by Paul R. Spitzzeri
One of the early posts on this blog shared, from the Museum’s collection, several snapshot photographs from a 10 April 1921 auto race at the Los Angeles Speedway, though the post was brief and didn’t say much about the contest. It was mentioned that the venue, created by the Beverly Hills Speedway Association, was built a couple of years earlier and situated within an area now fringed by Lasky Drive on the west, Beverly Drive to the east, Olympic Boulevard on the south and Wilshire Boulevard to the north.
At one-and-a-quarter miles and fifty feet wide, the wood track had banks that were considered the best of their kind, as were guard rails, a heavy wire infield fence and a 40-foot safety zone that was said to be double the standard, while a top speed of 110 miles per hour was the intent (the record, set in 1924, was 117). The inaugural contest was on 28 February 1920 and the final race was just over four years later as the Speedway moved south to Culver City because Beverly Hills property values leapt so quickly that the original site was too valuable.
Another post, from this past February and highlighting a ticket from our holdings, looked at a combined national championship contest and air race held at the venue in late February 1921 and future posts (with tickets for parking also from the collection) will take a look at Thanksgiving races in 1920 and 1921.
Here, though, we revisit the April 1921 race, sharing more of those photos, but also taking a look at the advance publicity for the contest, as well as the event and its outcome. A notable part of the promotion was a series in the Los Angeles Express offering “confessions” a half-dozen drivers entered in the race. The first was from Tommy Milton (1893-1962), who related that he was 26 years old, a resident of St. Paul, Minnesota, and was married.
Milton admitted that he considered himself a hotshot at fairs in his home state as well as Iowa, along with motorcycle contests, which is where he started in racing and added he had “the finest of the two-wheel motors with all the trappings, furnished by an indulgent parent.” At one of the fairs in which he was entered, he found a barnstorming squad of auto races and ruefully observed that “Eddie Hearne was the champion of the outfit and the crowd forgot all about me.”
With that bit of humble pie consumed, Milton continued that “next day I joined the auto team and spent two years swallowing the dust most of the drivers kicked up,” while he was accepted as part of the Deusenberg racing team, despite the fact that its namesake owner, Fred Deusenberg, “witnessed a triple flip-flop I took at the state fair at St. Paul.” Apparently, the team leader “thought any fellow who could get away with such a bump was fate-proof.”
Ira Vail (1893-1972) penned the third of the series and, at 24 years, was the youngest of the combatants. Vail said he was from Brooklyn, though he was actually born in Montreal, Canada and raised in Syracuse, New York. He was to get married in a couple of weeks to a University of California student and told readers that he got into racing “to sidestep work” and that he “had not had a day of real leisure since my first race.”
Vail added that, like Milton and others, he began with motorcycle racing, though as an amateur, while building race cars while still in his teens, but he noted that he was out of his league in that department. The racer concluded his confession by saying he had two strategies—”one method is to outdrive my opponents” and the other “is to scare the rest of the other fellows to death if I can’t beat them.” The second didn’t work in the previous Speedway contest, so for the upcoming race, “I hope to have enough speed to lick them all.”
Roscoe Sarles told readers that he was 31, married just over a year “and still believe it’s the life,” while he also cited “diversion, dancing, if the music is jazzy enough.” He did not race motorcycles, but was an auto race promoter, but he added,
The drivers drew more money, or at least raced for more, than I took in at the gate, so I bought a racing car and drove in events I promoted. [I] stopped promoting because it was hard on the eyes. [I] could not stand the glare of light almost constantly reflected by the polished badges of the constables [police officers] who served attachment papers [seeking payment] for printers, billposters and others who were too trustful.
Sarles went on that he joined “the grand old man of the racing game, ‘Grandpa’ Louis Chevrolet,” the Swiss co-founder, in 1911, of the car brand, but who began racing cars around a half-dozen years before that. Sarles ended his feature with the witty remark that “if the other fellows show one-tenth the speed in the American championships at Beverly [Hills] on Sunday that their backers claim they will develop I will be last in each heat.”
Ralph De Palma, a native of Italy who used a late blazing burst of speed to capture the race in February and who was generally considered a favorite in contests at the Speedway, was the subject of a Los Angeles Times piece on the 6th that began with,
For the first time since the opening of the Los Angeles Speedway Ralph De Palma’s stock is sagging down to the point where it cannot truthfully be said that the famous Ballot driver is a strong favorite. If the low down be told on the situation, De Palma isn’t any kind of a choice over half a dozen of the other pilots to win at Beverly on Sunday.
It was asserted that other cars, made by Deusenberg, Durant and Revere all gained in speed, while De Palma’s Ballot made no adjustments to account for the improved competition. Moreover, the paper reported, “the failure of De Palma to show up for practice and the worried air of the famous pilot and his crew indicate trouble of some kind or other” and it added that the spurt at the end of the previous race to beat our Duesenbergs wasn’t likely to be repeated.
It may have been seen as a troubling omen when, the following day, De Palma was on a practice run and “flames burst from the hood and, fanned by a rush of air, made a spectacular blaze for an instant.” The driver quickly pulled over, leapt out and, with his assistant, put out the fire, which was caused by some burned wire connections.
The Times also reported that race referee Eddie Rickenbacker, who was an auto racer before he became a hero aviator during the First World War and then developed a new car bearing his name, while later owning the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, convened a meeting with the racers “and laid down the law in no unmistakable terms.” The account went on to note that,
Delivering first a speech on the subject of sportsmanship, Rickenbacker then said in plain words that there had been a lot of ugly talk regarding the ill feeling between the drivers, and that while he took little stock in it, he intended to watch closely on Sunday, and that the first suspicious bit of crowding would result in disqualification of the offending pilot.
