Reuniting with CART could restore Indy’s magic
The first time I ever went to the Indianapolis 500 was in 1969. Mario Andretti was a young hotshot who won that race in his backup car, and owner Andy Granatelli was so excited that he planted a giant kiss on Andretti’s cheek in Victory Lane. More than the race, however, I can remember how astonished I was at the sheer magnitude of that event, 30 years ago this weekend.
In the succeeding years, the Indy 500, which already was the largest single sports event in the world, grew in enormity. Twenty five years ago, a hotel room you could get for $35 a night every day of every other week in the year cost you $150 a night with a three-day minimum, which seemed outrageous at the time. Restaurants such as St. Elmo’s Steakhouse in downtown Indianapolis used to put a strip of white tape over their prices and write in new ones, just for the weekend.
In later years, that would have been a bargain. The three-day minimum increased, up to a package deal of $1,500, and beyond. It got to the point where a lot of journalists found monthly rates that weren’t much more than that, then it made economic sense to also go to Indianapolis for both qualifying weekends.
It is worth little more than an aside to realize that after Andretti won the ’69 race, everybody in the world assumed it would be just the first of several Indy 500 victories for the popular little Italian, but he never won it again. Coincidentally, that 1969 Indy 500 was the first one for the late Mark Donohue, driving for Roger Penske, which joined England’s Team McLaren to lead a new era of threats from road-racing to take on the traditional oval-track racers up from Sprint and Midget competition.
Team McLaren and Penske renovated their own garages in Gasoline Alley, and I can recall strolling around Gasoline Alley a couple days before race day, watching crew members from other teams look on in awe at the tiled floors and brightly lighted quarters these “sporty-car” guys set up. There was some awe, all right, and also some scorn, although the scorn turned to grudging admiration when those invaders wrenched away the tradition of going from dirt sprinters to Indy, for a shot at racing’s Holy Grail. Suddenly, drivers like Donohue and Rick Mears proved that the escalating speed at Indy more required the precise touch of technical road-racers than being muscled around corners by sprint-car champs.
Indy races ranged from sensational to horrible, always unpredictably, during the past 30 years. The worst was the 1973 disaster, when the race was rained out twice, and Swede Savage, a promising young driver, died from burns suffered when his crashed car tumbled down the main straightaway, turning into a hulk of burning rubble in front of the main grandstand. Gordon Johncock finally won that race, which was mercifully rain-shortened on its third try.
Johnny Rutherford and brothers Al and Bobby Unser dominated for over a decade, with Al Sr. winning in 1970, ’71 and ’78, Bobby in ’75 and ’81, Rutherford in ’74, ’78 and 1980. But the tide was turning. Rutherford, a Texan, won his victories in Team McLaren cars, and Al Unser’s 1978 and 1987 victories, and Bobby Unser’s 1981 triumph came in Penske team cars. Penske also won with Donohue in 1972 and Rick Mears in 1979.
In ’81, Bobby Unser won and Mario Andretti was second, but after a protest that Unser had passed some cars illegally during caution slowdowns, Indy officials declared Mario the winner, only to later reverse the call and give it back to Unser.
Mears, the master at Indy for the following decade, won in 1984, ’88 and ’91 in addition to 1979, tying him with Al Unser Sr. and A.J. Foyt for the most Indy victories. Along with his conquests, Mears was involved in one of the Speedway’s most spectacular races, in 1982. Mears caught up to leader Johncock and the two went wheel-to-wheel with two laps to go, but finally Mears yielded to the more aggressive Johncock in Turn 1 and wound up one car-length behind as he tried a final pass attempt on the main straightaway.
That winning margin of 0.81 seconds was the closest Indy finish ever, until 1992, when Al Unser Jr. swerved in a serpentine fashion from Turn 4 to the checkered flag to keep Scott Goodyear from passing, outlasting Goodyear by less than a car-length for a victory by 0.043 seconds.
