Robin Miller is now in the Motorsports Hall Of Fame and has written anonymously for Tampa Racing for a long time.
I'm ratting you out today Robin. I appreciate what you did for us, for TR and all your readers since 2015.
Bunches of your articles are in the Indianapolis history forum., which has over 20,000+ views.

https://www.tamparacing.com/forums/g...s-history.html

The things you wrote for TR will outlive you as long as we have electricity.

What a humble guy. When picked, he named a PILE of people he would have nominated.

MILLER: Honored, humbled – and a little conflicted

Levitt/Motorsport Images
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emailBy Robin Miller | February 1, 2021 9:21 AM

I always had the opinion that any racing Hall of Fame should only be for drivers and maybe a few mechanics, but as time expanded so did the categories, along with the places of honor. Owners, designers, pioneers, broadcasters, announcers and writers were welcomed into the fold, as midgets and sprints started their own HOFs along with NASCAR, AMA, USAC and the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. And the Motorsports Hall of Fame of America seemed to be the melting pot for every discipline or skill involved in racing on two or four wheels.

So when George Levy called me a few months ago and said I’d been voted into the Motorsports HOF, I was a little conflicted. On one hand I was obviously gob-smacked, flattered and humbled to be joining a group that included my boyhood heroes A.J., Mario and Parnelli, but I also felt kinda guilty because of all the great talents that aren’t in, and may never be nominated.

I know that’s a terrible reaction, but after all the years of criticizing the IMS HOF for ignoring Jim Hurtubise, Paul Newman and Bill Finley, or questioning other HOF inductees, it was simply my normal thought process in regards to what constitutes the credentials for being in any HOF.

When my longtime Star/News compatriot Dick Mittman was kind enough to submit my name two years ago and I wound up on the ballot next to P.L. Newman, that was more than I ever expected. I’m on the voting panel of the Motorsports HOF and have written stories on the various inductees for the program, but I truly never considered the possibility of being elected. Especially when you consider that Brock Yates and Shav Glick are the only two motorsports writers in the HOF and sages like Pete Lyons, Joe Scalzo, Gordon Kirby, Al Pearce and Ed Hinton aren’t included.

The fact there is a category for media is cool, because it shows reporting and writing are represented and respected. I want to nominate Dave Despain for all the things he contributed for four decades on television, and Terry Lingner for creating Thursday Night Thunder and being IndyCar racing’s best producer forever.

But where it gets a little uncomfortable for me is looking at all the badasses that have never been nominated, and likely won’t be. I eat lunch every Friday with two of them – Pancho Carter and Lee Kunzman.

Carter, a USAC multi-champion, was the finest combo pavement/dirt sprint driver I ever saw, and one of USAC’s all-time best in midgets, sprints and dirt cars, but never got the best equipment in Indy cars. Yet he made a miraculous comeback from devastating injuries right in his prime, and won the pole at Indy in 1985.

Kunzman was on the fast-track to stardom in the early 1970s in USAC sprints and midgets before two horrendous crashes (neither his fault) nearly killed him and brought his career to a standstill. He recovered from terrible burns and a broken neck to win again, and race pieces of crap at Indy before finally scoring a first-class ride. Then, he nearly died in a testing crash at Ontario that required two years off to learn how to read, write, walk and talk again.
Carter finished a career-best fourth at Indy in 1975 (above), but opportunities to properly showcase his talents at the Brickyard were rare. Motorsport Images

Then I think about Jan Opperman, possibly the best dirt racer ever, who gave outlaws an identity and also conquered IRP, Dayton and Indianapolis before suffering grave injuries that effectively ended his career. Bubby Jones, Doug Wolfgang and Ron Shuman were phenomenal open-wheel racers who won hundreds of main events, and Bentley Warren was the king of Owego who captured all kinds of modified races and championships while also running Indy three times. Jim Champine and Richie Evans were also east coast greats, while Brett Hearn has racked up almost 1,000 modified stock victories.

Gary Bettenhausen was one of the toughest competitors ever in anything he drove and his fierce rivalry with Lightin’ Larry Dickson gave USAC a national identity and they were two of the best in sprinters.

Steve Kinser and Tommy Hinnershitz are in the Motorsports HOF and represent the short-track community, and I’m hoping ageless Sammy Swindell follows them when he finally walks away, but it feels like those other guys I mentioned are also worthy.

Bettenhausen, Lyons and Swindell are on the 2022 HOF ballot.

Willy T. Ribbs deserves consideration for his winning ways in Trans-Am and breaking the color barrier at Indy, while Sarah Fisher and Danica Patrick gave IndyCar its first really competitive female racers.

Of course I’ll always have a soft spot in my heart for Herk, as he made more fans than anyone in the early ‘60s at Indy, and kept them for a decade with his panache and personality.

Obviously, everyone can’t make it, but it’s heartening to see a world-class fabricator like Phil Remington in the HOF along with Clint Brawner, A.J. Watson and Colin Chapman – the backbone of the innovative 1960s.

