The Official Blog of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway

Jack Hewitt 1998

USAC short-track legend Jack Hewitt was excited when he got to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, excited while he was there in 1998 and is still excited now that he has participated in “The Greatest Spectacle in Racing.”

When he reached the Speedway in 1998, he was more than moderately on top of the world.

“I only grew up 100 miles from there,” he said. “When you set goals in life … I wanted to drive sprint cars, wanted to race in Australia, which I did for 11 winters, and wanted to run the Indianapolis 500. That was my final goal. The first time I drove around the Speedway, I was thinking, ‘I have to be blessed.’”

Hewitt, from Troy, Ohio, was the “purest” of race drivers. He would drive anything, anywhere, all the time.

“I probably ran 150 features one year,” Hewitt said. “That’s the most I’ve ever done in a year. If I could’ve squeezed in a couple more, I probably would have.”

Two-time USAC Silver Crown National Champion Hewitt, now 61, drove the PDM Racing car in 1998 at Indianapolis as a 46-year-old rookie. He got a lot of help.

“I think I was in with a good bunch of guys,” Hewitt said. “Al Unser, Gary Bettenhausen … a lot of my heroes were there to help me. Johnny Rutherford took me around and told me it was a lot like Winchester. After he told me that, we picked up speed. Paul Diatlovich (owner of PDM) was showing me on the computer what I was doing and I was able to understand it better after JR talked to me.”

The first “500” Hewitt remembers was in 1963, when he walked past his father, who was listening to it on the radio. Parnelli Jones won that year and carried No. 98. Hewitt and PDM carried No. 98 at the Speedway in 1998.

Hewitt’s Indianapolis 500 career started ominously. He crashed on the first day, and the PDM crew rebuilt the damaged machine. He was back on track Wednesday.

“You never give up from your dream,” he said. “I got to hang out with Florence Henderson and Jim Nabors. I was so paranoid about pit stops because I didn’t want to kill the motor. If you’re a race driver, I don’t think it makes a lot of difference what you drive. It’s just another style of racing. In my whole career in sprint cars, I was smooth and patient.

“It was a dream come true. You have goals, and racing in the Indianapolis 500 was one of them. It’s just amazing how many get to do it. I got to be a part of it, and I got to race there. Basketball, baseball … a lot of people didn’t reach their goals. I’ve led a fantastic life.”

On Race Day, many of Hewitt’s fans from short tracks around the Midwest were on hand. Hanging signs from the grandstands is discouraged at IMS because they block the view of other ticket holders, but that didn’t stop Hewitt’s Heroes from hanging a huge bedsheet from the railing of the upper deck at the end of the front straightaway that sported the words, “Do It Hewitt,” a phrase frequently heard over the public address at American short tracks.

Hewitt became the oldest rookie starter in Indianapolis 500 history, a record surpassed only last year by Jean Alesi, 47. Hewitt started 22nd and finished a respectable 12th in the Parker Machinery entry, completing 195 laps.

“It was such a Hollywood script,” Hewitt said. “I ran all day.”

The year 1998 was a big one for Hewitt in another way as well. In the 4-Crown Nationals at Eldora, he won the midget, sprint Silver Crown and modified features.

“It was the most unbelievable achievement in the history of motorsports,” said USAC executive Dick Jordan. “Absolutely incredible. In four different cars … he even wore four different helmets.”

Hewitt suffered a neck injury in 1993, and a second injury in 2002 caused him to retire.

“I’ll be 62 in July,” he said. “I’ve had a wonderful career. I’ve been blessed. I’d still be racing to this day if I hadn’t gotten hurt.”

He developed a two-seat sprint car that he takes to various races so customers and VIPs can experience the thrill of short-track thunder.

“I’ve got a 5-year-old grandson and my son, Cody, who’s 29, ran a sprint car all last year and for having one arm, he did really fine.”

Buzz Calkins and crew.

Buzz Calkins will always be in the record books.

He won the Indy Racing League’s first race in 1996 at Walt Disney World when he held off Tony Stewart. It was the first IndyCar race for both, and there aren’t that many drivers out there who can say they beat “Smoke” in a competitive scenario on a racetrack.

“It was one of those days when everything was pretty much good all day.” Calkins said. “My engine was overheating, but we overcame that.”

Calkins always looked toward the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, where he made six starts, led four laps and had a best finish of 10th in 1998 for his family-owned Bradley Motorsports team.

“When I went there for the first time in 1987, when I walked into the place, I knew it was something I wanted to do,” Calkins said. “My dad bought me a go-kart when I was 14 years old, it started going well, and the rest is history. When I started out, it was my ambition to race in the Indianapolis 500.”

Calkins was always popular with the fans and those in the paddock.

At Indy for his first race there in 1996, he was talking to an INDYCAR official just outside the garage area, and the official suggested he go out to pit road and sign a few autographs.

“That’s where I’ve been for the last two hours,” he said with a smile.

After the duel with Stewart at Walt Disney World, Calkins asked public relations rep Jim Dinsmore if he and Tony had anything in common, that he’d like to get to know him better. Dinsmore knew both played pool, and the result was a charity 8-ball game at a casino in Las Vegas.

“That’s the thing I liked the most was the people,” Calkins said. “You guys, officials, mechanics, drivers. That’s something I’ll always look back on. I miss the people as much as anything.”

Calkins, from Denver, shared the first Indy Racing League season title with Scott Sharp. But he treasures the experience at Indy.

“I don’t think anything compares to it,” he said. “I don’t think anything compares to the first five laps and all the people who come out for it. I don’t think you can prepare yourself for it. It’s hectic, and I can’t think of too many things in life that can top it.”

