Notebook: A Weekend of Riches

By Danny Burton

Danny Burton’s Hoosier Race Report appears courtesy of OpenWheelRacers.com

Columbus, Indiana - Cabin fever was reaching a fever pitch and yours truly was more than ready to hit the road. And the St. Patrick’s Day weekend was the perfect time to do just that. I’d planned for some time a visit to my favorite race car owner, Rich Boteler and also to my baby niece, who is a freshman at Purdue University. And then my buddy Rich Hollmayer invited me to come over to a fish fry at the Hoffman Family Farm on Cincinnati’s east side; this would be on Friday, March 17th. And off I went.

Cincinnati, Ohio - After only two wrong turns I pulled into the Hoffman farm on the outskirts of Cincy’s massive urban sprawl. We can only hope that the family resists the urge for awhile longer to sell what has to be 300 very valuable acres.

I had the grand tour, getting a good look at cars of all ages, both race cars and passenger cars too. These were a part of the tour along with trophies, pictures, newspaper clippings, a race shop with a multitude of parts and machinery, both old and new. The tour ended with a glass of cold green beer, courtesy of Rich. He also signed me up with the Buckeye Auto Race Club, which takes in Hoosiers, as it turned out. And I should mention the people there, of course, and the food. The fish was great, and I’m not really a big fish lover. All in all, it was well worth the 1:45 drive. Stay tuned here to see when BARC has their next outing, quite possibly at the Lawrenceburg Speedway. I made it home a bit after 11 p.m., sleepy, but certainly not hungry.

Shelby, Indiana - Off I went to the northwestern part of my state, land of the endless cornfields and far off horizons, quite a contrast to the previous day’s trip which featured the rolling hills of southern Indiana.

Despite losing Rich’s directions, I made it to his house in Shelby with little trouble. (Rich, after I arrived home I found the directions, of course.) After a few hellos we headed out to look at some old and/or abandoned race tracks.

Older drag race fans will recall the old U.S. 30 drag strip; Rich took me there and all that was left is an empty field. No marker, no nothing to let people know that a small slice of American history took place there.

Next up was Illiana Speedway in Schererville, Indiana, half mile paved oval that is also threatened by so-called progress. Illiana will be open for racing in 2006 (including a program featuring the new Premier Racing Association), but who knows what the future will bring?

South a bit we went to Crown Point Speedway, just closed this past September, and yet another victim of urban sprawl, which may be short track racing’s biggest enemy. Both Illiana and Crown Point were padlocked and we couldn’t get inside to have a better look. Ah well.

Next stop was a visit with Brad DeYoung, who will drive Rich’s I-MOD (a variation on a UMP modified) this year. Brad was busy working on a truck but decided to take a break and discuss racing with us, including qualifying procedures.

Back to Shelby we went and I received the grand tour of this little town of maybe 600 souls. Rich showed me where Jigger Sirois lived as a youngster. Many race fans, especially those of Indy cars, will recall Jigger’s lost shot at sitting on the pole of the Indy 500 back in the 60’s (1966?). I detected a touch of sadness as Rich described the long gone landmarks of Shelby. As it is anywhere, time marches on, more or less. Like yours truly, Rich was raised here, moved away, and came back home. And though Shelby is a lot smaller than my town, both have their share of racing history. It should be noted that the aforementioned Mr. Sirois also raced other types of cars and raced very well.

We made our way back to Rich’s house , picked up his wife Deb, and headed for another small town called Hebron for some country and bluegrass music. The music hall was an annex of the church across the road. It reminded me of a bingo hall. At any rate I walked in and stepped into a time warp.

The whole scene, the music, the concession stand, and the people took me back to a seemingly more simple time, namely that of the late 1950’s at a place called the Bean Blossom Jamboree, just north of Nashville, Indiana.

Musicians from the area had showed up, aiming to enjoy themselves as they put on an impromptu concert for those assembled. There were guitars, banjos, mandolins, a standup bass or two, fiddles, and even a dulcimer. And at 6 p.m. these instruments started to talk. I heard songs that I’d not heard for 40 years or more. I thought back to all the trips I’d taken with my parents to Bean Blossom and also to the Ryman Auditorium in that other Nashville in Tennessee.

If I was reading this I’d be curious by now just what all this had to do with racing. Well, as I sat there, tapping my toes, I considered that too. These folks up there singing and playing their hearts out were merely keeping an old tradition alive, as do so many short track racers and fans. Their ancestors (and mine) spent a good part of their free time making and sharing music, going back to the English, Irish, Scots, and the Welsh who did the same, literally hundreds of years ago. Among the performers were quite a few young people, which you’ll also see at a short track. That was quite gratifying to this aging music/race lover. There was surely a sense of history here, whether the singers and the crowd knew it or not. Not that it mattered.

The most crucial similarity that I observed here was that this was the grass roots of country and/or bluegrass music, just as your local short track is the grass roots of auto racing as we know it. Many in the crowd knew each other; many were regulars who made most of the performances each weekend. Sounds familiar, huh. And many in the crowd knew the players personally. No one was getting rich, at least not monetarily, and this is so true at a short track as well. Some of those up on the stage (or even those who gathered together back in the kitchen for an impromptu jam session) had some serious talent and might someday play or sing for a living, just as your occasional local short track hero may do. And finally, all present had a fine time with no complaints about half-hearted efforts, no price gouging ($3 supper!), or late starting times.

So it was like a night at the short track in many more ways than one. When Rich had mentioned that we could go hear some music, little did he know what a great education and experience it would be.

De Motte, Indiana - This weekend wasn’t over, no way. Sunday morning Rich, Deb, and I met for brunch, then headed out into the middle of somewhere to see Dick and Kris Leach, along with some other northwest Indiana racers. Dick is the main man for the IMODs (www.imods4u.com), which run mostly at Shadyhill Speedway. Naturally this turned into another racing/bull session with memories, both good and bad, mixed with problems and solutions of the present, and hopes and dreams of the future thrown in for good measure. In short, it was a microcosm of life.

After an hour or so of that we reluctantly said our good-bys with the usual easy to make promises to stay in touch. In this case the promises will be easy to keep, as I’d not be surprised to see Dick, Kris, Rich, and several others from up there making the long haul down to the Salem Speedway this year at some point. Certainly they are a good group of people to know and to call friends. They are all going through their lives with their own set of struggles, triumphs, tragedies, hopes, and fears. They handle it all with grace, humor, sorrow, and an appreciation that this is their only shot at living; it damn well should be a good one.

West Lafayette, Indiana - One more stop was all I had and it would be a fairly brief one. After all, it doesn’t take too long to spoil somebody else’s kid. My niece is a freshman at Purdue University and I’d promised her that I’d try really hard to come see her some time and buy her a healthy dinner.

As I’d done all weekend I made a couple of wrong turns before finding her dorm. Soon enough we were off to a restaurant of her choice. Afterwards I had yet another grand tour, this one of her room, which took maybe five seconds. This particular dorm room was only slightly bigger than the seat of a sprint car. I’ve seen wings on race cars bigger than this room. But I digress.

My niece and her roommate didn’t seem to mind my hanging around and I even met her boyfriend. We sat around talking, watching TV, and poking fun at whatever or whoever moved. And before I knew it, the time was getting to the point where I had to leave her behind. She has claimed in the past that she wants Uncle Danny to take her to a race. Why not?

Home again, with the cabin fever problem fixed for now. Soon enough racing will start here in the Midwest. I’m just about ready. See you there.

Saying naughty things about those bracket busters in the NCAA men’s basketball tourney, I’m…

Danny Burton

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