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Indianapolis Star
11-05-2025
- Automotive
- Indianapolis Star
Inside IndyStar: Larry Bisceglia was equal parts nostalgia and tradition for the Indy 500
Two vehicles caught my eye in September 2023 when the Indianapolis Speedway Museum began clearing out its basement ahead of recent renovations. They weren't race cars, but those of everyday fan Larry Bisceglia, a tire mechanic and wanderer who spent most of his life on the West Coast. As someone not originally from Indiana, I was unfamiliar with his name. I wondered why the museum had not one, but two of his rather unremarkable vehicles — a Chevy panel truck and a Ford Econoline van, both covered in race stickers and parked next to some of the museum's most prized race cars. 'Larry was famous for being first in line,' Luke Edwards, a former museum employee, told me. 'He became really a local celebrity.' For 37 years Biceglia would be the first in line at Indianapolis Motor Speedway, driving from the West Coast and sometimes arriving at the track's entrance in April. He would live out of his vehicle during his annual pilgrimage to IMS. I delved into the Indianapolis Star's archives and was delighted to find a collection of images documenting Bisceglia's 37-year tradition, starting in 1950. Our reporters and photographers covered his arrival at the track each year. Even in his later years, when illness prevented him from showing up, they coordinated his air travel to ensure he made it to the race. "Those vans are probably a key memory to a lot of spectators," Jason VanSickle, IMS Museum vice president of curation and education, said. "In some cases, they connect more to the vans we have than to some of the race winners or cars we have in our collection." Why revisit Bisceglia's story? Because the blend of nostalgia and tradition is too compelling not to share and defines the passion of the ordinary race fan.
Indianapolis Star
06-05-2025
- Automotive
- Indianapolis Star
An Indy 500 cult icon: Junkyard vagabond gained fame as Mr. First In Line for 37 years
For 11 months of the year, Larry Bisceglia was invisible to the world. But in May at the Indianapolis 500, he was Mr. First In Line to fans, drivers and Tony Hulman Paul Page, Indy 500 play-by-play commentator: 'Larry Bisceglia lining up first in line was the official start of May and the Indy 500' See photos from all 37 years Larry Bisceglia was Mr. First In Line INDIANAPOLIS — Larry Bisceglia was a mysterious man who, for most of his life, was invisible to the world. The people who knew him best were junkyard workers in Yuma, Ariz., where he lived inside his van, sleeping on a cot by night and doing random work around the junkyard by day. In his free time, Bisceglia liked to whittle wood. If he ever really got noticed, it was because of one of his masterful creations. He once crafted a wooden crescent wrench that actually worked, which was a tedious and tough task. The men at the junkyard were duly impressed. Bisceglia didn't have family, except a sister he never saw who lived in Chicago 1,894 miles away. He was a lifelong bachelor whose closest companion was a tiny chihuahua. He had a letter from the Department of Veterans Affairs in a suitcase inside his van, proof that he had served in the military. Other than that, Bisceglia was a nobody. Most who knew of him say that nothing really stood out. He was a local drifter with not much to say, except for maybe a quiet "howdy" with a nod of the head. "It's kind of a sad deal. He lived his life in that junkyard," said Bryan Blohm, who worked in that Arizona junkyard long after Bisceglia did and heard all sorts of stories about him. "He must have been kind of a lonely guy to live out there in that yard and that van." But Bisceglia didn't live at that junkyard in Arizona year round. Every spring as the wildflowers began to sprout, turning the earthy tones of the landscape into bright colorful splendor, Bisceglia would set off in his van and drift far away, a long, 30-hour trek 1,900 miles away, to the place he loved most. And when he would arrive at his beloved Indianapolis Motor Speedway, Bisceglia would transform into an outright superstar. Bisceglia never raced cars a day in his life. His mode of transportation was vans. But he loved the Indianapolis 500 so much that his dedication and commitment made him a legendary hero at the track — becoming known as the esteemed Mr. First in Line. For a yet-to-be broken streak of 37 years, from 1950 to 1987, Bisceglia was the first race fan to line up at IMS as the month of May kicked off. He would park his van outside Turn 2 and wait to be the first person to drive into the world-famous track when the gates opened for the season. "For me, Larry Bisceglia lining up first in line was the official start of May and the Indy 500," said Paul Page, the play-by-play commentator for the race for 50 years on radio and television. "Now, I knew it was going to happen. I loved that tradition." Bisceglia was followed by newspaper reporters each May and the Indianapolis Star chronicled his streak, taking a photo of him every single one of those 37 years. Once inside the