He’s “retired” now although he said he runs a charity race every once in a while. Instead, Calkins  has gone from the track to the boardroom and family life.

“I got married and have three girls,” he said. “Bradley is 8, Marin is 6, and Harper is 3.” Two years ago, he was named president of Bradley Petroleum, a 100-year-old family-owned company.

“I won’t wear ties, but I wear a lot of different hats,” Calkins said. “When there’s a need someplace, I’m in it. I’m pretty much running the gas business, and we just signed a deal to build 12 Dunkin’ Donuts facilities in the next five years. That and real estate. It’s challenging and interesting.

“Between family and work, I don’t have time for anything else. I try to come back every year for the race. I’ve thought about (being a car owner), but with time constraints and I’d want to do it right.

“Maybe (in the future) I’ll have more time.”

It was a long journey in a short time.

Coming off the fourth turn in the Silver Crown race in the 1997 Copper World Classic, veteran Chuck Gurney had the lead. But unknown Jimmy Kite jumped under him and beat him to the line for the prestigious victory.

After he got out of his car, Kite came running down the frontstretch at Phoenix International Raceway to the delight of the crowd because he was looking for Victory Lane – and didn’t know where it was.

“Before that race, no one knew about that 20-year-old kid,” Kite said, “but afterward, everyone knew.”

Six months later, he was in an Indy car at Pikes Peak. And in May 1998, he came to the Speedway in search of his first “500” berth. But it didn’t start out well.

“It was the first year they condensed the schedule,” Kite said. “We tried to get as much running as we could. I crashed three times that week, the last on Pole Day. So I had to watch my crew rebuild the race car again and it was my first Indianapolis 500, and I wanted to make a good showing.”

Even after the crashes that first year, Kite finished 11th and made four more starts in the prestigious race. He was hooked up with PDM Racing for a time, but bad luck struck again.

On Bump Day in 2002, Kite and the PDM machine were fast enough. But they got caught at the head of the line when rain came and didn’t get a chance to qualify. For three hours, pictures and video were being shot of Kite, umbrella over his head, sitting down against the right front tire of his parked race car.

His last start at Indy came in 2005. He failed to qualify in 2007 with PDM.

But Kite still has no regrets and still aspires to compete in “The Greatest Spectacle in Racing,”

“I’ve got five (starts) and always will,” Kite said. “I told Davey Hamilton, who was 47 at the time, I wanted to run again and I was 37, so I figured I had 10 years left. It’s not like I’m not staying in shape. If you can get around Winchester in 13 seconds, you’re ready to step in an Indy car.”

Racing the Indy 500 was one of his goals as a youngster growing up in the Midwest.

“Every year, my dad would take me to qualifying day,” Kite said. “Then he got some suite passes for Race Day. I told him, ‘No, I’ll go to the Indianapolis 500 when I’m driving in it.’

“My first impression, it was a clear day, and I came off Turn 4 thinking ‘Man, that’s a long straightaway.’ I still get excited thinking about Turn 1. You go into Turn 1, it’s a handful.”

As a rookie in 1998, he was the target of the usual pranks.

He walked into a restaurant one night and saw a bunch of people. He stopped to talk, and one of them said: “Hey, you have to go talk to those two people at the end of the table. They have a ride for you.” So Kite hurried down and approached the people. Everyone started laughing.

The two people were Dr. Richard Burmeister and Starre Szelag of the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race.

Kite has kept very busy, running with ARCA and NASCAR’s truck series on occasion as well as the USAC Silver Crown and Sprint cars. The sprinters will be his May concentration with the Little 500 at Anderson and Winchester on the schedule.

But Indy is the place for Kite, now 37.

“I’ve been the last couple years, and I’ll definitely be there this year,” he said.

My personal journey to the Indianapolis 500 began before I could even realize it.

It was way back in the early 1960s when I was too young to remember most things growing up in the Northern Indiana community of Koontz Lake. The youngest of five kids, I was the last of the line for a hardworking ironworker named Homer Martin. At that time in America, it wasn’t unusual for a family to have five kids, although today it would probably be scrutinized for one reason or another. But it was a great time to be a kid because my mother, Dorothy, was a full-time mom and housewife, so I had the traditional “Leave it to Beaver” type of upbringing.

My father taught me several things that I take with me today, among them how to be a sports fan and the other was to hate the Chicago Cubs, which I continue to do to this day. Going to a baseball game in Chicago meant the South Side – Comiskey Park – home of the Chicago White Sox.

Dad wasn’t much of a gearhead, which may seem strange since I would be interested in high-speed racing machinery. The 1959 Ford served as the family car until the 1964 Ford made its way into the driveway for a brief time. He kept it for about a year but noticed the aqua-colored paint scheme was two-toned upon closer inspection of the front fender and the rest of the car. So it wasn’t long before a gold-colored Ford Custom 500 became the new family ride.

When I was just over 1 year old, my oldest sister, Nancy, began her freshman year at Indiana University in 1960. She would soon meet a boy who graduated from Warren Central High School in Indianapolis named Jim, and that is how my interest in the Indianapolis 500 began.

Jim had been attending the Indianapolis 500 for years with his father, and whenever my sister and her boyfriend would come to visit, I would hear him talk about the Indianapolis Motor Speedway and that year’s race. He also talked about his favorite driver when he was growing up, although I thought the name sounded a bit odd.

Bill Vukovich.

Remember, I was quite young at the time, so the memories are like old black-and-white snapshots that have faded over time, but that is when my curiosity began about the Indianapolis 500.

