WARNING ANCIENT RECOLLECTIONS - NOT FROM BOOKS - EXIT BUTTON UPPER LEFT

We have been told by a certain self appointed expert around here nostalgia cannot come from actual experiences, but must only be valid if it comes from age worn dusty documents smelling like damp basements. I beg to differ. This started out for the Jackie Stewart thread but got so long so I thought I would make a thread about race track schmoozing and bribing. How did you get access to the good stuff?

Back in the 60s my dad, a stock car team owner first took us to Indy (1961) after years of my whining I wanted to go, and listening to Sid Collins and collecting and memorizing all the Clymer yearbooks. But we always had big races on Memorial Day weekend for our own team so we could never go. Finally in 1961 we did. But my dad having been a racing insider since they used to put hay bales in fields in southern Illinois in the late 1920s and race around them, and a midget owner of a car he built himself in his teens, our first year at Indy he was champing at the bit to get full access to the pits etc. Grandstands were for women, men got in the pits etc. Being the expert schmoozer he was, he soon talked his way into pit passes and after the people in the photo/jewelry shop fell in love with my little brother and me, and the shop was run by the guy who gave the ring (Thorton Bardach), by the second year we had front row paddock Penthouse seats in the Bardach box where we sat for a few years until Tony Hulman himself, through his secretary June Swango and her assistant Peggy Swalls (still ticket manager as far as I know) arranged for us 8 Unobtanium tickets in the front row of the Paddock Penthouse press box and 2nd turn vista deck. In a couple years we were insiders. The yellow shirts were our baby sitters. My brother and I were turned loose with the run of the place (except pits and garage) and whenever my dad wanted to know where we were the radios buzzed as the yellow shirts around the huge facilities who all knew us reported in as to what we were doing.

How did all this happen? How did an unknown family in a couple years get the run of the place and all the passes? Well we were a racing family so that gave us some credibility, the boys were cute and precocious, and oh... bribery. Being a electrical construction business owner my dad used "gifts" of small appliances he got wholesale like coffee pots, clock radios and lighting timers wrapped up in racing themed wrapping paper, passed out on the first of each month to the people in all the right places and all the most influential yellow shirts. Our first trip each May the station wagon was filled with bribes and first day at the track was used for making the rounds to grease the wheels for the rest of the month. I am sure Keir and Fines can tell you all about this much better than I could of course since actual experience is not necessary or useful in their opinions.

Especially important to get to were all the guys who controlled the pit and garage gates and the doors of the best hospitality suites like the pace car room etc. You say there is no free lunch. Well there was all month long at Indy for the right bribe (I mean gift of gratitude). One of the toughest places of all to get in was the racers side of the public cafeteria under the grandstands. The food was the same and it was open to the spectator side behind a half wall. But getting in the racer side was highly prestigious and of course no line. The guard was a Nazi and made sure no hoi polloi got in there (well except us). We were the only kids in the racer side where I often had lunch at the same table with my heroes like Eddie Sachs and Jim Clark, with or without my dad.

Oh and my mother greased the ticket office skids by giving June and Peggy beautiful gifts every year, usually home made needlepoints and taking them to an expensive lunch one day every May downtown.. We covered all the bases. Of course McGuire will show up now and say this is all a lie, bribing sacred IMS personnel was not possible and it never happened. The toughest nut to crack of all was the parking sticker guy, Joe Quinn the “Safety Director.” He accepted only primo stuff. He had a small house just off the main gate where he held court. He was a tin horn dictator who expected a bribe for your parking sticker in the garage area lot (most prestigious) or Tower Terrace lots. These stickers were very important because it allowed you to get in the pass gate off of turn 4 and avoid the lines outside the gates (before Tony George ran off all the customers) as well as when the track was not open to the public like the week after 2nd weekend of qualifying. Of course the yellow shirts at that gate were well “gifted” too as I am sure Zooom can tell you. Or maybe not.

Whereas our gifts to all the others were unexpected and gratefully accepted, this guy (Joe Quinn) expected it and it was right out of the Soup Nazi episode as you humbly went to see him each May when you first arrived. No matter how important you were, you had to deal with Joe Quinn to get your sticker. There was a line of about a dozen usually at any time and a few chairs in the office with the rest of the beggars lined up outside. You went in to see the secretary. If you had a brightly wrapped gift you laid it down on the counter while you signed the list. Oddly you were next when the door opened somehow jumping the line, strange I know. My dad would take me in with him as we humbly met the great man and the only real issue was whether we got the garage area sticker or the Tower terrace one.

