Oilpressure

There is a lot of negativity floating around in the IndyCar universe right now. Many times, I think fans overreact to different news items, but right now – I think fans have a right to be concerned abut the long-term future of the sport we love. The possibility of Honda leaving after the 2026 season is enough to get anyone concerned. I’m concerned too, but unfortunately we fans are sort of in a helpless situation. We have to wait until those in charge make the right moves to make sure that a third engine supplier is found, so that Honda and Chevy aren’t carrying so much of a financial burden.

Right now, we have two choices. We can sit and wring our collective hands every single day over the possibility of what might or might not happen; or we can focus on the many things that made us passionate about this sport to begin with. I’m going to choose the latter. It’s not because I’m burying my head in the sand and refusing to acknowledge the gravity of the Honda IndyCar situation. But I can only write so much about the same thing and stay worked up over something I can do nothing about. Heading into the Christmas season, that’s not what I want to do.

Instead, I’m going to tell a story – a true story. It’s a story I heard Donald Davidson tell once on The Talk of Gasoline Alley. Every time that episode comes up on my random listening, it makes me laugh out loud. I’m sure writing about it will not come off near as funny as hearing Donald tell it, but hopefully it will bring a smile to your face and let you escape from the current problems facing the NTT IndyCar Series, if only for a moment.

The year was 1954. It was a cold and snowy December night in Indianapolis, just a few days before Christmas. Eddie Sachs was a struggling race car driver trying to make ends meet. He had qualified for four champ car races in the previous three seasons and money was tight. To make matters worse, he was going through a divorce.

It was the offseason and Sachs was tending bar in an obscure watering hole on 16th Street in Indianapolis. With the snow coming down, business was non-existent that night. Sachs called down to one of the local spots that many drivers frequented – The Checkered-Flag Tavern, and talked to fellow driver Leroy Warriner who was sharing a few beers with driver Johnnie Tolan. Warriner and Tolan had each won the midget championship the two previous years.

Warriner told Sachs to close up early and come over to The Checkered-Flag Tavern, which he did. After a beer or two, Warriner came up with an idea. He suggested he and Sachs go visit a lady friend of his that he had been seeing some. He thought they should buy a six-pack to take over there and she may provide some companionship on a cold, snowy night.

When they arrived at her house in Warriner’s car, Sachs told Warriner that he shouldn’t be doing this, since he was in the middle of a divorce. Warriner convinced him it would be OK. She had another friend, and it was going be a fun night. Sachs reluctantly agreed to go in.

When they got up on the front porch, Sachs was carrying the beer. The woman opened the door with a worried look saying her husband had come home early. Just at that moment, this great big guy wearing an undershirt and in the midst of shaving entered the room. He scowled at Warriner. Suddenly he yelled “I know how you are. You’re the guy who’s been seeing my wife when I’m out of town”. He pulled out a gun and shot Warriner, who fell to the ground.

Then the husband looks at Sachs and said “You’ve got ten seconds to get out of here, or you’re next!”

The way Donald described it, the six-pack of beer that Sachs had been holding went flying up in the air, as Sachs made an about-face and scurried off of the porch. He was stumbling through the snow, crawling as best he could to avoid the fate that his friend had just suffered. Sachs ran into some woods and cut through to another street. He began to walk back to The Checkered-Flag Tavern, but every time he saw a pair of headlights approaching – he would dive into a ditch, fearing it was the jealous husband.

He ended up taking a bus, instead of walking on the snowy streets. As he was on the bus, he saw Warriner’s car pass. The husband must’ve gotten in Warriner’s car to go find Sachs. Once he was on the bus, he began to collect his thoughts and he realized his good friend, Leroy Warriner, had just been murdered before his very eyes.

After Sachs got off of the bus, and walked to The Checkered-Flag Tavern, he spotted Warriner’s car and was confused. How did the husband know where to look for Sachs? He didn’t know what to do, so he stood in the parking lot across the street to see if he could observe anything to give him a clue what his next move should be.

In the meantime, a few customers going into The Checkered-Flag Tavern – including Indianapolis 500 winner Troy Ruttman – asked Johnnie Tolan and a few others what Sachs was doing standing in the parking lot across the street. A few of them went out to go get Sachs and finally convinced him to come in and get warm.

When Sachs walked in, he spotted Leroy Warriner – alive and well – drinking a beer at the bar. Sachs was immediately overcome with emotion to see that his slain friend was alive. He began to sob uncontrollably and then started throwing up; while all of his friends that were in on the now-obviously practical joke were laughing hysterically.. He had to be taken to the restroom to get cleaned up. When he came out, he was still shaken over what had occurred in the previous couple of hours. Tolan and Warriner had set the whole thing up. Eventually, Sachs came to appreciate the humor in the elaborate joke – but probably not that night.

Sachs got the last laugh, however. Leroy Warriner attempted to qualify for the Indianapolis 500 each year between 1951 and 1958. He never made the field. Johnnie Tolan qualified three times – in 1956, 1957 and 1958. His best start was thirtieth and his best finish was thirteenth in 1958, after much of the field was wiped out in the first lap accident that took the life of Pat O’Connor.

While Tolan and Warriner toiled in Indianapolis 500 obscurity, Sachs won two Indianapolis 500 poles, two other front-row starts and finished second and third in 1961 and 1962 respectively. Unfortunately, Sachs lost his life on the front-straightaway in the 1964 Indianapolis 500; so we’ll never know if he could’ve ever gotten that elusive win.

Reading what I wrote about this story, probably did it an injustice. It’s much better to hear Donald Davidson tell it, as only he can. But just remember this; on a cold and snowy December night in 1954, Eddie Sachs was the butt of a horrible, yet terribly funny practical joke that brought smiles to the faces of everyone involved. On a December day almost seventy years later, I’m hoping this brought a smile to whoever read it. We can all use a good laugh right now.

George Phillips

This entry was posted on December 13, 2023 at 4:04 am and is filed under IndyCar. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.