As Nancy and Jim became more serious, they decided to marry in 1963. She attended her first Indianapolis 500 with Jim in 1962 to witness the second of Rodger Ward’s two Indy 500 wins. I remember the name Parnelli Jones being mentioned as a mere youngster, and I wondered what this big event they talked about was all about.

As a 5-year-old in 1964, I experienced the danger that existed at the Indianapolis 500 at that time. I’ll never forget the front-page headline in the May 31 edition of The South Bend Tribune that said “Sachs, MacDonald Die at Indianapolis 500.” Underneath the headline was a picture of this huge fireball on the frontstretch of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway with spectators just behind the flames.

Remember, this was the 1960s. It was a different era where the working man of that time had fought in World War II and returned home to build the United States into an economic power. These brave men had seen death face-to-face in their battles in Europe and the South Pacific. It was also during the Cold War where a youngster’s toys were tanks and planes and warships and toy guns – something far different than today’s society. We even played cowboys and indians – something that would likely get us kicked out of public school today.

The point is I was fascinated at both the headline and the photo. The element of danger at the Indianapolis 500 was part of its lure; that brave men would willingly strap themselves into fuel-filled bombs that raced around the track at over 150 mph. This was also a time of the Space Race, and I made sure I was in front of the television set every time a Project Gemini launch was about to happen from the newly-renamed Cape Kennedy.

Race drivers in the Indianapolis 500 were in the same category of bravery as John Glenn, Alan Shepherd, Gordon Cooper, Gus Grissom, Frank Borman, John White, Wally Schirra, Jim Lovell or any of the other astronauts of that era who displayed “The Right Stuff.”

Even though I lived in the same state as the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, it may as well have been as far away as the moon. My father had little interest in ever attending the race and would have probably found the entire experience to be more or an expensive, day-long headache than anything else.

The closest I was ever going to get to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway as a kid was when we traveled from Northern Indiana to Bloomington to visit my sister and her husband. It was always a highlight of the four-hour car ride to be on I-465 and see the Speedway exit for Crawfordsville Road as I looked out the window from the back seat of the old Gold ’65 Ford Custom 500 drove on by in what was literally a “so close, yet so far away” moment for me.

I would also notice something unique that happened in the spring when a bright orange temporary road sign would be placed on I-465 that said “500 Track Next Two Exits.”

Somewhere around the mid-1960s, however, I remember my brother David would turn on a radio every Memorial Day, and I could actually hear the race. It was Sid Collins’ voice on the “World’s Largest Radio Network” telling the world about what was going on in the Indianapolis 500 with the roaring sounds of engines in the background. To me, it had all the drama of a Titan II rocket with a Gemini capsule and two astronauts on board. To hear this event on the radio was a bigger-than-life experience as we fired up the old charcoal grill for a Memorial Day cookout.

David was the next-closest to me in age but was 6 years older than me. He was lucky enough to go to Indianapolis 500 “Time Trials” as it was known back then in 1966 and 1967 with Jim. I was considered too young at the time to go on such a journey – perhaps my parents were wise enough to have heard about the “Snake Pit” and didn’t think that an 8-year-old should see such things. And this was back in the days when “anything goes” in the Snake Pit.

More than likely, it was just a case that I was too young to attend an all-day and all-weekend event such as this.

I remember when the Channel 2 News in Chicago had as the lead story the start of the Indianapolis 500 and this massive crash in 1966. I was fascinated at the pictures of wheels flying in the air and the sight of A.J. Foyt climbing over the fence. Despite the massive crash at the start, Foyt suffered the only injury – a cut on his thumb from climbing the fence.

Way back then, there were only three ways to see the Indianapolis 500. The first was to be part of the massive throng of 300,000 fans that filled the grandstands and the infield. The other was to go to a theater that had a closed-circuit telecast from MCA of the race. And the third option was to wait about four weeks after the race when ABC finally showed it on “Wide World of Sports.”

Every Saturday after the race, I would make sure to have the TV on “Wide World of Sports” only to be disappointed that it wasn’t on that weekend’s show. I got my fill of track and field, lumberjack competitions and the demolition derby from Islip Speedway in Islip, N.Y., featuring Chris Economaki before the right weekend came around with the Indianapolis 500. Little did I know that decades later I would actually work for Economaki at National Speed Sport News, and he would become a journalistic mentor.

But this is how I saw the STP Turbine and Parnelli Jones coming four laps short of winning the 1967 race before an engine bearing failed leaving his car stranded at the north end of the track. I remember a few weeks earlier that was who my brother David wanted to win the race. Instead, it was Foyt who claimed his third Indy 500 win. I also remember Foyt on the cover of Sports Illustrated after that third victory.

It was also how I knew about Bobby Unser’s 1968 win when another turbine-powered car driven by Joe Leonard conked out near the end of the race.

I had another sister named Linda who had married a bright, young engineer for General Electric in Fort Wayne, Ind., named Ron Krol in 1967. They, too, had attended the Indianapolis 500, and I remember his favorite driver was Mario Andretti.

There was tremendous glamour attached to Mario Andretti. He looked like a movie star and had all the allure of James Bond.

Linda and Ron came up to Koontz Lake for Memorial Day in 1969, and I remember as a 10-year-old that Ron had the Indy 500 on the radio in his car when Mario Andretti won the race for his only triumph at Indy. Ron was excited that his favorite driver had finally won the Indianapolis 500.

By 1970, I used to anxiously await the delivery of the afternoon paper to the house – The South Bend Tribune – so I could read about what had happened at the Indianapolis 500 in practice and qualifications. An ambitious kid, I got to know the sports editor of the Plymouth Pilot News named Harold Lowe, who was a huge Indy 500 supporter and covered the race despite the small size of the Pilot News. He even had a Firestone tire from the rear wheel of an Indy car with glass on top to make it a coffee table.

