The car careened toward him. Racers directly behind could not swerve aside. There was a terrific crash as car after car piled on each other and went rolling. Two overturned on the track, and a third smashed against the fence. The fourth tore away a section not six yards from where Flash stood. A body hurtled through the air.
Horrified, but with nerves steady, Flash swung his camera to catch it all. He kept grinding until the crowd closed in about the wrecked car, blocking his view. A siren screamed.
“Get the ambulance!” Doyle yelled at him.
Flash shot the entire “clean up” scene, only delaying long enough to first obtain a few “still” shots of the wreckage for the Brandale Ledger. When track attendants had carried the injured from the field and had towed away the battered cars, he drew a deep sigh. He felt as weak as a rag, but at least he hadn’t wilted at the critical moment.
“Boy, we shot a picture that time!” Doyle exclaimed with his first show of enthusiasm. “If we had stayed with the other newsreel men, we’d have missed it!”
“The cop booted us into a lucky place, all right,” Flash agreed.
“No chance of our getting another shot like that today,” Doyle sighed. “We may as well take some crowd pictures and then try for ordinary fill-in stuff of cars coming down the stretch.”
They shifted locations twice, finally returning to a place at the railing not far from their original site. Both Flash and Doyle felt that they had experienced their big moment of the day. They anticipated no additional favor of luck, but it came when a second crash occurred close to where they had set up their equipment.
“What a day!” Doyle chuckled. “Now we’ll shoot the finish of the race and be done!”
They managed after considerable difficulty to squeeze into a hole near the finish line. Flash caught a picture of the race winner, weary and covered from head to foot with dust and oil, being congratulated upon his victory. The man was induced to speak a few words into the microphone.