Al Unser Jr. also was embroiled in a last-lap, tire-bumping duel with Emerson Fittipaldi in 1989, when Fittipaldi moved inside Unser at Turn 3 on the 199th lap, and bunted Unser into a gentle spinout that eliminated him. Fitttipaldi came around for the checkered flag, and the two were so far ahead of the field that Al Jr. still wound up second, two laps in arrears. Fittipaldi pulled a fast one — literally — in 1993, when he jumped a late-race restart to pass the leader, Nigel Mansell, a Formula 1 World Champion and season champion as an Indy Car rookie, whose cautious attention to rules protocol left him vulnerable to Fittipaldi’s aggressive move.
In 1995, the last time the powerful contingent from the Championship Auto Racing Teams ran at Indy, Scott Goodyear led until a late-race caution set up one final restart. With Jacques Villeneuve behind him, Goodyear slowed to let the pace car clear, then accelerated hard, passing the pace car as it entered the pits. Goodyear was given the green flag and sped away, but starter and chief steward Tom Binford black-flagged him, which required a mandatory pit stop. Goodyear, realizing a pit stop would cost him the victory, ignored the black flag and continued on through the final few laps. Afterward, Binford disqualified Goodyear, awarding the victory to Villeneuve, and issued a statement saying he saw Goodyear had passed the pace car and was out of order before he threw the green flag, Overlooked was a technicality: If Binford saw Goodyear was out of order, he should have signalled for one more caution lap instead of waving the green flag.
All those years, the biggest names — Donohue, Mears, Al Unser Jr., Mario Andretti, Fittipaldi, Mansell, Goodyear, Villeneuve — all came from road-racing, and they created what is arguably the richest legacy of the Indianapolis 500. But behind the scenes, the grassroots oval-track purists at Indy never really accepted the hotshots from road-racing, particularly the European guys. As the sporty-car guys from Championship Auto Racing Teams dominated Indy, the Indy 500 became the crown jewel in the CART season, leading CART officials to rename their racers “Indy Cars.” CART, which is run by a board of team owners, exerted more and more pressure on Indy, and the time came for rebellion four years ago.
Tony George, grandson of Tony Hulman, had taken over the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, and he decided to try to bring the Indy 500 back to the heartland’s beloved sprint and dirt circle-track racers, and to control the runaway expenses of the too-exotic CART cars. So he effectively outlawed CART entries from participating in 1996 by changing the rules to make illegal the exotic CART cars.
While CART took its faster and more sophisticated cars, and its superior drivers, and raced elsewhere on Memorial Day weekend, Indy’s quality dipped drastically. In 1996, Buddy Lazier won a very exciting but clearly minor-league Indy 500 in the first “downsized” Indy 500.
In 1997, Arie Luyendyk — who had won against all comers in 1990 — won the 500 in an incredibly close 0.57-second victory over his teammate, the still-luckless Scott Goodyear. Race fans still came, but they learned that the hotels that had held out for three or four day minimums all had a few vacancies at moderate prices the night before the race.
Last year, when Eddie Cheever won the Indy 500, the huge grandstands that used to be filled with 250,000 for one-at-a-time qualifying and over 400,000 for the race, were virtually empty for time trials. The race still drew nearly 300,000, but the circus atmosphere was reduced because many fans drove in the day before the race.
The economic blow to Indianapolis has been staggering, although veteran race-goers might celebrate the more-reasonable prices. This year, you can get a room at almost any hotel on race-day eve.
The IRL cars are better than ever, and while the drivers aren’t as well-known or as experienced at 200-mph racing as CART’s stars, it could be a spectacular race. What has evolved is that CART, which will hold its Motorola 300 at St. Louis’s suburban Gateway track in Madison, Ill., on Saturday, has the stars and the cars, but it no longer has the Indy 500 — its crown jewel; the IRL, without the stars and cars, has the Indy 500.