Something grand happened in 1971 when ABC decided to show same-day coverage of the Indianapolis 500. Again, Linda and Ron were up to visit, and I got to hear the race live on the radio when we made a trip to South Bend on a Saturday afternoon. Then that night we got to watch the race on ABC.

No more waiting for weeks to actually see it – we only had to wait until that night.

And it was a fascinating experience filled with some spectacular crashes and daring racing as Al Unser won his second straight Indianapolis 500.

The next night, believe it or not, my father along with Ron and I went to Plymouth Speedway for a Sunday night Memorial Day Weekend race. It’s the first time I ever recall my dad being interested in something like that.

When Richard Nixon was president, Memorial Day was moved from May 30 to the last Monday of the month of May. From 1970-72, the Indianapolis 500 was contested on a Saturday. Tony Hulman, the owner of the Speedway, did not want to run it on a Sunday out of respect to the local churches in Indianapolis. So it was a Saturday afternoon when Mark Donohue gave team owner Roger Penske his first victory in the Indianapolis 500. Gary Bettenhausen could have won the race before his engine blew up while leading on Lap 176. That put Jerry Grant into the lead, but he was penalized for his final pit stop when the crew refueled Grant’s car out of teammate Bobby Unser’s fuel tank. Grant finished second on the track, but the penalty dropped him to 12th place for his ill-fated pit stop on Lap 188, as all laps after that pit stop were not credited to Grant.

In 1973, IMS officials decided to schedule the Indianapolis 500 on the actual Memorial Day Monday, and it proved to be a grim experience because of rain and a horrifying crash at the start of the race on a Monday before it rained again that day. It rained on Tuesday, and the race was finally held on Wednesday. Sadly, it was another grim day when Swede Savage crashed in the fourth turn and a crew member was killed when he was hit by a safety vehicle. Gordon Johncock was in the lead when the race was finally stopped for more rain and was declared the winner in a race that nobody celebrated. ABC was on the air all three nights, and I made sure to watch every night.

By now, I was 14 and more than old enough to experience the Indy 500 for myself. But few of my friends were interested or had the means to go to the Indy 500, and my father simply wasn’t going to go, even if he could get tickets.

By 1974, the Indianapolis 500 was scheduled for Sunday after Hulman got the blessing of local churches in Indianapolis. I remember rushing out of church at 11 a.m. to make sure I could hear the start of the race on the radio.

The year 1977 was special for me because I graduated from Oregon-Davis High School on May 22, and the following week A.J. Foyt won his fourth Indianapolis 500 on May 29. It was a historic moment that had been highly anticipated since Foyt won his third Indy 500 in 1967.

I would attend Indiana University beginning in 1977 and begin my path to a journalism degree. As a liberal arts school, the Indy 500 wasn’t something that was at the forefront of many students minds although many of the 500 Festival Queens and Princesses were IU students. The school year ended in early May at IU, and with the race at the end of the month, many of us were already scattered across the country to return home for the summer.

Over the next few years, though, I was determined that I would one day make it to the Indianapolis 500. To me, it was Indy 500 or bust.

I came close in 1980, nearly talking some of my friends in Plymouth, Ind., to leaving town on a Saturday night to party all night outside the Speedway gates and go into the infield before they changed their mind.

Finally, in 1981, I made sure that one way or another I was going to the Indianapolis 500. I had a few college buddies of mine from South Bend that were already going to the race, so I joined in. We met on the northside of Indianapolis where we attended a house party before making the trek to 38th Street and Lafayette Road. I was amazed that traffic had come to a complete stop at Lafayette and 30th Street. We were still several miles from the “North 40” as it was called back then. It was midnight, and the gates would not open until 5 a.m.

The atmosphere was like Woodstock must have been, with tens of thousands of people all with the same goal – getting into the infield at 5 a.m. and staking out a spot for the Indy 500.

There would be no sleep this night, just the raucous atmosphere as the line of traffic crept along before the aerial bomb exploded at 5 a.m. signaling the opening of the gates. It would be another 1 1/2 hours before we made it through the tunnel, and it was still like the Oklahoma Land Rush as cars sped through the infield grass to find a location to park.

I got as close to the fence inside of the fourth turn and threw down the blanket at 7 a.m. The race was still four hours away, and that is when the all-nighter began to hit. But the sights and sounds were amazing as fans continued to drink and fire up the grill. Nothing like seeing pork chops, ribs and burgers being cooked and consumed at 7 a.m.

There was plenty happening in the infield to keep us entertained as the Cavalcade of Bands marched around the track and the booming voice of Tom Carnegie was on the public address system. As 11 a.m. neared, the traditional ceremonies began, although from our vantage point you couldn’t see them.

Finally, the command was given to start engines and the sound of 33 engines could be heard off in the distance.

It wasn’t until the first parade lap that 22 years of waiting became a reality as the Pace Cars drove by with the field of 33 cars from behind. The sight, the sounds and the color were incredible. It sounded like a beehive that had been amplified 10,000 times with a few stock-block Chevrolets thrown in. And this was just the parade lap.

The pace quickened on the Pace Lap until finally, the race was about to begin.

The first time by the cars were so fast and so loud it was hard to imagine there were actually men strapped inside of each one. It was an adrenalin rush I had waited a lifetime to experience. It was when the Indianapolis 500 became an addiction to me.