Speedway, race fans would gather around him, asking for autographs and photographs with him. Eight years into being Mr. First in Line, Bisceglia was given a key to the track. It was presented to him in a surprise ceremony. Needless to say, nobody questioned Bisceglia when he sauntered into Gasoline Alley looking like a railroader in overalls, wearing a conductor's cap and black boots, usually with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He would help team mechanics and change tires. Then he would sidle out of the garages and meander about, soaking in this place that he adored. When Bisceglia died in December 1988 in Yuma at the age of 90, there were no funeral services. His obituary didn't list any family members who preceded him in death nor any survivors. But Bisceglia did have survivors. He had millions of survivors, those 300,000 fans who walked into IMS for 37 years and witnessed Mr. First in Line. Those fans saw his devotion to the track, to the people, to the drivers, to the race. And for that, they loved him. "He became an icon and a figure that just was synonymous with this track, just like A.J. Foyt or Donald Davidson or Mario Andretti or Jim Nabors," said Doug Boles, president of IndyCar and IMS. "He became as much of a celebrity to our fans as the race car drivers were." That Bisceglia reached that level of fame at the greatest spectacle in racing, the largest sporting event in the U.S., was remarkable. Bisceglia was as unassuming as they come. He wore wrinkled clothes, a sly smile and sometimes presented a cantankerous demeanor. But this salt of the earth vagabond, void of frills or flash, reached cult-like status at the track. And for at least one month of each year, Larry Bisceglia wasn't invisible. 'You'd drive past. You'd honk at him' No one knows exactly what Bisceglia did as he waited in line. Or how he lived. Or what he ate. "I don't think we really know," Boles said. "At some point in time, the Indianapolis Motor Speedway actually put power out to where he stayed in line. So I assume that's so he could power up a coffee maker or have food." David Scoggan suspects living in somewhat primitive conditions in a van was fairly easy for Bisceglia, who was born in 1898 and lived as a young man through the Great Depression. "Things like that were nothing to a guy like Larry Bisceglia," said Scoggan, a race historian and journalist. "'I'm sleeping outside the second turn of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway? Big deal.'" After all, the rest of the year, Bisceglia slept outside of a junkyard in his van, which had propane tanks on top, a metal cot, a furnace stove to cook on and well-worn curtains lining the windows. The only difference between his van life in Yuma and his van life in Indianapolis was that, at the Speedway, people would knock on his windows just to catch a glimpse of him. They would ask him questions. They noticed him. He was no longer a nobody. "You'd drive past. You'd honk at him," said Page. "He'd always be out there." If Bisceglia wasn't out there in his van, he was probably at the MCL cafeteria where race car drivers and their teams "basically lived," said Scott Gauger, a team member with Meyer Shank Racing, who has multiple championship rings. "It was just a local close-by hangout with home food, basically home cooking," said Gauger. "Larry was there all the time. And I saw him with Tony Hulman. Bisceglia might be one of the biggest characters there was." A character of organic makings. A vagabond who captured the attention of Hulman, who owned IMS. "If Tony Hulman found somebody that loved the Speedway like he loved the Speedway, he tended to take really good care of them," said Boles. "But Tony was a great marketer. So there's probably a little bit of Tony Hulman who loved Larry for Larry, but also loved Larry because Larry helped him promote the Indy 500." So in 1967, when it looked like Bisceglia's marvelous first-in-line streak might be broken, Hulman came to his rescue, and he rallied to get his biggest fan a new Ford van. 'His streak was really coming under threat' Throughout his nearly four-decade run as Mr. First in Line, Bisceglia drove three vehicles. The first was a 1933 DeSoto sedan which a 50-year-old Bisceglia drove to the track in 1948 in his first attempt to be the first fan through the gates. Alas, after a cross country trip of more than 30 hours, when Bisceglia arrived at the Speedway, there were already other cars lined up. In 1949, Bisceglia came back to the track even earlier in May, but he missed the first in line spot again. Needless to say, when Bisceglia arrived to IMS in 1950, he came so early there was no question he would be first. And that's when his streak began. That first vehicle, the DeSoto sedan that Bisceglia drove, lasted five years. Then it ended up in a junkyard where a wrecker demolished it. Bisceglia's next vehicle was a 1951 Chevy van. That panel van was glorious, said Scoggan, and one of his first memories of the Speedway. As Scoggan grew up at the track, Bisceglia was always there. As each year passed, the van became more decorated with decals and sponsors. Bisceglia added his own touch, putting