To Please a Lady

It's the most exciting

and the most dangerous sport in the world.

They're at it everywhere.

On paved tracks, dirt tracks and

dry lakes, from Florida to Frisco.

And they'll race anything.

Stock cars, hot rods, jazzed-up jalopies,

super-tuned specials...

...but not everybody

can drive them.

High speed takes cold nerves

and split-second timing.

It takes luck and the tops in skill,

because one slide in the wrong place...

...can turn a $ 20,000 racing car

into a heap of flaming junk.

Death is never far away when a man has

his foot stomped down on that throttle.

He can blow a tire, throw a wheel,

crash a wall...

...or spin and tangle with another car,

and then flip over and over and over.

There's a thrill every minute.

Those lead-foot boys always put on a show.

When you get a track full of high-powered

cars, this can happen anytime.

It's a game with flying starts

and sensational finishes.

It looks dangerous and it is dangerous.

But the purses make up

for the risks the drivers take.

Twenty-six thousand at Milwaukee,

17,000 at Langhorne, 22,000 at Atlanta.

The biggest money of all is at Indianapolis,

that fast and furious 500-miler.

This gigantic spectacle of speed

pays off $ 200,000.

The winner gets his face welded

in bas-relief on the Borg-Warner Trophy.

Here's Johnnie Parsons...

...two-time winner Tommy Milton,

three-time winner Louis Meyer.

Another three-time winner, Wilbur Shaw,

and another, Mauri Rose.

Nowadays, most Indianapolis contenders

also drive those mighty midgets.

They're capable of 150 miles an hour.

They draw 30 million fans.

Here's the most successful

of this season's drivers...

...Mike Brannan, Number 17,

winning again.

He's copped top money four times

out of five and the crowds hate him.

They've made a villain out of him.

They don't like his driving.

They come to see him spin out, blow up,

but he's got everything under control.

If he lives that long,

he'll be one of the greats...

- There's your man.

- You all remember Mike Brannan.

One of the few Marines to get the

Congressional Medal while alive.

But he never got a good-conduct medal.

You can see Mike and other leadfoots

jockeying their Thunderbugs on the IMRA.

Don't miss them.

Four nights a week at four stadiums:

Rockaway, Trenton, Newark, Bridgeport.

It's a sellout every show.

And you can see them every Thursday night

at Newark Speedway.

- Is that all there is of him?

- No, the studio interview follows this.

Back in the studios once again. I have with

me none other than Mike Brannan in person.

You're a bad character, they tell me.

How do you manage to win so much

with everybody gunning for you?

- I'm lucky, I guess.

- You use your head too, don't you?

Well, I study the track,

if that's what you mean.

I know what you can and can't do.

Well, with you on the loose,

I'll take the subway.

You going to win the main event

at Newark tonight?

Somebody's gotta win.

I'll be in there trying.

Now, tell me, Mike,

what was your biggest thrill?

Well, it's a long story. You see,

I met this blond on 34th Street...

Okay, Mike, glad to have you.

Come back anytime.

- There are you, Mike Brannan.

- Cut it.

See him and the rest

of the win-or-bust boys tonight at Newark.

- Well, what do you think of him?

- Give me his background.

Wild Indian as a kid. Widowed father.

Eastern state college.

No interest in anything but cars.

A lone wolf.

I'll bet women don't leave him alone

with all that sex.

I could feel it

coming right off that screen.

Drove at Indianapolis before the war.

Never in the money.

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