As he approached Turn 4 at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, Johnny Rutherford gripped the steering wheel of his McLaren M16C tighter, his eyes focused intently on the road ahead.
On that turn, the Midwestern wind blew fiercely through a gap in the speedway’s old wooden grandstands, threatening to push his 882-pound racing car off course. To avoid spinning out of control or dropping on the race leaderboard, Rutherford expertly adjusted.
Without such precise corrections every lap, Rutherford likely wouldn’t have won his first Indy 500 in 1974 after starting eight rows behind the leader. His precision was rewarded with first-place finishes in 1976 and 1980, too.
His racing career often required him to make critical adjustments in moments that necessitated his undivided attention. Now, Rutherford adjusts to life at a slower pace — but adjusts nonetheless.
As a longtime Fort Worth resident, Rutherford adapted to a city different from the one where he claimed his racing career fame — and to a life in which recognition and stardom have gradually faded. On May 26, race day in Indianapolis, the Indianapolis Motor Speedway and Indy 500 will honor Rutherford once more, 50 years after he first donned the BorgWarner Victory Lane wreath and drank cold milk from a glass bottle.
“I hope the fans appreciate it as much as I do,” Rutherford said.
A storied career
Rutherford’s journey to his 1974 victory was not without challenges.
“We had to change the engine just before the race,” Rutherford, 86, said. “The guys hustled back to the garage, and in 58 minutes, they swapped the engine and got everything ready.”
Despite their efforts, a new rule enforced by a strict racing steward pushed Rutherford to the back of the line. Unfazed, he maneuvered through the field and, by the 12th lap, had advanced to third place.
Rutherford fondly remembers the “Greatest Spectacle in Racing.” The grandstands full of cheering fans; Jim Nabors singing “Back Home Again in Indiana”; the roar of the engines; and the smell of burning rubber are all part of the memory. He also recalls his fierce competition with dear friend A.J. Foyt, already a three-time Indy 500 winner.
“We ran side by side down the straightaway,” Rutherford said. “I thought, ‘If the fans don’t like this race, I don’t know what to give them.’”
Rutherford’s career is marked by numerous milestones. In the 1973 Indy 500, he set a new track record with McLaren, falling just shy of becoming the first driver to break the 200 mph barrier at Indianapolis.
He credits his win the following year not only to his driving skills but also to the unwavering support of his team.
“Having a good car and a fast pit crew made all the difference,” he said. “Back then, we had about six guys, each with a specific job … changing tires in eight seconds or less.”
Rutherford couldn’t have won his three Indy 500s, or his Pocono 500 and Michigan 500, without his team behind him, he said. A key player on that team — the oil that made the engine run — was his wife, Betty Rutherford.
Whenever the two returned to Fort Worth from months of traveling American highways and racing on tracks across the country, Betty was his chassis, always holding him up.
Rutherford met his wife at the 1963 Indy 500. Betty stood at the fence that separated the 2.5-mile roadway from the spectators and race day employees — she was an operating nurse, working at the track — when Rutherford first noticed her.
He propped his arm up on the armrest of the car door, adjusted his posture and winked at her. When his practice run was over, Rutherford let out the first words he’d ever say to his future wife.
“Haven’t I seen you someplace before?” he asked her. The pair had two children. Betty died in 2019.
When he wasn’t in his McLaren or in the booth working for ESPN calling races across the country, he and Betty came home to Fort Worth.
Fort Worth roots
Born in Kansas, Rutherford grew up in Fort Worth, where he attended classes at North Side High School.
“I worked jobs like climbing electrical poles and filling catalog orders … roller-skating around the Montgomery Ward building,” Rutherford said.
The city has physically transformed since then, he said. The Montgomery Ward building changed hands and was renovated in 2004 — but signs of its past remain. The bright-red “Montgomery” sign on top of the building now beckons to residents traveling down West Seventh Street.
“It’s like every other city, really,” Rutherford said. “It’s grown. You’ve got bigger houses, (new) areas coming up.”
Fort Worth has always been supportive to him and his career, throughout all its changes, he said.
But Rutherford feels a major difference in recognition between the height of his success and now.
“As time marches on, you don’t make headlines as much anymore,” Rutherford said, his voice lowering in volume. “But, that’s the way it goes.”
Exhibit, week of events honor Rutherford’s legacy
On May 26, as the Indy 500 prepares for its 108th running, Rutherford’s career is bound to be in the headlines once again.
Before the singing of “Back Home Again in Indiana” and the roar of race cars overwhelms the track, the Indianapolis Motor Speedway and McLaren Racing will honor Rutherford.
Throughout May, the speedway has hosted a series of events celebrating Rutherford’s legacy. His M16C will be driven Sunday morning, and he has been a VIP at several races and events.
In a March video, Indianapolis Motor Speedway President J. Douglas Boles told Rutherford he’d be on this year’s bronze badge, which grants garage access and other privileges, and presented him with his own badge: No. 1974.
“You’ve always been one of the favorites in Indianapolis, and what I love best about you is you come back every May and live right there with us in the middle of the motorhome (camp),” Boles said to Rutherford in the video.
For Rutherford, the celebration highlights the brotherhood among Indy 500 winners — a fraternity he’s extremely proud to be part of. Only 75 drivers have won the 107 editions of the Indy 500.
While he acknowledges his gradual loss of stardom, he doesn’t yearn for it.
“As you get older and older, you’re not the big thing anymore,” Rutherford said. “You don’t get upset over that or throw a tantrum.”
Instead, he accepts the opportunity to be celebrated with open arms, with fans cheering his name one more time before the national anthem plays and the drivers start their engines.
Editor’s Note: This story was edited 5/24 to reflect that Johnny and Betty Rutherford had two children.
Matthew Sgroi is an education reporter for the Fort Worth Report. Contact him at matthew.sgroi@fortworthreport.org or @MatthewSgroi1 on X. At the Fort Worth Report, news decisions are made independently of our board members and financial supporters. Read more about our editorial independence policy here.
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