Word: schindlers
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Died. William ("Bronco Bill") Schindler, 43, auto racer and first (1940) president of the American Racing Drivers' Club; in a racing crash; in Allentown, Pa. Despite losing a leg in a 1936 speedway accident, Schindler continued racing, appeared at Indianapolis three times, twice (1948-49) won the national midget racing championship...
...Head. To clear things up, Pregel hired Manhattan's famed private detective Raymond Schindler to investigate him. Schindler found "there wasn't a blotch on him," but suggested that the Pregels might save themselves some trouble by turning over the management of the company to someone like Nelson. Nelson agreed to take over, provided the Pregels gave him voting control of their stock for two years...
Like most midget men, Schindler does not agree that the crowd's lust for blood is the basis of the sport's popularity. In fact, attendance has been known to drop after a fatal accident. Critics of the sport have overlooked its obvious, uncomplicated charms. It is fast, hotly competitive, requires skill and nerve and, like most crowd-pleasing American pastimes, involves lots of noise. When half a dozen cars whine down the straightaway inches apart and fling into a screeching slide around a curve, the drivers brush lightly against the wings of death...
Something for the Girls. "There'll always be risks, and there'll always be accidents, but we can cut out a lot of the harum-scarum stuff without spoiling the thrills," Schindler says. With the development of the brutish little Offenhauser motors, midgets today seldom hide under the cowl outboard motors or souped-up Ford engines. Modern midgets have hit as high as 142 m.p.h. on a straightaway. On the small tracks, the doodlebugs have a ceiling of about 75 m.p.h., since chauffeurs have to negotiate a new curve every four or five seconds...
First-rate men like Schindler can pull down $20,000 in purses in a May-October season, but 60% usually goes to a car owner. Cash, however, is not the chauffeurs' only reward: women of all ages go overboard for the midget sport. They keep scrapbooks, write fan letters, pester drivers for autographs, send them gifts of helmets, goggles, gloves. Once at Danbury, Conn., two elderly ladies bustled down from the grandstand, thumped crack Chauffeur Ted Tappett on the head with their handbags because he had beaten their favorite...