General Features
Boyhood Indy 500 Memories
By By Bob Brannon
May 27, 2005, 23:32

With the 89th running of the Indianapolis 500 this Memorial Day weekend, I sat in the wisteria-and-ivy-covered swing in my back yard Monday afternoon after a hard day’s work and drank an ice-cold beer and reminisced about a couple of those long-ago races I was fortunate enough to witness.

My dad was an auto racing and camera buff whose two oldest sons became fervent speed-addicts as well. They attended a couple of Indy 500s and several 12 Hours of Sebring sports car races in the late 1950’s. They even saw America’s first ever Formula One race: the 1959 U.S. Grand Prix at Sebring.

I was the third son, and fourth of five children. I was born in August of 1955, ten years after the number one son and six years after number two. I cut my auto racing teeth as a youngster in the 1950’s by attending the Saturday night dirt track races with my family and at the Confederate Grand Prix, a yearly SCCA event, at the Courtland, Alabama airfield circuit. I grew up watching D-type Jaguars, Lister Jags, Ferrari Testa Rossas and Lotus Elevens.

I also enjoyed playing with, and occasionally breaking, my brothers’ fine collection of Merit and Strombecker racing models while they were at school. I always paid a heavy physical price at my brother’s hands for all that fun I was having after they discovered my transgressions. We listened to the Heavyweight Title fights on the stereo console radio in our living room back then, and I can testify that I felt like Floyd Patterson after an ass-kicking by Sonny Liston every time I broke one of those models! Big brothers . . . bah.

My mother made a large picnic lunch and our family of seven usually had to take two vehicles the thirty miles to Courtland to accommodate all the chairs, food and people. I usually rode with my mom and two sisters in her two-tone red and white 1958 Mercury station wagon, which was later replaced with a navy blue 1963 Buick LeSabre wagon. My mom always drove a station wagon and I even took my driver’s license test in one (a yellow Ford LTD with fake wood-grain siding in 1971). Mom taught me how to parallel-park that huge beast right before my test. She was also known to drive rapidly here and there and was a late-braker.

Although I wasn’t a total rookie, I had never attended a big race. I had watched the family films of all those Sebring and Indy races and my dad subscribed to Competition Press (now Autoweek), Car & Driver, Sports Car Graphic and Road & Track. I really knew a lot about auto racing for such a young, ignorant Alabama kid.

My dad and brothers had started racing go-karts in the late 50’s and continued until my oldest brother graduated from high school in 1964. I spent countless Sunday afternoons at the local go-kart track in Muscle Shoals, Alabama. My mother kept lap charts while my sisters and I sat in the little grandstand or ran around. I remember covering my ears with my hands and moving them like a mechanic’s hand on a carburetor and the sounds as the karts whizzed by: wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow with a lot of reverb. Mom even competed in a couple of "powder puff" races for the ladies and won one of them.One day my older sister and I walked over to the nearby train track and placed a couple of pennies on the rail. After the train went by a couple of hours later, we walked back over and found our flattened coins.

My big break came in the spring of 1963 when my oldest brother and his girlfriend, my mom and I went to the USRRC races in Pensacola, Florida. I remember seeing Roger Penske’s Zerex Special, Hap Sharp's Cooper-Monoco, Augie Pabst's Lotus 19 and some new car my brother was raving about. Something called a Cobra. The Cobra drivers in the GT race were Ken Miles, Bob Holbert, Bob Johnson and Dave MacDonald. Penske won the GT race in a blue Ferrari 250 GTO.

Having proved that I could handle the big time, my Dad agreed to let me go to the 1964 Indy 500. Just to be sure about my stamina, we attended the 1964 Nascar Atlanta 500 in March as a tune up. I held up fine and picked out a driver I liked from the program. He had a big toothy grin, ears that stuck out and had a neat, funky blue colored car. His name was Richard Petty and he finished seventh that day. Fireball Roberts was on the pole in a purple #22 Ford but did not finish. Fred Lorenzen won the race in a Ford.

The Indy 500 was held on the actual Memorial Day back then, not necessarily on a Sunday. I remember missing some school and having to stand up and give an oral report to my third grade class when I got back. We didn’t get out of school until around June 7th in those olden days. Then again, we didn’t start until after Labor Day either.

As the big trip approached, I was ecstatic. I was not exactly a worldly traveler. I had been to Florida a few times, Nashville, Birmingham, Jackson and Natchez, Mississippi to visit relatives. However, in 1964 I was really getting around for an eight-year old. I had been on the aforementioned Atlanta trip and also went to New Orleans that previous spring break. I had been down Bourbon Street and seen mammary glands swinging through an open door. I had it going on!

My father, his best friend and fellow-go-karter, Mr. John Taylor, my oldest brother and myself embarked on an adventure I will never forget: the 1964 Indy 500! We spent the night somewhere and had a generic breakfast the next morning, probably bacon and eggs. Since we were up "north," I'm sure grits weren't offered. Hash browns probably were, but I wouldn't have eaten them. My eight-year old mind associated foods with such names as "hash" and "goulash" as Hobo's fare. Of course my parents had an odd sense of what constituted good food as well. Anyone who would eat collard greens and something as vile and smelly as something called kale wouldn't know good food if it jumped down their throats and swung on their tonsils. Perhaps that's why I never much cared for the Grand National driver Cale Yarborough. I mean, who would name their kid after a vegetable? I'll bet his mother had one of those flowery names like Iris, Daisy or Petunia. It wouldn't surprise me one bit to learn that he had a brother named Spinach!

After breakfast we arrived at the track the morning of the race. I was in awe of the place! The sheer magnitude of the track was incredible. I had thought Atlanta Motor Speedway was pretty darned impressive, but this blew it away.

