BLOODY JACK Chapter Eighteen

I guess the kindest thing I can say about 36 year old Dr. Fredrick William Blackwell, is that he was awakened from a dead sleep by his assistant Edward Johnson not ten minutes before he examined the body outside the International Workers Educational Institute. By his own watch Dr. Blackwell arrived at the scene at 1:16 a.m., Sunday, 30 September, 1888. And he immediately went to work. But Adrenalin can only get you so far, and I fear Dr. Blackwell was pushed faster and farther than he should have been. 

He immediately recognized that the victim was dead – her head had been “nearly severed from her body” - and that she had been killed recently – by his first estimate “not more than 20 minutes” earlier, although he gets points for hedging that to up to 30 minutes to match the witness testimony. But that very night Dr. Blackwell also felt compelled to tell The London Star, “...it does not follow that the murderer would be be spattered with blood, for, as he is sufficiently cunning in other things, he could contrive to avoid coming in contact with the blood..."

So, from almost the instant the woman's body on Berner Street was found, it was assumed she was another victim of the clever madman responsible for the previous murders of Martha Tabem, Polly Nichols and Annie Chapman. But the good doctor assumed a great deal more than that. He also told the Star, “The woman did not appear to be a Jewess, but more like an Irishwoman”  In fact her birth name was Elizabeth Gustafsdotter – she was Swedish – and had been known in London for twenty years as Elizabeth Stride (above). So much for racial profiling.

Dr. Blackwell's description of her wounds was interesting. “In the neck,” he told the inquest on Monday, “there was a long incision...(which) commenced on the left side, 2 inches below the angle of the jaw...nearly severing the vessels on that side, cutting the wind pipe...completely in two, and terminating on the opposite side 1 inch below the angle of the right jaw, but without severing the vessels on that side.” There were no wounds below the shoulders. By separating the windpipe, the killer silenced Elizabeth. By cutting only one side of her jugular veins and arteries he produced unconsciousness in 1- 3 minutes, with death shortly there after.  But even that was longer than the agony of previous victims.

So Liz Stride's neck had been cut from right to left in one stroke – not two - indicating the killer was either right handed or had attacked Elizabeth from behind. All three of those points strongly hint that Liz Stride had not been killed by the same man who had murdered the previous three women, who was probably left handed, and cut the throat twice.. And this murder was committed outside a social club with two dozen people inside, and less than fifty feet from the small “The Lord Nelson” public house at 46 Berner Street, with people still coming and going to and from all three establishments. The victim on the unlit stairwell in Georg's Yard, the victim shielded by the fence of 29 Hanbury Street, and the dead woman left on the dark stretch of Buck's Row were all isolated. The first goal of con men and premeditated killers is to isolate their target. Liz Stride was not isolated.

But what truly defines a victim of Jack the Ripper was his method for killing. To quote from the “Case Book” – http://www.casebook.org/intro.html, - “The Whitechapel murderer and his victim stood facing each other. When she lifted her skirts, the...Ripper seized the women by their throats and strangled them until they were unconscious if not dead....The Ripper then lowered his victims...He cut the throats when the women were on the ground...The Ripper then committed the mutilations.” The first step, manual strangulation takes no more than 10 seconds to produce unconsciousness and silence. If the throat is not cut the victim recovers in a few moments. So the victims were chocked to render them compliant. Once on the ground they were then murdered, allowing the killer to feel safe before releasing his pent up rage on the reproductive organs. But, as the casebook points out, “No sign of intercourse was ever detected.”

There should have been lots of questions about who had murdered this woman And about ten minutes after Dr. Blackwell arrived on the scene, there was a brief ray of hope. Detective Inspector Edmund Reid (above), the man who had investigated Martha Tabem's death,  was back from vacation and he arrived on the scene about 1:30 a.m. 

This time the body stayed right where it was, until Dr. George Bagster Phillips (above),  the Whitechapel Division Police Surgeon, arrived 15 minutes later. At last a doctor could compare a previous victim's condition and wounds with the latest victim's.

Inspector Reid was already interviewing the 28 people in the Educational Institute. Each had to give their name and address, a full account of what and who they saw that night, and a rough time line for the evening. And they were all forced to turn out their pockets. Houses on both sides of Berner Street were searched. All the residents were interviewed. This took time, and it was not until about 4:30 a.m. that Inspector Reid returned to Duitfield's Yard.

By now a large moribund crowd had gathered outside the closed gates, talking about the murders, inventing and spreading rumors. They were forced to part so the ambulance cart carrying the body could be wheeled away. Dr. Phillips had already left, and about 5:00 a.m, Inspector Reid  returned to the Leman Street station, to begin writing up his report. It was about 5:30 that morning, when PC Collins oversaw the washing down of the murder scene. All the blood spatter was scrubbed off the walls and the pooled blood was washed into the gutter, along with anything the victim and killer might have dropped. So much for hope.

This time the body did not go to the Montague Street mortuary, to be “mishandled” by the Workhouse inmates. Instead the as yet unidentified body was loaded on a police ambulance cart and pushed south to...

...the Ratcliff Street Chapel and Mortuary in the south east corner behind the the Baroque St. George in the East Church (above), on Cannon Street south of Cable Street in Wapping   Just two blocks north of the Tobacco Docks, the “chapel and mortuary” was a small utilitarian brick building, built in 1876, to give the working poor a choice over keeping the decaying corpse of a deceased loved one at home - usually in one of those 8' by 8' rooms – until they could afford a grave and funeral.

Because of the public fear of grave-robbers, these chapel mortuaries were under-used. And in truth, before refrigeration, they had no better facilities than the Montague Street mortuary. But the workhouse inmates were convenient scapegoats for the officials' failure to catch the murderer. And the events on that Sunday morning, 30 September, 1888, on Berner Street, and in the dark corners of Mitre Square 45 minutes later, would increase the pressure on the police and the doctors who worked with them.

It was respected Police Constable Edward Watkins who discovered the second horror of that night. He was a 17 year veteran of the London Police Force – separate from the Metropolitan force, so the government would always have direct authority over the governmental and banking centers. The City of London ended where the city walls once stood, and Constable Watkin's beat was near the eastern edge, within sight at Aldgate. 

He started in Duke Street (above, left) where it joined St. James Place, aka Gowers Walk. Walking at the prescribed 2 ½ miles an hour he headed through Heneage Lane to Bury Street, Creechurch Lane, down Leadenhall Street to Mitre Street and Mitre Square, then to King Street to Gowers Street back to Duke Street. Each round was carefully timed out and took 14 to 16 minutes to complete.

Just about 1:45 that chilly Sunday morning, PC Watkins entered the “small and dirty” cobblestone Mitre Square for the 15^th time that night. The square had only two gas lights (X's above) -  and one of of those weak And it had two exits.

 On the north west corner of the square (above), between two Kearley and Tongue warehouses, was  a narrow covered passage to St. James Place and King Street.  

The second exit was Church Lane,  on the northeastern corner of Mitre Square, between the Horner and Company warehouse and a larger K and T warehouse. Church Lane connected with Duke Street, next to the Great Synagogue.. 

Because those two corners had lights, Constable Watkins entered the square (above) and turned right, into the darkest corner of Mitre Square. 

He walked east past the rear of a framing  shop and three abandoned buildings (above)

He was now facing the closed wooden gate of Heydemann & Company warehouse, the darkest corner of the square, and it was here that his bulls eye lantern threw its light upon the body of a woman lying on her back, where the curb met the cobbles. And she had not been there 15 minutes earlier, when Constable Watkins last stood here.

“The clothes were pushed up to her breast, and the stomach was laid bare,” Watkins testified, “with a dreadful gash from the pit of the stomach to the breast. 

"On examining the body I found the entrails cut and laid around the throat, which had an awful gash in it, extending ear to ear. In fact the head was nearly severed from the body. Blood was everywhere to be seen." 

And there was something new, a new injury. "It was difficult to discern the injuries to the face for the quantity of blood which covered it...the murderer had inserted the knife just under the left eye, and drawing it under it under the nose, cut the nose completely from the face, at the same time inflicting a dreadful gash down the right cheek to the angle of the jawbone. The nose was laid over on the cheek. A more dreadful sight I never saw. It quite knocked me over.”

And this barbarous murder did the same thing to entire city of London.

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THE FIRST DAY Chapter Eighteen

I would call it an ominous beginning. Under a cold drizzle in the predawn darkness of Wednesday, 1 July, 1863, the 7,000 veterans of 38 year old Major General Henry Heth's - pronounced “Heath” - division were roused from an uneasy sleep along the Chanbersburg Pike. The men in the ranks knew the enemy was nearby. They expected that some of them would be dead by noon, and that more would suffer the limited skills of the surgeons But who among their ranks would bleed this day, and which of them were witnessing their last sunrise they could not know. Still, they rose and ate their rude breakfasts, packed their meager belongings and formed up for the 7 mile march to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. They were brave men fighting for an evil cause.

The day before, Tuesday 30 June, 1863, the 1^st brigade under 35 year old Brigadier General James Johnson Pettigrew  (above) had spotted blue clad cavalry just entering the town. Following General Lee's orders to “Avoid all contact with the enemy until the entire army has arrived”, Pettigrew immediately withdrew back to Cashtown and reported the Yankee's presence. 

Pettigrew suspected the Yankee horsemen were regulars. But his commander, the ambitious and charming Henry Heth (above), did not believe him. The story Heth later told was that his Corps commander, Lieutenant General A.P. Hill, had assured him, “ The only force at Gettysburg is cavalry...the enemy are still (in Maryland)...and have not yet struck their tents.” In response General Heth claimed to have said, “Then, if there is no objection, I will take my division tomorrow and go to Gettysburg and get those shoes...Hill replied, “None in the world.”

This myth did not appear until 25 years after the war, in an article written by Heth. It was not so much a lie as a storyteller's invention, like Helen of Troy. There were no shoes in Gettysburg. Jubal Early's division had marched through Gettysburg the week before, Jenkin's cavalry too. They had stripped the town's businesses of most everything of use. And no one even mentioned shoes and Gettysburg in the same sentence until Henry Heth, a quarter of a century later. No veteran in the Army of Northern Virginia marched 140 miles into Pennsylvania on bare feet. We might as well believe they marched into battle already wounded. We have no photo's of either prisoners or war dead (above) without shoes. A soldier may want newer, better fitting shoes, but the barefoot rebel is a myth created to justify Henry Heth ignoring orders to “avoid all contact”. And the myth does a disservice to the men who followed Henry Heth down that road.

The truth was that Henry Heth was one of Lee's favorites, the only staff officer the aristocratic Lee ever called by his first name. Having served Lee's early in the war, Heth had been transferred to East Tennesee for a year, where he proved himself a brave field commander. Returning to the Army of Northern Virginia in the spring of 1863, Heth's aggressiveness, almost to the point of insubordination, mirrored his mentor's nature, and endeared him to General Lee. 

That Wednesday morning, A.P. Hill ordered a 2 division “reconnaissance in force”, and Heth volunteered his division to lead the march. And the unit General Heth picked for point was the 1,200 man brigade – 3 Tennessee and 2 Alabama regiments - commanded by his “Little Gamecock” - the 45 year old irascible Marylander Brigadier General James Jay Archer (above).

Second in line was the 2,000 man brigade – 3 Mississippi and 2 North Carolina regiments – under Brigadier General Joseph Robert Davis. Then came the understrength 2^nd Brigade of 4 Virginia regiments, about 800 men under 33 year old Colonel John Brockenbrough. And finally, punished by being regulated to the rear of Heth's division, was the largest brigade in the entire Confederate Army, the 2,500 men - in 4 North Carolina regiments – under the scholar and plantation owner, Brigadier General James Pettigrew. With his weight in his tail, it appears General Heth anticipated brushing aside the militia cavalry like annoying flies. Taking to the Chambersburg turnpike (above)  about 2 hours behind Archer's brigade were the 6,700 man North Carolina division under 29 year old strict disciplinarian, Major General William Dorsey Pender.

Stepping off at about 6:00am, Archer's brigade moved at a route march – about 2 miles an hour - down the slope from Cashtown Pass toward Gettysburg. About 4 miles west of town – making it about 7:30am - the first shot was fired from atop Herr Ridge at the First Tennessee brigade, perhaps even at 25 year old Major

Felix Grundy Buchanan. He threw his 281 men into a skirmish line along the road. But the outnumbered enemy pickets, armed with faster firing carbines, held their ground. So Heth was forced to throw his division into a line of battle on both sides of the Chambersburg Pike. But that took time.

First each regiment of Archer's 1,200 man brigade had to march in column to the head of the line of march. Then they “wheeled column left march” into the open ground south of the Pike. Each regiment then “double left oblique (marched) until they reached their position in the line of battle, when they FRONT, shouldering arms and dressing up...” And as soon as Archer's brigade had cleared the road, Davis' 2,000 man brigade had to do the same on the north side of the Chambersburg Pike. These were largely veterans, who had spent endless hours drilling these very maneuvers, but still it took time. And with the road finally cleared, Brockenbrough's half sized brigade came forward to occupy the center of the position

The push up Herr Ridge finally began shortly after 8:00 that misty Wednesday morning. And with the advance of 3,000 men, the blue clad skirmishers grudgingly began to fall back – but not before their skill and tenacity convinced the rebels that these were not militia, but Federal regulars. Major General Heth remained unconvinced, but he used posession of Herr Ridge to spread Lieutenant Colonel John Garnett's 4 batteries of artillery along the high ground to provide support for his men, as they decended the steep eastern face of the ridge into the tangle of wood along Willoughby Run.

The first shot from Garnett's guns brought accurate return shots from Federal cannon. This caused the advance to pause. Frustrated, Heth ordered his two brigades to push across the creek and up the next slope – McPherson's Ridge. This order brought General Archer to seek out his superior on the battlefield, where Heth's “Gamecock” urged caution. Might it not be better to bring forward Pettigrew's large brigade, to extend his line, before Archer or Davis sent their troops across the creek? The weight of Lee's orders to “Avoid all contact” could be felt in Archer's hesitancy.

But Heth's temper was now up. This was taking too much time. He was still convoinced what he faced was militia. The Federal Army was still camped in Maryland, and not within a 2 day march from this place. And every suggestion he was mistaken, made him angrier. The delay was uncessecary, uncalled for, unacceptable. General Heth ordered Archer and Davis to not only cross Willoughby Run and the valley, but capture the crest of McPherson's ridge as well.

Henry Heth would write in his after action report, “It may not be improper to remark that at this time--9 o'clock on the morning of July 1--I was ignorant what force was at or near Gettysburg, and supposed it consisted of cavalry, most probably supported by a brigade or two of infantry. On reaching the summit of the second ridge of hills west of Gettysburg, it became evident that there were infantry, cavalry, and artillery in and around the town. A few shots from...Marye's battery) scattered the cavalry vedettes...”  In point of fact, it did not. No Federal cavalry pickets (vedettes) anywhere on the Gettysburg battlefield scattered. They all withdrew as the trained, veteran soldiers they were.

Three miles to the east, in the high cupola of the Lutheran Theological Seminary, Brigadier General John Buford was watching the battle at Herr and McPherson ridges develop just as he had intended. In his after action report he wrote that “Colonel (William) Gamble made an admirable line of battle....we having the advantage of position, he (Heth) of numbers. The First Brigade held its own for more than two hours, and had to be literally dragged back a few hundred yards to a position more secure and better sheltered.” At which point, Buford orderd his Second Battalion under Colonel Thomas Casimer Devin, to extend the battle line along the east side of Willoughby Run.

Buford knew he could not stop a rebel infantry division. And he knew that he was asking his men to sacrifice their bodies and their lives by standing in Heth's way this morning. But he knew it was worth the sacrifice because he knew, close behind him, was the First Crops of the Army of the Potomac, under Major General John Reynolds. And because the position Buford was defending by resisting at Herr Ridge was not Herr ridge, nor McPherson Ridge, nor even Seminary Ridge. The position Buford was defending at Herr Ridge was 4 miles to the west - the higher Cemetary Ridge.

Just after 9:00am, Wednesday 1 July, The Federal commanders knew the ground they were asking their men to defend. The rebel officers, like Henry Heth, had at best a hazy idea of the ground they were asking their men to die for.

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GOING IN CIRCLES

I doubt any critics will be surprised that on Thursday, 27 August, 1909 - opening day for the industrial test tack called the Indianapolis Motor Speedway -  two men were killed. The day began with Barney Oldfield setting a closed track speed record, covering a measured mile on the crushed stone and tar and water soaked  surface in 43 1/5 seconds – 84 miles per hour. And then Louis Chevrolet ran 4 laps (10 miles) around the 2 ½ mile oval in 8 minutes and 56 seconds – 67 miles per hour - another world speed record. But the centerpiece of the opening day was sponsored by a company that made natural gas lamps for automobiles, the “Prest-O-Lite 250 mile, $1,500 Trophy” race.

Even though there were only nine cars entered, the track surface quickly began to come apart. Arthur Chevrolet, driving a Buick, was lapping the field when, on lap 52, a stone kicked up by a slower car hit his goggles, driving glass fragments into his eye. Somehow he safely pulled off the track. Six laps later driver Wilfrid “Billy” Bourque, was warned by his riding mechanic Harry Holcombe of a car coming up from behind. While barreling down the main stretch at over 75 miles an hour, Wildrid looked over his shoulder, thus not seeing a deep rut torn in the surface just in front of the start/finish line.

The big steering wheel was jerked to the left, sending the car careening through a fence and slamming into the embankment of a drainage ditch. Following the laws of the conservation of energy, the back end of the car kept trying to continue at speed, lifting up to overcome the obstacle,  flipping the car upside down and catapulting the unrestrained passengers out of the cockpit. Harry Holcomb was hurled into a fence post, breaking both his arms, several of his ribs and smashing his skull. He died instantly. With a death grip on the over sized steering wheel Wilfrid "William" Bourque, stayed with the  2,300 pound car longer, slamming into the earth closer to the upended car.  Doctors found both of his legs were broken, one lung was punctured by broken ribs and his skull also fractured. He died without ever regaining consciousness. The Marion County coroner John J. Blackwell blamed the condition of the race track for the deaths.

But principle owner/promoter Carl Fisher (above), who was also an Indianapolis auto maker, insisted the track was safe. And Friday's races were held without incident. Then, on Saturday, 29 August, in front of more then 35,000 fans, the crushed stone track came apart again. This time a racer went off the track and plowed into the crowd. Again a riding mechanic was killed, this time along with two spectators, Homer Joliff, and James West. When another race car smashed into supports for a pedestrian bridge over the main stretch, the race was halted 65 laps short. Critics started calling the speedway “Fisher's Folly”.

But Carl was no fool. He canceled races set for October, and instead replaced the entire surface with 3,200,000 ten pound paving bricks. Guardrails were also installed on all four turns. “The Brickyard” was thus born, as was the myth that tragedies at the track immediately inspired new safety improvements. The first “Memorial Day 500 mile Sweepstakes” was held on Saturday, 27 May, 1911, and was won by Ray Harroun with his riding mechanic replaced by a rear view mirror, so Harroun would not have to turn his head to look for overtaking traffic. But in fact, Harroun's innovation inspired a rule requiring all cars to carry riding mechanics, which was not lifted until 1936, after another unlucky 13 riding mechanics had been killed at the track

Between the first tragic event in 1909 and 1950, 36 drivers and riding mechanics, two track workers and five spectators were killed at the Indianapolis Speedway, including 12 year old Wilbur Brink (above), who died while sitting in his own front yard at 2316 Georgetown Road . On Memorial Day, 1931 a rear wheel broke off a race car and came careening across the street, crushing the boy. It would be 1999 before wheel tethers would be required on all Indy cars to prevent that from happening again, or at lest make it less likely.

But who were these men who risked their lives to drive in circles in 1950?  Over half of the drivers who started the 1950 Indy 500 would die in racing accidents. The risks seem obvious today, because they still drove without seat belts (not required until 1956) roll bars (1959) or minimum standards for helmets (1960).  But to that generation of drivers, the dangers were accepted.  Almost without exception, they raced not because they loved speed, although they might. They raced because they were good at it, because if you won it paid better than an hourly wage, and even if you lost, it did not involve a much greater risk than construction or farming in the days before work place safety regulations.

In 1950 what may have been the most naturally talented driver who would ever race in Indianapolis  arrived at the track from California. His name was William “Bill” Vukovich; or to the press “The Mad Russian” or more accurately "The Silent Serb". His few friends just called him "Vuky". He was by all the accounts of those who saw him and who raced against him, the greatest natural driver they had ever seen. His father had been a carpenter who, on 13 December, 1923, had shot himself - on Bill’s 14th birthday. Vuky had to drop out of school to support his mother and his five brothers and six sisters. He began racing hot rods on the weekends, because he earned up to $15 for winning a race.

It was a cut throat competition. If Vuky didn’t win, his family might not eat. Vuky warned his older brother, when he took up the sport, “Don’t tangle with me. On the track you are just another driver.” By his 18th birthday Vuky was winning races regularly. And despite burns on his hands, broken shoulders, cracked ribs and a broken collar bone, all suffered in accidents, he was now earning up to $50 a week, at a time when the highest paid union workers (typesetters) were making $75 a week. 

To the local press, he became “The Fresno Flash”. Vuky didn’t smoke or drink and he stayed in shape by running daily.  All he cared bout was winning races. He was, in the words of one competitor, “…the epitome of excellence in motion”. And daring.  In one race Vuky so frightened his riding mechanic, the man could not stop screaming.  Finally, while the car was airborne yet again, Vuky took his hands off the wheel and told his complaining companion, “Okay, you drive it.” After the race the mechanic retired. But Vuky won that race. It was the age of “iron men in steel cars”, when trauma and fear were things to be endured but not talked about because nothing could be done to mitigate them. And the shy, quiet Yugoslavian with the lead foot seemed to fit that image.

Vuky couldn't get a ride on his first trip to Indianapolis in 1950, despite being the National midget car champion. But in the 1951 race, Vuky started in the 20th position and 15 laps later he was running 10th. Fifteen laps after that he was out of race with a broken oil tank. But for his 29th place finish, Vuky earned $750. And he earned respect. The next year he was hired to replace three time 500 winner Mauri Rose, who was retiring. With a competitive car under his hands, Vuky was leading the 1952 race when a steering pin broke with just 8 laps to go, sending him into a wall. He finished 17th.

In 1953, Vuky led 195 out of 200 laps and survived scorching temperatures (130 degrees Fahrenheit on the track, which caused one driver to die of heat prostration). And he won his first Indy 500 by 3 ½ minutes over the second place car of Art Cross .

 Vuky's purse was $89,496.00 (the equivalent of $760,000 today). And there can be no doubt, he won the race because of his skill. his physical conditioning, and because of his determination. 

But neither can there be any doubt, the victory and the effort were draining his body and mind. He was still running, still trying to prove himself worthy to a father who left.

The next year, 1954, Vuky won again, becoming only the third driver in history to win back-to-back 500’s. Roger Ward, who would go on to win two 500s himself, said that “Bill Vukovich was probably the greatest actual driver we have ever known…”. Vuky’s formula for success remained simple. "The only way to win here is to keep your foot on the throttle and turn left." The money was important, because Vuky had two growing children to support.

At the start of the 1955 race Vuky (above, left) and Jack McGrath (above, right) dueled through gusty winds for the lead. But Vuky took first place on lap 26 and never gave it up. By lap 48 he was leading McGrath by 10 seconds and had a full lap lead over 26 of the 33 other cars in the field. Then on lap 54 Jack McGrath dropped out with mechanical problems. Vuky seemed to be well on his way to an historic three straight Indy 500 wins.

Then, on lap 57 Vuky swept out of Turn Two and started down the 5/8 of a mile long back stretch. Just in front of him were the slower cars of Roger Ward,  NASCAR driver Al Keller and rookie Johnny Boyd. Vuky was approaching a window for a pit stop and he took the opportunity to glance down at his rear tires (the drive wheels) to check for wear. That may have been a fatal mistake, because suddenly things began to happen with lightening speed. A guest of wind had hit Ward’s car just as it came off the 14 degree banking of the second turn. This shoved him into the outside wall (above, smoke). No one caused it. It was a racing accident. 