It would be nice to see Bill Marvel at least nominated, since he ran Pocono, Texas, promoted the Astrodome midget race, owned and operated The Charger newspaper, was a marketing and promotion maven and ran USAC’s Benevolent Fund until his death last December.

I do understand that all these HOFs need warm bodies so they can honor the living, and sell tables for the induction ceremony, and keep the doors open, so that can present a challenge. But I think George, Donna Sprague and Adam Saal have done a nice job of mixing the past with the present in the Motorsport HOF. The diversity is also impressive, and this year Drs. Terry Trammell and Steve Olvey are on the ballot along with HANs inventors Jim Downing and Dr. Bob Hubbard, and builder/manufacturer Ted Halibrand. The inclusion of Judy Stropus this year is a good example of doing the right thing, because she’s not well known to the racing public but has been invaluable as a worker bee for five decades.
Fisher leads the field at Kentucky in 2002. Motorsport Images

I’ve got so many people to thank for making racing a career. Herk, of course, for giving me a start at 18 and “suggesting” I not pursue mechanics. Bobby Grim Jr. for taking me to the Beverage Inn every day for lunch and dinner, and getting into the inner circle of Vuky, Gary B. and Johnny Parsons before schooling me about all things racing. Art Pollard, for getting me a discount on my Formula Ford with Andy Granatelli and then taking me to IRP for its shakedown, only to find out I forgot to add oil and water.

The Bettenhausens for making me their fourth brother, selling me a good midget and giving me tough love at every turn. Finley for rebuilding my Formula Ford and both of my midgets more times than I can count, and letting me be on his IndyCar crew. Bob Collins, Cy McBride and John Bansch for letting me start writing about Indy in 1969 and Ray Marquette for getting me a job at the Indianapolis Star, where I had a forum for 32 years.

Tim Coffeen, Rick Duman, Steve & Rick Long, Ray Kuelthau, Danny Jones, Don Brown, Jerry Weeks, Mark Alderson, Larry Rice, Ronnie Shuman, Marshall Sheper and Grim for always making sure the wheels were tight and keeping my midgets running. Barry Sacks for giving me a shot at ESPN and RPM 2Night and Frank Wilson for hiring me at SPEED, where Despain graciously made me part of his fantastic show WIND TUNNEL. Paul Pfanner and David Malsher for bringing me into the RACER family, and Rob Dyson and Pfanner for keeping RACER alive. Randy Bernard for talking Rich O’Connor, Terry Lingner and Sam Flood into putting me on NBC, where they gave me a presence with the Grid Run.

And a big thank-you to Mario, Parnelli, Super Tex, Roger Penske, Chip Ganassi and Don Prudomme, because I understand they were campaign managers to get me in the HOF.

Twenty years ago I got fired from The Star, and the first call I received was from Mario. After offering me a job at his car wash in Nazareth, he turned serious and said: “Listen racer, this may open up a lot of doors for you, and you’ll be able to expand your audience and do more than just write.”

That’s exactly what happened, and nobody has ever been luckier or more grateful than this college dropout with a face for radio.

Robin Miller, IndyCar,

 

When Robin Miller discovered Formula Ford

And I'’ll never forget my mom saying to my dad: “Oh my god, Bob. He’s bought an Indy car! He'’ll kill himself.”




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By: Robin Miller |


Although his old buddy Paul Page will be the keynote speaker, RACER Magazine’s Robin Miller won’t be at Road America for the Formula Ford 50th Anniversary event Sept. 11-15, perhaps because the prospect of 240 FFs tearing up one of his favorite road courses would put too much stress on his heart. And he’s saving that muscle for the IndyCar finale at Weathertech Raceway Laguna Seca the following weekend.

However, Formula Ford played a part in the much-loved broadcaster and sportswriter’s midwest upbringing, as Robin remembers …


In June 1972, I announced to my pal Art Pollard that, after all the years of watching races, I had decided I wanted to be a driver. He laughed and said: “OK, kid. Sell your sports car (a Lotus Europa), buy a van, and I’ll help you get a car.”

Pollard, still on crutches after breaking his leg at Indy during practice when a hub snapped going into Turn 3 in Andy Granatelli’s Lola, knew there were a couple of little “mini Indy” cars up in Andy’s shop in Chicago.

They were Formula Fords given to Granatelli by Francis McNamara, who’ designed the turd Mario Andretti had driven for Mr. STP in the 1970 Indianapolis 500.

Pollard told me to come up with $5,000 (not an easy task since I was making $158 a week as a sportswriter at The Indianapolis Star) and we’d meet at Granatelli’s shop. So I borrowed money from a banker buddy, telling him it was for a new Ford (kinda was) and we headed for Illinois.

Upon entering the massive garage, it was love at first sight. There were a couple of Novis under plastic tarps and right next to them was a DayGlo orange Formula Ford, painted just like my hero Jim Hurtubise’s Novi in 1963.

