synopsis, Part Deux - The End of the Beginning

My second (and fate-sealing) interaction with the Speedway was to see the race in person in 1979.  I anticipated that day much like most any Christian kid did with the coming of Christmas morning.  The wait for that day was nearly interminable, but the day arrives and our journey begins.

Sparing the day's travel details, We found our seats in the first row of L-South stand bleachers.  L-South (gone years ago to the expansion of the mighty aluminum L-Stand) was deemed a great raceday value by my father and I'd have to say that he was right but not exactly for the reasons he surmised.  His reasoning was that we were seeing the cars at top speed but paying less than half of the price for the seats corresponding to our location which was the outside of Turn 1.

My reasons became immediately apparent on the first green flag lap.  We were a scant 18 feet away from the outside wall of the track at the point where the cars have reached top speed on the backstretch and are beginning the entrance to Turn 3.  He was right about the speed.  I'm fairly sure that he had no idea the extent of sensory-loading that would occur by being that close to the track.  My friend and I were 11 years old and, by all parental reports, were the quietest they'd ever seen us during those opening laps of the 1979 race.

Anticipation had finally given way when Tom Carnegie came over the PA system announcing the green flag had fallen.  Cheers went up in L-South and all around, followed by a quickly hushed anticipation of the coming cars.  I very distinctly recall the following moments and think about them most fondly on raceday each year.

I'm not sure I will ever understand fully the extent of the impact those moments had on me, but the result was clear - I had become and Indy 500 fanatic.  The crowd sound swelled from the large L-stand whose view directly down the backstretch signaled the coming onslaught of machines.  I recall the bleachers vibrating slightly followed immediately by the crescendo of screaming Cosworth, AMC, Offenhauser, and Drake-Goossen-Spark, motors and an overwhelming wave of sensory loading culimnating in the decrescendo of motor noise and the sweet, pungent smell of burnt ethanol.  In approximately 9 seconds, I had felt, heard, seen, and smelled the most powerful things ever before in my life.  I could hardly wait the remaining 36 seconds for the leaders to come back around and experience it again.

That brief moment and the following events were so powerful, I would long for that day to arrive every year.  In the years I couldn't attend, I listened even more intently than ever before recalling that beautiful, sunny, Indiana day when the 33 (plus 2 due to the USAC-CART legal wranglings that year) cars shook my senses to the extreme.  To this day, I still cannot imagine a sporting event having more impact on me than May 27, 1979.

Grounded Effects - Not so brief synopsis, Part I

This blog's title in no subtle way references the racing car feature known as 'ground effects', whose significant debut at Indy coincides with my first attended race (1979), but I must back up a notch or two to the beginning of my love affair with Indy.

My first appearance at the old Speedway was not at a race, but in the spring of 1977 on a school field trip to Indianapolis.  In addition to the Children's Museum tour, we were taken into the old speedway and shuffled through Gasoline Alley (in the month of May, no less).

I had seen a few highlights of the Indy 500 on TV, listened to the race every May on the radio, and scanned with wide eyes my father's race programs from a few races prior.  It did nothing but fuel this young boy's desire to see the phenomenon in person.  I can't tell you how excited I was to see those fabled race cars (with the exception of A. J. Foyt and maybe Bobby Unser, I wouldn't have known any of the drivers' faces from a hot dog vendor).  

I touched Lloyd Ruby's tire as the car was being wheeled out for practice.  He later crashed in the race and subsequently announced his retirement.  I remember wondering if there was some force in the universe that connected my touch to his crash and subsequent retirement.  Sorry, Mr. Ruby, I never meant for this to happen.  

As the bus pulled out of the Speedway that day (much too soon for my liking), I couldn't stop looking out the back for one last look at the cars. Seconds before pulling onto 16th Street, the brightest, fastest red flash I'd ever seen in person went by with a barely recognizable 20 on the nose... Gordon Johncock. I had immediately deemed it a sign that the first car I'd ever seen at race speed would be the driver I cheered for. Gordy.  

When watching the race replay on ABC's Wide World of Sports, I thought The Fates had conspired to favor Gordy (and myself) as he lead much of the race with his bright red machine.  Nearing the end, Gordy's crankshaft let go coming down the front straight and a bluish-white plume of smoke erupted from his car signaling the end of his race.  I was deflated.  Here was a car and driver whose victory was all but sealed, only to have circumstances intervene and history's path set in a different direction.  The legend that was A. J. Foyt became the first driver to win his fourth Indy 500 that day.  Again, I wondered about the relationship between my choices and misfortune toward a racer.  I determined then that events transpire more organically than to be swayed by one insignificant kid's hopes (the near-misses, however, would be a recurring theme for the teams and athletes I would later cast favor upon). 

(Part II of Grounded Effects to follow)