The 1960s the teams were small. In fact still were in the 1980s. They didn’t come with gaggles of PR flacks or team photographers. That was my dad. He was everybody’s friend since he supplied them with beautiful 8 X 10 color photos (quite expensive at the time) of their cars for everybody on the team. That was our ticket to every garage in gasoline alley. After a few years he had worked his way to the second row of the qualifying area photographer’s line. Yes, you worked your way from the back as I am sure Keir could tell you. Over the years as people died or left you moved up and everybody knew whose spot was whose. Any newbie who showed up, even if he was AP, he started at the back. Anybody who tried to move up to somebody's spot without 15 years on the line was summarily met with great wrath and quickly escorted out of the pits if he didn't get in the back where he belonged. You didn't mess with the photographers line spots believe me. It wasn’t a major issue though as the protocol was you took your shots quickly and then stepped aside so the guys behind could move up and get theirs, then it reshuffled back into place as the next car arrived. No car left the qualifying photo spot until everybody got their shots. But you waited your turn and today those photos my dad took along with the rest of our family's 40 year collection reside in the International Motorsports Research Museum in Watkins Glen right next to the Fines collection if I am not mistaken. Maybe I am. Being there isn't nostalgia we have been told and means nothing.

Between the bribes, the original cuteness of the kids, and successful schmoozing and never getting in trouble and treating everybody with respect and knowing when to approach people and when to let them be, we were everybody’s friends at Indy for years. My mother sat in the participant’s family area of the tower terrace on practice days, usually with Ma and Pa Unser and other drivers wives like Betty Rutherford and Alice Mosley. Those were the days when the stands were full on the inside even on practice days. We brought Donald Davidson's mother and sister down from Chicago one year where we picked them up at the train station, at the request of somebody at the track. At 18 I became the first under 21 person in the garage and pits at Indy and other USAC races. I had a waiver signed by Henry Banks arranged personally by Tony Hulman and I just found it recently so if one of these stupid bastards wants to challenge that, I have $1000 that says I can prove it so step up McGuire if you have the balls. I know it goes against everything you read in books, but you could get into the pits at Indy under 21. If you knew the right people and knew how to do it.

I originally intended this for a Jackie Stewart story but it got too long so I switched it to a how did you schmooze your way into racing places story and request. How did you get into places where you weren’t supposed to be and had no business being at tracks around the world? Let’s have some real stories. We have been told by a self appointed expert



Well that sure is a shame. Good God actual personal stories instead of musky odor paper records in a Nostalgia forum. THE HORROR - THE HORROR. What about the rest of you who aren’t morons? Who did you bribe and where?

Bribe? Not for me!

I wouldn't waste money or material things, but I'd spend time talking to people, find holes in fences, get there so early nobody else was awake and try to con a ride in with people who always got real tickets.

I've mentioned him before... The Hat we dubbed him. A rock solid simpleton who wore a broad brimmed hat as he guarded the only entrance to the 'ticketed folk only' spectator area inside the Karrussell at Lakeside.

The Hat was duly engaged in conversation by yours truly and my good friend Bob Levett. My first wife was with us on this sunny July afternoon after we'd driven from Sydney overnight.

Progressively we made ground to the point that eventually we were talking to him on his own level. It took a while to disengage our brains and come down that low, and I don't remember what subject we had to get onto, but it was obviously very superficial.

Once we gained entry to the area we were made. The best view in town, just a quick dash through to the pit area, here we could watch as Niel Allen blitzed the Gold Star field in qualifying. Except he didn't... he crashed after just a few laps, the most enormous and destructive single car not hitting a barrier crash I've ever seen.

In those terrifying moments Niel proved that harnesses worked and the incident led to the worldwide introduction of mandating their use... but that's off the subject.

So maybe I didn't wake up to the easy way to do these things? I usually managed to get to the right places... Graham Hill's victory party as well as Bruce McLaren's after their Australian Grand Prix wins... but the only time I recall actually trading anything for this was when I agreed to take photos for Greg Cusack's sponsor when he went off to win the Queensland ANF1.5 Championship at Lowood in return for transport to the event.

Who's turn next?

I think the only time I have ever paid to get into a race as spectator was at the Goodwood Revival-the first and the tenth. Every other time I was at an event as either driver or more recently, announcer.