a sticker to mark each year of his streak. "To me, he was a symbol of the Speedway," said Scoggan. "I just appreciated his commitment. Larry Bisceglia was a real genuine race fan and we don't have enough of those these days." Hulman loved that about Bisceglia. So when his Chevy van began to fail, Hulman stepped in. And that's when people at the track realized just how big of a deal this IMS drifter was. Inside the newly-renovated Indianapolis Motor Speedway Museum, there are 200 vehicles on display, mostly flashy cars of legendary drivers. But there are also two vans in the collection, sun-baked and faded from the Arizona sun — a Chevrolet panel van and a Ford Econoline. They are Bisceglia's vans. The Chevy made its last trek to Indianapolis in 1967. "There was some concern by Larry that (the Chevy) wouldn't make the trip," said Jason Vansickle, vice president of curation and education at the museum. "His streak was really coming under threat ... because the car wasn't capable." Bisceglia was surprised with a baby blue and white Econoline in a very public way in 1967, summoned via the Speedway PA to show up at the start-finish line. "He was presented this van by none other than Tony Hulman and the local Ford dealers," said Vansickle. With that, Bisceglia promptly donated his old Chevy to the IMS Museum. But getting the Ford into the museum after Bisceglia's death would take a junkyard miracle. 'I didn't want to see it destroyed' Bryan Blohm never met Bisceglia but he knew of him. In the early 1980s in Arizona, Blohm went to the junkyard looking to soup up his Datsun pickup. "He was there in the junkyard when I went to go purchase those rims as a kid," said Blohm. "I remember seeing a crusty old guy sitting there." Years later, Blohm would get a job with Dick's Towing as a driver and become quite familiar with that junkyard. And on the property was a Ford Econoline, Bisceglia's final Indy 500 vehicle. Blohm's boss would tell him stories about the van with all those stickers and memories of Bisceglia being Mr. First in Line. For some reason, those stories resonated with Blohm. When Dick's Towing had to sell the property and liquidate the business, all the vehicles had to be moved or demolished. "They were going to crush Larry's van," said Blohm. "I didn't want to see it destroyed. So I asked if I could have the thing or buy it or whatever. So I got the van." Soon, people who knew about IndyCar and Indy 500 history started telling Blohm that van needed to be on display at IMS. "I figured, 'Well, hell, maybe I can make some money off this van,'" he said. "So I put it for sale. And I woke up one morning to a phone call." It was Gas Monkey Garage, then part of the TV show "Fast 'N Loud," asking what Blohm wanted for the van. He gave them a high price, $10,000. They came back with $5,500. Blohm had the money within the hour. And Gas Monkey Garage did exactly what everyone had been telling Blohm should happen. They donated Bisceglia's Ford to the museum. "If I did my little part, that's cool," said Blohm. "That's probably where it belongs, so I'm glad to see that it went there." 'Every good thing has to end' Bisceglia accomplished a track feat that could never be matched in the modern day of the Indy 500. "It's a different era. It's busier streets. I'm sure that if you parked on the street right now some Speedway police officer comes to say, 'Hey man you can't park here,'" said Boles. "That's one of those records like A.J. Foyt's 35 starts, Larry's 37 first in lines probably doesn't get broken." When Bisceglia parked his van all those decades ago, the 16th Street entrance wasn't the thoroughfare it is today. Some of the grandstands had not yet been built and the landscape was a lot less crowded. "When Larry was coming to the racetrack, it felt more state fair like," said Boles. "For him parked out there would feel a little bit more rural." Which made it obvious in 1986 when Bisceglia didn't show up to be first in line. News media put out an all-points bulletin looking for Bisceglia, who was soon found sleeping in his van in Yuma. Race fans and drivers raised money to fly him in. The next year in 1987, Bisceglia made his final appearance as Mr. First in Line. He died in a nursing home the next year in Arizona at the age of 90. The cremated remains of Bisceglia's body lived in a drawer of a desk at Dick's Towing for decades. When the business was liquidated, Blohm not only got Bisceglia's van, but he also got his ashes. He scattered them on the grounds of the former site of Dick's Towing, a very personal and private tribute to a man who deserved some sort of tribute. "Like every good thing," said Vansickle, "has to end at the end of the day." But, of course, Bisceglia lives on, not only in his vans displayed inside the track museum, but in the memories he etched in the hearts of race lovers and in the standard he set as the ultimate fan. Even today, when IMS officials try to convince people that the best way to avoid lines is to arrive early, Bisceglia appears again. "So, 40 years after his death, we're still using, 'Be like Larry. Get here early,'" said Boles. "And that's something that he started."