Pollard gave Vince Granatelli $3,000 (stuffing two grand back in my pocket), and that little beauty was all mine. I’d rented a U-Haul trailer to take my car home, but, unfortunately, it was three feet wide and nine feet long so we had to take the wheels off my FF and load it with a fork lift. (An early indication, perhaps, that I had no business owning a race car?)

For the McNamara’s maiden voyage, I borrowed a trailer from Paul Page (kneeling at left in photo above), a FF racer before he was the voice of the Indy 500, and headed out to Indianapolis Raceway Park with Pollard in tow. Just before we fired the engine, he leaned in and asked if I’d remembered to check the oil and water? Naturally I replied no, assuming that my brand new race cars came with those amenities.

Art had to drive over Gasoline Alley and get some Valvoline.

My first drivers school was at Nelson Ledges, Ohio, and it was fairly uneventful; but my second stop was Watkins Glen. I’d watched the movie Grand Prix four nights in a row when it came out, and I know exactly what to do when I rolled into upstate New York just as the sun came up: I had to walk the track.

Miller (No. 40) on the attack at IRP, the car rebuilt following its drivers school near-destruction.


Not sure what everybody else’s SCCA drivers school was like, but our instructor showed us the line and we ran behind him on Saturday. Then we had some kind of all-skate qualifying session — except nobody knew their times.

As my lone mechanic, Mad Dog Mike Roth, and I pushed our car toward the grid on Sunday morning, we asked, “Where do we line up?”

My car was No. 40 CD (for CenDiv), and the SCCA worker replied, “You’re on the pole.”

“Of the race?” (I tried to act like that’s what I expected, but it was a surprise to say the least.)

Then again, maybe it shouldn’t have been: They’d put all the Formula Fords in with the Formula A-B-C cars, and they were all behind me! Let’s just say that even though everybody was new, the talent level left something to be desired.

As per protocol, we were told there would be a practice start in which we would take the green and race up the esses until we saw a yellow flag; then we’d slow, pack up, and come around to do the real race.

On our practice start, I got it right and, by the time we got to that flagman, I was a couple hundred yards ahead of second place. My first thought was that I had to be a natural and I’d likely be in Formula 1 within two years.

Then came reality. I had been in second gear for my first flying start, but, for some unknown reason, I slipped it into third for the real thing. Obviously, my 1600cc Cortina engine bogged badly and I was fourth or fifth by the time I got to Turn 1 whereupon a Formula A car drilled me, spun me into the Armco, and tore my car in half.

As the fluids ran down the track, I clambered out and sat down next to the remains of my car in shock. I’d gone from F1 to out of business in less than two minutes.

Later, the chief steward called me up to the tower and said the accident wasn’t my fault and I’d still be granted my regional license. As we talked, I looked down and saw a bunch of people running toward the vicinity of my wrecked car. Mad Dog Roth had taken a wheel hammer and was beating a hole in the nose of the Formula A car that had speared me.

Bless his heart.

McNamara FFs were sturdy and attractive; the same cannot be said for their IndyCar.


In 1973, my car rebuilt by Jack Brandt, I started out in regionals and ran decently, but it was my first National at Mid-Ohio that opened my eyes. Gordon Smiley pulled in with a double-deck trailer and a spare car, and, in qualifying and the race, he, B.J. Swanson and former Formula Vee National Champion Dave Weitzenhof were in a class by themselves.

Formula Ford was just starting to hit its stride in 1974, but I sold my McNamara and bought a midget from Gary Bettenhausen. Eating lunch every day with Johnny Parsons, Bill Vukovich, Jimmy Caruthers and Bettenhausen, I was lectured constantly that if I really wanted to learn how to race, I’d go run USAC in a midget or a sprinter.

They were right, and I’d never trade my eight years experience in USAC.

But to this day I can still remember the night I brought that bitchin’-bright-orange FF home and unloaded in my parents’ garage at midnight.

And I’ll never forget my mom saying to my dad: “Oh my god, Bob. He’s bought an Indy car! He’ll kill himself.”

 

ST JAMES: Why National Girls and Women in Sport Day matters

Lyn St James collection
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emailBy Lyn St. James | February 4, 2021 11:26 AM

The Annual National Girls and Women in Sport Day has been a special day for me for many decades because of my support of and leadership role at the Women’s Sports Foundation, one of the founding organizations of National Girls and Women in Sport Day.

This year’s celebration was yesterday, and carried on the aim of bringing national attention to the importance of women’s sports for all girls and women. I recall joining other elite female athletes as we hosted a press conference and reception at the Capitol in Washington DC, visited various congressional representatives for photo ops and to remind them of the importance of protecting Title IX (the federal civil rights law that prohibits sexual discrimination in any federally-funded school or education program), and often visited the White House to meet Presidents and First Ladies.

