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Photo credit: Indianapolis Motor Speedway
By winning the Indianapolis 500 in just his second start in 1979,
Rick Mears established himself as a rising star in Indy cars.
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This May, the 50th
anniversary of Mario Andretti’s lone Indianapolis 500 victory is being
celebrated, and rightly so because it is one of the most historic wins in all
of auto racing.
But May marks another anniversary
of sorts, one that is much less pleasant and one which Andretti wasn’t a part
of, as he bypassed the 500 that particular year to try to defend his Formula 1
World Championship. Even though Andretti didn’t come close to winning another
F1 title, he probably was glad he wasn’t at the Speedway that year.
May of 1979 was a time of change for me. I was 11 years old and had
only a few more weeks at Indianapolis Public Schools Flackville School 100
before graduating from the sixth grade. Next fall I would be attending junior
high at Willard J. Gambold School 108, going from somewhat big fish to guppy
and all that.
As the school year wound down, interest in the month of May, practice,
qualifying and the Indianapolis 500 itself began to heat up. Although the term
didn’t exist, I was a voracious consumer of content across multiple channels,
reading all the articles in the Indianapolis News and Star, listening to the
trackside reports on WIBC and watching all the coverage on the TV stations.
For some strange reason I couldn’t quite identify, however, my
collection of Matchbox and Hot Wheels cars, which I used to create the lineup
for the race and play with on a braided oval rug, no longer held much interest.
I didn’t realize it then, but my days of playing with toys were at an
end, a chapter of childhood about to close. So in some ways the
often-contentious nature of the events of 1979 made a perfect backdrop to this
transition and the accompanying loss of innocence.
New words like injunction and summons joined my growing racing
vocabulary alongside Chaparral and ground effects. Off-track developments were
a key part of the news along with practice speeds.
A house divided
Unrest in Indycar, or Championship, racing that had been brewing for a
few years finally came to a head before the 1979 race. The genesis for just
about everything that transpired that May sprang from Dan Gurney’s so-called
“White Paper.”
This particular document, which at its heart proposed a new and better
business model for the series and in particular its owners, spurred several key
car owners to break away from the United States Auto Club (USAC), the governing
body for Indy car or Championship racing since 1956, and form Championship Auto
Racing Teams (CART) in late 1978.
This divide came roughly a year after the death of Tony Hulman, the man
who saved the Indianapolis Motor Speedway from extinction after World War II and
through his presence and demeanor unified Indy car racing – or at least kept
the house more or less in order. Dissatisfied though they might have been, it’s
unlikely the car owners would have staged this coup while the beloved Hulman
was alive.
(In subsequent years, Hulman’s
legacy in auto racing has come under fire. As the proprietor of the World’s
Largest Single-Day Sporting Event, some felt, in retrospect, he should’ve been
a more forceful leader and some sort of czar of the series, somewhat akin to
Bill France Sr. in NASCAR.
This conclusion overlooks the
fact that Hulman, although a very forceful businessman in his other interests,
saw himself more of a caretaker of IMS and didn’t want the responsibility of
running the rest of the circuit.
It also overlooks the fact that
Hulman embraced the idea of a triple crown of 500-mile races at new tracks in
Ontario, California, and Long Pond (Pocono), Pennsylvania. He threw his support
behind both facilities and even tried to right Ontario Motor Speedway’s sinking
financial ship in the mid-1970s. Alas, Ontario’s unique and, as it turned out,
wildly optimistic financing plan doomed it to receivership after the 1980
season.
Essentially an idealized version
of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, Ontario was wider than Indy and had an
elevated backstretch so fans on the front stretch could see all around the
track. Of all the tracks that have come and gone, Ontario’s demise is perhaps
the saddest.)
The result of the schism basically created the Haves vs. the Have Nots.
