INDIANAPOLIS — Every single year at some point during the month of May a clip will be shown of a fresh faced Al Unser Jr. with his eyes ringed with tears saying, “You just don’t know what Indy means.”
For many of us it still means a great deal. Sure, it is easy to be cynical. I had just spent a long day at Indianapolis Raceway Park watching drivers I still believe can succeed in the Indianapolis 500, knowing full well this opportunity may not exist for them. I also don’t get particularly excited when someone from another land moves to IndyCar as a fallback option.
That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the bravery required to pilot a low-slung missile at 230 mph. Should I be outraged that some drivers are bringing money to the table? News flash — that very thing is happening in midget and sprint car racing.
All of that aside, it now seems like an annual tradition for me to stand beside talented writer Bones Bourcier during opening ceremonies for the 500. We don’t even have to take a sideways glance; we both know that tears will soon stream down our cheeks. There is always a homage to Memorial Day and I instantly think of my father who served in the United States Marines during World War II.
Then, I think about men such as Eddie Sachs, Dave McDonald, Bill Vukovich, Scott Brayton and so many more who perished while chasing their dream.
On Saturday before the 500, I had the privilege of visiting with the widow of the highly popular Pat O’Connor, a cherished Hoosier who died in a massive pileup at the start of the 1958 race. She has lived with that awful day for 66 years. There is also time to recall the glorious moments such as the 1960 tussle between Rodger Ward and Jim Rathman, or the 1982 showdown between Gordon Johncock and Rick Mears. The pageantry leading to the green flag is beyond compare and it tugs at every emotion a human can experience.
The problem is I am in love with racing and racing history. That can deceive me into believing everyone cares like I do. There was a time early in our relationship when I was trying to explain to my wife how deeply significant something was at the 500 and she calmly said, “Not everyone sees things like you do, honey.”
She’s right, of course. However, in the just completed 108th running of the race, I was thrilled to see the Indianapolis 500 still clearly matters to a whole lot of people.
Understand this. I am convinced IMS President Doug Boles could run for any political office in Indiana and win in a landslide. He is that popular. In the morning, I had a conversation with a person who has been a member of the local media for years.
On average, I find sports media types to be among the most jaded people on the planet. I get it. Like them I can tell you stories about wildly popular drivers who the general public believes are superb human beings when most on the inside would vehemently disagree.
By the way, the opposite is also true. In this conversation I expressed my admiration for Boles and my friend noted wryly, “There doesn’t appear to be a camera he doesn’t like.”
My reaction? That’s a good thing. That is exactly what he should do in his non-stop promotion of Indianapolis Motor Speedway. I organized an event at the USAC office to honor Hall of Fame photographers John Mahoney and Gene Crucean. Who dropped by to drink a beer and mingle? Boles. No one has worked harder to keep the tie between short-track racing and IMS more than this man.
Nonetheless, leadership is not revealed when things are going well, it is revealed when the chips are down. This year the pressure was on. I left Lincoln Park Speedway on Saturday night with a pillow, blanket and some sleep medicine and headed straight to the IMS media lot. Joe Spiker of Lincoln Park assured me I was embarking on a futile voyage.
Right on cue a serious weather front was descending on IMS at about the time the race was scheduled to start. Boles and his staff got in front of the situation. Concerned about lightning in particular, Doug announced the grandstands would be evacuated at 11:15 and the situation would be monitored. Then, he laid out all the scenarios to get the 500-mile race completed on Sunday. New jet driers had been rented for this very reason, but the truth is it looked bleak as hell. Then the rain stopped, and the sun came out.
This is where the story really takes off. When the crowd was allowed to return to their seats, a huge roar came from under the grandstands. Then the most amazing thing happened. After a four-hour rain delay the people returned to their seats. Not just half or three-quarters of them. When I looked up 30 minutes later, I was truly blown away.
Media members were looking out the window and saying to each other, “Can you believe this?” I for one could not. Of course, some just came for the party, but as the day unfolded it was 100 percent clear many in the crowd were deeply into the actual competition.
Any doubt about this was erased when popular Pato O’Ward briefly took the lead. It was an eruption in the stands. O’Ward later said he could hear it.
By now everyone knows how the race ended. Was the final outcome tainted by the issues that surrounded the Penske camp? Probably for some. Yet, watching Josef Newgarden’s pure joy was infectious. All I could think about was a press conference I moderated with the kid from Tennessee when he was in the Indy NXT series. Newgarden’s parents were seated in the back row and after watching him light up the room I asked if they could try to give their son a bit of personality.
As exciting as Newgarden’s celebration was, that didn’t peg my emotions nearly as much as watching O’Ward’s moment of unvarnished despair. As he rested his head on his car, I truly wanted to cry with him. When his loved ones and team tried to console him, I thought about how deeply gutted they were as well.
Then, there was his live interview when he let a word slip that will probably get someone in a bit of trouble. Big deal. Anyone with an ounce of empathy was right there with him. Arrow McLaren team principal Gavin Ward told me they all cried for about 15 minutes — but then were proud of what they had done. Ward said in the end he knew Newgarden (who he had worked with in the past) had a better car. That provided a little solace — but just a little.
When Newgarden ducked under one fence, vaulted another and headed to the crowd, he wasn’t thinking about winning $4 million. That would come later. When O’Ward cried, he wasn’t in anguish about lost money. That had nothing to do with it.
The Indy 500 is about glory and knowing that you have done something that will be remembered for decades to come. It is about giving everything you have to reach a goal that truly matters.
Everyone who watched could imagine what it felt to have a pinnacle moment in life. All in attendance could understand what it meant to be on the verge of racing immortality and have the carpet pulled underneath you.
Thank you, Pat O’Ward, for leaving it all on the line and demonstrating through words and actions just what Indy means.
THIS ARTICLE IS REPOSTED FROM THE June 12 EDITION OF SPEED SPORT INSIDER
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