I would pay close attention for the entire race although I could only see the inside of Turn 4. Bobby Unser would go on to win in controversy for his third Indy 500 victory. I jumped in the car after the race and drove back to Koontz Lake hoping to get home in time to see the race again on ABC. This way, I would find out what had happened on the other parts of the racetrack – something those of us in the infield only knew about by listening on the radio.

I had finally made it to my first Indianapolis 500 although I knew at the time it would not be my last. The next year, I went to Pole Day for the first time. I would return to the same spot in the infield for the 1982 race and vividly remember seeing Rick Mears cut into Gordon Johncock’s lead each lap over the final 10 trips about the oval. I’ll never forget the crowd reaction to that race which turned out to be the closest Indy 500 finish at that time.

I thought I would be attending the Indy 500 every year but after getting my degree in journalism from Indiana University in 1982, my career path took me to North Carolina where instead, I would be covering NASCAR. Every Memorial Day weekend, I was covering a race, but it was the World 600 at Charlotte Motor Speedway. I remember getting smart-ass cracks from the old-school NASCAR media at the time for listening to the Indy 500 on the radio from the CMS Press Box.

I consider those years my time in auto racing purgatory. I would finally get my release when a new NBA franchise came to Charlotte known as the Hornets. I became the beat writer, and when I cut my deal with the sports editor, I would be allowed to cover the Indianapolis 500. He reluctantly agreed, and I returned to cover the Indianapolis 500 for the first time in 1989 from one of the best views in all of racing – the old press box that hung below the Penthouse seats on the frontstretch of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

I haven’t missed an Indianapolis 500 since, covering every race from 1989 until today for such outlets as United Press International, ESPN SportsTicker, National Speed Sport News, SportsIllustrated.com and in my current role on Race Day on ESPN Radio and for Indianapolis Motor Speedway.com, among others. Since 2010, I have assisted Fox59 Indianapolis in its coverage of the Month of May. From a sporting perspective, Race Day at the Indianapolis 500 is as big as Christmas when I was a kid.

After all, my Indy 500 or Bust moment began when I was just a kid, too young to even realize what it was all about.

They called him “The Gas Man.”

It was a good name for Tom Sneva, because it encompassed all the drama, milestones, speed, humor … and a win in the 1983 Indianapolis 500.

He was the first to crack the 200-mph barrier at Indy with a lap of 200.535 in 1977. There was a time when he went slower.

He was an assistant football and basketball coach in Sprague, Wash., and was scheduled to be the baseball coach. But not enough kids turned out for practice, they’d already paid him to be a baseball coach so they made him assistant tennis coach. Since Sprague did not have a tennis facility, Sneva was assigned to drive the bus to another town each night for practice. It was good practice for him.

Along with that, Sneva competed on the rugged Canadian-American Modified Racing Association circuit before coming to the Brickyard.

In ’77, it was a harrowing route to the 200-mph lap for Sneva.

“We were going to go as fast as we could and we had a pretty good car, so we just ran two corners at a time so we didn’t show what we had,” Sneva said recently. “(Mario) Andretti was my (Penske) teammate, and he and some other guys were running 199s, and I was running 197.

“They put Mario’s setup on my car. But on Friday, the day before qualifying, I hit the wall. They worked long hours to put it back together, and they put my setup back on it.

“I was the ‘B’ driver, and we got her done. I couldn’t tell how fast I ran, but I knew it was a good lap because I used a little more throttle. Back then, you couldn’t run flat out all the way around.

“I can’t believe those early guys trying to run 100 miles an hour with skinny tires on bricks. Those were real men. Now they have less than half the horsepower we had in ’77 and a whole lot more technology. It was easier to run 226 in ’92 than it was 200 in ’77.”

In 1983, Victory Lane awaited Sneva, but it wasn’t easy. He was chasing Al Unser with rookie Al Unser Jr. in between them.

“We had a yellow late in the race, and Al got himself between me and his dad,” Sneva said. “As the fuel load went down, my car was faster, and theirs were slower. Mentally, it was tough to keep the patience until the right time.”

But he did and took his place on the Borg-Warner Trophy.

Sneva used every trick possible to try to gain an advantage on rivals at the Speedway. Teams started to cover their wings when their cars weren’t running, keeping wing angles secret, because Sneva walked up and down the pit road looking at the setups on other cars.

“You could get the ride height by slipping your foot under the front of the car,” Sneva said. “One day at the Speedway, there were some gals standing around the garage, and I gave one a tape measure and told her to go measure the side of (Johnny) Rutherford’s car. She went over there, and Steve Roby, the team manager, went nuts. Our whole team was laughing at ‘em.”

In 1980, Sneva’s experience as a bus driver became important. In Mexico City, there were buses to take drivers, mechanics, officials and the like back to the hotels in the city’s Zona Rosa from the track. A bus was loaded, and the driver wasn’t to be found.

So Wally Dallenbach slipped the brake, and Sneva saddled up the bus and drove the group back to the hotel.

“I called the bus company and told them where their bus was double-parked,” Sneva said.

The next week at Phoenix, Sneva was “served” with a “warrant” by a Maricopa County Sheriff’s deputy to appear in court in Mexico City regarding a stolen bus, causing laughter up and down the pit road.

Today, he isn’t really taking it easy at his Paradise Valley, Ariz., home.

“I’m racing quarter-midgets with my grandson,” he said. “I found out that being a mechanic is harder than being a driver.”

He also got involved in golf years ago, being a builder of The “500” Club links in Phoenix.

That led him to another project, building a golf cart, not just a routine golf cart.

“It’s got a 750 Yamaha, five-speed on nitrous in it,” Sneva said. “If I was going to be in the golf business, I figured I ought to have the world’s fastest golf cart.”

