Memorial Day Weekend

Boy, am I ever glad these hot days have arrived.

Yeah, and I can't wait for the mosquitoes to really get things together.

And, has gasoline gotten to $4.50 a gallon yet?

Dang it anyhow, we haven't even had one of those brown-out things yet.

It's nearly Memorial Day weekend and we've reached the 100 degree mark and I haven't gotten my Bermuda shorts back from the cleaners, my Berkenstocks aren't polished and the ice-maker in the fridge is on a hit-and-miss schedule.

Well pholks, I'm just kidding about a couple of those things, but the weather seems to be all messed up with only a couple of weeks since frost did some Valley crop damage and then the mercury busted through the top of the thermometer. Fire season started early and already there have been some major blazes.

Somehow we made it through all this mess and now Memorial Day weekend is upon us.

Pool parties, barbeques, picnics, trips to the beach, the rivers, ballgames, etc. are important alright. But in my opinion, nothing is official until the Indy 500 arrives. That pholks, is the beginning of summer, even if the calendar doesn't say so.

Granted, I'm not familiar with 75 percent of the drivers or teams in the Big Race anymore, but I will listen and watch the “Greatest Spectacle in Racing,” something I can't remember ever missing since the early 1950s.

Many times I had to work the Memorial Day holiday but I always managed to catch some of it. Listening to Sid Collins, “The Voice of the Five Hundred,” on the radio was for so many years the only option. I recall listening intently with my dad to the broadcasters such as Paul Page and Lou Palmer stationed on turns to track the progress of the likes of Bill Vukovich, Sam Hanks, Roger Ward, Mario Andretti, A.J. Foyt, Bobby and Al Unser as they zoom by. Those broadcasters painted such great pictures, even down to describing how the cars sounded, noting that Roger Ward's engine sounded “sour” or Troy Ruttman was gaining four-tenths of a second in lap time on turn three. I can remember how my dad and I heard the 1955 race when Vukovich, a two-time champion, crashed over the wall and was killed. I will never forget that.

I know it seems strange, but listening to Collins and his buddies each race day was even better than watching it on television. Television never quite measured up to those mental images and sounds. Sure, the early television broadcasts, which for a few years were delayed until the evening, were milestones and a thrill by themselves, but they still didn't compare. Today's coverage with all those on-board live shots and all the state-of-the-art monitoring and such are great, but still seem removed from those unforgettable radio broadcasts. Television broadcasts lack yesterday's thrills.

I probably know less than a dozen drivers without checking a list, but I have a few favorites. Somehow I've found myself rooting for a female driver to win.

I can only imagine what my father, if he were still alive, would think about that. I would love to see Sarah Fisher, Danica Patrick or Milka Duno in Victory Lane, even if they didn't crawl up the fence or do a back flip. Just think about Sid, Paul and Lou telling the listeners how the gals are doing in the corners, in the pit stops and on the back straight-aways.

For a few hours, anyway, I'll forget about the $4.50 a gallon gas, mosquitoes and maybe the 100-plus temperatures.

Miles can be reached at mshuper@valleyvoicenewspaper.com