George E. Moore

In Memoriam

By Susan Wade
9/30/03

e breeze through the press-room door in the Wally Parks Tower at Indianapolis Raceway Park dozens of times each day during the NHRA's U.S. Nationals. Affixed to the door is an engraved nameplate, reminding that the space was dedicated to George Moore, the former Indianapolis Star automotive writer.

Anybody who knew George Moore has to smile when he sees it. Anybody who worked with George Moore has to feel especially fortunate.

Moore died Sept. 22, at age 83, and Jan Moore lost a devoted husband. The newspaper world lost an artist.

Indianapolis Motor Speedway historian Donald Davidson was exactly right when he told The Star in a remembrance of Moore, "He was very technical-minded, but he wrote it in layman's language. He made technical stuff so readable."

Even the fussiest copy editor never could catch Moore with so much as a misplaced comma. His copy was flawless. (And back in the days when Moore's "Speaking of Speed" and "Speaking of Cars" columns were some of the best-read offerings of The Indianapolis Star, editing still was a matter of professional pride.)

Forget about thinking Moore would make an error in content. That was impossible.

"The thing about George is that he was a genius about race cars," John Bansch, The Star's former assistant sports editor, said. "He often befuddled engineers from the engine and chassis manufacturers. He'd ask questions, and they'd answer, 'We'll have to call Detroit' -- or wherever the engines were made -- 'to find out.' He was brilliant that way."

But don't think George Moore was stuffy or boring.

He had an impish smile and a wicked sense of humor. His desk in the old, glass-walled Star sports department faced the door. One day, fellow sportswriter Dave Overpeck -- a theatric and fun-loving fellow with his own stinging wit -- burst into the office and announced his wife was pregnant. Moore cocked his head up at Overpeck and asked drolly, "Who do you suspect?"

George Moore -- it sounds disrespectful to refer to him simply as "Moore" -- was forward-thinking. He was one of the few who didn't join in the hysteria about a female sportswriter taking her place at The Star. He was encouraging when that was unfashionable among many of his peers. His support never flagged, even when the floundering 22-year-old novice stumbled from time to time while maturing as a professional.

He even rescued her from a snowbank after work one night, mashing her car's throttle into submission and commandeering that automobile like General Patton in an Army tank. He was a gentleman and friend.

But mostly, he taught each of us by example how to be a professional.

One Sunday night in April 1978, a private plane carrying USAC officials home to Indianapolis after a race in Trenton, N.J., crashed in a field near Arlington, Ind., killing all aboard. Frankie Del Roy, USAC's tech supervisor, was among the eight victims.

And George Moore remembered Frankie in his column with a few funny yarns. That clipped column has yellowed with age, but it is a marvelous example of what an obituary ought to do: capture the spirit of a person with factual but fond memories.

"That was pretty much the picture of Frankie," Moore concluded. "We could have written here that Mr. Del Roy was appointed to such and such a position at such and such a date, or he was a member of this organization or that. But he wouldn't have liked that, probably wouldn't know who we were talking about." Instead, Moore gave us a look at the heart and soul of a nuts-and-bolts man.

The sendoff he gave Frankie 25 years ago is apropos for himself: " . . . In the parlance of automobile racing they only built one. And last Sunday night they closed up the shop."