Bobby Allison and his heavy Chevy won the second 125-miler. It was a race unmarred by accidents or yellow flags. Foyt, who offered the only strong challenge during the 50 laps, had a leaky right-front tire—so he said afterward—but was able to stay close, hang tough, psych the opposition and still sit in the front row of the big race. Petty parked with a weary fuel pump and Buddy Baker with a busted cylinder, so Granatelli's dynamic duo was relegated to the 16th row on the grid for the 500—a long way back to be considered a challenge.
Allison delivered a somber and impromptu eulogy for Friday Hassler after the heats had cooled: "Friday was a personal friend of mine since 1959. All these years in racing—it broke my heart. But all I could do was hurt for him." He paused, thinking perhaps of the unspoken question: How do you go out and race after your friend has been killed in the race just previous? "We all know the risks and we have to do it—that's the only way I know how to say it. All I could do was hurt for him."
Race day proved disappointing to any number of people, among them Cornelia Wallace. A virus—might one call it Asian flu?—zonked her on the eve of the big day, and she retired to a hospital bed in Montgomery. Young Bill France drove the pace car in Cornelia's stead, cheered on by both his dad and his dad's presidential candidate.
With the green flag it became evident that Foyt had the most horses. He blew past Isaac with ease, then diced briefly with Allison before establishing his supremacy. The early going was most memorable for the hard charging of Petty and Baker. Starting from their positions far back on the grid, the Day-Glo duo blasted to the fourth and fifth positions within the first four laps. Then on the 19th lap Baker tangled with a Ford driven by rookie Walter Ballard, who lost it in the high banks of Turn Four, flipped onto his roof and skidded a full quarter of a mile while Buddy spun, bent and finished but unhurt, into the infield. During the ensuing caution period, Donohue quietly retired his uncompetitive Matador with a broken pushrod. Oh, well, you're still a good man, Charlie Brown.
Then came the most exciting part of the race, a tit-for-tat duel between Foyt and Petty, with each man seeming to toy with the other while exchanging the lead. By this time Allison was out of contention with a rock through his windshield. The NASCAR-oriented crowd of nearly 100,000 cheered Petty on, but a sense of gloom set in when it became clear that Foyt was merely stringing Richard along. Then, well before the halfway mark, Petty popped a valve spring. Streaming smoke, he wheeled behind the wall to join Isaac, who had retired earlier with ignition trouble. They were followed soon afterward by everybody's wacky favorite, Coo Coo Marlin. Two more minor yellows permitted Foyt to renew his rubber and cement his dominance.
By the time Super Tex took the checkered flag, and the lion's share of the $183,700 in prize money, he had reassured the racing world that Anthony Joseph Foyt Jr. of Houston, Texas is still America's No. 1 hot dog.