Since this is the week that the 105th Indianapolis 500 is being run, I thought it was appropriate to tell a couple of stories from my 47 years covering the world's greatest auto race.

During my first few years covering Indy I had a difficult time dealing with Al Bloemker, the longtime public relations director at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Al was a stickler for the rules and a bit on the stodgy side.

Fortunately, I didn't have too many dealings with him. But, every now and then, I had no choice.

For many years, the infield media center was a spare wooden building just outside the garage area. When I first came to Indy in 1970, the AP worked in a corner of the big main room. There was no privacy. Anyone in the vicinity could hear the conversations and look over your shoulder to see what you were writing on your typewriter.

Race day at Indy.

There were a few private offices, but those were being used by the two local papers, the Indianapolis Star and the Indianapolis News, and by the Telex service. When the media began sending their stories via Xerox, then from their own modems, Telex vacated its office.

I immediately went to Mr. Bloemker to ask if AP could take over the vacant office. Much to my surprise, he agreed.

It was great to have our own space. It was quieter and certainly more private. But the one drawback was that, to get into the main room of the media center to get information, ask questions of the speedway media staff or use the bathroom, you had to go out the front door, walk about five feet, show your credential to the door guard and enter the main room of the media center through its outside door.

I got the bright idea of putting a door in the wall that joined our office to the media center. I asked Joe McGowan, the Indianapolis Bureau Chief, and Wick Temple, the AP's General Sports Editor, if they would okay paying for putting in a door. Both agreed it would be worth it.

Then I approached Mr. Bloemker. He looked at me like I was a total fool and said, "You can't do that. There would be no security."

I said, "But Al, we all have badges. How would that affect security?"

"Somebody could walk through your office and enter the media center without proper credentials," he said.

"But, why would anybody want to do that?" I asked.

His look told me that the matter was closed.

That's the way it remained for another year or two before Al finally decided to retire.

He was replaced by a longtime newspaper reporter, Bob Walters, who was also a friend.

I quickly approached Bob about putting in the door, telling him that AP was more than willing to pay for the installation.

He said, "I think we can handle that."

The next day, the doorway was cut into the wall and a door was installed. But it wasn't just any door. This was a dutch door, with a split that allowed you to open the top half or the bottom half.

We often left the top half open so that we could hear what was going on next door. The down side was that everyone in the world seemed to get a kick out of walking up to the open top half of the door, putting down an elbow and saying something like, "I'll have two double cheeseburgers and a coke."

We dutifully laughed every time, just glad to have our door.

Of all the celebrities who came to Indy or hung around the place in May, the nicest and friendliest was James Garner.

The star of numerous movies and the TV series "The Rockford Files," loved auto racing and especially loved the speedway.

I met him one May morning in the early 70's when I dropped into the Speedway Motel restaurant to have some breakfast. I saw Mario and his oldest son, Michael, at one of the tables and stopped to say hello.

There was another man sitting at the table and Mario said, "Mike, do you know Jim Garner?"

I was a bit star struck and babbled a bit. But Jim just smiled and shook my hand.

They invited me to join them for breakfast and, by the time we were done eating, I had acquired a new friend.

It was not unusual for Jim to stop by the AP office and hang out with us for an hour or two, usually around lunch time, so we could all walk across to the grandstand and eat our lunch in the friendly confines of the Champion Spark Plug room, where former driver and host Freddie Agabashian held court.

In those days, if there was an accident on the track, a claxon in the media center would sound and whoever wanted to ride in one of the media vans out to the site of the crash would race out to the south end of pit road where the vans were parked.

Jim often joined us on those sprints to the vans.

One day, he showed up just as a practice was starting and longtime Indianapolis News reporter Dick Mittman and I were walking toward the viewing area in the grass near the first turn. Other than the pits, it was the closest you could get to the track when the cars were running.

That area was fenced in. Behind the fence was the famed and infamous "Snake Pit," an area where in the old days at Indy it was like the wild west. It was much more tame by the 70's, but the area still attracted the great unwashed.