As President of the Women’s Sports Foundation in 1989-91, I was honored to join elite athletes such as Olympic swimmers Donna de Varona and Nancy Hogshead, tennis greats Chris Evert, Pam Shriver and Martina Navratilova, basketball great Nancy Lieberman, and so many more. I was even able to take my daughter with me one year when we walked along the Mall as part of the celebration, and she was able to meet then-senator Joe Biden. Some great memories indeed. Due to COVID this year’s celebration was virtual, but no less important.
St James steps up to the podium at the 1990 event, while a crowd including basketball stars Nancy Lieberman and Anne Donovan, N.J. Senator Bill Bradley, track & field Olympian Willie White, and world champion water skier Camille Duvall look on. Image via Lyn St James collection

I was proud to represent motorsports, but sometimes questioned how Title IX affected women in racing since it’s a sport not offered in the traditional educational systems around the country. But women’s sports is a community; a large and powerful community, and the importance of equal opportunities goes far beyond traditional sports. I’m convinced that because we now have moms and dads who were influenced by Title IX during their educational experience, they are now more open and supportive of their daughters doing things, like competitive racing than in the past, when they would have only expected to support their sons.

Research on women in leadership in business documents that the majority of them will have stories about their participation in sports, and how much that influenced their ability to succeed in business and in life.

When eyes and minds are opened by seeing women succeed, it doesn’t really matter in what area, because it sends a message that affects everyone. I’ve always felt racing is a gender-neutral sport, but there is no denying that women have had a harder time getting the best opportunities to allow them to reach their potential and excel. Racing is also a unique sport because men and women compete on an equal level. By collectively working for equal opportunities, change can happen, and is happening. There’s momentum for women in racing now as never before, and we’re seeing them succeed in karting, drag racing, off road racing, rallying, and oval track and road racing.

IndyCar,

 

George Mack's untold story of how Tony George saved his season.

This story will never get on the Fake News, who falsely claim that America is such an awful racist country, where coincidentally.......THOUSANDS of illegals every day walk across the southern border and illegally enter......for economic freedom, and Constitutionally guaranteed rights for all.

Image via IMS
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emailBy Marshall Pruett | February 16, 2021 3:04 AM

Almost 20 years before the advent of the NTT IndyCar Series’ Race For Equality & Change, Indy Racing League founder Tony George took an important step in providing support for George Mack, its second African American driver.

Mack made his IRL debut in 2002 with the fledgling 310 Racing team. Following a crash in the second race of season at Phoenix, where 310’s lone GForce chassis was heavily damaged, the lightly-funded team created by aftermarket auto customizer Marc Laidler found itself in a state of financial crisis.

Exactly how the budgetary plight of Mack’s team reached George is unknown, but with rising concerns over how the outfit led by the late Ted Biting would reach the upcoming races – including the Indy 500 – news of their struggle was received.

Where George’s help differed from the new Race For Equality & Change program was in its delivery. An intensely private man, George’s benevolence remained a secret until 2020, when Mack pulled back the covers on an unexpected encounter between the Indianapolis Motor Speedway boss and the IRL rookie.

“What ended up happening… I can’t remember who it was, but [someone] crashed in front of me,” Mack recalled. “And I back up, and when I back up, I get collected from the rear by Robby McGehee.”

With 13 races remaining on the calendar, concerns over completing the season emerged. Where buying new parts and pieces to replace the damaged items is the norm after a sizable crash, 310 Racing lacked the funds to place a costly order.
Mack talking shop with Al Unser Sr at Texas in 2002. Bauders/Motorsport Images

“I’d overhear conversations a little bit, but I think they tried to keep it away from me, because they didn’t want me to worry,” Mack continued. “But I would catch a little different attitude here or there. And obviously I wasn’t completely naive. I was naive, but not completely. When I see them taking me back to the room and they’re turning the lights on to stay up all night to try to put this stuff back together for the next race, I knew what was going on. And so they just kept patching up the same car.”

Enter Tony George.

“At that point, after that crash, he said he wanted to talk to me and I’m thinking, ‘Oh, what did I do? I’m a rookie. Don’t tell me I screwed myself,’” Mack said. “He came over and pulled me aside. He goes, ‘Look, kid. We dig you. We dig you. You got personality. The guys seem to like you so far. We know you’re underfunded. So I’m going to do something for you, [but] you cannot tell anyone.’

“I thought he’s going to get me some driver coaching – first thing that popped into my head. No, no. He gave me a check.”

It wasn’t the first time the George family had offered help to a driver or team in need. During the early days of the IRL, many asked for contributions from the family’s considerable wealth, and the majority were rebuffed. On rare occasion, however, and often without notice, a member of the George bloodline would step in to ensure an underdog was saved.
George recognized the value in helping the small 310 Racing team stay afloat through the 2002 season. Williams/Motorsport Images

With Mack, the first Black driver to compete in IndyCar since Willy T. Ribbs opened the door in 1991, George saw the value in addressing the shortcomings that could keep 310 Racing from reaching the upcoming races, and ensuring Mack had something safer and newer to drive.

“And when he brought the check… ‘What’s this?’ I asked him,” he said. “And he says, ‘We gave it a lot of thought. (It would) be even worse for me and for the League if you’re gone.’ He said, ‘This is the cost of doing business.’ [I said] ‘Look, six-digit check, that’s a huge cost.’”