In the CART camp were Gurney, Roger Penske, Pat Patrick, Jim Hall, Robert Fletcher
and Team McLaren. This “Big Six” fielded cars for most of the top drivers in
the sport:
Dan Gurney
·
Mike Mosley
Penske Racing
·
Bobby Unser
·
Rick Mears
Patrick Racing
·
Gordon Johncock
·
Wally Dallenbach
Chaparral Racing (Jim Hall)
·
Al Unser
Fletcher Racing
·
Steve Krisiloff
Team McLaren
·
Johnny Rutherford
(Daniel S. Gurney was listed as
the entrant of Mosley’s car instead of the familiar All American Racers. During
this timeframe, Gurney joined forces with the colorful Teddy Yip and his
Theodore Racing Hong Kong group. Hopefully Yip provided some actual financial
backing, unlike Chris Vallo in 1972 with the infamous Mystery Eagle.)
A.J. Foyt originally was part of the defectors but returned to the USAC
fold before any races. Danny Ongais, with Ted Fields’ Interscope Racing,
crossed over to participate in the USAC-sanctioned Pocono 500 later in the
year, the only CART star to do so. The other key CART competitor was Tom Sneva,
who was in his first year with Jerry O’Connell’s Sugaripe Prune team.
Each group, USAC and CART, conducted its own schedule and had made two
stops on their respective trails before the Indianapolis 500 in May – CART ran
at Phoenix and had a doubleheader at Atlanta while USAC went to Ontario and the
Texas World Speedway.
In addition to Foyt, the USAC contingent boasted a fair amount of
talent. Roger McCluskey, Gary Bettenhausen, Jim McElreath and Billy Vukovich
all had won Championship races, while Johnny Parsons, Sheldon Kinser, Tom
Bigelow, Larry Dickson and others certainly were bona fide professional
drivers.
Unfortunately, their talent was greater than their ability to attract
sponsors and money, leaving them to eke out a career with subpar equipment on
the Championship circuit.
The assumption was that despite the divide and struggle for power, everyone
would be at Indianapolis for the 500. Even though they were on the “other
side,” no one thought the Unsers, Rutherford, Johncock and Sneva would be
missing when the green flag fell.
USAC, though, was smarting from this perceived insolence, and a couple
of weeks before the track was to open tried to keep the entries from the “Big
Six” from participating in the 500 because they were “not in good standing”
with the sanctioning body.
CART, understandably, challenged this action, and soon the names of lawyers
and judges were part of the coverage of the Indianapolis 500. In the end, an
uneasy truce was reached, and all competitors were allowed in.
Practice begins
Once the cars and drivers took center stage, things went fairly
smoothly the first week of practice leading up to the first weekend of
qualifications and Pole Day. The car I was most excited to see was Al Unser’s
Chaparral, rumored to be unbeatable. One of the first ground effects Indy cars,
which used the bodywork as a sort of airplane wing in reverse to produce
downforce to keep the car “stuck,” particularly in the turns, its appearance
was as distinctive as it was effective. The Chaparral was a true blend of form
and function, with eye-catching lines and bodywork.
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Photo credit: Indianapolis Motor Speedway
Al Unser's Pennzoil Chaparral perfectly blended form and function.
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Even the new and advanced PC7 Penske Indy car looked outdated, or at least
out of place, compared with the Chaparral. “Baby Al,” as he was sometimes
called then in deference to his slightly older brother, Bobby, was the early
favorite to win back-to-back again and join Foyt as a four-time winner.
To try to keep the old four-cylinder Drake-Offenhauser engines
competitive against the newer eight-cylinder Cosworths, the turbocharger boost
had been cut significantly compared with the record-setting 1978 event. The
changes cut top speeds by about 8 mph, so anything above 190 mph or so was a
hot lap. The so-called pop-off valve would keep everything in order and level.
Or so it seemed.
One afternoon after another exciting day at IPS 100, we went to
practice, and everything seemed just fine.
Al Unser’s car was as fast as it was appealing, and most of the other
top drivers took practice runs. After the early discord, attention had turned
to pressing questions like who would win the pole, what speed would it take to
win the pole, and what the bump speed was likely to be.
(School 100 is at 30th
Street and Lafayette Road, just a bit east of the track. When we went out for
recess or if the teacher opened the windows, we could easily hear the cars. The
building is still there, but it’s now been converted to a senior living
center.)
For the first time in several years, we didn’t go to Pole Day. I’m not
sure why. I do remember the weather forecast wasn’t very good and also the
country (and our household) was in the midst of a recession. It could be that Pole
Day just wasn’t in the family budget that year.
