Some of my fondest and earliest memories about racing come from the dark ages when I was a kid back in the 1950’s.
Some of my fondest and earliest memories about racing come from the dark ages when I was a kid back in the 1950’s. Back then, I would sit with my brother and father at the picnic table, listening to the four-hour Indy 500 broadcast by the “Voice of the 500,” Sid Collins.
Sid had a voice and way of calling the race that painted a picture in our minds that was almost like sitting in the penthouse suite chairs going into turn one, along with the distinct, novel sound of the greatest racing engine ever built, the Offenhauser, along with an occasional sound of the mystical Novi.
What a thrill it was to get up on Memorial Day, as that was always the day the 500 was run, and spend the afternoon following the heroes we read about in Speed Age magazine and National Speed Sport News every chance we got.
We heard names like Tony Bettenhausen, Rodger Ward, Jimmy Bryan, Sam Hanks, and Jim Rathmann, just to name a few. The early ‘60s came, and we got to listen to Sid tell us about more heroes of ours, like A.J. Foyt, Parnelli Jones, Wayne Weiler, Jim Hurtubise, Eddie Sachs, Don Davis, Jud Larson and so many more.
In 1964, we finally were able to watch the race live in black-and-white on closed circuit TV at our local movie theaters for five dollars and, to my brother Loren and me, it was the most amazing thing we ever saw on a movie screen, or anywhere, as we had never seen a 500 live.
Unfortunately for us and the whole racing world, 1964 was like when Buddy Holly was killed a few years before on the “day the music died.” We watched in horror the fatal crash of Eddie Sachs and Dave McDonald, and for the first time it changed the age of innocence of two young race fans.
Seeing Eddie Sachs and Dave McDonald fatally injured on the movie screen was almost like seeing a family member killed, as we always thought that race drivers were like superheroes in the comic books that were indestructible and never got injured.
I think we grew up on that Memorial Day and, although we never lost our passion and love for racing, something was just a little different about it from then on.
We never missed watching or listening to the 500 since that day, though. And the fond memories of that era have never left us.
Another memory from my early days, which probably had a great deal to do with me spending over 51 years of racing cars waiting for the call from A.J. Watson, George Bignotti, Clint Brawner, or A.J. Foyt to come and run their Indy car at the 500, was sitting in the old wooden grandstands of Rockford Speedway when our parents would bring us to the famous quarter-mile paved track a few miles from our home in North Park.
I remember the first years I went there. The stock cars were driven by guys like Bobby Udell, Chet Scott, Don Harvey, and a guy who had an exhaust pipe coming out of the rear window breathing flames going into the corner in a No. 61 car named Mel Kenyon.
Back then, when the cars ranged from 1940‘s to 1959 Fords, Chevys, Pontiacs, Cadillacs, and even a Henry J, Mel‘s car was always a little bit different looking and just like the Kenyon Brothers midgets: always first-class machinery and spotless.
They even ran quite a few convertibles, and you were almost always guaranteed to see what we enjoyed as kids, a good rollover or two every night.
After the heat race, the drivers would get out of their car at the start/finish line and throw small checkered flags into the group of waiting kids behind the fence. The wooden flag handle usually broke from all the kids grabbing for it in midair and all of us ending up on the ground battling for it.
Back in the day, the midgets would come to Rockford Speedway quite a few times and we would try to get there as early as we could so as not to miss one hot lap or qualifying run. Badger Midgets ran Friday nights and I got to see my lifelong heroes, Billy Wood and Owen Snyder (Todd Barton) win the majority of the events.
I will always remember the guys going down the backstretch and pumping the hand fuel pump to get more fuel pressure — it looked like it was pure magic as the car suddenly seemed to pick up an incredible amount of speed.
With just roll bars on the cars, it sure was dangerous, and I saw many guys walk away from violent-looking flips. USAC would come to town a couple times a year on Tuesday nights, and for Loren and I it was like going to watch the Indy 500, as they were a traveling circuit of the best of the best in open-wheel racing, with many Indy 500 drivers in the field.
I remember Parnelli Jones coming to run one of Howard Linne‘s beautiful black 99 or 96 cars, along with Don Branson or Bob Tattersall.
Mel Kenyon returned, running his No. 61 midget, and guys like Dave Strickland, Mike McGreevy, Gary Bettenhausen and Henry Pens made it one of the greatest shows on earth.
Jack Heiman was always the flagman and was the first guy I saw have a white tuxedo-style suit. He could wave the flags with a unique style like none of the other flagmen of the day.
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