Mack wouldn’t define the size of the six-figure check, but the amount was enough to get a fresh chassis in motion and complete his one and only season.

“He goes, ‘That doesn’t even begin to cover it. But we know this will happen. We know you got the one car,'” Mack said. “I gave him a hug, man, and utmost respect at that point. They built the second car, and patched together the first one. That helped a bunch.”
--------------------------------------
See also post 307 below

George Mack, IndyCar

 

INSIGHT: Racing's original Willy T

IMS
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emailBy Marshall Pruett | February 19, 2021 11:58 AM

Within the family, William Theodore Ribbs Jr garners most of the attention.

Thanks to the success and fame attained in motor racing, and more recently from the documentary Uppity, the driver we know as Willy T Ribbs has been brought to the masses through Netflix.

But there’s more to the story. Long before Junior went on to break barriers as the first African American to compete in the Indianapolis 500, it was his namesake, William Theodore Ribbs Sr, who served as the family’s pioneer in the sport.

Born in 1925 in San Jose, California, Willy T’s late father – nicknamed ‘Bunny’ – earned a reputation as a badass on two and four wheels. After serving in the Army during World War II, Bunny returned home in 1946 and found a motorized escape. In the hours after working plumbing jobs with his father Henry, he practiced his favorite activity, kept hidden from the diminutive patriarch.

Bunny’s passion was stoked while sliding sideways with fellow daredevils and thrill seekers in the imminently lethal sport of flat-track motorcycle racing. Held at county fairs and horse racing venues, it was a primal affair. The fortunate ones rode home after the events.

Among the many things that make Willy T Ribbs unique, the distinction of being a second-generation racer – a rarity among African American families of his era – has always warranted further exploration. One gets the impression Bunny, who retired from racing while Willy T was in grade school, could have been a big deal if he’d been able to focus his energies on the sport where his son would eventually thrive.

“The war ended, he was straight to work in the family business, and my dad grew up with a bunch of kids who became motorcycle racers, so when he came home, they reconnected,” Ribbs told RACER. “Our hometown of San Jose wasn’t that big at that time, and it was an agricultural town before Silicon Valley started, and there was nothing to do but race.”

Bunny’s introduction to the somewhat safer world of four-wheeled racing in 1954 was born out of necessity.

“It was a pretty famous story in our family about dad racing at the Bay Meadows track in Belmont, which was for horses, by the way,” Ribbs said. “I don’t know how he got into it, but it’s a big track and he crashed and got beat up pretty bad.

He did some endos, knocked himself out. They took him to the hospital and he recovered eventually, but that’s when he decided he needed to try four wheels. In those days, you didn’t tell your parents about that stuff. And my grandfather hated racing – didn’t want to know anything about it – so they kept that crash a secret.”

Unlike his son’s open-wheel aspirations, Mr. Ribbs gravitated towards touring cars and sports prototypes. Starting out in a MG TC, he graduated to the V8-powered Baldwin Special and more MGs through the 1950s, sampled a Lotus 11, and closed his time behind with wheel in tubeframe Elvas in 1964.

“The Elva Mk IV was his favorite of them all,” Willy T said. “I was at Indy for the VROC race, a guy walks up to me and says ‘I have your dad’s old Elva’, and walked me down to it. It was nice and clean, and he kept the same original white color. The same as I remember sitting in that thing when I was a kid.”
After surviving a foray into flat-track motorcycle racing, the elder Ribbs closed out his racing career wheeling Elvas in the 1960s. Image via Willy T. Ribbs

Like many who are drawn into motor racing, the communal nature of the sport is where Ribbs’ earliest interactions were made. Whether it was preparing for a race at home, or traveling up and down the west coast to participate in the events, Junior was included in the adventures.

“Of course we had the family business, so it was race cars in the garage,” he said. “It was my dad’s buddies who came over and worked on their race cars at my dad’s place. Because my family had enough property where you could put a dozen race cars, right? So a lot of my dad’s friends who owned race cars brought them to my dad property, and they’d work on them there. And I was always around race cars.

“My dad was damn fast. I mean, he’d been on the pole at several races. I remember we were down in Phoenix, he was out in front, and we were up in Kent, Washington, he was out in front. And I remember for him to be in it was really exciting.

Without that experience in my life, there would have never been a Willy T. Ribbs in (professional) racing. No question, no doubt about it. I never would’ve thought of or discovered the career that I was in love with without that exposure.”

As the inspiration for his son’s future career, Bunny took immense pride in the opportunities that arose in sports car competition, first in the SCCA Trans Am Series, and then in IMSA, where Junior won 1987’s version of the GTO Drivers’ championship in Dan Gurney’s

All American Racers Toyota Celica. When possible, he’d join his son at the races, drinking in the grandeur that was so far removed from his dirt and mud-strewn flat-track days.
Ribbs Jr had plenty of paternal support when he decided to begin his own racing journey. Image via Willy T. Ribbs

Upon his arrival at 1991 Indy 500 where history would be made, something different unfolded as the danger posed at the Speedway connected Bunny and Willy T in new ways.