As it turned out, the forecast was accurate and there was no activity
until late in the afternoon. Shortly after the mandatory 30-minute practice
period got underway, Ongais crashed heavily and was hospitalized for
observation. No one attempted to qualify.
The weather was much better on Sunday, though we still stayed home. So
I grabbed the qualification scorecard out of that morning’s Indianapolis Star and
listened to Lou Palmer’s coverage on WIBC. Palmer described the run and gave
the speed for each qualifying lap, which I dutifully recorded.
As expected, Al Unser set fast time about an hour into time trials with
a four-lap average of 192.503 mph, just a bit below his best lap in morning
practice. Unser’s speed held until Sneva, going for an unprecedented third
consecutive pole, nudged him aside with an average of 192.998 mph.
When Foyt failed to beat Sneva’s speed (or Unser’s, for that matter),
it seemed that Sneva would, indeed, take the top spot for the third straight
year. That is until Mears, the last driver with a chance at the pole, easily
topped him with an average of 193.736 mph.
This was the first of Mears’ record six poles at Indianapolis. Looking
back now, it’s not a huge surprise, but at the time it certainly was. Penske
had let Sneva go after the 1978 season even though Sneva had won back-to-back national
championships.
Mears was still an unknown quantity, though he had sparkled as a
part-time driver for Penske in 1978, earning a front-row starting spot at
Indianapolis and winning three races. His first was particularly memorable, as
he nursed his fuel-starved PC6 across the finish line at Milwaukee with
Rutherford in pursuit.
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Bobby Unser joined Penske Racing for the 1979 season and led the
development of the all-new PC7.
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Mears had driven the all-new PC7 in the first race at Phoenix before
going back to the PC6. This left Bobby Unser to do the development work on the
PC7, something he excelled at. Uncle Bobby’s efforts paid off, as he won 6 of
the 9 races after Indianapolis – and perhaps should’ve won that year’s 500
(more on that later).
The calm before the storm(s)
So the first weekend of time trials wrapped up with 25 cars qualified,
leaving eight spots up for grabs the next weekend. The two big takeaways were
that Mears was faster than expected while Foyt was slower than expected. The
low man was Larry “Boom Boom” Cannon with a 180.932 mph average in a circa 1975
Wildcat/Offy.
All the CART “Big Six” had seemingly qualified safely. Krisiloff was
the slowest of that bunch with an average of 182.955 mph, but three other cars
were slower than that. Plus, of course, eight more had to qualify before
bumping began. So he seemed to have a reasonable amount of cushion.
The only big name yet to qualify was Ongais, still recuperating after
his crash. Some pitside chatter linked Andretti to the backup PC7 that Bobby
Unser was sorting out. If Penske were going to add a third car, certainly he’d
entrust it only to a veteran capable of winning the race, right?
The week leading up to the final two days of qualifications followed
the usual pattern: the hot dogs tuned their cars for race day, teams with cars
in danger of being bumped brought out their backup cars (if they had any) and
the rest strove to wring more speed out of their mounts.
Things get weird (again)
As the second Saturday of qualifying dawned, I was glued to the radio
again, with scorecard and pen at the ready. The third day of qualifying in past
years tended to be somewhat sedate – at least until late in the day. That
wasn’t the case this year. Time trials continued unabated starting at 11 a.m.,
with the usual amount of completed runs and wave-offs (remember those?) until
Jim McElreath filled the field around 1:15 p.m.
Dick Simon started the bumping (remember that?) by ousting Larry Cannon
with a solid 185-plus average. Jerry Sneva, taking over the car originally assigned
to Neil Bonnett, knocked out Bigelow, then rookie Dick Ferguson, in an
Eagle-Offy, eliminated John Martin’s McLaren-Offy.
Ferguson’s run raised a few eyebrows. He had made an attempt earlier in
the day but was waved off after a two-lap average at 179-plus. Ferguson came
back about two hours later and was about 5 mph faster – a pretty big jump.
USAC loyalist Bigelow hopped in his backup car and found an even better
increase in speed to average 186.722 mph and bump CART “Big Six” driver
Krisiloff. Apparently, the track was getting faster and faster.
