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.
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.
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