He returns for race weekend in May every year.

“I like to see the old timers and meet the new guys,” he said.

The memory that stands out to me most, is meeting Dan Wheldon at Bump Day on Sunday May 23rd 2011.

I had to miss the Indy 500 to attend an out of town wedding. It was the first race I’d missed in about 10 years. Luckily, I had the privilege of obtaining hospitality and suite passes for qualification weekend. I immediately agreed on going since I knew I couldn’t make it to the race that year.

This was the first time I had ever had pit passes for an IndyCar race so it was the first time I got the chance to walk up and down the pits. It was the most incredible experience. I even got to meet drivers Charlie Kimble, J.R. Hillderbrand, and legend Arie Luyendyk that day as well.

A photo in the 2012 Indy 500 program of Andrea hugging Dan Wheldon

But my favorite moment of the day, and of all my time at the IMS, was about to come.

I was sitting on the wall by Helio Castroneves’s pit looking down pit row, and I saw a silhouette of a man standing near the scoring pylon dressed in white. I immediately jumped off the wall and ran down pit lane while yelling to my friends “Oh my god there’s Dan Wheldon!”.  I took off like a bullet leaving my two friends behind me saying “What is going on?”.

I, like so many others, have been a Wheldon fan since his first Indy 500 win in 2005.  It didn’t hurt that he was English and gorgeous as well.  My girl friends and I stood at the entrance of Gasoline Alley trying to say hello to Dan and get his attention.  He smiled and waved. We waited patiently to see if we could get an autograph.

It began to rain and all the drivers and crews started heading for cover, Dan started to walk away, and then stopped, turned, smiled, and headed directly our way. I asked if I could give him a hug, and he said “of course” and he gave me a big hug! It’s sort of fuzzy after that because I believe I briefly lost consciousness for a moment.  My friends and I got our picture with him, wished him luck at the race, and then I proposed marriage to him and he said “you have to talk to my wife about that” and laughed.  He was the nicest, sincerest person.

I listened to the race on the radio and watched the finish on TV, and when Dan won I cried and ran outside screaming that he had won the race!  My favorite driver won the anniversary of the Indy 500!  AND I got to meet him for the first time ever the weekend before!!!

His untimely death broke my heart and many others in the racing community, but I was very fortunate to have met him.  Last year, in the 2012 Indianapolis 500 program was the picture of me hugging Dan. That moment will live forever in my memory and will always resonate within the walls of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

- Andrea

He started out as a fan and went on to order some tools through a catalog and bought a Formula Ford. There was unused space at the plant of the family company, Chelsea Milling in Chelsea, Mich., where he worked on it.

Thus started the career of Howdy Holmes. He went on to win a Formula Atlantic championship and make six distinguished starts in the Indianapolis 500.

He came on the Indy scene as a rookie in 1979.

“I was the only rookie to make the race,” Holmes said. “There were 14 who tried. The Indy 500 was always serious to me. But my career path was Formula One. There was considerable discussion about putting together an all-American team in Formula One. I went to The (Watkins) Glen in ’79, and everybody asked what I was doing. I didn’t know enough not to say anything and that went away.”

Holmes was a model of consistency at Indianapolis. In his six starts, his best finish was sixth in 1983 and his worst was 13^th in 1984. He finished in the top 10 four times.

In 1984, Holmes joined Team McLaren and went to the front of the pack.

“Tom Sneva and myself were with Teddy Mayer and Tyler Alexander, and we started fast, Holmes said. “I was second at Phoenix and tangled with (Bobby) Rahal at Long Beach. But we figured out those March cars better than everyone else early.”

The result was Sneva on the pole at Indianapolis, with Holmes alongside on the front row with a four-lap average of 207.970 mph. But problems struck early.

“At the start of the race, maybe the second or third lap, we had some sort of electrical problem, and the guys changed the black box and checked some other things,” Holmes said. “So I was out of contention.”

Holmes was skilled at all the varied circuits of Indy car racing in the 1980s. But he said oval racing was harder.

“Because the concentration is so much more.” Holmes said. “You’re on a road course, you have depth perception, changes, right and left turns, and you can make up for mistakes. On an oval, you lose momentum, your lap time is gone. You miss a corner on an oval, you’re into the wall.”

The diminutive Holmes also figured he had an advantage over some of his larger-framed competitors.

“Being short is an advantage,” he said. “It doesn’t take as much time for impulses to run from my brain to my foot.”

Today, Holmes is president and CEO of Chelsea Milling, which manufactures Jiffy Mixes, which grocery shoppers see most everywhere. He and his wife, Carole, have a son who also goes by Howdy and is handling marketing and communication for a Pirelli World Challenge team.

The elder Howdy returns to the Speedway each year.

“I come down to the first qualifying weekend and talk to all the mechanics and yellow shirts,” Holmes said. “For the race, I bring some employees down, we sit in Turn 1, and I’m kind of a host.

“Each year, I begin to realize what a big deal it really was to compete in that race.”

When I was a boy of about 13, my father took us to IMS for the first time. He worked for Colonial bakery in Indianapolis and the bakery sponsored a car in the 500. We went to time trials. I remember not only the speeds of the cars, but the smells and sounds. You could literally feel the cars as they flew down the front straight.  IMS is a literal attack on your senses. Hearing the engines rev and speed down the front straight was like nothing I had ever heard. The smell of the fuel expelled from these rockets on wheels seemed to burn your nostrils. The taste of the bologna sandwich my father brought that day may have been the best bologna sandwich I ever had. Not only the taste of the sandwich, but the promise of a slushy offered on good behavior. At the age of the 13, I discovered what it was like to FEEL the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Every sense of the IMS, coming together to converge, would be permanently inside my heart my whole life. That day set the tone for a passion I would carry with me into adulthood. My father passed away when I was 15 years old. I wasn’t incredibly close to my father. However, the Indianapolis Motor Speedway would connect me and my dad forever.

