The Americans were hell-bent on revenge. They were still smarting from the previous year when Jim Clark had the effrontery to become the first British driver to win the Indianapolis 500. The US press had poured scorn on the Scotsman’s chances before that race and had afterwards been forced to eat humble pie, never the most popular American dish. They were adamant that there would be no repeat performance in 1966. The Brits were going to be put in their place.
In the build-up to the world’s largest single-day sporting event (attracting a crowd in excess of 400,000), the Americans were full of confidence despite a three-pronged British assault from Clark’s Lotus, and the Lolas of Graham Hill and the emerging Jackie Stewart. Both Hill and Stewart were making their debuts at the Brickyard – in Stewart’s case it would be his one and only appearance – but their drives would leave a lasting impression after a hugely eventful race in which most of the drama was packed into the start and finish.
The American talent on show included five cars from Dan Gurney’s new Eagle team, but it was young Mario Andretti who took pole in a Brawner-Ford. Alongside him on the front row was Clark’s Lotus, Hill qualifying a disappointing fifteenth. Right at the back of the grid was Bobby Grim’s Watson-Offy, the only front-engined car in the race. The start could scarcely have been more sensational. Indianapolis was no stranger to spectacular pile-ups but this was extraordinary even by its standards. After just 100 yards (91.4m) Billy Foster and Gordon Johncock collided going into Turn One and 14 more cars piled into the wreckage, wheels flying in every direction. Some spectators were slightly hurt by flying debris but when the dust settled, the only permanent damage was to the 11 cars – a third of the field – which were eliminated. An hour and a half later the race was restarted. Andretti shot into the lead from Clark, while further back Hill had a tricky moment on Turn One when his car hit a patch of oil left over from the multiple crash. Andretti maintained his advantage until he was black-flagged with smoke pouring from his car, caused by a defective valve. Clark took over at the front but his hopes of a repeat victory were dashed by a spin on Turn Four on lap 62 which cost him 25 seconds and allowed Lloyd Ruby’s Eagle to step into top spot. When Clark spun again on lap 84 and lost the best part of a minute in the pits, Stewart, who was enjoying a remarkable drive, went second. All three Brits were now very much in contention, Hill having moved steadily through the field, but at 350 miles (563km), Ruby looked the likely winner, only to be black-flagged himself due to the appearance of ominous clouds of smoke. Suddenly Stewart found himself in the lead, and there he stayed until just ten laps from the finish when he dropped out with engine failure. It was a cruel blow and he walked back to the pits to a tremendous ovation from the crowd who, in spite of their partisanship, were appreciative of what had been a courageous debut on arguably the world’s most intimidating race track.
With Hill and Clark now vying for the lead, it seemed certain that victory would go to a British driver … but which one? At the end of the race, by which time only seven cars were still running, both men thought they had won. Lotus team boss Colin Chapman told Clark that he was the winner and the Scot duly completed a lap of honour. However, Hill was equally sure that he had won and both cars headed for Victory Lane. The dispute concerned lap 175, on which Hill had passed Clark. Lotus insisted that Hill had merely unlapped himself but Lola thought Hill had been moving into second. Clark’s sponsor, the forthright Andy Granatelli, stormed: ‘How could Hill win when they were announcing and showing on the scoreboard that Stewart and Clark were running one-two and Hill was half a lap away on the backstretch? If that was the case, Hill had been leading all the time and Stewart was never in front. We lapped Hill on the forty-seventh lap and we were running faster than him the rest of the way.’ When it was put to Hill that there had been a mix-up in the timekeepers’ box, he simply brushed it aside.
The official timekeepers agreed with Hill and awarded him the race by 41.13 seconds from Clark. Granatelli backed down graciously, admitting that he had been as confused as everyone else. ‘On the forty-seventh lap we lapped Graham Hill,’ he said. ‘On the fiftieth it was announced that we had lapped all but the first five and that Hill was running ninth. But when Clark spun on the sixty-second lap, Hill got by. We didn’t see him do it and assumed Clark was still in front.’
In becoming the first rookie to win the 500 since George Souders in 1927, Hill averaged 144⅓mph (232.3km/h). So at the end of a race in which the first-corner carnage thereafter earned it the nickname of the ‘Demolition Indy’, the Americans were left licking their wounds for the second successive year. Hill mischievously suggested that in future they should award a trophy for the first American to finish. The reply was probably not printable.