“When I was a kid, the race wasn’t on TV, so dad would take to the San Jose fairgrounds to watch the Indy 500 on a closed-circuit feed they had,” he said. “But dad had never been to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. He got in during practice, and his first time on pit lane, he watched Mark Dismore crash right in front of him. It was a bad one.

Broke the car into pieces, broke Mark’s neck, broke his legs. And the look on my dad’s face. I had never seen that before… he had no emotion on his face. Just staring into space. He’d seen terrible stuff on closed-circuit before, but the TV did not justify the speed and the danger of Indianapolis.

“So we went to dinner that night and we found Mark was going to survive, and dad was just sort of looking into his food, and we were talking and then he looked up and we were making light of what was going to happen the next day. And he said, ‘You guys are nuts.’ He said that out of nowhere. ‘You guys are nuts.’ He says, ‘I had no idea the cars go that fast.’

I’d never seen him quite like that, because he was so affected by it. My dad made light of a lot of things, but this was something where he could see the real risks out there that we faced every day. I think it changed how he saw what I was trying to do at Indy.”

 

While Ribbs Sr had watched many Indy 500s via telecast, it took his first in-person visit to the Speedway for his eyes to be opened to the dangers inherent in racing there. Image via IMS

Bunny was there for many of the dramas chronicled in Uppity, as constant engine failures and dwindling odds of qualifying for the race brought constant drama to his son’s efforts. While the tensions reached a crescendo at the conclusion of the documentary, Ribbs remembers something rather different as it happened back 30 years ago.

“My dad and my family were taught not to show emotion, and that all stems from my grandfather Henry,” he said. “You do not show weakness at all. You don’t talk about it, you don’t show it, you don’t cry. I mean, that’s how I was raised. My dad was just calm and went along with the flow, with all the engines blowing up and he was observing everything that was going on,

he didn’t chime in at all. When we qualified, I’m jumping out of the damn car coming down pit lane, hugging everyone, doing high-fives, do the photos and interviews and all that stuff.

“Finally, I get to see my dad… No hug. He just shook my hand. Said, ‘Good job.’ Because you just didn’t do that in our family to men; men didn’t hug each other. And for right or wrong that’s how it was handled. So we shook hands.”
Ribbs Sr’s outward reaction to his son’s landmark qualifying run at Indy in 1991 was muted, but there was no doubting his pride. Image via Willy T. Ribbs

Despite receiving a somewhat cold and clinical response to qualifying for the Indy 500, Ribbs delighted in seeing his father showed with adoration from his friends and the media. Although outward displays of emotion were kept in check, Junior watched as Bunny stood proud and basked in his son’s achievement.

“He said, ‘Good job,’ and then he went back to entertaining everybody that was talking to him about what his kid just did. S***, he gave me like five seconds, turned around, and did an interview like it was his own show!” he said with a laugh.

“He was too busy entertaining everybody, but it was great to see. He was proud that his son accomplished it, and he didn’t have to make any excuses or explain why I didn’t. And when I think back to all the cars my dad raced, everything I grew up around in racing with him, there was only one direction I could go, and we ended up getting there together.”

 

RETRO: Mack's dizzyingly unlikely Indy 500 run

See also post 304 above.

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emailBy Marshall Pruett | February 25, 2021 10:03 AM

Bravery is a necessary ingredient for every driver who competes in the Indianapolis 500. That part’s a given. But bravery isn’t a one-size-fits-all affair; there are levels involved here, which George Mack demonstrated during his solitary appearance at Indy in 2002.

In fact, the Californian added two new tiers of fearlessness to the Speedway’s annals of courage, starting with his ascension to the Indy 500.

A quick scan of that year’s rookie field reveals a number of serious names on the entry list. Headlining the newcomers was Dario Franchitti, a five-year veteran of the CART IndyCar Series, close friend Tony Kanaan, who brought similar CART experience to his Indy Racing League debut, and Max Papis, an ex-Formula 1 driver with plenty of CART races to his credit. Among the others was Alex Barron, the eventual Indy 500 Rookie of the Year, a junior open-wheel champion who’d driven for Team Penske and All American Racers prior to his first opportunity to race at the Speedway.

By the time the quartet graduated from karting in their early teens, more than 20 years of collective learning had been amassed in Formula 3, Formula 3000, Formula Atlantic, and Indy Lights to prepare them for IndyCar, F1, and the Indy 500. And then there was Mack.

Unlike Franchitti, Kanaan, Papis, and Baron, there were no intermediate steps taken on his journey to the world’s biggest motor race. When he arrived for his first IRL test, Mack was wholly unprepared for the new discipline he’d chosen to undertake with 310 Racing: he’d never raced a car, on an oval, or with wings.
Going straight from karts to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway was just the beginning of Mack’s challenges in 2002. Image courtesy George Mack

A legend within the Los Angeles karting scene, Mack went from the smallest, lowest training series — racing’s version of Pop Warner football — straight to the Super Bowl. And didn’t fail. By the end of his lone Indy 500 run, Barron was the only rookie in front of Mack’s No. 31 GForce-Chevrolet; Franchitti was two spots behind, Papis was seven in arrears, and Kanaan went out in an early crash.

