The Indy, Bobby And Dale Show!

    It seemed, at long last, that my hope of someday covering an Indianapolis 500 was at hand.
   The chance, in 1986, came out of the blue.  Or, more correctly, the black.
  But  first, a bit of background...   
   I had just punched the period onto the final sentence of the last story I would be filing  for The Charlotte Observer on the night of May 25, '86 about the Coca-Cola 600 at Charlotte Motor Speedway.
   It had been a long, tough, controversial week at the track now known as Lowes Motor Speedway, as most of the races there usually were.  For example, Richard Petty, the King of NASCAR racing, had been hurt in a crash during pratice.  Per the rules at that time, officials wouldn't let him roll out and drive a backup car.  So driver/teamowner D.K. Ulrich loaned him a car instead.
   The 600 itself was OK.  Dale Earnhardt won the 600 by 1.59 seconds over runnerup Tim Richmond.  It appeared Bill Elliott had by far the stronger car, but he was getting terrible fuel milage and wound up finishing sixth.
   Anyway, I tapped that final period, hit the send button on the rather rustic computers were using in those days and my story was en route to The Observer at 600 South Tryon St. in Charlotte.
   In keeping with tradition, I yelled to my fellows in the press box, "Boys and girls, it ain't good, but it's finished and filed, and that makes it great!"
   As always, there was a bit of laughter and applause.
  That's when the phone rang...

   Frank Barrows, The Observer sports editor in that era, was on the other end of the paper's direct hookup to the speedway press box.
   "Tom, you want to do something diffirent and exciting!?" gushed Frank, who wasn't bashful of trying the bizarre.  "Since the Indy 500 was rained out today, why don't you go up there and cover it?! We'll be the only major daily newspaper in the country with the same motorsports writer at both the 500 and 600!" 
   The 500 had been rescheduled for Monday, Memorial Day.
   I was tired.  I wanted to sleep in late and then join my pals Junior Wong, Bill Webb and Buddy Baker to go fishing.
   However, Frank's pitch was exciting.
   "Two BIG, BIG problems, Frank,"  I said.  "First, how do I go to Indianapolis?  Second, on such short notice, how do I get a credential to get into the press areas?"
   "You have enough contacts from over the years to get the credential," said Frank.  "Get on it and call me back in 15 minutes.  If you have it, I'll have a plane to fly you up there first thing in the morning."
    It took one call.
   My longtime friend, the late Harvey Duck, a former Chicaco sportswriter who had become a public relations representative for STP, readily offered the credential and said he'd even pick me up at the Indy airport.
   "Your plane leaves at 6 a.m.," said Barrows.
   I groaned.  It was now nearly midnight.
   I knew there was a big problem when we broke through the low ceiling and finally could see the ground at Indianapolis.  The Goodyear Blimp was still secured to its mooring.
   Harvey greeted me with a grin but also a shake of the head in the terminal.
   "It's going to rain all day," he said.  "What a mess."
   What a mess indeed.
   For the last three or so miles driving to the speedway trash was piled shoulder-high on both sides of a multi-lane highway.  It had been left there by fans waiting for the infield gates to open a couple days earlier.  It looked like a New York garbarge strike.
   I was enthralled to  finally see from the inside the massive grandeur of Indianapolis Motor Speedway's homestretch--cavernous grandstands off each side of turn four,  the distinctive scoring pylon, the pagoda, the yard of brick at the start/finish line.   Never mind that a constant drizzle and a low fog of gloom hung over the place, I was awed.
   Harvey Duck suggested that we visit the infield media center.
   We walked in and I knew quite a few of the guys in there.  We had covered many Daytona 500s together.  They were surprised to see me.
   Within seconds they started laying their best one-liners on me.  It mainly was gallows humor about what was going to happen with the 1986 Indianapolis 500.
   Here's a sampling:
   --There has not been a signting of a blue whale at one of the water holes on the infield portion of the track's golf course.  It was only a large carp.
   --Commemorative sculptures  made of infield mud will not be available in the gift shops today.  They haven't dried yet.
   --There is not a beer shortage.  A special convoy of 1,000 trucks left Milwaukee at 6 a.m. and there will be suds in The Snake Pit by 3 p.m. (The Snake Pit is the infamous First Turn area usually staked out by motorcycle gangs).
   --The Women's Christiran Temperence Union will  not attempt to intercept the convoy from Milkwaukee at its terminus.  The Ladies visited the Snake Pit on Sunday during the rainout and are not expected to be out of the sanitoriums before August.
   Meanwhile, that gray Memorial Day, the rain In Indy continued to fall.  However, Speedway officials wouldn't budge.  They wanted to run if possible.  Drivers, team owners, crewmen were in almost open rebellion as 4 p.m. approached.  They'd been in Indy for a month.  Make a decision!  Finally, it came, forced by ABC-TV which held the telecast rights.  The 500 would be held the following Saturday.
   So, after all this effort, I wasn't going to get to cover the Indianapolis 500 after all, the race at the world-famous track where the Allstate 400 at the Brickyard is scheuled Sunday for NASCAR's Sprint Cup Series teams.
   My immediate problem became how to get out of Indy, competeing with  so many thousands of fans for flights.  I had to get to Riversdie, Calif., to cover NASCAR's Budweiser 400 on June 1.
   Arriving at the downtown hotel Harvey Duck had booked for me I saw some sad sights.  Two couples from Norway stood bawling in the lobby, trying to sell their tickets for the 500.   They'd saved for years to come see the race, and now they had to travel home without seeing a single car go around the track.  Last time I checked they had no buyers.
   I managed to make it out of Indy and reach Riverside on Thursday.
   I deeply wanted to see that Indy 500, as did several of my pals.  But how to do it while keeping a check on Winston Cup Series proceedings at the Riverside road course?
   Bobby Allison and his Stavola Brothers team came up with a solution.  They rented a big screen TV, placed it in the team's transporter in the garage area, rigged up a special antenna and --voila!--there was the Indy 500.
   A few were asked in to share the telecast.  Thank goodness, I was among them.
   Of course, Bobby Allison was there.  So was Dale Earnhardt.
   As if the rain-plauged Indy 500 hadn't experienced enough problems, the popular Tom Sneva veered off  course on the final pace lap and crashed at the exit of turn two.  Almost simultaneously, further down the backstretch, some unruly fan set off a yellow smoke bomb.
   Chaos reigned.
   But, finally, they got the race going.
   The 500 was a good one that came down to which driver did the best on a green flag restart among frontrunner Kevin Cogan, Rick Mears and Bobby Rahal with two laps to go.
   "Whoever gets the best jump will win," predicted Allison, who ran the Indy 500 twice in the 1970s.
   "If I was the other two, they'd get no chance at me," said Earnhardt.  I'd jump that sucker (green flag) on the backstretch and  be gone.  I'd get a running start and gamble about being penalized.  I'd wave bye-bye.!"
   Allison howled in delight.
   "You'd do it, too!  I know you would!" said Bobby,  pointing accusingly at Earnhardt.
   Allison grabbed me by the arm.  "Write that!  Write that in your notes!"  a beaming Bobby shouted.  "I want a clipping to carry around in my billfold for ammunition with NASCAR for the rest of Dale's career!"
   About this time Bobby Rahal was beating Kevin Cogan by 1.4 seconds to win the '86 Indy 500.
  Earnhardt  flashed one of his half-smile, half-sneers which many followers came to know so well.
  "Not a bad race...For Indy," he said.
   I still never have covered an Indianapolis 500 in person.   And with the laps of time running down on my life, I doubt I ever will.
   However, the one I watched in absentia with Bobby Allison and Dale Earnhardt makes up for it.