Indianapolis Star
06-05-2025
- Automotive
- Indianapolis Star
An Indy 500 cult icon: Junkyard vagabond gained fame as Mr. First In Line for 37 years
Show Caption For 11 months of the year, Larry Bisceglia was invisible to the world. But in May at the Indianapolis 500, he was Mr. First In Line to fans, drivers and Tony Hulman Paul Page, Indy 500 play-by-play commentator: 'Larry Bisceglia lining up first in line was the official start of May and the Indy 500' See photos from all 37 years Larry Bisceglia was Mr. First In Line INDIANAPOLIS — Larry Bisceglia was a mysterious man who, for most of his life, was invisible to the world. The people who knew him best were junkyard workers in Yuma, Ariz., where he lived inside his van, sleeping on a cot by night and doing random work around the junkyard by day. In his free time, Bisceglia liked to whittle wood. If he ever really got noticed, it was because of one of his masterful creations. He once crafted a wooden crescent wrench that actually worked, which was a tedious and tough task. The men at the junkyard were duly impressed. Bisceglia didn't have family, except a sister he never saw who lived in Chicago 1,894 miles away. He was a lifelong bachelor whose closest companion was a tiny chihuahua. He had a letter from the Department of Veterans Affairs in a suitcase inside his van, proof that he had served in the military. Other than that, Bisceglia was a nobody. Most who knew of him say that nothing really stood out. He was a local drifter with not much to say, except for maybe a quiet "howdy" with a nod of the head. "It's kind of a sad deal. He lived his life in that junkyard," said Bryan Blohm, who worked in that Arizona junkyard long after Bisceglia did and heard all sorts of stories about him. "He must have been kind of a lonely guy to live out there in that yard and that van." But Bisceglia didn't live at that junkyard in Arizona year round. Every spring as the wildflowers began to sprout, turning the earthy tones of the landscape into bright colorful splendor, Bisceglia would set off in his van and drift far away, a long, 30-hour trek 1,900 miles away, to the place he loved most. And when he would arrive at his beloved Indianapolis Motor Speedway, Bisceglia would transform into an outright superstar. Bisceglia never raced cars a day in his life. His mode of transportation was vans. But he loved the Indianapolis 500 so much that his dedication and commitment made him a legendary hero at the track — becoming known as the esteemed Mr. First in Line. For a yet-to-be broken streak of 37 years, from 1950 to 1987, Bisceglia was the first race fan to line up at IMS as the month of May kicked off. He would park his van outside Turn 2 and wait to be the first person to drive into the world-famous track when the gates opened for the season. "For me, Larry Bisceglia lining up first in line was the official start of May and the Indy 500," said Paul Page, the play-by-play commentator for the race for 50 years on radio and television. "Now, I knew it was going to happen. I loved that tradition." Bisceglia was followed by newspaper reporters each May and the Indianapolis Star chronicled his streak, taking a photo of him every single one of those 37 years. Once inside the Speedway, race fans would gather around him, asking for autographs and photographs with him. Eight years into being Mr. First in Line, Bisceglia was given a key to the track. It was presented to him in a surprise ceremony. Needless to say, nobody questioned Bisceglia when he sauntered into Gasoline Alley looking like a railroader in overalls, wearing a conductor's cap and black boots, usually with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He would help team mechanics and change tires. Then he would sidle out of the garages and meander about, soaking in this place that he adored. When Bisceglia died in December 1988 in Yuma at the age of 90, there were no funeral services. His obituary didn't list any family members who preceded him in death nor any survivors. But Bisceglia did have survivors. He had millions of survivors, those 300,000 fans who walked into IMS for 37 years and witnessed Mr. First in Line. Those fans saw his devotion to the track, to the people, to the drivers, to the race. And for that, they loved him. "He became an icon and a figure that just was synonymous with this track, just like A.J. Foyt or Donald Davidson or Mario Andretti or Jim Nabors," said Doug Boles, president of IndyCar and IMS. "He became as much of a celebrity to our fans as the race car drivers were." That Bisceglia reached that level of fame at the greatest spectacle in racing, the largest sporting event in the U.S., was remarkable. Bisceglia was as unassuming as they come. He wore wrinkled clothes, a sly smile and sometimes presented a cantankerous demeanor. But this salt of the earth vagabond, void of frills or flash, reached cult-like status at the track. And for at least one month of each year, Larry Bisceglia wasn't invisible. 