Hello there, Spencer. Welcome to the show.

Hey, Mr. Davidson. I had a question about my great aunt Wilma. According to my dad, she always claimed to be one of the volunteers who released the balloons before the 1949 Indy 500. I can’t remember her last name — but was she a filthy liar? Was she telling the truth? Any information you could give me would be greatly appreciated.

Ahhhhh yes. You must be speaking of Wilma Lyall, the Pride of Peru, Indiana. 

I must say, Spencer — your great aunt Wilma’s brief stint at the Speedway is a fascinating story. A story that actually began eight years earlier, during the second Great War. More specifically, it began when her highschool sweetheart — a strapping young gent by the name of Buckley Simms — was flying re-con missions throughout the Pacific Theater. His handle, I believe, was “Flapjack,” and he flew the usually reliable 0-51 Dragonfly — which, of course, was powered by the 440-horsepower Pratt & Whitney radial engine. To make a long story, it was an unseasonably cool October night over the Moro Gulf, which — as you know — sits off the southern-most region of the Philippines. The military reports were vague, but in essence, low-visibility and pilot-error were determined to have caused the crash that killed young Captain Simms and his co-pilot, a red-haired fellow named Browning, I recall, who was an accomplished Golden Gloves boxer growing up in Lexington. I’m ashamed to admit it, but his first name escapes me right now. How embarrassing for me.  

Anyhow, as you can imagine, when word of the tragedy reached Wilma, she was devastated. Just devastated. And I’m being told that we’re running out of time here, so I shall be forced to speed this up considerably. It’s ungentlemanly and coarse, I know. Please forgive me.

Quickly now, Wilma’s coping mechanism for the grief was food. She fancied most pork products — particularly her sister Samantha’s fried tenderloins — as well as fine jams and jellies from Kinkaid’s, her local grocer. As you can imagine, it wasn’t long before Wilma’s weight skyrocketed. The once slender lass from Peru became this stout, homely-looking lady who often appeared disheveled and slovenly … the result of just quote-unquote “not caring anymore.” The gentleman-callers stopped calling, Wilma became more depressed, and a vicious, self-loathing cycle took hold.

She found solace, though, in the form of the traveling circus. It was a low-rent operation run by a Lithuanian seamstress named Sadie, who was also an ex-convict. Prosecuted for check-fraud, I believe. And her band of circus folk was, in all honesty, a pack of scammers and nare-do-wells and transients … but you know what? They didn’t judge your aunt Wilma’s immense heft. Whereas decent society had shunned her, she felt welcomed and loved among the carnies. Anyway, she was paid $6.25 per week to wrestle a black bear named ”Tank,” and she loved the work.

Well, she was preparing to wrestle “Tank” outside the Speedway on the morning of the race. And because I only have about 30 more seconds, I’ll have to wrap this up prematurely. But I can’t leave without telling you the best part of the tale: one of the circus-goers turned out to be Captain Simms’ mother. Her name was Emma, and she immediately recognized your aunt Wilma. Emma was the volunteer coordinator for the 500 pre-race ceremonies, you see. She was out on her customary stroll through the festivites near the abandoned wheat mill, outside Turn 2 — as she was wont to do — when she peeked in on the circus. And seeing Wilma relegated to wrestling bears did not sit well with her. She found it undignified and lowly … not to mention dangerous. She demanded that Wilma come with her immediately, promising her a respectable position that would make her family in Peru proud.

Emma made Wilma an honorary balloon launcher, one of 79 that particular year.

And on one of the 48,704 balloons that day — a green one, as I recall — Wilma attached a hand-written note. It read, “Dearest Buckley: The skies are where we will meet again. Love, Wilma.”

This was the cathartic breakthrough she needed. From that moment on, she was a changed woman. She gave up the bear-wrestling profession, lost 257 pounds, and later went on to become a trusted aide in the 5th District’s congressional office, a spot she held for 38 years.

A charming, inspiring story for sure, that Wilma Lyall.

And, Spencer — please give me a call so that I can tell you more of this wonderful, hard-charging lady who forever touched the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, despite only having stepped foot in here once. We haven’t the time to discuss it any further, but rest assured, I have much more to add. Do call, Spencer.

I’m Donald Davidson, and this has been The Talk of Gasoline Alley. Goodnight, friends.