AVIEW FROM THE FENCE
BY ERIC JOHNSON
y earliest memories of motor racing, be it automobile or motorcycle, are of listening to the Indianapolis 500 live on the radio. Where I
grew up in northeastern Ohio, Memorial
Day weekend usually marked the final
exodus of the deep, gray blanket of
clouds that covered the region throughout the dreary winter months. The Indy
500 always seemed to bask in the glow
of warm, springtime weather.
My dad is a big automobile racing
fan, and each spring a ritual would take
place where all of his Snap-0n tools, air
compressor, engine hoist, car jacks,
wheels, tires and a funky old radio he
picked up in Europe called a Telefunken
(complete with a glowing green radio
tube that always fascinated me), were
yanked out of the deep, dark basement
and transported up to the garage. From
there, he dutifully worked on a number
of his big and noisy drag-racing cars
throughout the spring and summer
months.
In the 1970s, when I was old enoug~
to figure out what car racing was all
about, the arrival of the month of May
would be marked by the radio being
tuned to the local AM radio station that
covered the Indianapolis 500. When that
big Sunday rolled around, the garage
doors would be rolled open, the
wrenches pulled out, and the Telefunken volume knob would be turned
to the far right (at least I think that's the
way it went).
To this day, I can vividly remember
the 'V
