- The hungry house painterSam Moses | March 23, 1981
- Chinese finesse: unsound but oh so usefulCharles Goren | July 03, 1967
- THE FORGOTTEN HEROTim Layden | November 07, 2011
As the field lined up for the start of the 1926 Indianapolis 500, few in the Memorial Day crowd noticed a tense, 23-year-old rookie driver named Frank Lockhart far back in the seventh row. A week earlier Lockhart had taken his first ride around the track when he talked his way into a tryout in a Miller Special. His time was so impressive he was named an alternate, and when the regular driver became ill Lockhart took his place in the Miller.
Not much was expected of him—he had qualified 20th in a field of 28—and, to make matters worse, rain seemed imminent. Lockhart was told to take it easy, for a slippery track would be especially dangerous for a novice driver.
At the flag, however, he pushed the gas pedal to the floor and began one of the most sensational runs in the history of the 500. After 25 miles he moved into third place, by the 50-mile mark he was in second, and when Dave Lewis, the leader, went to the pits on lap 59 Lockhart roared into first.
It was drizzling by then, and after a car had spun into the wall most of the veteran drivers eased off. But Lockhart kept pushing. When the race was finally flagged at 400 miles because of the severe weather conditions, Lockhart was almost three laps ahead of his nearest rival. He was the first rookie ever to win the Indianapolis 500.
Lockhart was no rookie, though, when it came to dirt-track racing. He had been competing since his late teens, when he had built his own Ford hot rod from a rusted Model T chassis and blitzed his way around California's Ascot Speedway. Born in Dayton in 1903, Lockhart moved to California with his mother when he was 6. His father had died that year and Mrs. Lockhart took in sewing to support her children. At 8 Lockhart nailed together his own soapbox racer, and his racing career began.
A fretful, inattentive student who filled his school notebooks with drawings of engines and cars, Lockhart disliked the basics of education. Yet his genius for mechanical design was awesome, and he was known to memorize entire issues of Popular Mechanics. When he took the entrance exam at the California Institute of Technology, he startled the examiners. Nobel Physicist Robert Millikan phoned Frank's mother, informing Mrs. Lockhart that her son's scores were "among the highest in our experience." He told her: "Frank has the mind of a born scientist. Can't you find someone to back his education?"
Mrs. Lockhart could not, and the boy went to work as an auto mechanic. On weekends he raced at Ascot, gaining a reputation for near-suicidal nerve on the dirt. At 21 he married the only girl he had ever dated. Like her husband, she didn't smoke or drink.
After his startling win at Indianapolis, Lockhart accepted a generous offer from Designer Harry Miller. He was to be given a car to race for the 1927 season, and was to be accompanied by Ernie Olson, the crack mechanic who had helped him gain a seat at Indy.
It turned out to be a perfect combination. In one afternoon at Cleveland in 1927, Lockhart broke more than 100 records with his Miller Special. He almost won the 500 again, too. After earning the pole position with a 120-mph qualifying speed and leading for 300 miles, he was forced to quit, when a connecting rod broke. He became the second-fastest man on earth when he achieved a new class straightaway mark of 171.02 mph on a dry lake bed in the Mojave Desert. Newspapers referred to him as FRANK THE GIANT KILLER after this performance. Yet Lockhart was not satisfied.
He next approached Fred Moskovics, president of the Stutz Motor Company, and the businessman agreed to help finance a car that was to be called the Stutz Black Hawk. Lockhart then hired Zenas and John Weisel, two noted designers, and immediately began drafting plans for the car. It was to be small and streamlined, down to four teardrop wheel spats. It would house a pair of Miller straight-eight engines (giving more than 560 hp) compactly fitted into a single crankcase and would reach 100 mph in low, 200 in second and up to 300 in high. The land-speed mark then stood at 203.79 mph, set by Henry Segrave's immense 1,000-hp Sunbeam, which weighed 7,500 pounds compared to the Hawk's planned weight of 2,800.