When I raced at the Monterey Historics in the seventies and eighties I would go to the Pebble Beach Conkers on the Sunday. The first few years I just walked in with the participants and was never questioned. The last time (and it will be the last time!) I had to pay the outrageous entry fee-I forget how much but I was disgusted by it. I went in, spent a couple of hours poking around and then sold my ticket to the next person in line at the gate for half price......No quite graft but it felt good!

Perhaps most of them didn't view being given a 'gift' as bribery

Well yes that was certainly the goal and pulled off successfully too in most cases.

Go, Buford! On my one and only visit to the 500 (1994), I could tell that if you hadn't greased the right palms, you were toast.

Even as a legitimate magazine edltor/photographer, I had to jump through a lot of hoops to get a press credential. When I got there to pick it up, Chris Economaki was in line behind me. The "release" that I had to sign said the Speedway owned the copyright to any photos I would shoot. I objected, but Chris said, "Ignore it." So I did. On race day, when I got to the Turn 1 shooting area, it was crammed with obvious amateurs who were either snapping away with Instamatics or just there for the suntan. Guess they had greased the right palms.

Frank

No doubt.

As a regular motorsport competitor from the 70s until now I can usually scrounge a competitors pass, or at very worse buy one at discount prices.
I was in speedway pits at 16, using somebody elses name, but yes i was valid pit crew.
The only place i could not get was pitlane at the GP, [except when i was a support competitor] but i was never that interested, the support paddock is where i needed to be. Though one year a mate/pit crew got into the F1 area and came back with a pile of goodies afetr qualifying, heim joints, CVs, drive shafts which he used on his offroad racecars.
After those meetings a lot of teams sold off souveniers, racesuits etc from pitlane. The racesuits were no good to me as I am too big, then at 90k. [Jonesy was not racing at that time!!] but there was several Vee and HQ competitors in very fancy sign written suits for years after.

Why does every Indianapolis thread have to start with personal shots, jesus.



I had the opposite experience at the Speedway, all I had to do was ask and I got. I was at Putnam Park testing a single seater early in May and had the afternoon off and wandered over to IMS to see what practice was like. I went to the credential office, told them who I was (ie a nobody but part of the 'system') and asked what was available. Since it was early in the month they gave me the once over, a credential, and showed me where I could park inside the track. Which was one of the more fun moments since I got to briefly drive my Renault 7 on the F1 course.

Generally at F1 tests you can do whatever you like if you blag it. I stood on top of the podium at Monza during the traditional September test, ie the bit that sticks out over the track, while cars were running. Which is an odd place to view a race car from, having it go underneath you as it accelerates over 200mph. I didn't have garage access but I could stand/sit anywhere on the pitwall. I had an extra team sponsor pass at the time which on color banding alone limited you to certain areas but, if you walk up to the gate looking like you're supposed to be there and you know what you're doing, they will generally wave you through. If anyone questions you just say "Press" and they don't even care. But that's Italy for you, they don't like structure so much.

For all of F1's elite status and holier-than-thou image, it is still staffed at the track level by underpaid and underappreciated fans. You can get some pretty good access to a facility towards the latter end of the day if you have the right access to swag. With something autographed, a team cap or other tidbit from the weekend, even the steeliest uniformed guard will generally let you have a quick look around. Anyone who works in security usually feels a certain empathy for the people trying to sneak in. We've all been there.

Because unfortunately my assholes tolerance meter is broken and I'm waiting for parts to be shipped in from China.

WARNING ANCIENT RECOLLECTIONS INCLUDING RIBALD ELEMENTS - NOT FROM BOOKS - EXIT BUTTON UPPER LEFT

After the first time I drove my sprint car and flipped it on the cool off lap of my first race it was decided we probably shouldn't run the Knoxville Nationals that was next on the schedule since I obviously didn't know what I was doing and it's a very fast dangerous track, and we of course had no chance to do well. But I had to go anyway to make contacts and learn what I could learn. Of course I had no intention of paying to get in and no actual ticket so like most races I went to other than the major ones where we sometimes had grandstand tickets, I had to find a way in without paying. I arrived on Wednesday when the teams were arriving and having crew stickers all over my windshield of my van as well as an Indianapolis 500 garage area parking sticker, I pulled up to the pit gate in the line of other racers going in and said, “I have new gears in the back for the 57 car. I just have to drop it off and then head back for Chicago to get an air express shipment arriving tonight. I'll get my passes tomorrow is that OK I don't have time to stand in line now."

