I had sought power through my work with civic clubs, organizations, and "causes" such as the Cerebral Palsy Telethon on which I worked for several years. I was even president of the local PTA. And now I was Jaycee Woman-of-the-Year. Part of what led to these honors and activities was my position as hostess of a popular TV talk show featuring guests, fashion shows, and speeches.
My television show had begun after I'd been on radio many years. A daily morning variety show, it was the only one of its kind in the immediate viewing area. It turned out to be another dead-end avenue where I frantically sought power, position, and prestige.
This was the year I went to Europe and was on television there. A trip to the American Women in Radio and Television Convention in Washington D.C., had provided the opportunity for me to interview Senator William Fulbright, Congressman Wilbur Mills, Congressman David Pryer (who was later to become governor of Arkansas), and Mrs. Pat Nixon, First Lady at that time. I attended the opening of the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. In my home county, I was elected Justice of the Peace in order for me to be on the Quorem Court. And, to reassure myself I was not neglecting our children, both Tony and I served as PTA president for the junior high school our girls attended.
I sought glory and power in any manner possible. However, on one occasion my search ended in near-tragedy, and for a short time Tony and I became closer than we'd ever been.
The news event that triggered all this was the 62nd running of the Indy 500 in 1971. Tony, also a photographer, and I were among the United Press International, Associated Press, and TV reporters and photographers from all over the world who were covering the Indy 500 from a specially constructed stand in the pit area.
Even as a youngster Tony had dreamed of going to the 500. As for my motive, it was strictly egotistical. Women had never been allowed in the pit or garage area to cover the race. So I was elated when I had received my pass after months of waiting. I thought this would really give me a measure of prestige.
What had promised to be a dream come true for both of us ended in a nightmare.
As the red Dodge pace car pulled from the track, it went out of control on the pit apron, careening in front of the grandstand, skidding through the pit area, crashing through a safety fence. It crossed a grassy area and slammed into the stands. Most of us, many with foot-long telescopic lens cameras, tape recorders, and binoculars, were dumped on top of the car.
I saw it coming--I knew it would hit. But I didn't know where to jump. There was no place to go. No escape. I remember seeing the splintered handrail of the temporary stand cascade onto the backs of John Clenn, Chris Shinkle, and speedway owner Tony Hulman. "Oh, those poor guys," I thought. "They'll really be hurt." But almost immediately, I panicked, "Is this the way I'll die?"
I remember landing on the hood of the car and either sliding or falling off, I don't remember which. A film-clip I saw later showed I turned a flip in the air. Tony hit the windshield with his head and cheek. When I got up, he was lying on the car hood, steam rising from its edges. I was afraid the car would explode. Some men pulled him to the ground.
Amidst the screaming, ambulance sirens and cries for help, and the "whop-whop" of the helicopters, I calmly gathered the broken binoculars, tote bag, camera, and tape recorder as if I were picking up after spilling my purse.
The four men who had been in the pace car were evacuated to the Methodist hospital in town, but no one seemed concerned about Tony even though blood continued to stream from his forehead and spatter onto his white jeans. For a brief moment I forgot about power, position, and prestige, and thought of Tony. I screamed and pleaded for help, but with eighteen others injured, it seemed hours before someone got an ambulance backed through the crowd for Tony. Even then we were only taken to the track hospital--little more than a first aid station.
The nurse stopped Tony's bleeding, his lacerations were sewn up, and then they put him aside while I was being checked. After a brief examination, they determined I had only bruises and a slight concussion.
I was told Tony had been taken to the hospital, but when I went back outside there he was on an army cot in the grass. They had taken someone else. Three hours had passed. The right side of his face was swollen. His cheek was about an inch lower than normal. An ophthalmologist checked Tony and said he could detect no permanent damage to his eyes. I was so relieved to hear it because I had a sinking feeling inside as I thought of Tony being blind. But now he began to vomit blood, and the doctor who had seen him earlier came over. "I thought this man had been taken to the hospital downtown hours ago," he said.
This frightened me even more. Would Tony die? The doctor took Tony's temperature, checked his blood pressure, reflexes. Immediately he ordered intravenous feeding. The helicopter was called, but when it arrived there was room only for a stretcher, the attendant, and a pilot.
Terrified, I began to cry. I knew no one. I was alone but I had to get to Tony. Why had I been so interested in being the first woman in the pit area? If I hadn't been, Tony wouldn't be hurt now. We wouldn't be in this mess. Half running, I searched for our car. Where had we parked?
Tony always seemed to know where we were parked. There were 350,000 people at the race, and it seemed as though each had driven a car!
The race was just finished and the policemen couldn't help me find my car, but they did give me directions to the hospital. After thirty minutes I found the car and headed down Sixteenth Street toward it. Even though the cars were traveling several abreast and slowly, the traffic was at least moving in the right direction.
As I ran from the parking lot to the hospital's emergency ward, I kept wondering about Tony--wondering, too, why this was happening to us. Was God trying to tell us something? Would my husband be paralyzed? Would he still be alive? Oh, why had I neglected him?
I was relieved to learn Tony was being x-rayed and treated. I sat alone for two hours and watched the sun set through the hospital window that late Saturday afternoon.
Life was continuing normally for other people, but not for us. I wanted to see our children. I thought of returning home, or at least calling our family. I had to find someone to do my television show. But I couldn't do anything until I heard some word about Tony.
The next morning his condition was better. He did need surgery, but the doctors were optimistic. He'd make a full recovery, they said. And with a lot of help from my friends, I managed to find a substitute host for the television show.
What was most heartwarming was the kindness the people in Indianapolis showed us. One man helped us because he had a brother living in our hometown in Arkansas.
A photographer who had been in the stands with us came by with his wife even though they were planning to leave early the next morning for London. Calls and telegrams came from family and friends. My brother, Al, and his wife, Alice, drove several hundred miles to be with us. The Little Rock newspaper, Jonesboro's TV station, the New York Times and radio stations all over the country had picked the story up.
When someone showed me the Indianapolis newspaper, I was insulted; our picture had been snapped as I screamed for help. And Tony's picture didn't exactly reflect prestige either. Blood was spurting on his white jeans, and the press hadn't even bothered to get our permission. I learned later that a number of foreign papers also had carried the picture of me trying to get help for my husband.
In contrast to the few seconds it took for the accident to happen, Tony's mental and physical recuperation took months.
Even though I saw very little of the race, I'd had my year at the Indy 500.