'You'd drive past. You'd honk at him' No one knows exactly what Bisceglia did as he waited in line. Or how he lived. Or what he ate. "I don't think we really know," Boles said. "At some point in time, the Indianapolis Motor Speedway actually put power out to where he stayed in line. So I assume that's so he could power up a coffee maker or have food." David Scoggan suspects living in somewhat primitive conditions in a van was fairly easy for Bisceglia, who was born in 1898 and lived as a young man through the Great Depression. "Things like that were nothing to a guy like Larry Bisceglia," said Scoggan, a race historian and journalist. "'I'm sleeping outside the second turn of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway? Big deal.'" After all, the rest of the year, Bisceglia slept outside of a junkyard in his van, which had propane tanks on top, a metal cot, a furnace stove to cook on and well-worn curtains lining the windows. The only difference between his van life in Yuma and his van life in Indianapolis was that, at the Speedway, people would knock on his windows just to catch a glimpse of him. They would ask him questions. They noticed him. He was no longer a nobody. "You'd drive past. You'd honk at him," said Page. "He'd always be out there." If Bisceglia wasn't out there in his van, he was probably at the MCL cafeteria where race car drivers and their teams "basically lived," said Scott Gauger, a team member with Meyer Shank Racing, who has multiple championship rings. "It was just a local close-by hangout with home food, basically home cooking," said Gauger. "Larry was there all the time. And I saw him with Tony Hulman. Bisceglia might be one of the biggest characters there was." A character of organic makings. A vagabond who captured the attention of Hulman, who owned IMS. "If Tony Hulman found somebody that loved the Speedway like he loved the Speedway, he tended to take really good care of them," said Boles. "But Tony was a great marketer. So there's probably a little bit of Tony Hulman who loved Larry for Larry, but also loved Larry because Larry helped him promote the Indy 500." So in 1967, when it looked like Bisceglia's marvelous first-in-line streak might be broken, Hulman came to his rescue, and he rallied to get his biggest fan a new Ford van. 'His streak was really coming under threat' Throughout his nearly four-decade run as Mr. First in Line, Bisceglia drove three vehicles. The first was a 1933 DeSoto sedan which a 50-year-old Bisceglia drove to the track in 1948 in his first attempt to be the first fan through the gates. Alas, after a cross country trip of more than 30 hours, when Bisceglia arrived at the Speedway, there were already other cars lined up. In 1949, Bisceglia came back to the track even earlier in May, but he missed the first in line spot again. Needless to say, when Bisceglia arrived to IMS in 1950, he came so early there was no question he would be first. And that's when his streak began. That first vehicle, the DeSoto sedan that Bisceglia drove, lasted five years. Then it ended up in a junkyard where a wrecker demolished it. Bisceglia's next vehicle was a 1951 Chevy van. That panel van was glorious, said Scoggan, and one of his first memories of the Speedway. As Scoggan grew up at the track, Bisceglia was always there. As each year passed, the van became more decorated with decals and sponsors. Bisceglia added his own touch, putting a sticker to mark each year of his streak. "To me, he was a symbol of the Speedway," said Scoggan. "I just appreciated his commitment. Larry Bisceglia was a real genuine race fan and we don't have enough of those these days." Hulman loved that about Bisceglia. So when his Chevy van began to fail, Hulman stepped in. And that's when people at the track realized just how big of a deal this IMS drifter was. Inside the newly-renovated Indianapolis Motor Speedway Museum, there are 200 vehicles on display, mostly flashy cars of legendary drivers. But there are also two vans in the collection, sun-baked and faded from the Arizona sun — a