With over 150 entries I figured there must be a 57 car and the guy said “"Sure go ahead have a good trip." OK so now I was in the grounds where I would sleep for the next four days in my van but I still had to figure out how to get into the infield pit area and somewhere to watch the races from. I discovered since I was there early I could park my van directly next to the turn four guardrail on the outside of the track (There is a grandstand there now) and stand on the roof and watch the races. Of course this was highly dangerous but I was a racecar driver myself and it wasn't as dangerous as being on the track. I had to make an escape plan for where to jump if I saw a car flipping my way which was highly probable but otherwise it was a great place to watch if you didn't mind getting dirt thrown all over you. It definitely followed the racer's rule of "never pay to get in."

The next day when they started running I discovered the way to get into the infield was because there was no bridge or tunnel, people would form up in a mob and wait for the gate to be opened to cross the track. It was a rather simple matter to blend in with the crowd and let people closer to the guards show their passes. It was pretty lax for pass checking so I had accomplished my goals of getting in the track proper, a place to watch from, and how to get into the pits all without paying. But what comes next is why I am telling the story and what made it one of the most memorable racing weekends of my "career".

Once the area filled in with cars and trucks where I was parking I happened to notice a couple of cute young girls were one row over and a couple of cars down and appeared to be staying in the back of a pickup with a camper over the bed. When I was up on the van I could watch them and noticed that they seemed to be with one of the drivers, Roger Hill from Des Moines who appeared once in a while and then would go back to the pits. It wasn't long after that that I noticed that these girls never seem to go to the pits or grandstand but what they did do a lot of was go into the back of the camper with different guys. I soon came to find out that Roger Hill had an interesting racing team financing scheme going here. He was financing his weekend through the entrepreneurial activities of these girls and whatever they were doing in the back of that camper with multiple different men. Which made me think, "Jesus why hadn't I thought of that."

Well what happened was the girls noticed me standing up on top of my van and when they weren't busy with whatever they were doing in that camper they came over and asked if they could get up on the van with me so they could see the track. Over the next couple of days they often would be standing up there with me and I found out they were 18 and 19 and apparently although we never really discussed what they were doing, this was not their full-time job, they were weekend warriors helping their friend Roger finance his Knoxville Nationals experience, which I thought was rather sweet and generous of them, don't you? The girls were quite alluring as long as you put out of your mind all of those trips to the back of the camper with all of those different men and I would've been interested in either or both had circumstances been different. Oh and one of them had the first tattoo I ever saw on a young woman and I was appalled. I couldn't believe anyone would mark a perfect female body with a stupid ass cartoon. You might as well tattoo WHORE right across your forehead was what I thought at the time. But I of course didn't say that because I am always kind and generous to everyone as you all know and never would do anything to hurt anyone's feelings because I'm just that kind of guy.

Anyway as I came back from the pits on Friday afternoon and walked up to my van I found the two girls sitting on the ground next to it crying their eyes out and looking up to me. "He's gone what are we going to do?” They were both near hysterical and it took some time for me to understand after I looked over that the pickup truck and camper was gone and they had been abandoned. They were crying, "Our purses were in the truck. We don't have any money or anywhere to stay. What are we going to do?" At that point a guy walked up and said “Oh there you are, Roger was looking all over for you. He had to go back to Des Moines to get another engine and you weren't anywhere around and he had to go. He will be back in the morning." That stopped the girls from crying temporarily because they realized they had not been permanently abandon but then they started bawling and caterwauling again that they didn't have anywhere to stay or any money. It was at that point that my unabashed chivalrous nature emerged and I found myself almost without thinking taking on the role of "White Knight" and offered the poor things that they were welcome to share my van with me overnight. They were so happy to get the offer to stay with such a nice man as myself who had befriended them that they were all over me kissing me and hugging me and I suddenly realized “Wait” if we are going to do this I'm going to have to get them cleaned off. Two days worth of well ummm "track grime" was not going to make for a pleasant evening experience I was thinking. I considered taking them over to the hose I saw outside of the swine barn that people were using for a makeshift shower but then I had a better idea.

They asked me if I had any food in the van and I said don't worry about it I will take you downtown for a nice meal. But my real goal was to take them north of town to a park that had a lake where I could get them to go swimming and wash them off before I spent the night with them. Which is what we did and after arranging for our neighbors to save my parking space and they had passes to get back in we would just hide one of them, off we went for some dusk and moonlight skinny dipping. It was downright Iowa hick romantic and I gave them each clean T-shirts and then we went downtown for a great steak dinner, which I graciously picked up the tab for being the great humanitarian that I was... and still am of course. I believe charity begins at home or at the least in the back of your van don't you?

