Joe Boyer is best remembered, if remembered at all, as the co-winner, with L.L. Corum, of the 1924 Indianapolis 500.
A fascinating man, he was born into wealth. A distant relative, William Seward Burroughs, invented and manufactured the Burroughs Adding Machine, while Boyer’s father served as the CEO of the enormously profitable company.
Like many wealthy young men of that era, Boyer became a passionate sportsman. Proficient in sailing competition and an accomplished equestrian, in 1915, auto racing caught his attention. He longed to drive, but his early involvement with the sport was as an investor in the always cash-strapped Chevrolet brothers’ team.
For two years, the closest Boyer got to driving a race car was practicing Chevrolet’s Frontenacs at Indianapolis. In 1917, he finally achieved his dream of getting behind the wheel and immediately revealed an innate, but latent talent when he took the pole for the season’s first AAA Championship race.
Racing steadily, by 1919, he deemed himself ready for a shot at Indianapolis. To ensure he got the best of the Chevrolet equipment, he offered Louis Chevrolet a staggering $27,000 (half a million in today’s dollars) to prepare and maintain the car.
A broken axle put him out early, but he proved himself with impressive runs on the remainder of the Championship Trail, capturing his first win on Cincinnati’s two-mile board track.
Headlined in the press as “Millionaire Daredevil Joe Boyer,” he became one of the stars of the thrilling, dangerous, blindingly fast board track era. An excellent qualifier, he was usually at the front when time trials ended. In his five Indianapolis appearances, he raced from the front row twice, with all of his qualifying speeds ranked in the top seven.
It was Boyer’s ability to wring the most out of a car that allowed him to run for the Duesenberg brothers in 1924. The Duesenberg team was on the verge of going under. Their competition, the Chevrolets and the comparative newcomer, Miller, were dominating the races. They needed a significant turnaround if they were to survive.
Over the winter of 1923, the Duesenbergs worked secretly on a device they believed would accomplish that; a centrifugal supercharger. It was the first on an American car, and they believed Boyer was the driver to get the most from it.
Said Fred Duesenberg of Boyer’s role, “Joe Boyer is an excellent driver. His job on our team is to press the accelerator to the floor and endeavor to trap other drivers into a race with him, a race run at such a pace that either car or man must give out by the finish and only Joe can survive.”
They built three supercharged cars for the 1924 Indianapolis 500. Boyer was the fastest of the trio, qualifying his wine-colored racer in fourth. On the first lap, he screamed by the entire front row, Jimmy Murphy, Harry Hartz, and Tommy Milton, to take the lead.
But his run was short-lived. Within two laps, a key in the supercharger sheared. Boyer struggled for a few laps with the ailing car, then stepped out of it in frustration.
His teammate, Ernie Ansterburg, had crashed, leaving only the Duesenberg of L.L. Corum in the race. Corum, a journeyman driver, languished in fourth place.
Desperate for a victory, Fred Duesenberg grabbed Boyer and told him, “Maybe we can still win. Get your goggles. When Corum pits for fuel and tires, I want you in the car.”
As they switched on lap 112, Fred shouted his final instructions to Boyer, “Put that ship out front or burn it up.”
Boyer proceeded to go to the front. The supercharger, screaming like a wailing banshee, he tore through the field. On lap 177, he blew past Earl Cooper’s Miller into the lead and took the checkered as the winner of the fastest 500 in history.
The $30,000 first-place money was pocket change for Boyer, so he graciously gave it to Corum, who had a wife and children.
Boyer’s father telegrammed him afterward saying, “Congratulations, son. Now let’s try something else.”
He didn’t step away.
Later that year, at Altoona, Pennsylvania’s board track, on September 1, Boyer crashed heavily. Newspaper reports proclaimed him heroic because after his tire blew, he deliberately turned his car toward the heavy timber outer guardrail, away from the spectator-filled infield.
As rescuers wrestled him from the wreckage, he mumbled, “I’m glad I saved them.” Those were his last words. His crushed legs amputated, Joe Boyer died the next day.