To recapture the magic of the past 10, 20, or 30 years, the IRL and CART have to reunite. There are some encouraging signs that it could happen, maybe within a couple of years. Both the IRL and CART owe it to the wonderful tradition of the Indianapolis 500 to once again provide race fans with the best race in the world.
Luyendyk leads the field into 83rd Indy 500
Indianapolis, Ind.—
The 83rd running of the Indianapolis 500 will be run Sunday and it may still lay claim to being the largest single-day sports event in the world, when 300,000 fans tumble through the entrances and take up stations around the 2.5-mile oval.
But instead of standing alone as the auto race of Memorial Day weekend, the Indy 500 finds itself intertwined with Saturday’s CART Motorola 300 in St. Louis, and Sunday night’s NASCAR’s Coca Cola 600 at Charlotte.
There are more than enough good story angles to the Indy 500. For one, Arie Luyendyk, who won the 500 both when it was for all-comers in 1990, as well as in 1997, the second of three Indy 500s since the Indy Racing League has effectively boycotted the rivals from CART, is racing only in this event this season, and then he’d retiring. For good measure, Luyendyk qualified No. 1 at 225.179 miles per hour and will start from the pole at 11 a.m. Sunday.
“We’re really happy with the car right now,” said Luyendyk, after running through Thursday’s final on-track runs on “carburetion day.”
This is the closest race in the 83 years of Indy, with only 3.253 mph separating Luyendyk from 33rd qualifier Raul Boesel’s 220.101 mph four-lap average. Steve Knapp, the transplanted Minnesotan now living in Wisconsin, had predicted that it would take 218 to make the field; instead, a 220.066 by Mike Groff was too slow to make it, and he was bumped from a slot last Sunday.
Knapp, who finished third last year, is a definite threat to win the race although his name is rarely mentioned. He has studiously avoided the spotlight, even though he was one of only two drivers whose qualifying lap speeds improved on all four of his laps (rookie John Hollansworth was the other). He paid tribute to Luyendyk as a mentor.
“I’ve watched and admired Arie since 1981, when he and my dad both raced in the Super Vee series,” said Knapp.”Arie was the only driver I could feel comfortable calling up and asking for advice. If he wasn’t there, he’d call me back. Whatever the question, he was always there with an answer for me. The sport won’t be the same without him, and it will lose a great friend and driver when he gets out for the final time.”
Eddie Cheever, last year’s winner, ran a 221.315, but it was only good for 16th — inside the sixth row to start. Buddy Lazier, who won the inaugural IRL-backed Indy race in 1996, is on the inside of the eighth row, meaning all three Indy winners under IRL sanction — Lazier, Luyendyk and Cheever — are in the inside row. Cheever also paid respects to Luyendyk’s last run.
“Arie has a nagtural talent for speed,” Cheever said. “With Arie, you look at him and he’s just smiling away…almost laughing at us all. He is very special. I will personally miss racing with and against him, greatly.”
Another facet to Cheever’s story is that he, like almost all the top runners, had been using the Oldsmobile Aurora race engine for the last two years, but after winning the opener of the IRL series this season, Cheever, who owns his own team, abruptly switched to the Nissan Infiniti engine. The Olds engines have won every IRL race since the 4.0-liter naturally-aspirated formula was instituted, but one of the reasons is that Olds opened its engine program up to various after-market specialists, while Nissan stubbornly insisted on keeping all its engine development in-house.
That means it took longer for Nissan to get its engines up to competitive speed, but if they have, they might prove to have an edge in staying power, which could leave Cheever in excellent position for those final laps. Rookie Jeret Schroeder (starting 21st) and Roberto Guerrero (25th on the grid) are the only other drivers using Infiniti engines in the 33-car field.
The two most successful race teams in IRL are Team Menard and A.J.Foyt’s gang, and both have two drivers up close and in challenging roles. Menard’s ace Greg Ray is the No. 2 qualifier and Robby Gordon is No. 4, putting Ray in the middle of the first row and Gordon on the inside of Row 2. Foyt’s unpredictable Billy Boat captured the outside of Row 1 after crashing three cars leading up to his 223.469 run, and Kenny Brack is in the middle of Row 3 in the other Foyt car.