So that evening I had the enjoyment of watching the races with two lovely (clean) young women and spending the night with them while accepting their mutual gratitude for my graciously giving them somewhere to rest their weary heads along with all that other stuff they were packing heat. The next day Roger Hill returned and apparently because my hospitality had been so magnanimous they didn't even start screaming at him but just hugging and kissing him they were so happy to see him. They told him how nice I had been to them and he actually gave me the money for the steak dinner back along with his thanks for taking care of his girls. He said "Did they take care of you" and I responded "Oh they were extremely well behaved, you would have been proud of them." He said "Yes they are very good girls aren't they and I said "Yes they are." All in all I didn't get a chance to race in the Knoxville Nationals but I still got quite a ride nonetheless. I'm sorry this is not the type of story that you can experience in a basement library digging through 50-year-old documents but sometimes you just have to experience things to have them stick in your memory 30 years later as one of the most memorable weekends of your racing "career" A classic case of your money for nothing and your chicks for free or maybe just call it two for the price of none and an auto race too. And it was a fine example of the long-standing racer's creed... NEVER PAY TO GET IN!!!

I certainly hope they got busy on race day so you could concentrate on watching the styles of the other drivers, Buford...

Did you ever see Roger using this method of obtaining sponsorship again?

They worked in the afternoons and watched the races on my van in the evenings. Knoxville is a 4 day deal with racing every night. I saw Hill around at other tracks but never saw those girls again. They may have been out working the parking lot I don't know. I was generally in the pits so didn't run into them again. And for those of you going yuck don't forget this was years before we ever heard of AIDS and pit popsies and fence hangers were not uncommon around the tracks in those days, especially in the hayseed areas I raced in where we were sort of dashing heroes to them. A girl had to be pretty special to make the "traveling team." to take with you and spend money on. They expected you to pay attention to them and at the tracks that wasn't gonna happen. It was much easier to find them at the track. One of my most successful lines was when they asked me for an autograph I would act aghast and stutter out "Autograph, hell you can have me!!!" Surprisingly that worked pretty good.

AIDS erupted onto the world scene in 1980...

I reckon this must have happened about 1971, right? Or maybe even 1970? I mean to say, I'm not being critical of your memory for dates, but if this was right at the beginning of your racing you would have been about 21 or 22 or something? It's looking horribly like it was 40 years ago, isn't it?

No it was 1978, the year I started racing Sprint Cars after 7 years of road racing and some USAC Midgets. The first I heard of AIDS was after I had moved to California I think in Time magazine in an article about the male flight attendant they were blaming for bringing it into the USA and that would have been at the earliest 1982. So 31 years ago August and 4 or 5 years before I heard of AIDS so I think my time estimates of "years" and 30 years in my recollection were pretty much accurate.

I well recall reading about AIDS when I worked for the radio station...

That was April 1980 to January 1981.

I figured Bufe was talknig late 70's there...

FWIW, I was living in the San Francisco Bay Area and the pre-cursor of AIDS was getting coverage in 1981, but it was '82 before it really broke. Just like Bufe wrote.

John Medley has a story but can't post at the moment for some reason...

About a group who printed up their own tickets to get into Warwick Farm's pits each meeting. Hope he can get his password working soon.

Ha ha we did that at the Bonnaroo Music Festival one year to get our entire 10 person Body Painting crew in on two passes. Stopped at a Kinkos and made up our own "All Access" passes which may have been nothing like the official ones, but because I was dealing with artists they were quite beautiful and elaborate and were accepted at all pass gates including backstage and all parties.

I once bribed an Indy parking lot official with a bottle of Vodka to give me Rahal's parking place way back when, in the team lot!!!

Just found a photo of the house where you used to have to go line up to bribe Joe Quinn to get the sacred parking stickers. On the left under the Indianapolis on the sign.

I did something similar for the Long Beach Grand Prix back in the F1 days. I had a neighbor who was a corner worker and I would borrow his trackside pass and color copy it, then change the serial number in case I got caught. I also made the matching color wrist band with Pantone paper and Letraset transfer lettering. I then bought a general admission ticket to get in the gate. I always made sure the rent-a-cops spotted the made up pass from a distance. Of course having a big camera bag and a couple of cameras around my neck helped me appear creditable.

Kurt O.