As Dick and I and Jim strolled onto the grassy area, a high-pitched female voice could be hear shouting, "Jimmy! Jimmy! Jimmy!"

We looked to see who was calling and it turned out to be a particularly buxom woman in short shorts and a tank top with piles of flaming red hair and a big toothy smile.

It was obvious she was calling to Jim Garner and he acknowledged her, waving and shouting, "Hi, honey!"

That didn't satisfy her. As we turned toward the track and the cars roaring past, over the sound of the engines, we heard, "Jimmy! Jimmy! Jimmy!"

Again he turned toward her with a wave and a smile. This time, she rewarded his attention by lifting her tank top and showing off her rather impressive assets. Jim said, "Very nice, honey!"

But this young lady could not be deterred. She wanted more attention from the Hollywood star.

Again we heard, "Jimmy! Jimmy! Jimmy!"

Jim was getting a bit peeved. He wanted to watch practice in peace.

Again he turned to look toward her. And again she raised her top. This time, he said, "Honey, I've seen better" and turned back to the action on the track.

There was a chorus of laughter from both sides of the fence and we heard no more from the young lady.

One of the grand old men of Indycar was Jim Chapman, who oversaw then-series sponsor PPG's program.

Jim was a dapper man, always dressed immaculately. One time, many of the Indycar folks were staying at a Holiday Inn in Mansfield, Ohio,  not far from the Mid-Ohio Sports Car Course. The fire alarm went off around 3 a.m. and everyone was asked to leave their rooms until the place was checked out.

People in pajamas and robes and half-dressed were all gathered in the lobby to await word on the situation. Suddenly, the elevator doors opened and out walked Mr. Chapman, wearing a suit and tie and looking like a model in GQ.

It turned out to be a false alarm. But everyone was impressed by Mr. Chapman's aplomb and fashion statement.

One of the biggest perks anyone in the media or in public relations could get at the speedway was an invitation to the PPG hospitality bus, overseen by Mr. Chapman.

Not only did I have an open invitation to the bus, often eating my lunch there, I was a founding member of Mr. Chapman's "Brownie Tasting Team."

He insisted on having brownies on the bus at all times and those of us on the "team" were asked to eat and evaluate those brownies as often as possible. I took the task very seriously.

More important, the bus was a meeting place for drivers, track officials, celebrities and members of the media. More than one story idea was conjured or came to fruition board the PPG bus, all thanks to Jim Chapman.

I've been retired for more than a decade and May is the only time of the year that I miss my job. Covering Indy had its emotional high and lows, but it was a signature part of my career and I truly loved my time at the track.

During my AP career, my travels took me all over North America and gave me the opportunity to see a wide variety of family and friends.

I always enjoyed having them join me at events even though I couldn't always spend much time with them while I was working. Things didn't always go as planned.

One year, while covering the Toyota Grand Prix of Long Beach, one of my favorite events, I invited a cousin and her husband, who lived in the Los Angeles area, to join me for a day at the track. I was able to arrange credentials for them and also invited them to meet me for lunch at one of the hospitality tents at the track.

After some pleasant conversation, I excused myself to go back to work and told my visitors to wander around and enjoy the sights and sounds of the track on what was a beautiful Southern California day.

We made arrangements to meet again for dinner at a nearby restaurant after my work was done.

An hour or so later, while working in the media center, I heard a report that one of the pace cars, driven by former Indianapolis 500 winner Parnelli Jones, had crashed and that Jones and a passenger had been transported to a nearby hospital for examination and evaluation, although their injuries were not serious.

The crash happened during a down time on the track while the pace cars were being used to give rides to guests of the various sponsors. The passenger was not identified but I wrote a short blurb about the crash for the wire.

Minutes later, my phone rang. The caller was my cousin letting me know that her husband "was just fine" after being checked out at the track hospital. I immediately assumed he had fallen ill. But she went on to say "I told him not to go on that ride."