Chevrolet panel van and a Ford Econoline. They are Bisceglia's vans. The Chevy made its last trek to Indianapolis in 1967. "There was some concern by Larry that (the Chevy) wouldn't make the trip," said Jason Vansickle, vice president of curation and education at the museum. "His streak was really coming under threat ... because the car wasn't capable." Bisceglia was surprised with a baby blue and white Econoline in a very public way in 1967, summoned via the Speedway PA to show up at the start-finish line. "He was presented this van by none other than Tony Hulman and the local Ford dealers," said Vansickle. With that, Bisceglia promptly donated his old Chevy to the IMS Museum. But getting the Ford into the museum after Bisceglia's death would take a junkyard miracle. 'I didn't want to see it destroyed' Bryan Blohm never met Bisceglia but he knew of him. In the early 1980s in Arizona, Blohm went to the junkyard looking to soup up his Datsun pickup. "He was there in the junkyard when I went to go purchase those rims as a kid," said Blohm. "I remember seeing a crusty old guy sitting there." Years later, Blohm would get a job with Dick's Towing as a driver and become quite familiar with that junkyard. And on the property was a Ford Econoline, Bisceglia's final Indy 500 vehicle. Blohm's boss would tell him stories about the van with all those stickers and memories of Bisceglia being Mr. First in Line. For some reason, those stories resonated with Blohm. When Dick's Towing had to sell the property and liquidate the business, all the vehicles had to be moved or demolished. "They were going to crush Larry's van," said Blohm. "I didn't want to see it destroyed. So I asked if I could have the thing or buy it or whatever. So I got the van." Soon, people who knew about IndyCar and Indy 500 history started telling Blohm that van needed to be on display at IMS. "I figured, 'Well, hell, maybe I can make some money off this van,'" he said. "So I put it for sale. And I woke up one morning to a phone call." It was Gas Monkey Garage, then part of the TV show "Fast 'N Loud," asking what Blohm wanted for the van. He gave them a high price, $10,000. They came back with $5,500. Blohm had the money within the hour. And Gas Monkey Garage did exactly what everyone had been telling Blohm should happen. They donated Bisceglia's Ford to the museum. "If I did my little part, that's cool," said Blohm. "That's probably where it belongs, so I'm glad to see that it went there." 'Every good thing has to end' Bisceglia accomplished a track feat that could never be matched in the modern day of the Indy 500. "It's a different era. It's busier streets. I'm sure that if you parked on the street right now some Speedway police officer comes to say, 'Hey man you can't park here,'" said Boles. "That's one of those records like A.J. Foyt's 35 starts, Larry's 37 first in lines probably doesn't get broken." When Bisceglia parked his van all those decades ago, the 16th Street entrance wasn't the thoroughfare it is today. Some of the grandstands had not yet been built and the landscape was a lot less crowded. "When Larry was coming to the racetrack, it felt more state fair like," said Boles. "For him parked out there would feel a little bit more rural." Which made it obvious in 1986 when Bisceglia didn't show up to be first in line. News media put out an all-points bulletin looking for Bisceglia, who was soon found sleeping in his van in Yuma. Race fans and drivers raised money to fly him in. The next year in 1987, Bisceglia made his final appearance as Mr. First in Line. He died in a nursing home the next year in Arizona at the age of 90. The cremated remains of Bisceglia's body lived in a drawer of a desk at Dick's Towing for decades. When the business was liquidated, Blohm not only got Bisceglia's van, but he also got his ashes. He scattered them on the grounds of the former site of Dick's Towing, a very personal and private tribute to a man who deserved some sort of tribute. "Like every good thing," said Vansickle, "has to end at the end of the day." But, of course, Bisceglia lives on, not only in his vans displayed inside the track museum, but in the memories he etched in the hearts of race lovers and in the standard he set as the ultimate fan. Even today, when IMS officials try to convince people that the best way to avoid lines is to arrive early, Bisceglia appears again. "So, 40 years after his death, we're still using, 'Be like Larry. Get here early,'" said Boles. "And that's something that he started."