Beyond hailing the fortitude involved with his karts-to-Indy performance, Mack’s ability to take part in the race, much less finish 17th out of 33 starters, was something close to a miracle. This is where his final act of bravery comes into play.

Mack spent that May afternoon rocketing through Indy’s four corners hundreds and hundreds of times, turning left repeatedly at well over 200mph, all while fighting the dizzying effects of vertigo. With his head spinning in a constant circular motion around the 2.5-mile Indianapolis Motor Speedway, the 33-year-old accepted a challenge that was kept secret at the time.

Battling vertigo came as the result of a hard crash and the ensuing concussion Mack received during practice for the big race. With stricter post-crash protocols in place today, there’s every reason to believe Mack’s concussion and vertigo would have been detected by IndyCar’s medical staff and led to his being officially sidelined for the remainder of the event.

But 2002 was a different time. He was discharged, and given a prescription for pills to help manage the symptoms.

“Telemetry said we we’re doing 223mph or something coming out of [Turn 2],” Mack recalls. “Lost the rear, and banged my head. So, I just saw stars. My ears are ringing right now. They still ring. But they let me out of the hospital.”
Mack’s vertigo so worried the team that it began preparing the car for Roberto Guerrero instead, but Mack wasn;t having it. “I said, ‘No. No, no, no. My deal. I’m driving it.'” Image via IMS

Fortunately for him, news of Mack’s crash days before the race and questions regarding his fitness and ability to take part in the Indy 500 made the local newspapers in Los Angeles.

“When my chiropractor read the paper that said I wasn’t going to drive the car at Indy, he called me,” Mack continues. “He says, ‘They’re giving you some pills called something or other.’ I go, ‘Yeah.’ He goes, ‘Don’t take those pills, don’t take those f****** pills!’ Throw them in the trash.’ Find a chiropractor out there and get adjusted every day, several times a day. I said, ‘What?’ He said, ‘No b*******. If you can get adjusted five times a day, do it,’ because I still had a few days left.”

As Mack began a daily routine of making multiple visits to a chiropractor, his 310 Racing team made repairs to the No. 31 car and began preparing for likelihood he would be unable to compete in the Indy 500.

“Sat down, and they were going to let Roberto Guerrero drive the car,” Mack recalls. “They’re starting to fit it for him because he’s a smaller guy. I said, ‘No. No, no, no. My deal. I’m driving it.’ [They said], ‘Yeah, but you can’t even barely …’ [I said], ‘I’m driving it.’ Took him back out of the scenario, refitted it to me again. I told them I was going to take the pills. I didn’t take any more, based on what my chiropractor told me. I was able to get adjusted once or twice a day for the next few days. That’s how I was able to drive the car. I wasn’t completely cured.”

For the average person, vertigo can turn the simplest acts of standing or walking into a significant challenge, as feelings of being light-headed and dazed can appear in an instant. Being in a seated position for 500 miles lessened some of the obstacles for Mack, but the high speeds, constant influence of gravity’s pull against his body and brain, and the narrow field of vision that vertigo made available through his helmet all conspired against his success.

“If you go back and look at some of the footage, you’ll notice my head is tilted and strapped in with a bunch of padding to keep my head turned

 

RETRO: When IndyCar opened its season in Argentina

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emailBy Robin Miller | February 28, 2021 7:24 AM

Fifty years ago the IndyCar season opened in Argentina without its two biggest stars but with a title sponsor (Marlboro) and a new format to decide the United States Auto Club championship. Even with A.J. Foyt and Mario Andretti missing from the line-up, the race at Rafaela wound up with some great racing and a damn good crowd of 40,000.

But that promising start wasn’t enough.
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It all became a reality when the owner of Autodromo Ciudad de Rafaela — a 3-mile oval located two hours from the nearest big city — reportedly offered USAC $100,000 to stage an exhibition race. In other words, a non-points-paying affair.

“I didn’t want to go to start with and when I found out it wasn’t going to count towards the championship it was an easy decision not to,” said Foyt, who opted instead for a NASCAR race at Ontario, Calif.

Andretti couldn’t recall why his STP team didn’t go but co-owner Andy Granatelli was miffed America’s premier open-wheel series would begin its season in another country. And a few days before the race, with entries lagging, USAC decided to award points for the twin-150 milers.

So 27 cars were loaded and flown to the place when Juan Manuel Fangio was a god in Formula 1 and oval-track racing was a total stranger. But USAC was smart enough to get Argentina’s Carlos Pairetti a ride with Dick Simon.

“We got on the buses at the airport and on the drive to the track there were literally thousands of people waving American flags and cheering — it was amazing,” recalled Bentley Warren, one of the 10 drivers still living who competed in Argentina.

The track featured two straightaways much longer than the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, some substantial banking and wicked fast speeds as Lloyd Ruby won the pole position at 173 mph. (Watch highlights below or click here to view on YouTube.)