It turns out that while strolling around the track after lunch, the husband had spotted several people waiting in line for pace car rides and decided, uninvited, to join them. He was in line, so it was assumed he belonged there.

Parnelli thought he was done for the day until one of the sponsor reps said they had one more guest to take for a trip around the street course.

The husband was buckled in and Parnelli hit the gas. The car was traveling close to 100 mph when it reached the end of the pit road. Parnelli touched the brake to slow the car enough to make the turn onto the track and nothing happened. He pushed hard on the brake and, again, nothing happened.

At that point, he told his passenger, "Hang on. This might hurt."

With no brakes, the car crashed hard into one of the concrete barriers. Both passengers, bruised and breathless, were able to get out of the wrecked car on their own.

I was scared to death that he would sue the track, the car manufacturer or anybody else, bringing my name into it as the person who got him into the event to begin with. 

To my great surprise, the cousin and her husband showed up for dinner. He was walking gingerly, noting that he had smashed both of his knees into the dash of the car. But he also had a huge smile on his face, saying, "That was the coolest thing ever. How many people can say that they were in a crash with Parnelli Jones at the wheel?"

We had several neighbors who were openly gay during the years we lived in Indianapolis. Unfortunately, this was during the height of the AIDS epidemic.

One of the neighbors _ I'll just call him Bob - had become a very good friend to Judy, who, with a newborn, was spending all her time at home.

When Bob contracted AIDS, it was very sad. But Judy remained good friends with him and spent as much time as she could helping him through the ordeal. As the illness progressed, Bob lost a good part of his eyesight, able only to see shadows and colors.

One day, Judy and I and Bob were sitting in the courtyard of our apartment complex. It was May and I had just gotten home from a day at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Bob, who was a lifelong Indy resident, said, "You know, it's funny, but I've never been to the track."

Judy and I exchanged glances and I said, "Would you like to go?"

He said, "Well, I won't see much. I'm not sure it's worth it."

But Judy and I convinced him, adding lunch at the Speedway Motel, as an enticement.

A few days later, I met Judy and Bob at the motel restaurant, where we had a very pleasant lunch. Several racing people, including Johnny Rutherford, stopped by our table to say hi to Judy and were introduced to our friend. He was smiling and enjoying himself.

Judy, who drove Bob's car to the track, followed me into the track infield, where I had them park in the lot nearest the first turn. Close by was a small bleacher from which you could see the first and second turns. But, more important, the sound of the cars roaring by was amplified.

It was perfect.

Bob was able to soak up the sounds and see the movement of the colorful cars as they sped past.

They only stayed for a short time because Bob became tired, but he kept thanking me every time I saw him for weeks after. It warmed my heart that I was able to do something to make his life a little better despite the agony he was going through.

Several months later, he was gone.

On a more cheerful note, thanks to my job, I got to give two of my nephews, Bret and Boyd, a real treat when they were young teenagers.

In those days, the Meadowlands Grand Prix was run every year about a 30-minute drive from our home in Westfield, NJ. There was always a media day preceding the first day of practice and, since my sister Judy and her family were visiting, I asked if I could take the boys with me.

They got a kick out of walking around and looking at the Indycars. And I introduced them to as many of the famous people as I could.

At lunch in the hospitality tent, we all sat at the same table with Danny Sullivan, who had won the 1985 Indy 500 with his "spin and win" move.

The boys got into a fun conversation with Danny, one of the nicest guys in the sport, and he suddenly said, "Would you guys like to take a pace car ride?"

What a silly question to ask teenage boys.

The pace car rides for VIPs had ended earlier in the day, before we arrived at the track. But Danny went to the track officials and got permission to take the boys out on the fast, windy temporary road course.

Danny wasn't satisfied just to speed around the track. He wanted to entertain the boys.

So, as they sped down the main straightaway after the second lap around the track,Danny hit the hand brake and did a bootlegger's turn, spinning the car halfway around and heading back to the pits the wrong way.

You couldn't wipe the smile off those kids' faces for days and I've owed Danny ever since.