Transcript from the radio broadcast of the 1932 Indianapolis 500, announced by Charlie Brockman and Graham McNamee.
Graham: Welcome back to live coverage of the Indianapolis 500, folks! We just passed the 300-mile mark a minute ago and I gotta tell you, Charlie, we have seen some spectacular stuff already.
Charlie: You’re right there, Graham. From the very beginning of this race, drivers and their mechanics have been throwing out all the tricks. We in the grandstands have seen the sheen of spent ghost rock and eldritch twinkles zipping from car to car, indicating either magic use or an off-brand form of technology.
G: Both of which are of course illegal in racing.
C: Yes, but with so little means to prove either, those are rules that are very difficult to enforce. I do have to point out one team that’s looking very strong, one that hasn’t slung out any attacks of their own, is the dark horse team of Endicott and Rawlins.
G: Couldn’t agree more, Charlie. I spoke with Henry Endicott a few days ago – did you know that before this he was a simple driver for a private citizen down in Louisiana before moving up here?
C: Amazing. To have gone from such humble beginnings to the greatest spectacle in racing in such a short time. The man has dreams. Dreams that could fall to pieces on the track if things don’t go just right for him. Speaking of crashes, I myself had the pleasure of speaking with the mechanic, Nickie Rawlins…
G: Uhh, Charlie…
C: … and the young man comes from a much less humble, but much more nefarious background. Our more cosmopolitan readers may have heard of the infamous Black Hand gang, a criminal empire that – did something catch fire, Graham?
G: I was just looking over at the pagoda, Charlie, and there seems to be a disturbance there. We’re going to take a momentary break from our raceday coverage to see if we can, wait-
[A crash followed by a grinding scream are heard from a distance]
C: What in the world?!?
G: Listeners, part of the third floor of the pagoda has just, just IMPLODED. It’s caved it, and we’re hearing something screaming, possibly an engine, Charlie what do you make of it?
C: I-I’ve heard th-this before. It’s… oh my god, it’s-
G: It sounds worse that the night of Christmas dinner when I was twelve, folks. My old man’d eaten three helpings of the roast, and all through the night he was in the lavatory. When he used words, they were prayers for death.
C: …Yes. That.