The qualifying line ended after Bigelow’s run, opening the track for
practice. During the break in qualifying, USAC announced that Ferguson’s
qualification was disallowed because of “a deliberate attempt to over-ride the
pop-off valve.”
Ferguson’s disqualification put Krisiloff back in the field, albeit on
the bubble. Rather than sit and sweat, Krisiloff withdrew his car (putting
Martin back in) and qualified his backup car at 188.422 mph. As with the
attempts by Ferguson and Bigelow, this was quite a bit faster than Krisiloff
had been going. Still, given that Krisiloff was a veteran on a decent team and
was usually a reliable qualifier, his speed didn’t seem too out of the realm of
possibility.
This left Martin on the sidelines (again); he was joined by John Mahler
when Larry Rice squeezed him out. All of this left my scorecard a mess, but
certainly it was exciting and interesting.
More disqualifications
The last day of qualifying began with the startling news that the
attempts of Bigelow and Krisiloff had been disallowed because of similar
shenanigans with the waste gate assembly. This brought back Martin (again) and
Mahler.
Poor Martin was bumped shortly after qualifications started, with
rookie Bill Alsup driving the much-desired Penske PC7 backup car, now No. 68
instead of 12T, indicative of being Bobby Unser’s backup car.
Ongais was released from the hospital, cleared to drive and easily
knocked out Mahler for the second time with an impressive 188.009 mph average.
A now-legal (presumably) Bigelow bounced Al Loquasto and Phil Threshie, with a
great-sounding Chevy mated to one of Grant King’s modified Eagles, took out Joe
Saldana.
The fight for the positions was dramatic and exciting as the field
average climbed to 186.600 mph, quite a bit faster than predicted and, of
course, would only go up from this point forward.
Saldana got his backup car going fast enough to bump Jerry Karl, then
Krisiloff (again, presumably now legal) clipped Spike Gehlhausen. This meant
that both Gehlhausen cars were on the sidelines, a tough blow for the little
team from Jasper, Indiana.
Just to illustrate how much things have changed in the last 40 years,
Krisiloff’s run represented the 62nd qualification attempt and the
45th completed run. Let that sink in for a moment. This year, 36
car/driver combinations are expected for the 2019 Indianapolis 500, with the
possibility of maybe three bumps being celebrated by fans and rued by certain
car owners, like Penske, who now want a guaranteed spot in the great race in
exchange for participating in the other races in the series.
Penske, either knowingly or unknowingly, was part of the final bit of
skullduggery that marked the second weekend of qualifications. It seems that
the Penske crew forgot (or knew?) that the engine Bobby Unser used to qualify
his No. 12 Norton Spirit was attached to his backup 12T/68.
That was a big no-no, so Alsup was disqualified. It was perhaps the
biggest attempt of deception attempted since 1973 when the Champ Carr team
tried to disguise the already-qualified (but likely to be bumped) No. 34 of Sam
Posey as its No. 31 entry.
Penske tried to explain it as an, uh, honest mistake, though anyone
who’s ever watched the Penske operation for five minutes knows how precise and
buttoned-up his crewmembers are.
There also was the matter of having Alsup drive this machine. Alsup
came to Indianapolis with an old McLaren-Offy and did an admirable job, but the
combination of older equipment and lack of experience made a formidable
opponent for the low-buck team. Overall, it seemed kind of strange for Penske
to grant this newbie this opportunity at this time.
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Photo credit: Indianapolis Motor Speedway
Eldon Rasmussen did a fantastic job qualifying this car, the genesis of
which dated to 1972.
|
Gehlhausen experienced the John Martin Two-Step, getting reinstated and
then bumped (by Eldon Rasmussen) in a matter of minutes. Rasmussen drove what
was termed a Manta, which in reality was a heavily reworked Antares chassis.
(The Antares debuted in 1972 and
was purported to be the first Indy car designed completely by computer. Even in
the hands of a capable McCluskey, it was no match for the new Eagles, McLarens
and Parnellis.)
Gehlhausen reached a deal to drive a Patrick backup car, increased his
speed dramatically on each lap and bumped Dana Carter, brother of Pancho.