In Thursday’s final on-track practice, Ray ran his own car 10 laps, running the day’s second-fastest lap of 40.573-seconds around the 2.5-mile oval, a speed of 221.822. Then he got in Gordon’s matching Team Menard’s racer and did 13 laps, clocking the third-quickest lap of the day at 40.579 seconds (221.790 mph). He did that because Gordon, his teammate, had to be in St. Louis for qualifying in the CART Motorola 300, where he and John Menard have an entry that will allow Gordon to take a shot at winning both races on successive days.
The only driver who practiced at a faster lap than Ray was Sam Schmidt, who starts on the inside of Row 3 in the matching team car to Luyendyk. Schmidt had a 40.457-second lap (222.458 mph), while Luyendyk was fourth with a 40.654-second trip around the track (221.380 mph). The reason those last-day practice times are significant is that all cars run full fuel loads, the way they’ll open in the race, so their lap speeds are closer to race-accurate than their slim and trim, all-out qualifying speeds.
While Schmidt had the best last-practice speed, and Brack, who starts next to him, is last year’s IRL season points champion, the best chance for a winner to come from Row 3 might be on the outside, where Scott Goodyear is stationed. Goodyear has been the victim of misfortune at Indy three times — going from a 33rd start to make a passing attempt on Al Unser Jr. at the finish line that was an Indy record 0.043-seconds from winning the checkered flag in 1992; being black-flagged for passing the slowing pace car while accelerating as the leader for a restart with 10 laps to go in 1995; and finishing second to teammate Luyendyk in the IRL’s 1997 event.
In case luck doesn’t seem to be a valid contributor, consider that Goodyear went out in Thursday’s last tests and ran hard — for a while. How does he feel about the start? “We broke a motor,” he said, “so we don’t know.”
Speaking of the unknown, the ongoing dispute with CART that prevents the two series from reuniting adds another dimension with Robby Gordon racing in both the CART race Saturday and Indy on Sunday. And Tony Stewart will race at Indy Sunday, then fly off to Charlotte to drive in the NASCAR race that night. Beyond that, the battle for fans persists.
As for talking about reconciliation with CART, a source close to Indy boss Tony George said there had been no talks last week with CART’s Andrew Craig, even while Craig was acknowledging such talks did occur. George then came back and said they did talk, but his tone was hardly conciliatory. “I think we’ve proven we don’t need CART to have a successful event,” George told the Indianapolis Star. “They’re obviously trying to shift some attention to themselves.”
Problem is, some fan-appeal also seems to have shifted. In the three years of IRL-sanctioned Indy 500s, the comparative unknown drivers and more restricted cars have shattered the mystique of Indy, and television ratings have dropped 35 percent, to a 5.5 rating last May. Meanwhile, since shifting to nightfall’s prime time, the Coca Cola 600’s rating was 5.0 last year.
That shows what NASCAR’s clever marketing has done, because it represents an improvement of 91 percent over six years, and means that this weekend, the NASCAR event could wind up with more viewers than Indy.
Pair of Minnesotans
among honored vets
A pair of Minnesota’s World War II heroes, Mike Colalillo of Duluth and Don Rudolph of Bovey, were among 100 past Congressional Medal of Honor winners who were brought in to Indianapolis for a special Memorial Day celebration, which includes the dedication of a new memorial and two days of special tributes, culminating with a ride around the 2.5-mile Indianapolis Motor Speedway in convertibles before Sunday’s 83rd Indy 500.
“We’re going to have a good time all weekend,” said Colalillo, who lives in Rice Lake Township, just north of Duluth. He praised the Indianapolis Power and Light Co., which organized the special weekend, but when asked what he did to earn the Medal of Honor, Colalillo smiled, then shrugged, and said: “I shot a few Germans, that’s all.”