As we stood in line to get inside the grandstands, a steel beer can came whistling down and bounced off the head of a tall man with black, slicked-back hair standing in front of my dad. It made a loud “boing” noise and the guy started cursing up a blue streak and shaking his fist towards the tiny dots of people at the top of the grandstand. I had never heard most of the words coming out of his mouth. I did recognize a few words: "kill you, break your #%*%$&@ neck, you mother%#&$#%." My dad had to cover his mouth to hide the huge grin deposited there.

We took our seats in the turn 4 grandstand and looked at that morning’s newspaper. It had eleven rows of color photos of the 33 starters’ cars. I was for the Lotus duo of Jimmy Clark and Dan Gurney. I knew a little bit about Formula One and my brother worshipped “Uncle Dan, “ as he always referred to him. Sadly, Fireball Roberts, who was scheduled to drive, had been killed in an accident a month earlier. I slightly understood what "death" meant. Our President, JFK, had been assassinated the previous fall. I was told that dead people had gone to a "better place." Of course, according to our caterwauling Baptist minister every Sunday, there were several parishioners in our own church who had reservations in Hotel Hell. I was convinced that my older sister had signed up at birth.

Jim Clark was on the pole in his Lotus-Ford. He was joined on the front row by Bobby Marshman in another Lotus-Ford and former winner Rodger Ward in a Watson-Offy. The second row consisted of the 1963 winner Parnelli Jones in a Watson-Offy, 1961 winner AJ Foyt in a Watson-Offy and Dan Gurney's Lotus-Ford. Also of interest to me was sports car driver Walt Hansgen in the rear-engined MG Liquid Suspension Special (Huffaker-Offy), two-time Formula One champ Jack Brabham of Australia in a Brabham-Offy and Dave MacDonald in the Mickey Thompson Special (Ford).

After all the hoopla, speeches, parades and cars driving by loaded with dignitaries before the race, I remember the sight of all those balloons being released. It was simply amazing. I was experiencing sensory-overload. My dad had a pair of Bushnell binoculars and I enjoyed watching all the people and various activities with them.

The field took a couple of pace laps and the race was on! Clark took the lead and led the first lap, but something went tragically wrong just in front of us in turn 4 as the rest of the field came by. Seven cars tangled and a gigantic fireball arose from the carnage. The fireball was almost nuclear in shape. A huge tree in the infield caught on fire from the massive flames. Dave MacDonald and Eddie Sachs were killed instantly in the wreckage. The stunned crowd was silent.

After an extended clean-up, the race resumed. The crowd had not been informed of the deaths. Bobby Marshman took the lead from Clark after six laps and led until the 39th lap when his transmission let go. Clark led laps 40-47 until his suspension failed. Parnelli Jones led from lap 48 through lap 54 before AJ Foyt took command of the race and led the rest of the way for his second Indy victory. We didn't know it at the time, but this was the last time a front-engined car would ever win the Indy 500.

As the race ended, I got lost in the crowd and went into a panic before my dad found me. He was in somewhat of a panic as well. What was he going to tell mom? "Well, we lost little Bob at the track and haven't seen him since. Sorry. What's for dinner?"

On the long ride back to Alabama I remember my brother screaming at me because I had commented on what a cool wreck we had seen. I remember my dad telling him to shut up, that I was just an eight year old boy and didn't understand what I had seen. I fell asleep after that and the next thing I knew, we were at home.

We went back the next year and being the jaded, veteran race fan that I was, I really don't remember all that much about it except that AJ Foyt was on the pole in his rear-engined Sheraton-Thompson Ford, my hero Jimmy Clark won the race in his Lotus-Ford and a rookie named Mario Andretti finished third. It was the first rear-engined victory in Indy history and has been that way ever since. As soon as AMT released a 1/24th scale model of that Lotus, I went out and bought one with my allowance and proudly displayed it in my room.

Since the family was out of the go-karting business and my oldest brother was away at college, my dad had his Sundays freed up. We did a lot of fishing and about every-other-week my dad would drive my older sister and I a couple of miles out of town to Gunwaleford Road (pronounced gunnerferd real fast). The country road earned its name during the Civil War. The locals had sunk a Yankee gunboat in Cypress Creek and the gunwale was visible above the water for many years. My eleven year old sister would drive the ten miles or so to the cotton gin and pull over so I could get behind the wheel. I was only nine and had to scoot the seat up as far as it would go. I could barely reach the pedals and had to look between the large steering wheel and the top of the dash to see. I sailed along at 60mph until my dad looked over and would say, "Slow down boy!" Dutifully, I reduced my speed to a paltry 45 for a few tenths of a mile before creeping back towards 60. He'd catch me speeding and admonish me several times each driving session. I think he secretly enjoyed our little game. I always pretended I was my hero, Jimmy Clark at the wheel. I taught my son to drive on Gunwaleford Road when he was fourteen. I taught him how to ride an ATV when he was nine.

Sadly, Jimmy was killed during a Formula Two race at Hockenheim, Germany in April of 1968. I was 12 years old and when I heard the news I went outside and cried. I have admired many drivers over the years but I think Jimmy Clark was the only driver I ever really considered to be my hero.

We never went back to Indy but always listened to it on the radio and later saw the delayed broadcasts on TV. Finally, the race was shown live and I always went to my parents house (when I lived in the same town) and watched it with my dad. He passed away five years ago but I have to say, "Thank you Daddy," for producing, yet another, racing addict. I guess I'll go over to my 88 year old mom's house and watch the race with her. She's kind of a race fan herself.

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