The Greatest Spectacle.

The clunk of the mailbox lid closing came at just the right time. The fact that this day was rapidly declining into "one of those days" was just starting to become apparent to me.
The day had begun with such promise. I was my first opportunity to have some time to myself in three days. The first two days of the weekend were filled with family time and obligations. I love my family without question or reservation, but I think even the most family-oriented among us admit and realize that we need some of what I call "independent study" time sometime. Time free from responsibility and obligation, to let the mind wander – to rest and recreate.
Well, my time was here and my motor just would not start. I wanted to spend some time reading, and then go for a bike ride. I usually love to read, but I was so worn out from the work week and the hectic weekend that followed that I just couldn’t follow the words on the page .
Disappointed and mildly annoyed, I put down the reading material and thought about my next move. My bike needed to be cleaned and lubricated before my ride. Normally I fine these simple maintenance tasks enjoyable and relaxing, but today my butt just wouldn’t become unstuck from the chair. My frustration was just beginning to rise when I heard kathunk outside the front door.
"Hmmm," I thought. "The mailman is early today."
I was desperate for anything to distract me from the way I felt, so I rushed to the box like a little kid – hoping for some sort of surprise.
"Daddy, did you bring me anything today?" Forty-seven years old and I still thought this way. Do we ever really grow up?
I opened the door to a neck-snapping surprise to find the mailman still standing there, holding a box wrapped in brown paper.
"Here you go Mr. Legier...just need you to sign for this."
I was startled to find my hand shaking with anticipation as I signed the pink card.
"It’s just a box," I thought, "Probably just something from Julia’s family."
My wife, Julia was from Germany and her family still lived there. She was constantly getting packages like this from her Mom and brother, usually filled with pictures or stuff that her nephews had done in school.
I felt mildly guilty and selfish for wanting something for myself and for being disappointed that this package was probably for Julia. I thanked the mailman and felt the blood drain from my body as my eyes darted down to read the handwritten address on the box
"Oh my gosh...it’s Dad’s handwriting!"
I staggered backward, my eyes transfixed on the distinctive handwriting. My dad had little confidence in the neatness of his cursive handwriting when he was a kid, so he developed the most distinctive printing I had ever seen. He had a font all his own that could never be duplicated. This package couldn’t be from anyone else. There was only one problem...
Dad died six years ago!
Everything began to fade to white as my shaking legs took several feeble steps backward from the door. Finally the arm of the love seat brought me to a stop, and I sat down. This was the most securely wrapped package I had ever tried to open. I cursed out loud as I tried futilely to remove the tape, mind racing....
"Oh dear God what is this? How could this be!"Finally, a focus that could only come from God came over me. The shaking stopped, my vision cleared. Strength returned to my legs and I stood up.
"Razor knife," "I need a razor knife to get this blasted package open."
I went to the kitchen drawer to get our utility knife, my heart still pounding-- but now the confusion and fear was replaced with anticipation. I had never wanted to open a package so badly in my life and now this sucker was coming open.
I slit the tape along the seams...come on...come on!! Finally the flaps popped open. I dug through the old newspaper wrapping and what I saw made me gasp and release an involuntary cry...
Laying in the box were two shiny rectangular tickets to the 1960 Indianapolis 500!! I barely had time to record this image in my mind when the phone rang.
The baritone voice was instantly familiar.
"Matt...It’s Dad."
By this time I was beyond questioning whatever was going on.
"Oh Daddy, it’s so good to hear from you." I cried.
"Daddy?" He laughed, "You haven’t called me that since you were eight years old."
"But you don’t understand...you...I...oh never mind.
"What’s the matter Matt, Julia and the kid driving you crazy?," he joked.
"Yeah," I let out a long slow breath, continuing to come to grips with an unbelievable situation, "Yeah, that’s it. A rough weekend."
"Did you get my package?" he asked.
"Wow, did I ever!" Are we really, finally going to go to Indy together."
"You got it pal, life’s too short. We’ve got to get this done." he said firmly.
Act II
The day before Memorial Day, 1960 finally arrived. I woke in the darkness of the early morning hours. As agreed with Julia, I got out of bed and readied myself as quietly as I could. Our 11 month old daughter, Carly was sleeping peacefully in her crib. I would successfully get my early start without disturbing them.