Colalillo earned his medal in Germany, while Rudolph earned his in the Philippines. The two were honored Friday morning at ceremonies at the American Legion Mall that included a vintage aircraft flyover, the laying of wreaths at the memorial, stirring music by the U.S.Navy Band, and a final flyover by the Indiana Air National Guard’s F-16, executing the “Missing man” formation as the band concluded the “Battle Hymn of the Republic.”
Indy 500 has lost the appeal of past years
The first time I ever went to the Indianapolis 500 was in 1969. Mario Andretti was a young hotshot who won that race in his backup car, and owner Andy Granatelli was so excited that he planted a giant kiss on Andretti’s cheek in Victory Lane. More than the race, however, I can remember how astonished I was at the sheer magnitude of that event, 30 years ago this weekend.
In the succeeding years, the Indy 500, which already was the largest single sports event in the world, grew in enormity. Twenty five years ago, a hotel room you could get for $35 a night every day of every other week in the year cost you $150 a night with a three-day minimum, which seemed outrageous at the time. Restaurants such as St. Elmo’s Steakhouse in downtown Indianapolis used to put a strip of white tape over their prices and write in new ones, just for the weekend.
In later years, that would have been a bargain. The three-day minimum increased, up to a package deal of $1,500, and beyond. It got to the point where a lot of journalists found monthly rates that weren’t much more than that, then it made economic sense to also go to Indianapolis for both qualifying weekends.
It is worth little more than an aside to realize that after Andretti won the ’69 race, everybody in the world assumed it would be just the first of several Indy 500 victories for the popular little Italian, but he never won it again. Coincidentally, that 1969 Indy 500 was the first one for the late Mark Donohue, driving for Roger Penske, which joined England’s Team McLaren to lead a new era of threats from road-racing to take on the traditional oval-track racers up from Sprint and Midget competition.
Team McLaren and Penske renovated their own garages in Gasoline Alley, and I can recall strolling around Gasoline Alley a couple days before race day, watching crew members from other teams look on in awe at the tiled floors and brightly lighted quarters these “sporty-car” guys set up. There was some awe, all right, and also some scorn, although the scorn turned to grudging admiration when those invaders wrenched away the tradition of going from dirt sprinters to Indy, for a shot at racing’s Holy Grail. Suddenly, drivers like Donohue and Rick Mears proved that the escalating speed at Indy more required the precise touch of technical road-racers than being muscled around corners by sprint-car champs.
Indy races ranged from sensational to horrible, always unpredictably, during the past 30 years. The worst was the 1973 disaster, when the race was rained out twice, and Swede Savage, a promising young driver, died from burns suffered when his crashed car tumbled down the main straightaway, turning into a hulk of burning rubble in front of the main grandstand. Gordon Johncock finally won that race, which was mercifully rain-shortened on its third try.
Johnny Rutherford and brothers Al and Bobby Unser dominated for over a decade, with Al Sr. winning in 1970, ’71 and ’78, Bobby in ’75 and ’81, Rutherford in ’74, ’78 and 1980. But the tide was turning. Rutherford, a Texan, won his victories in Team McLaren cars, and Al Unser’s 1978 and 1987 victories, and Bobby Unser’s 1981 triumph came in Penske team cars. Penske also won with Donohue in 1972 and Rick Mears in 1979.
In ’81, Bobby Unser won and Mario Andretti was second, but after a protest that Unser had passed some cars illegally during caution slowdowns, Indy officials declared Mario the winner, only to later reverse the call and give it back to Unser.
Mears, the master at Indy for the following decade, won in 1984, ’88 and ’91 in addition to 1979, tying him with Al Unser Jr. and A.J. Foyt for the most Indy victories. Along with his conquests, Mears was involved in one of the Speedway’s most spectacular races, in 1982. Mears caught up to leader Johncock and the two went wheel-to-wheel with two laps to go, but finally Mears yielded to the more aggressive Johncock in Turn 1 and wound up one car-length behind as he tried a final pass attempt on the main straightaway.