In the opening 53-lapper, Al Unser and Ruby staged a tremendous duel before Unser eked out the victory and they were the only two cars on the lead lap. Mike Mosley held off Swede Savage in a great battle for third and Pairetti started 17th and finished 12th, three laps down, in his oval debut.

The second heat was all Big Al as he led 48 of the 53 laps, with Rube and Joe Leonard taking second and third respectively. But the early story was Warren, who lined up 10th and charged to the front in Bill Finley’s homemade Offy. The super modified star was in third by Lap 8 and closing on Ruby when Rick Muther blew his engine and Warren spun in the oil and drilled the guardrail. A mini inferno ensued and badly burned Bentley’s hands.
Bentley Warren

“That car was always hit or miss but that day it was fantastic and that track was so fast and I loved it,” he recalled. “But hitting that oil was like hitting ice at 200 mph and it was a serious fire.”

Taken to the local hospital, Warren was told to drink lots of liquids. “So I got a big bottle of beer and started drinking,” he laughed.

The charter plane back to Indianapolis was delayed from taking off because Bill Simpson was trying to talk a pretty blonde into moving to California with him and Warren had to sit in a middle seat with his heavily-bandaged arms in an upright position. Mechanic Al Freedman asked all the USAC officials sitting in first class if anyone would like to give up their seat for the injured driver and nobody responded.

“I got to sit next to Boston Louie (Seymour, a colorful character who fielded USAC cars for 30 years) so that made the flight home more fun than it could have been,” said Warren, who would make two Indy 500 starts before returning to his winning ways at Oswego.

Foyt won the NASCAR stock car race at Ontario that same day and a week later Andretti scored his initial F1 victory in South Africa.

Pairetti came home ninth in the second heat and went to Indianapolis that May, but was in an uncompetitive car and didn’t qualify. Argentina was tentatively on the 1972 schedule but was dropped and wound up like so many open-wheel races of the past 50 years — one and done.

Because USAC took the dirt car races out of the national championship after 1970 and made a separate division and did the same thing with road courses, the 1971 Marlboro Championship Trail only had 12 races — all on ovals — and the diversity that defined USAC’s national champion was gone.

And so was Marlboro a year later after USAC allowed Viceroy to sponsor a car.

 

Schumacher, Page Elected to IMS Hall of Fame

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Indianapolis, IN — Seven-time Formula One World Champion Michael Schumacher and longtime Indianapolis 500 broadcaster Paul Page comprise the 2021 class of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway Hall of Fame.



Schumacher and Page were elected to the IMS Hall of Fame by a voting panel of 150 motorsports journalists, officials and living Hall of Fame members, chosen from a total of 14 nominees representing the Speedway’s diverse history as host to the Indianapolis 500, Brickyard 400 and, from 2000-2007, F1’s United States Grand Prix at Indianapolis.

Schumacher and Page will be honored and officially inducted at the 2021 IMS Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony and Indianapolis 500 Oldtimers Dinner presented by Firestone on May 27 at the Downtown Indianapolis Marriott.

The 2020 IMS Hall of Fame inductees — legendary drivers Janet Guthrie and Dale Earnhardt — also will be honored at this year’s event.

Schumacher earned a record seven Formula One World Championships and last year was named the most influential person in the sport’s 70-year history, based on fan voting.

During the 2000s, Schumacher won five of the eight United States Grands Prix contested at Indianapolis Motor Speedway, including the inaugural race in 2000 and four in a row from 2003-2006. He finished second at the USGP in 2001-2002 and earned a total of four pole positions at Indianapolis.

Schumacher sustained head injuries in 2013 while skiing with his family. He continues to recover from the accident at his home in Switzerland.

Paul Page — the focus of the My Favorite Race feature in the March/April Vintage Motorsport — served as chief announcer on the Indianapolis Motor Speedway Radio Network for 13 years, and as television host and play-by-play voice for Indianapolis 500 coverage on ABC Sports for an additional 16 years.

 

lMichael Schumacher, Paul Page elected to IMS Hall of Fame

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emailBy Vintage Motorsport | March 10, 2021 9:57 AM

Seven-time Formula 1 world champion Michael Schumacher and longtime Indianapolis 500 broadcaster Paul Page comprise the 2021 class of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway Hall of Fame.

Schumacher and Page were elected to the IMS Hall of Fame by a voting panel of 150 motorsports journalists, officials and living Hall of Fame members, chosen from a total of 14 nominees representing the Speedway’s diverse history as host to the Indianapolis 500, Brickyard 400 and, from 2000-2007, F1’s United States Grand Prix at Indianapolis.

Schumacher and Page will be honored and officially inducted at the 2021 IMS Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony and Indianapolis 500 Oldtimers Dinner presented by Firestone on May 27 at the Downtown Indianapolis Marriott.

The 2020 IMS Hall of Fame inductees — legendary drivers Janet Guthrie and Dale Earnhardt — also will be honored at this year’s event.