James Proudfoot and his daughter at IMS

In college, I was enrolled in the Photojournalism program at Ball State. Part of the curriculum was to take an internship. My photography professor, Bob Heintzelman, introduced our class to an internship shooting for Reuters International News Service. I immediately showed interest and signed up.  It was in this month of May and 5 more years after that would bring all those childhood dreams back to life. I never imagined I would have ever had this opportunity in life. I was there every day the track was open. Most of the days, it rained. It never washed away my passion for this place. IMS brought me closer to my dad. It reminded me of the time he brought me and my brother to the track, to show us what IMS is all about and why he loved it. What isn’t to love about IMS? It attacks your senses. IMS isn’t just pavement, or bricks, or buildings or even cars. It is a “feeling.” And I never wanted it to go away. I was overwhelmed in the excitement of the history, the rules and the drama that is IMS. I had the opportunity of a lifetime and am forever grateful.  I was able to rub elbows with some of the drivers and mechanics. I was permitted to get so close, one day I inhaled some of the fuel as one of the teams started the car. I nearly passed out. I did not care, although I would not do it again. Being in the pits was a dangerous place to be. Paying attention was not an option. I loved it. I loved every single minute of it. I was sold for life.

In my lifetime, I have had the opportunity to see 15 races with my best friends, my brothers and colleagues. I remember every single race. I remember how I felt. I never had the opportunity to see a race with my dad, but I would like to think he was there with me for every one of them. I imagined him looking down on me with a smile on his face.

A couple years ago, I took my daughter who was 11 at the time, to Pole Day. I was excited. She was excited. For the first time in my life, I was able to pass on what my dad shared with me so many years ago. I had the opportunity to share with her the “feeling” of IMS. The day did not disappoint. She came within inches of meeting Danica Patrick; her hero. We had the best of days together. She was interested in the qualification process, what everything in the pits was. Watching her stand at the fence gazing at the pits, my heart felt happy. My daughter was as amazed as I was when my dad brought me there for the first time. She had the “feeling.” Her senses were attacking her all at once. Everything had come full circle. Like an oval. Like the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. For that, I am forever grateful. Once you have the feeling of IMS in your blood, heart and bones, it can never be taken away. Ever. Someday we are going to go see the race together. My hope, is one day, she will take her kids.

– Jim & Autumn

If you happen to get a hold of a copy of the 1988 Carlmont High School yearbook from Belmont, Calif., turn to the section for seniors and look me up.

You’ll find an entry in my hand-written senior will that reads “Look for me at Indy in 10yrs,” which, despite its nerdy undertones,  proved to be rather prophetic.

16 year old Marshall Pruett at the SCCA Regionals.

I grew up at my father’s shop “Pruett’s Olde English Garage” in the San Francisco Bay Area, and with his background as an amateur racer and race car mechanic, it wasn’t long before I was filled with visions of driving and turning wrenches.

I’d grown up with a passion for motor racing, and the Indy 500 in particular. With my father and grandfather constantly regaling me with tales of Jim Clark, Jackie Stewart, Dan Gurney and Mario Andretti at the Speedway, they became instant heroes.

We’d listen to the “500” on the radio in the late 1970s—wish I could say why it wasn’t televised where we were—and to be honest, it added to my reverie for the race. Hearing the announcers describe the races was a far better experience than seeing it live. My imagination took over and conjured my own version of the races. What a blessing.

A few years earlier, one of my earliest memories involves being dragged to races with my dad in 1973—sitting in the unpaved upper paddock section at Sears Point (about where the first two or three pit boxes are now located near Turn 1)—and helping him pick rocks from his racing tires. I loved helping him, enjoyed being useful, got a thrill from being around racing cars and that experience, even at such a young age, crystalized something inside of me.

I was soon promoted to using Windex and paper towels to clean things, and by my teens, my cleaning talents were being shopped to a local pro racing team.

By the time I turned 16, I’d become a “gofer” for an SCCA Pro Super Vee team, which involved my first stint on the road attending races. I was underage; you had to be 18 to get into the pits, but that wasn’t a limiting factor—not with Super Vees serving as a regular support series for the CART Indy car organization… I wanted to be there and found a way to skirt the rules.

While I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone else, I would not have changed a thing.

Having started out in an open-wheel training series, I worked my way up the ladder as a mechanic from Super Vee, adding stops in F2000, Formula Atlantic and Indy Lights through the 1996 season. Met a couple of Brazilians guys who came to America to race Lights that year…some Castro-Neves dude and his pal Antoine Kanaan. Not sure where they ended up…

It took the Genoa Racing Atlantic and Lights team to partner with one of its former drivers, Greg Ray, to put together a program to compete in the first season of the new-look Indy Racing League for me to get my shot at the Indy 500 in 1997.

The team, which was based in the Bay Area, bought a Dallara IR07 chassis from A.J. Foyt (he bought Dallaras, then decided he liked G-Forces a bit better and ditched the Italian-made cars), acquired Oldsmobile engines built by NAC out of Chicago, and, as simple as it sounds, a new IRL team was up and running.