That winning margin of 0.81 seconds was the closest Indy finish ever, until 1992, when Al Unser Jr. swerved in a serpentine fashion from Turn 4 to the checkered flag to keep Scott Goodyear from passing, outlasting Goodyear by less than a car-length for a victory by 0.043 seconds.
Al Unser Jr. also was embroiled in a last-lap, tire-bumping duel with Emerson Fittipaldi in 1989, when Fittipaldi moved inside Unser at Turn 3 on the 199th lap, and bunted Unser into a gentle spinout that eliminated him. Fitttipaldi came around for the checkered flag, and the two were so far ahead of the field that Al Jr. still wound up second, two laps in arrears.
In 1995, the last time the powerful contingent from the Championship Auto Racing Teams ran at Indy, Scott Goodyear led until a late-race caution set up one final restart. With Jacques Villeneuve behind him, Goodyear slowed to let the pace car clear, then accelerated hard, passing the pace car as it entered the pits. Goodyear was given the green flag and won the race, but afterward, he was protested for having passed the pace car. Chief steward Tom Binford said he saw Goodyear out of order and penalized Goodyear and awarded the victory to Villeneuve. Overlooked was the technicality that Binford, on the starter’s stand, should never have waved the green flag if Goodyear was out of order on the restart.
Behind the scenes, all this time, the purists at Indy never really accepted the hotshots from road-racing, particularly the European guys.
As the years passed, the sporty-car guys from Championship Auto Racing Teams dominated Indy, and the Indy 500 became the crown jewel in the CART season, leading CART officials to rename their racers “Indy Cars.” CART, which is run by a board of team owners, exerted more and more pressure on Indy, and the time came for rebellion four years ago.
Tony George, grandson of Tony Hulman, had taken over the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, and he decided to try to bring the Indy 500 back to the heartland’s beloved sprint and dirt circle-track racers, and to control the runaway expenses of the too-exotic CART cars. So he effectively outlawed CART entries from participating in 1996 by changing the rules to make illegal the exotic CART cars.
While CART took its faster and more sophisticated cars, and its superior drivers, and raced elsewhere against Indy, that first Indy 500 without CART commanded a full house. Race fans were so used to trekking to Indianapolis over Memorial Day weekend, and being thoroughly gouged by hotels and restaurants, that they did it by rote in 1996 when Buddy Lazier won a very exciting but clearly minor-league Indy 500.
In 1997, when Arie Luyendyk — who had won against all comers in 1990 — won his second Indy 500 in an incredibly close 0.57-second victory over his teammate, Scott Goodyear, visitors learned that the hotels that had held out for three or four day minimums all had a few vacancies at moderate prices the night before the race.
Last year, when Eddie Cheever won the Indy 500, the huge grandstands that used to be filled with 250,000 for one-at-a-time qualifying were virtually empty for time trials, and while the race still drew a crowd of 300,000, many of the fans drove in for a one-night stay the day before the race.
The economic blow to Indianapolis has been staggering, although veteran race-goers might celebrate the more-reasonable prices. This year, you can get a room at almost any hotel on race-day eve.
The IRL cars are better than ever, and while the drivers aren’t as well-known or as experienced at 200-mph racing as CART’s stars, it could be a spectacular race. What has evolved is that CART, which will hold its Motorola 300 at St. Louis’s suburban Gateway track in Madison, Ill., on Saturday, has the stars and the cars, but it no longer has the Indy 500 — its crown jewel; the IRL, without the stars and cars, has the Indy 500.
To recapture the magic of the past 10, 20, or 30 years, the IRL and CART have to reunite. There are some encouraging signs that it could happen, maybe within a couple of years. Both the IRL and CART owe it to the wonderful tradition of the Indianapolis 500 to once again provide race fans with the best race in the world.