Yahoo
27-04-2025
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IndyStar's May lineup includes major police investigation, Indy 500 exclusives. Subscribe today
It's almost May in Indianapolis, and IndyStar has big plans for one of our busiest months. With Indiana's 2025 legislative session wrapped, it's time to turn our focus to the end of the school year and spring sports, the start of the Indiana Fever's highly anticipated season, the Indianapolis 500 and what we all hope will be a long playoff run by the Indianapolis Pacers. IndyStar will be there for all of it, capturing the highs and lows of spring in Central Indiana. But we'll also publish a number of stories that have been months, and even years, in the making. From a powerful investigation into police misconduct in northern Indiana to the tale of a local folk legend, we'll deliver unparalleled, exclusive storytelling in the month ahead. IndyStar subscribers will have unlimited access to each of these planned stories, videos and photo galleries, along with the rest of our award-winning local journalism. Visit to sign up for unlimited access today. I hope you'll find these examples of our best local journalism as fulfilling to read and watch as we've found them to report. Decades after D.C. Stephenson's Ku Klux Klan revived the Horse Thief Detective Agency to enforce its hateful agenda, a rogue band of police officers in Elkhart authored another bleak and costly chapter in Indiana's interconnected history of policing, power and race. These young, White and aggressive officers — they called themselves Wolverines — turned Elkhart's Black neighborhoods into their sadistic playground in the 1980s and '90s. Court records and interviews detail officers competing to see how many arrests they could make during overnight shifts and heading to the neighborhoods with the expressed intent to "kick some ass." Department leadership, officers told IndyStar, too often turned a blind eye to the Wolverines' brutal tactics. To date, Elkhart's liability insurance carriers have paid nearly $27 million to settle allegations of misconduct leading to wrongful imprisonment. A deep distrust of policing remains in the city's Black community. IndyStar investigative reporter Kristine Phillips and visual journalist Mykal McEldowney spent part of three years on Lawless, our multipart series on the damage wrought by these rogue police and the lasting impacts on those they bullied, beat and wrongfully imprisoned. Lawless publishes Tuesday at and in the May 4 print edition. Penske, Unser, Foyt, Castroneves. Indianapolis 500 fans know the names who made the "Greatest Spectacle in Racing" the cultural phenomenon it is today. But how about Chuck Lynn. How about Larry Bisceglia? You might know the latter as "Mr. First in Line." From 1950 to 1987, Bisceglia was the first fan to line up for the Indianapolis Motor Speedway gates to open. IndyStar's McEldowney spent months interviewing those who knew Bisceglia to tell the story of how this "salt of the earth" junkyard worker from Arizona became an Indy 500 icon. IndyStar sports reporter Dana Hunsinger Benbow partnered with McEldowney to write the story that accompanies an 11-minute documentary on Bisceglia's unique place in Indy 500 lore. Here's an excerpt: "Every spring as the wildflowers began to sprout, turning the earthy tones of the landscape into bright colorful splendor, Bisceglia would set off in his van and drift far away, a long, 30-hour trek 1,900 miles away, to the place he loved most. And when he would arrive at his beloved Indianapolis Motor Speedway, Bisceglia would transform into an outright superstar." "Mr. First in Line" will publish in early May at Let's talk for a moment about Indy 500 fashion, which tends to be more John Cena than Giorgio Armani. Then you have IMS and IndyCar President Doug Boles, nattily dressed and seemingly everywhere in May. More than once, our news staff has asked, "How many suits must that man have?" Later this May, Hunsinger Benbow will attempt to answer that question in what should be a fun read for any Indy 500 fan. Thanks for letting me give you a taste of what's on deck this May at IndyStar. If you already support our work to keep Indianapolis and Central Indiana informed, thank you. If you'd like to support us and receive unlimited access to these stories and everything we publish, please visit today. Eric Larsen is IndyStar executive editor. Reach him at 970-286-3598. This article originally appeared on Indianapolis Star: IndyStar publishing major police investigation, Indy 500 exclusives