The paper continued that De Palma was a favorite, in contradiction to what was said earlier in the article, along with Jimmy Murphy, who posted an excellent practice time and of whom it was said, “give Jimmy as much speed as the rest of them and he’ll give them the wildest rides of their young lives.” The assumption of the drivers and seasoned observers is that it would take a top speed of 110mph to capture the crown.
The Express of the 9th ran a headline of “Grudges, Glory, Gold Promise Thrills At Speedway,” with columnist Frederick Wagner opened his piece with,
Tuned to perfection in preparation for what promises to be the most bitterly contested races ever held on a western course nine of the swiftest racing creations in America are ready to be wheeled out . . . by nine daring pilots, each of whom is determined to risk all to capture first honors in the championship event.
It was added that a quartet of 25-mile heats would determine the final entrants for the 50-mile contest and that “it will be a case of leveling the accelerator to the floorboard and keeping it there all the way.” Not only was there $15,000 in cash to race for, but the added drama was that “there is no love lost among the various knights of the wheel.” As previously noted, La Palma was long considered the top racer, but enhancements to Deusenbergs were averred to “give them speed equal to the blinding pace of the Ballot—and then some.”
Wagner took the position that “there isn’t any such thing as a favorite . . . for almost any one of the nine possesses the skill, daring and speed to trim the field” and, as there were no contests scheduled until fall “and with $15,000 dangling in their faces there will be some nimble traveling to get the robust portion of the roll [of bills].” The journalist ended his piece by mentioning that “motion pictures of the races will be shown at the California theater as an exclusive feature of the Express Animated Events.”
Speaking of the movies, the Express was sure to inform readers that “Theatrical and Film Folk Will Promenade” at the races, as many prominent thespians “have taken boxes for the events, [and] will promenade in the run-way which is built in front of the boxes for that purpose.” In fact, two of the photos in the group featured here show portions of this area with the word “PROMENADE” painted on the inside of a board fence.
The paper commented that “this is a reminder of the famous Longchamps race track in Paris where the promenade of society and theatrical beauties is one of the features of the day.” Cited as likely to be found at the Speedway were “the famous prima donna,” Mary Garden, accompanied by an entourage, as well as such well-known figures as Cecil B. de Mille, “Hoot” Gibson, Jesse Lasky, Mary Miles Minter, Tom Mix, Alexander Pantages, Wallace Reid, Hal Roach, Ruth Roland, Larry Semon and Ruth Wilson.
The day of the race, the Times offered the banner headline of “PEEVISH SPEED DEMONS TANGLE IN SPRINT CARNIVAL THIS AFTERNOON” with the article headline reading “RACE KINGS TO SCORCH BEVERLY HILLS SAUCER” as columnist Leepson Bownes (there’s a remarkable non de plume) asserted that,
After the pick of America’s speedway drivers get through trying to run each other off the track in the course of the five races . . . some lone hard-riding chariot racer will be the real speed-king of American for 1921.
The writer observed that the format was the same as for the February contest and added that “everybody wants to win a first or second as quickly as possible so they can sit out and prepare for the final fifty-mile dash,” though the last of the heats meant that “the scramble is even more intense, because someone is going to be eliminated, and they all want to avoid that by qualifying for the final.”
As for the peevishness, “Bownes” commented that there were prior races in which some drivers “were sore at each other” and so the likelihood of “a battle royal” was such that the journalist asserted that the race could merely consist of putting the competitors “out on the track together with nothing faster than roller skates and give the cash patrons a wild run for their money.”
Apparently, the hard feelings came from the February race when De Palma pulled off the last-minute maneuver and Milton “grabbed the tow” to take second, which left Fred Deusenberg “peeved” and brought “a gradual growth of ill feeling among the drivers, until it is an actual fact that about half of them are not even on speaking terms.” The writer continued that Jimmy Murphy was handed Deusenberg’s fastest car, which left teammate Eddie Pullen unhappy because he assumed he was to be driving that entry.
Also noteworthy that recently retired (as of 1918) racing legend Barney Oldfield pulled out of being the referee as he “simply announced that the feeling between the pilot made a situation that was entirely too hot for him to handle.” This is why the Speedway’s officials turned to Rickenbacker to take the job on and, consequently, why he lectured the drivers as he did, so “Bownes” remarked that “Rick ought to be able to rule with a firm hand.”
In its summary of the contest, the Times reported that Murphy set a 50-mile record by roaring through the race at an average speed of just over 109 mph, besting the prior high by Sarles by nearly two miles per hour. Remarkably, the winner did poorly in the first two heats and sat out the third before he replaced the motor block head and he barely bested Sarles in the fourth heat before placing far ahead of the others in the last.
Yet, De Palma won the first heat, but, in the final, after reaching an average of 112.5 mph at one point, his car again caught fire. He was able to stop and his mechanics worked furiously so that there was “a little fast work and he was under way again, but in sixth place instead of first and sixteen laps behind the leader.” With this bit of luck, Murphy took the flag, about a quarter lap ahead of Sarles and nearly a full lap ahead of Pullen, so the Deusenberg team took the top three spots.
Also on the program was a motorcycle race between three competitors going five miles and with the unnamed winner achieving about 104.5 mph, while “several of our numerous half-witted aviators kept the crowd pop-eyed previous to the races and during the competition by pulling stunts of one kind and another over the field.” One flyer in particular performed in such a way that “had all the undertakers present tickled to death,” but it was concluded that “not a single accident of any kind marred the afternoon.”
As noted at the outset of this post, we’ll cover more Los Angeles Speedway events at Thanksgiving regarding races during that holiday in 1920, so check back with us for that installment of our “Games People Play” series on regional sports history.