Forget struggling to get an engine lease, spare parts prices or any of the other concerns that face IndyCar Series steams today. Bought a car. Bought two engines. Did a deal with our old friends Al Speyer and Joe Barbieri from Firestone—folks we’d known from Indy Lights, and out little Lights team was now an IRL program headed for its series debut…at the ’97 Indy 500!

Ray was brimming with confidence, our team manager/engineer Thomas Knapp was also never short on confidence, and with an exceptional (but small) team of mechanics and crew, we were fast right out of the box. Dallara, with help from Andrea Toso and Sam Garrett, were incredibly helpful with setup suggestions and data.

As our assistant team manager and data engineer, I multitasked just like everyone else and shared in the collective disbelief that a little band of Lights veterans could rock up to 16th & Georgetown and play with the big boys.

It was, by no means, the most beloved era of racing at IMS, but it helped launch a lot of careers like my own and a lot of teams that otherwise would never have been allowed onto the premises.

We broke a water pump and didn’t last long during the race, then came back in 1998 and made a name for ourselves by qualifying on the middle of the front row in a sponsor-less car.

Our sponsor, who’d promised to deliver a check for $250,000 before the start of practice, failed to deliver, and with the team loaded into the garages, our only hope was to run hard and try to attract attention.

We’d continued to use NAC engines…which failed on a regular basis and made minimal horsepower, but it ended up being just what we needed during the first few days of on-track activity.

Knowing we had limited laps available with our engines, we worked hard at perfecting the Dallara’s handling. Our lap speeds were abysmal, and whatever we did in the corners, the car did down the straights.

With the reality of packing up and going home becoming a very real proposition, I flagged down Indianapolis Star reporter Curt Cavin, who kindly did a story for the next day on our team being broke and close to heading home.

The next morning, a Yellow Shirt came by and handed me a $20 bill. “It isn’t much, but buy the boys some sandwiches with it” was his instruction. He also gave me his business card.

I had a dumb idea that I hoped would stretch his $20 bill a lot farther. Knowing that most photographers walk along the outside of each pit box at Indy—the right side of the car, I took his card and the cash and used clear tape to affix it to the top of the sidepod.

My hope was that the shooters passing by would see the strange combo of an Indy car and cash on display, take a photo and hopefully ask what it was all about. By chance, it worked. More stories ran—from the Associated Press to local TV stations – and the dollars started to flow in.

We were able to upgrade to Brayton Engineering-built Oldsmobiles which, after all of our setup work, transformed the car into a rocket. It was a beast in the corners and shot like a rocket down the straights.

Ray held onto the car for four laps of qualifying that were well over the limit—a desperation act of the highest order—and placed the car second on the grid.

I spent the next few days fielding calls from sponsors from coast to coast, and come Race Day, the black No. 97 didn’t have a lot of real estate left to sell.

Ray led before a gearbox issue halted our march. It was the high-water mark for me at Indy—a year where everything went wrong before it went right. I’d return for three more “500s,” my last coming in 2001 as part of Sam Schmidt first year as an entrant with driver Davey Hamilton.

I’d retire from a solid 15 years on the road (and I use that term loosely) at the end of 2001, went to college, met and married by wife, tried working a normal job but could not resist the allure of racing. My last act at Indy from a team perspective was engineering a Lights car at the 2005 Firestone Freedom 100, and since then, my annual visits to the Brickyard have been as a writer, reporter and photographer.

That 1998 Indy 500 was amazing—almost surreal, but if I’m honest, I’m enjoying myself more today as a member of the media than I ever did as a crew member.

I’d have never guessed it at the time, but being able to work with the entire paddock—drivers, mechanics, owners and officials—rather than the small field of responsibility that comes from working on a team is simply invigorating.

Oh, and remember the part where I predicted I’d make it to Indy in 10 years? I was wrong—I did it in nine.

We’ve seen an incredible response to our super cool #Indy500orBust sweepstakes on Instagram.  Folks have been uploading photos all the time and there have certainly been some creative submissions.

We wanted to take some time and highlight our favorite fan submissions:

While this post isn’t from a fan, it’s still one of our favorites.  We recently put together our very own Harlem Shake video.  Josef Newgarden was kind enough to join us and the post video shoot photo is proof of just how much fun we had.  If you haven’t seen our Harlem Shake video yet you’re missing out on some pure comedy.  Head here to watch it now!

If you’ve kept up with INDYCAR’s #TheOffSeason on youtube you know there’s one thing that Josef Newgarden is on the look out for… Gnomes.  Coincidentally, a pair of gnomes uploaded some photos of themselves to Instagram.  Even though these two appear to be bitter in-state rivals they’ve united in their love for the Indy 500 and Josef Newgarden.

Ok, so this one isn’t a fan submission either BUT it’s Mike Tyson.  I mean come on, it’s Iron Mike!  What’s not to like about this one?

Here we have another VERY creative fan submission.  Love the bricks and the usage of the race car clock.  It’s been very fun to see all the ideas fans are coming up with.

Who doesn’t love a good race car pic?  This person was smart enough to roll out there Formula Vee and slap an #Indy500orBust sticker on the front.  They’ve made it clear what their intentions are while they’re on track!

Our last pic comes from our writer John Oreovicz.  John was lucky enough to be a part of a group of media members who were invited to the Dallara Factory in Italy.  John snagged this photo of Gian Paolo Dallara, the found of Dallara Motorsports who constructs the INDYCAR DW12 chassis.

We’re looking forward to receiving more creative submissions from the fans.  We’ll write a couple more of these as we approach May so you can see what your fellow fans are doing!

Wondering how you can participate? Well, you’re in luck!  Here’s Sarah Fisher Hartman Racing’s driver, Josef Newgarden with a video on how you can join in on the fun: