Longform

"Okay, what are we doing here?" shouts conservative pundit Tom Rose as his three boys and several dinner guests pull up chairs for a Friday-evening meal at his northside home.

Five miles east of Monument Circle, on the far edge of Irvington, the railroad runs past factories and warehouses and a tiny asphalt racetrack. There is no infield, just a rubber-streaked oval two-tenths of a mile in circumference, little bigger than a hockey rink, surrounded by a wire fence and grandstands of bleachers and folding metal chairs. During the week, the Indianapolis Speedrome stands as empty as many of the abandoned buildings on the industrial east side. But every summer Saturday night, the place comes alive with beer-swilling fans who’ve paid $11 to watch four  hours of action, semi-pro drivers trading paint in everything from go-karts to jalopies, all of it just prelude to the mayhem that is the main event, a little-known battle royale of bent metal that may just be auto racing’s truest spectacle: the Figure 8.

Danny Tunks was a blue-collar guy from Indiana, accused of killing a reputed mobster and facing a heap of evidence and life in prison. He was in serious, serious trouble. Then ...

With a catchy slogan and a strong work ethic, Rich Burd built one of the city’s largest car dealerships. But after the economy wrecked the auto industry, Rich felt he had only one way to turn.

The boss thinks Friday is a workday. And maybe it is for the rest of those poor folks back at the office. But when the days are sunny, the nights are warm, and the water’s just right, two-day weekends hardly seem long enough. So we hereby declare Friday workdays to be optional. And by “optional” we mean we won’t be showing up at all. Join us, won’t you?

His car owner, Howard Marmon, however, was having a different sort of evening.