Born in the U.S.A., but Improved Upon by World’s Racers

Nothing is more American than the automobile. Not apple pie, homemade fudge, moonlight on the Wabash, the straw hat, baseball, basketball or the Yale-Harvard game.

And nothing is more heartland America than the Indianapolis 500. It’s the last stand of 1910 USA in this century. It’s like stepping into a time warp. It seems to have no business in the 20th Century. That’s precisely its charm.

But it’s come to have a melancholy effect on those of us who remember when the good old U.S. of A. was the automobile center of the universe, the 100% dyed-in-the-wool flag wavers who not only believe that this is the greatest country in the world but also the most inventive, resourceful, imaginative; those who believe that an American with a screwd and an oil can is the greatest natural-born engineer the world has ever known.

I mean, did we invent the electric light, or didn’t we? Who thought up the telephone? The steamboat? Cotton gin? Telegraph? Did we get to the moon first, or didn’t we?

That’s why it’s painful to watch the Indy 500.

How can you see it through the mist that comes over your eyes when you watch these sleek racing machines and know that not one of them is a good old All-American product? I mean, Henry Ford would have a fit. General Motors should. Barney Oldfield would be ashamed. Walter Chrysler would be insulted. Lee Iacocca should do something about it.

How can every car but three in an Indy race have imported engines? How can 31 out of the 33 have foreign chassis? How can it be that not one car is American from wheel to wheel? I thought American kids grew up with lug wrenches for rattles, screwdrivers to teeth on?

Better yet, how can it be that, in the late running of the race, among the cars still in the hunt and on the same lap, only one of the drivers was a native American?

Consider it: A Kentucky kid driving an English car with an English power plant was the only one who could save the day for the U. S. Danny Sullivan was holding off guys born in Italy (Mario Andretti), Brazil (Emerson Fittipaldi) and Colombia (Roberto Guerrero).

More than that, seven of the 33 drivers were foreign-born. The Rookie of the Year, Arie Luyendyk, was born in Holland, and I don’t mean Michigan.

The cars, drivers, power plants, even the best ideas come from abroad. In 1961, it took Australian Jack Brabham, the world Formula One champion, to bring the rear engine to Indy. Brabham, now Sir John, showed up in a little, underpowered Cooper Climax and the Indy Establishment almost fell down laughing.

But by 1965, every car in the field was a rear-engine model. In fact, no front-engine car has won since 1964.

The British designer, Colin Chapman, added insult to injury when he took a Ford engine, stuck it in the rear of an English Lotus and ran away from the flower of American roadster racing. You had the feeling he could have taken a London cab and rubbed their noses in it. He even painted his cars green, long considered as unlucky as a hat on the bed in American racing, and blew off the loutish, overpowered U.S. cars like the 700-horsepower Novi, and went through corners fatigue-free.

Not only the imported cars but the drivers gave the Establishment fits Sunday. The Brazilian, Fittipaldi, had actually given up international racing as too dangerous but came out of retirement because Indy looked like a piece of cake to him. He was actually leading the race after 121 laps and only an injudicious pit stop under green-flag racing conditions took him out of the hunt. He was running second at the time.

The American engines fared worse then the American chauffeurs. One of them went six whole laps before spasming out, another coughed out after 13, and the third went 19.

Still, an American driver won. Well, ahem, er, ah, don’t look now but Danny Sullivan became a race driver at an English school for drivers and learned his way around a track at Zandvoort and Brand’s Hatch and the Costa Brava.

There was a time when we threw English tea overboard. Now, anything’s liable to happen. I mean, what’s next--the World Series will be cricket?

It’s almost as if Manchester United showed up for the Super Bowl--and beat the Raiders.