Ward's car bounced off the wall sideways. The edge of both left side tires caught on the bricks, and his car flipped twice (above, right).  Keller steered left, away from of Ward’s car (above left).

Roger Ward' car landed right side up in the middle of the track (above center). Meanwhile, Keller (above left), trying to avoid spinning out on the infield  grass, turned his steering wheel to the right, back onto the tack. But he over corrected.

Keller clipped Al Boyd’s car, sending it in front of Vuky 's number 14.  In that instant, and just for that instant, the track was completely blocked. Nobody was to blame. It was the classic “racing accident”. Vuky’s left front tire struck Boyd’s spinning right front tire. The moving surface catapulted Vuky's car into the air. (above, right) at over 130 miles an hour.

 Vuky's car just cleared the low outside wall, and then came down nose first, the heavy engine driving itself into the pavement of the service road (above, center). Again, conservation of momentum drove the rear of Vuky's car forward, sending it head over tail, flipping down the service road. On that first flip, Vuky's head clipped the bottom of the pedestrian bridge (above, background) stretching over the backstretch, almost decapitating him. 

Having passed under the bridge, Vuky's car was now cartwheeling down the service road outside the wall. 

The nose of the roadster slammed into the hood of a parked car, tore across the hood of a red pickup truck (above)....

...and then crashed onto the top of a jeep, occupied by two national Guardsmen. 

Vuky’s car then flipped once more, before slamming into the ground  upside down (above, center), 400 feet  (2 city blocks) from where it had sailed over the fence at 130 miles an hour. Fire broke out from the ruptured fuel tank within seconds.

A friend of Vuky’s from Fresno, Ed “Smokey” Elisian, came out of the number two turn just after Vuky went over the wall. Sensing what had happened, he slid to a halt on the infield grass and then ran across the track (above, in white, center) almost being struck by another racer, desperate to reach his friend. 

He and others tried to lift the car to pull Vuky out, but the flames drove the would-be rescuers back. Ed Elisian kept repeating, “I’ve got to get him out.” But it was twenty minutes before fire equipment arrived (there were no fire engines stationed on the outside the track) and the car was finally cool enough to be tipped over to pull Vuky’s lifeless body out of the wreckage.

Looking at the car after the crash (above), it is difficult to believe a man died in it. The car remained largely intact, except for the cutting made to allow removal of Vuky's body. All of the violence of the impact had been transferred directly to the driver.

The fear and horror was that Vuky had died in the fire, burning alive while trapped under his car, trying to claw his way out (above). But the autopsy showed he had died before the fire ever broke out, from a basal skull fracture suffered while flipping under the pedestrian bridge. That obstruction would be removed the next year, in 1956, and replaced by a tunnel.

Bill Vukovich has a record never equaled at the Indianapolis Speedway, and one that may never be matched.  Now only did he lead the most laps for three years in a row, but he led 72% of all the laps he ran in competition at the Indianapolis Speedway. Could he have won three in a row? When asked, Vuky was pragmatic: "I plan on driving a couple of more years here anyway. And a guy can keep on winning here. He's got to have luck, sure, and the right combination. But it's not impossible. Nothing is impossible."   There was no second place for Bill Vukovich. And that is still true. He is buried in his home town of Fresno, California.

Details of the crash have been exhaustively researched by Rex Dean, whose web site offers a comprehensive and well written forensic account of Vuky’s final accident. The death toll at the speedway now totals 66, the last car driver killed being Tony Renna, who died in October 2003, in a crash during tire testing. The attendance on race day now exceeds 300,000 people. The average speed for the 33 racers for the 2015 Indy field was 223 miles per hour, and the winner covered the 500 miles in 3 hours and 5 minutes. Safely

Impressive, for a track designed in 1908, for cars averaging 90 miles per hour, in which safety was less of a concern than pushing the car to the breaking point of its parts. The human spirit, its courage and traumas, has survived the test track called the Indianapolis Speedway  for over a century.  But the cost has been high.

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