History Lesson 
The World's Fastest Automobile Race
Mike Hiss says that 220 mph isn't really that fast. Don't you believe him.
(Page 3 of 3)
There is so much good to racing it seems absurd that such a fat lot of the ludicrous and silly must also be included. What the drivers do in going out to the edge challenges the idea that man must be mortal, and enobles triumph for all of us. It would be better if racing could be left at that, with its shining shaft of courage untainted by all the officiousness and commercialism. But that is not how it is. The commercialism might be understood: racing costs a lot of money and the sponsors—the Firestones and Purolators and Shell and Bell Helmets—must be placated and massaged and catered to since their money makes the sport possible. But it does not seem necessary that there be the endless and wearying mumbo-jumbo of the officious insider. In no other sport is there such an obese layer of insiders jealous of their position and constantly jockeying and elbowing to be sure that they stay a little further on the inside than anyone else.
There are, it seems, thousands of officials at a USAC race. Very, very few of these are paid. Most are moderately well-to-do men who are fascinated by racing and who pay their own expenses to come. USAC finds an unending number of jobs for these men because they are what keeps USAC going with their dues and their contributions. However, the jobs are largely unnecessary. Perhaps this is what makes the people who hold them so little, or seem so little. They have a protective instinct, holding on to every tangible evidence of their own importance that they can.
While I was down in the garages I got to wondering what the prize money would be. I spotted a USAC official and walked over and asked him. He told me it was on a percentage of the gate basis. I told him I knew that, but that I also knew there was a guarantee and I wondered what that might be.
He said: "I better not say."
I said, "Listen, I can go right up there in the press box and ask. Save me the walk."
But he answered, "I better not say."
"You mean you don't know."
"Oh, I know all right" he answered with a satisfied look.
"Then tell me. Is it some big secret?"
"I haven't been released to give out that information," he replied. Then he turned around and walked off, holding his tiny secret pressed to his breast. A little later I happened to see a program. The information I wanted was right there, public knowledge.
On the 18th lap Mike Hiss suddenly felt his car begin to lose power. He'd moved up ten places, driving with a quiet, intense ferocity. He could feel how right he was, how melded he was with the car and the track. Then came the almost imperceptible slowing down. Looking back he could see a few faint wisps of smoke from his tail pipe. He felt sick. Oh no, he thought, just keep running, car. Don't fail.
The leaders had settled into the groove of Unser and Bettenhausen and Rutherford and Foyt. Then Foyt had to go to the pits with engine trouble and the field changed. All of a sudden Bill Vukovitch hit the wall between turns three and four. He cut a tire on the rough track and his car was abruptly into the concrete. For an infinity the car scraped down the wall, pieces flying in all directions, dust rising. Then Vukovitch got it under control and steered the wreck down toward the infield. He came to rest on three wheels, the car tipped over at a drunken angle.
The yellow flag immediately came out and the field slowed. As many cars as could took advantage of the occasion to make a routine pit stop for more gas and a change of rubber on the right side.
They ran under the flag for seven laps. When the green came on, Tom Sneva slammed in the throttle and his car almost died under him. With the racer jumping and missing, Sneva went down to the edge of the apron and eased around the track until he could make it into the pits. He stayed in the car while his crew frantically tried to find the trouble. A few feet away the healthy racers were whizzing by, their muted exhausts bugling out their speed and power. Finally Sneva felt a hand on his shoulder indicating he should switch off. He did and, in spite of the noise from the track, there came a sudden quiet as his engine died. One of the mechanics was looking at him and shaking his head. "Broken points," he said, in the lull. Sneva looked at him. "Can't we put another set in? Anything?"
The mechanic shook his head. "We don't have another set" he said painfully.
"Oh," Sneva said. He climbed slowly out of the car and stood looking down at it. For a five dollar set of points he was out of the race. That's what it meant to go racing on a shoestring. There was just no chance.
Roger McCluskey was running along fretfully in seventh place. He was able to hold off those chasing him, but his car just wouldn't turn up enough clicks to catch the leaders.
All of a sudden Bobby Unser, the leader, went out with ignition trouble. Rutherford moved temporarily into the lead, but soon lost it to Bettenhausen. Then Bettenhausen had to pit and lost the lead to Al Unser.
Mike Hiss could see the smoke increasing out his tail pipe. He was expecting the black flag at any lap from the starter. As he came booming off turn four he saw the starter, leaning far out in his little tower over the track. The starter was pointing at Hiss, then unfurling a black flag and waving it. That was it. Hiss worked his way lower, slowing to avoid interfering with any cars still racing. He circled the track and pulled into his pits. When he shut off his engine one of his crewmen said: "You were leaking oil." Hiss nodded. He'd known it all along. All he could do now was wait for another race on another day. This one was over.
The field dwindled from the original 26. Foyt was out, Andretti was out. Art Pollard broke a suspension bar and went out. Rick Muther caught on fire and came tumbling headfirst out of his car before it had completely stopped rolling. On the 69th lap, with only 13 cars remaining, Al Unser took the lead. Mike Mosely and Gary Bettenhausen were right behind him. Johnny Rutherford was running strongly in fourth place. Unser's car did not seem to be as fast as Mosely's and Bettenhausen's. But he held them off as lap after lap unwound, skillfully using the traffic to block their attempts to pass. Mosely seemed to have the fastest car, but Unser was outdriving him in the corners.
The yellow came on with only ten laps to go. The cars slowed and began to bunch as the pace car came out to lead them around the track. Unser was still leading with Mosely tight on his shoulder and Bettenhausen just behind. In turn three the safety crew was frantically trying to clean up debris from Swede Savage's car that had littered the track when he blew an engine. The end of the race came nearer as the laps mounted under the yellow. The crowd was growing restive, fearful that the race would finish under the caution flag. At lap 96 they began booing and waving at the pace car to get off the track. Then the pack turned another lap and the starter signaled for one more. The pace car sped up and pulled off the track.
The pace was now under the control of the leader, Unser. The crowd was half on its feet, anticipating a dog fight finish among the leaders. Unser took the field through turn one, then two. He seemed to be slowing the pace even more than that set by the pace car. Suddenly, as they came out of turn two he hit the accelerator and jumped far ahead of Mosely and Bettenhausen. Far across the field, on the back stretch, you could see him pulling away, one hundred, two hundred yards. It seemed forever before Mosely and then Bettenhausen reacted.
As Unser came out of turn four the starter gave him the green flag. Behind him Bettenhausen, still far behind, was passing Mosely.
There was no race after that. Unser's lead was too great. Bettenhausen made up a lot of ground, but Unser took the checkered flag, the winner.
But the crowd didn't like it. As Unser wheeled his car into the winner's circle they gave him a solid round of boos. They thought, mistakenly, that what Unser had done, jumping out under the yellow, was illegal. But this wasn't so. It is up to the leader to set the pace, no matter how he chooses to do it. Some of the drivers, however, didn't agree, at least not with the ethics. Bettenhausen, incensed, said: "What Al did was dirty pool. He slowed way down in turns one and two, making Mosely slow down so much that he lost blower pressure. Then when Al stomped on it, Mike couldn't run. And since we were still under the yellow I had to hold up until it was plain Mike couldn't hold the pace before I could pass him. That was lowdown of Unser."
But Unser just shrugged. "So what?"
The crowd, however, was still arguing about it in the hours it took to clear the parking lots. Some of them felt that one of their heroes had tarnished his shine a little. Real heroes didn't do such things. That was for the cut-throat arena of work-a-day life.
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