Dylan, Simon play it cool by the lake
At the end of Saturday night’s superlative Bayfront concert, Bob Dylan and his band just sort of faded away into the foggy night, but the musical impact of the concert Dylan shared with Paul Simon will not soon fade from the memories of 20,000 enthralled spectators.
In fact, that made Dylan’s version of “Not Fade Away” the perfect encore ending. Dylan and his tightly organized band hammered out an upbeat, pounding version of the Buddy Holly song Dylan listened to as a teenager, and which since has undergone famous deliveries by the Rolling Stones and Grateful Dead.
Some hopeful fans kept applauding for another encore when Dylan and his band left the stage, but the majority seemed to have been satiated, after nearly five solid hours of captivating music, an elbow-to-elbow standing-room crowd, which sloshed through the rain-muddied grass, or fell over each other, or stepped gingerly across the treacherous boulders that prevented those with too many trips to the beer stand from stumbling into the bay. On the other side of those rocks, dozens of boats of all shapes and sizes bobbed on the rockin’, rollin’ ocean until dark, when police and the Coast Guard shooed them away.
There might be 20,000 different opinions of the highlights, there were so many. Had the majority of fans been in place by 6:30, they would have been further dazzled by the BoDeans, a concert favorite and certainly a most-impressive opening act. But most of the huge throng was still lined up outside, curling back down the street from the park entrance, around the bayside of the DECC, and across the bridge toward Canal Park, during that opening 40-minute set.
Simon, wearing denim jeans and a baseball cap, came out next and ran through a chronology that included only a few classics from his Simon and Garfunkel days, such as his opening “Bridge Over Troubled Waters,” and more traced his recent affinity for African and Caribbean-style beats with a backup ensemble that included a saxophone, trumpet and trombone to augment the keyboard, drums and guitars.
“Graceland” was a crowd-favorite, as was “Mrs. Robinson” — with its legendary “where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?” line, which has taken on added significance with the recent death of the former New York Yankee great — and “Slip-Sliding Away.” Simon finished the three-song encore to his 1-hour, 10-minute set with “Still Crazy After All These Years,” but the best was yet to come.
After thanking the receptive crowd, Simon said what a treat it was for him to play with Bob Dylan in Dylan’s hometown, and with that Dylan strolled on stage to join him, and the two sang a stirring version of “Sounds of Silence,” which may have had weird harmony for Simon and Garfunkel purists, but never has had such a riveting earthiness.
With that, the two served up a quick two-song medley of Johnny Cash’s “I Walk the Line” and the Bluegrass classic “Blue Moon of Kentucky,” which the crowd ate up. But they saved their best for last, with a sensational rendition of Dylan’s “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door,” which became extra special when, during one chorus, Simon segued into his own “Mother and Child Reunion,” and then brought it back, without missing a beat. Then, after the last chorus repeated “knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door,” Simon let Dylan sing those words while he alternated with “I hear you knockin’ but you can’t come in.”
That one ended their duo set and gave the crowd a long break to arm-wrestle their way to the concessions and the portable rest rooms as the fog rolled in, but it seemed almost to keep a respectful distance from the city’s famous native son. The spectators were armed with umbrellas and rain ponchos, but the fog moved around to cloak the hillside, and even the top of the Aerial Bridge.
Dylan was outstanding in his first-ever hometown concert last October at the DECC, but he was much more personable, even jovial, as if he really enjoyed himself, this time. His second number was “Don’t Think Twice, It’s Allright,” heavily driven by three acoustic guitars, an upright bass and drums, and Dylan slowed the tempo at the finish, then played his harmonica, which induced spontaneous rhythmic clapping in the crowd.
“Masters of War” had the properly stark grimness, and “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue” was slow, with a whining steel guitar that made Dylan’s off-cadence delivery close to what would happen if Bob Dylan did rap music. “Tangled Up in Blue” was also different from the norm, heavy on acoustic/country sound, and ended with Dylan, in his short, white-trimmed black western jacket, cavorting around the stage as he concluded with another inspired harmonica solo.