I saw the headlights of Dad’s car swing into the driveway, the distinctive overhead cam six cylinder purred smoothly. Dad was in the car I remembered most fondly from my youth, a 1960 Jaguar Mk II sedan. It gleamed under my garage spotlight, it’s chrome cat hood ornament looking poised and ready to leap out onto the open road .
I opened the passenger door and the interior light came on, revealing Dad’s grinning face, "You ready for this, pal?"
"More than you can ever imagine." I replied.
He backed out of the driveway and shifted the Jag into first. As we pulled way it was all coming back to me, the whine of the transmission, the smell of the leather seats, the classy wood instrument panel.
The twelve-hour trip to Indianapolis slipped by in what seemed an instant. It had been so long since we’d talked. He told me about how much he loved my mom, how he was so grateful that she had put up with him and stuck by him all those years. He spoke with melancholy about how me and my sisters had driven him crazy, made him lose most of his hair and that he was proud of us anyway.
Most of all he told me how proud he was of the day I’d finally gotten married. He congratulated me on what a good choice I had made in Julia, how much he reminded her of my mom. And of course what a proud grandpa I had made him at the birth of Carly.
His familiar voice combined with the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the pavement lulled me off to sleep, the last thing I remembered seeing was the dimly lit speedometer climbing to 85 as he shifted to overdrive.
"Should be there in no time at this rate..." I thought as I drifted off.
Act III
I shifted in my seat as we waited in the darkness. The leather interior of the Jag was nice, but after 12 hours my but had had all it could take. I moved every which way I could think of, but the pain just wouldn’t subside.
No matter though, we were sitting in a never ending line of cars waiting for the detonation of the dawn aerial bomb that would mark the opening of the gates to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. It was Memorial Day, 1960. As I’d heard Sid Collins say so often, it was race day in Indianapolis.
I took stock of where I was as the horizon started to glow over the massive grandstand. I was finally at Indianapolis with Dad. Year after year we had listed to the race on the radio, drawing a mental picture of what was happening fueled by Sid Collins’ distinctive voice coming over the kitchen radio. In later years we wore my mom out, listening to the race on the radio, then watching the tape-delayed telecast later in the evening.
All that exposure had made me want to see it so badly in person. Not just to see the race, but see it with my Dad. It was a yearly bonding experience that transcended all the bumps, bruises and pain that a father-son relationship endures through the years.
Now we were here, waiting with hundreds of thousands of others in the darkness – on the ultimate father-son adventure.
Suddenly, I was shaken from my reverie from an earth-shaking KA -BOOOOOOMM!! My Dad hit the ignition; it was time to go!
The ritual of heading for the admission gate of a racetrack with Dad was so familiar. If I bought the tickets, he bought the race program. This time it was my turn to buy the program.
We took our seats in the pitside grandstand just as the crews were rolling the big-old roadsters to the front stretch. They were brilliant flashes of color, each one seeming to be at top speed as the crews pushed them to the line at 3 mph – silver and white, cherry red –splashes of chrome – beautiful expressions of mechanical excellence.
Dad and I, we didn’t talk much for a while. The unfolding spectacle defied description anyway. The grandstand was sparsely populated when we’d first arrived. But now the as sun rose and grew in intensity in a huge, cloudless Indiana sky – it was beginning to fill up. You could literally feel a reverberation of human energy as 300,000 souls gathered together around the 2.5 mile oval.
My chest began to heave as the marching bands came by and the familiar pre-race traditions played out – culminating in the playing of taps. It reminded us of what Memorial day was all about. I glanced over and saw my Dad , an ex-Marine, (there are no ex-Marines) wiping a tear from his eye.
Then, Tony Hulman stepped to the mike and exhorted, "Gentlemen... Start yerENGINES!!" Accentuating each word with a raised hand that seemed to be turning an invisible key.
All those beautiful Offies growled to life, barking and popping – smoking and finally clearing as they rolled away. They disappeared to the backstretch side, but the mechanical roar was replaced by a human one. When they came past the grandstand on the first pace lap I stopped fighting it and let the tears flow...
Act IV
The race was a blur of color and excitement, culminating in a pass for the lead three laps from the end, the silver Ken-Paul Special of Jim Rathmann roaring into immortality.
As the Jag headed east, I couldn’t believe it was over already. Again, I began to fall asleep, but I distinctly remember Dad saying, "Son, I love you...you make me proud.."
Suddenly we hit a bump that shook me and I woke up. It was Julia shaking my shoulder.
"Have you been asleep in that chair all day?......