The Old Prof Thinks Out Loud

Her moment in the Indy 500 sun wasn't about race; it was only about Robin Roberts and her place in the next day's auto race. Or so it would have appeared to any acutely near-sighted observer. Seated on the podium in the IMS interview room, black-and-white checkered wallpaper covering the wall behind her, Roberts, the congenial co-host of ABC's Good Morning America daily eye-opener, smiled the proper smiles, mouthed the proper answers, just as if the red light on the TV camera had been shining brightly and the script had been written beforehand. She was the perfect guest of honor, her toothsome smile matching the pearly whiteness of her official Speedway polo shirt. Her tan skin, smooth as mahogany, wasn't on the table for discussion Saturday, the day before she would wheel the Chevrolet Camaro pace car around the Indy racing oval in front of 33race cars and countless spectators. Roberts was content instead to talk about her personal excitement about being asked to drive the Indy 500 pace car, only the second woman ever to do so. "Me? Are they sure?" she related of her first reactions, a look of half-amazement brightening her face. "I thought they must have gotten me mixed up with another Robin Roberts. "Then I realized they were talking about me, and I had a real lump in my throat." As with the rest of her answers, Roberts articulated the words with warmth and the on-camera confidence TV audiences were familiar with. She spoke admiringly of the abilities and athleticism of the drivers, the challenging prospect of driving at higher speeds than she ever had before, even how her race day duties complemented her status as a cancer survivor. "Who would have thought after battling cancer I would be driving the Pace Car?" she asked of herself. "I really like it that people will see that whatever happens, life does go on. I like being that example." The only brush up against the matter of race was when she talked about her father's place in her natural affinity for speed and the challenges that come with it. "I wish my dad was still here, because he was a pilot. He was a Tuskegee Airman, a true American hero, and anything that goes fast my dad was totally into." So, Roberts' father, the late Lawrence Roberts, was a member of the group of African-American fliers who first distinguished themselves in the aerial combat of World War II. And that was when race, and the irony of it in that moment and setting, crept into an otherwise color-blind interview. But, while Roberts acknowledged the rarity of her situation, only the second woman to pilot the pace car at Indy -- celebrity model Elaine Irwin Mellencamp was the first -- she didn't mention that she was the first African-American woman to do so. Two black men, Gen. Colin Powell and actor Morgan Freeman, had previously chauffered the lead vehicle for the big race's parade laps. So, as carefully as the issue had been steered clear of, it was as inescapable as the 500 track's whitewashed walls nonetheless. Three African-Americans have been selected to drive the 500 pace car in a span of seven years, but, in the 99-year history of the annual Indy event, only two have ever heeded the starting command and lined up behind that ceremonial vehicle. Willy T. Ribbs and George Mack both did, but neither has since 2002. The field of cars behind Roberts on Sunday will contain four female faces but no black ones. And, no, none of them answers to "Miss Daisy." Granted, Robin Roberts never once made it about race. She didn't need to; anyone with eyes and a sense of cultural history could recognize it. And Robin Roberts couldn't fix the problem of the Indy 500's racial myopia anyway. But surely somebody at the world's oldest and most venerated speedway or someone in the heirarchy of American Indy-car could. They certainly need to, and very soon. Otherwise, it is an old, old story of tokenism and guest appearances by folks like Roberts, Powell, and Freeman, and nothing resembling the best seats under the sun.

In ancient Greece, Diogenes wandered the streets of Athens, carrying a lantern, searching for one honest man. Today, I wander the streets of America, flashlight at ready, searching for one person who is not taking anti-depressants.