Ferguson made a last-ditch try and might have set a record for qualification
attempt with widest variance in speed: His first lap was 181.378 mph (much too
slow) and his last was 161.725 mph (even more much too slow).
Ferguson probably should have been flagged off after his second lap,
when it was obvious he couldn’t muster the speed to bump Billy Vukovich (this
would happen today). The rapidly slowing speeds left just enough time for
Mahler, in this spare car, to knock out Vukovich.
Whew. Another crazy day of qualifications. Over the four days of time
trials, there were 70 attempts and 51 run to completion – impressive numbers,
especially considering no one qualified on the first Saturday. Despite all the
twists and turns of the past 48 hours, the field was set, and we were (finally)
ready for the race.
One more twist
The final preparations included getting the driver and car names
painted on the walls of their respective pits and so-called Carburetion Day,
although all engines were fuel injected and had been so for many years. Johncock,
who had kept a low profile most of the month, was fastest in the final
practice.
Buzzing in the background were attempts by some teams to get their cars
added to the back of the field, claiming that there were cars in the field that
had qualified illegally. An additional qualifying session for the 11 bumped
cars was suggested, but without a waiver from all 33 cars already in the field,
this seemed doomed to die. McElreath and Rasmussen were the two holdouts.
Such attempts to alter or expand the field had been tried before, most
notably in 1974, but usually withered and died well before the green flag for
the race. Not this time.
Surprisingly (or not, considering how the month yet), qualifications
were re-opened THE DAY BEFORE THE RACE.
Yes, really.
The compromise reached was amazingly reasonable, logical and practical
– three words in short supply during the month. In brief:
·
Cars that were bumped would be allowed one
attempt
·
Those that bettered McCluskey’s speed average of
183.908 mph, which was the slowest speed, would be added to the back of the
field
·
No one who already had qualified would be bumped
Conceivably, an 11 (!) additional cars could’ve been added; however three
were eliminated before the practice period ahead of Saturday’s final
qualifications:
The No. 12T/68 Norton Spirit, which had been disqualified
The No. 81 Eagle of Dick Ferguson, which had used up its three attempts
The No. 7T of Fletcher Racing, which apparently had been disassembled
(according to an article in Carl Hungness’ 1979 Indianapolis 500 Yearbook)
This made the qualifying order:
·
No. 22 with Bill Vukovich
·
No. 69 with George Snider
·
No. 19 with Bill Alsup
·
No. 39 with Al Loquasto
·
No. 38 with Jerry Karl
·
No. 95 with Larry Cannon
·
No. 20 with John Martin
·
No. 32 with Dana Carter
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Photo credit: Indianapolis Motor Speedway
Veteran George Snider took advantage of a fifth day of qualifying to
nail down a spot in the 1979 Indianapolis 500.
|
Other than Snider and Alsup, the car-driver combinations reflected
previous qualification attempts. Hoffman Racing, which ran with CART, crossed
party lines to give Snider a shot in what originally was Saldana’s primary car.
Snider was an excellent choice because he had an uncanny ability to get a car
up to speed in a minimum amount of time. In 1973, he qualified a Foyt backup
car in the final minutes of the last day of time trials. Snider’s “practice”
consisted solely of one lap before his qualifying attempt. It was nice to see
ability trump politics in this instance.
Alsup somewhat controversially got the nod ahead of veteran Bob Harkey,
who had attempted to practice the car on Carburetion Day.
Vukovich and Snider took advantage of the reprieve and made the field.
The rest fell short, with reasons ranging from inadequate speed to mechanical
failure to accident. Alsup appeared to be a shoo-in, averaging 189-plus after
two laps, then spun and smacked the wall in the short chute between Turn 1 and
2.
The wreck put a fitting cap on a frustrating month for Alsup, who was
derided for not easing off a bit when he was a good 5 mph better than needed.
Of course, such judgments are easily made from the comfort of the stands, couch
or press box.
Race Day at last
Unless you have a ticket, race day in Indianapolis means listening to
the 500 on the radio. With the exception of the 100th Indianapolis
500 in 2016, TV coverage is blacked out in Indianapolis and the surrounding
area. Of course, there was no live TV coverage back in 1979. ABC had a telecast
later in the evening to the rest of the country. Naptown residents had to wait
a couple of months before even getting to see that.