Midway through his 1:20 set, Dylan even spoke to the audience. “Y’know, I was born up on the hill there,” he said, gesturing toward the fog-shrouded hillside, as the crowd roared. “Glad to see it’s still there. My first girlfriend was from here; she was so conceited, I used to call her ‘Mimi.’ ”
With that, he was off again, electrically-backed, by then, with an up-tempo “Stuck Inside of Mobile With the Memphis Blues Again.” A couple songs later, he sang “Highway 61 Revisited,” to the delight of the crowd, which knew when he walked off that he would be back for an encore.
It was around 11 p.m. when he opened the encore by launching into “Like a Rolling Stone,” with it’s great line, “when you ain’t got nothin’ you got nothin’ to lose.” The band switched back to acoustic guitars for “Blowin’ In the Wind,” which had a long instrumental lead-in. Then it was the finale, which was electric, in more ways than one. “Not Fade Away” may have caught the crowd by surprise, but it was celebrated heartily by the crowd, even as Dylan and his band did walk off and fade away.
Nobody could remember any event in the history of Duluth or any Up North vicinity that drew 20,000 spectators, particularly when they had to pay at least $42 per ticket, and hear the usual summertime weather forecast for Duluth: temperatures in the 70s and 80s, but with the usual disclaimer, “cooler by the lake.” Even that was prophetic, because on that magical Saturday night, Dylan, along with Paul Simon, the BoDeans, 20,000 adoring fans, amid the ever-present outdoor elements, it has never been cooler by the lake.
Racing Sizzler set for Proctor Wednesday
The weather forecast for this weekend indicates we may be in for a sizzler Up North. As far as Proctor Speedway is concerned, however, the sizzler will be next Wednesday — the third annual North Star Summer Sizzler.
That will be the second in the Amzoil-sponsored series of races shared by Proctor and the Superior Speedway, and should attract 40 top Late Model stock cars to Proctor’s dirt oval.
While the Fourth of July is traditionally a big weekend for motorsports nationally, none of the Up North tracks are scheduling anything extraordinary for this weekend. Regular shows will be conducted at Superior and Grand Rapids Friday night, at Hibbing and Ashland Saturday night, and at Proctor Sunday night.
“The only difference we’ll have is that we’ll start an hour early — at 5 p.m. rather than 6 p.m. — to let our fans get away and see the fireworks in Duluth,” said Chris Sailstad, vice president of Proctor’s operation.
Cedar Lake, Wis., may lure some of the usual Hibbing racers with a big purse for Saturday night’s Firecracker 100 Late Model show, although season points may cause most of them to stay in Hibbing. With large-scale specials scheduled at other times during the summer, the Up North tracks avoid them on the big holiday weekend. That’s just as well for Proctor, which had the first Amzoil Special race set for Memorial Day weekend, but got rained out. The second of the series then became the first, at Superior, and a strong event was held there, with Steve Larson of Cumberland, Wis., winning, Mitch Johnson of Fargo second and Joel Cryderman of Thunder Bay third in the rich Late Model event.
That should guarantee a big show for Proctor on Wednesday.
Ashland, meanwhile, will hold its big special on July 30-31, with Wissota Late Models on July 30, and Street Stocks and Modifieds qualifying on Friday, July 30 and running features on Saturday, July 31.
About the Author
John Gilbert is a lifetime Minnesotan and career journalist, specializing in cars and sports during and since spending 30 years at the Minneapolis Tribune, now the Star Tribune. More recently, he has continued translating the high-tech world of autos and sharing his passionate insights as a freelance writer/photographer/broadcaster. A member of the prestigious North American Car and Truck of the Year jury since 1993. John can be heard Monday-Friday from 9-11am on 610 KDAL(www.kdal610.com) on the "John Gilbert Show," and writes a column in the Duluth Reader.
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