So we tuned in Paul Page on WIBC and waited to see if we could see the
balloon release from 2828 Kessler Blvd., North Drive. Usually we did not, and I
don’t think we saw them that year.
As anticipated, Al Unser jumped ahead, took off and appeared headed to
another back-to-back Indy victory in the Pennzoil Chaparral. But the Speedway
is a harsh taskmaster, especially when it comes to innovative concepts –
witness the STP turbines, for example.
And so it was for Al. After dominating the first half of the race, a
broken transmission seal sidelined him after 105 laps.
Brother Bobby, with the only other car remotely as advanced as Al’s,
took the point and continued the family domination, leading from lap 97 through
181. Then, just as he was poised to join his brother as a three-time champion,
the top gear broke – something that almost never happens.
 |
Photo credit: Indianapolis Motor Speedway photo
Rick Mears and Tom Sneva dice for position during the race.
|
This dramatic turn of events handed the race to young Mears, who confidently
guided his No. 9 Gould Charge to his first Indianapolis 500 victory and the
second for Penske, who has added 15 more Borg-Warners since.
Mears employed what would be his M.O. throughout his career at
Indianapolis – stay in the headwaters of the lead pack to be in a position to
charge at the end. In retrospect, the Speedway abandoning the pacer light
system for the 1979 race proved fortuitous for Mears’ career.
In brief, IMS management felt it was unfair for the leader to lose his
advantage during a yellow-flag situation. So instead of a pace car gathering up
the field and allowing everyone to pack up behind the leader, the Speedway
devised a series of lights that were designed, in theory at least, to keep the
cars at the same distance as when running under the green.
The system was hardly foolproof and race drivers being race drivers
found ways to gain advantage. Like, say, roaring through the pits (which had no
speed limit in those days). Or the leader moving at a snail’s pace under
caution (as Bobby Unser accused Joe Leonard of during the late stages of the
1968 event. It all evened out for Uncle Bobby, of course, as Leonard broke down
with nine laps to go.)
In Mears’ case, with the pack-up rule, he was able to come around to
the end of the pack and avoid being lapped in some races when he went on to
win, such as 1988.
Postscript
Mosley finished third, his best finish ever at Indianapolis. Because of
a scoring snafu, Mosley was presumed to be running quite a bit farther back
during the race.
 |
Photo credit: Indianapolis Motor Speedway
Janet Guthrie lasted just three laps in what proved to be her last
Indianapolis 500.
|
This was Janet Guthrie’s final 500. She returned in 1980 but was unable
to qualify. Her crew waved off a run on the first day with a speed that, as it
turned out, would have safely made the field.
Howdy Holmes was the lone rookie to qualify, winning Rookie of the Year
by default. He finished seventh in an older car, deserving praise.
Alsup drove for Penske during the 1981 season, serving as a sort of
replacement Andretti, who left Penske for Patrick starting that year. Then
Kevin Cogan replaced Alsup before Al Unser Sr. joined Penske starting in 1983.
Mears’ victory broke a seven-year drought for Team Penske and
kick-started a decade of dominance, with Mears adding two more victories (1984
and 1988) along with wins by Bobby Unser (1981), Danny Sullivan (1985) and Al
Unser Sr. (1987).
USAC and CART formed an uneasy peace after the 1979 season. The result
was that USAC continued to sanction the Indianapolis 500 while CART ran the
rest of the IndyCar circuit. This lasted until Tony George formed the Indy
Racing League before the 1996 Indianapolis 500. The fallout from that split was
much more lasting and costly.
For me, 1979 was the year I learned about the business and politics of
big-time racing. The headaches from each continue to crop up from time to time,
some instances more painful than others.
Sources
1979 Indianapolis 500 trackside report
1979 Indianapolis 500 Yearbook, published by Carl Hungness
1979 Indianapolis 500 Official Program
May 27, 1979, issue of the Indianapolis Star
CART Official History 1979-98 by Rick Shaffer
100 Years, 500 Miles, published by the Indianapolis Star
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