Tuesday, June 1, 1948, Allison Transmission Plant, Indianapolis, Indiana. The exhausted Mauri Rose, transmission expert, sits down to his daily lunch next to a co-worker, Bob Thompson.

Bob: What you got there, Mauri?

Mauri: Corned beef on rye. What about you?

Bob: Ham and cheese on white. You want to trade?

Mauri: No, thank you.

Bob: Sure?

Mauri: Yes, I'm sure.

Bob: Suit yourself. (chewing loudly) So, did you go to the race yesterday?

Mauri: Yes, you can say that I did.

Bob: Did you see that #3 car? My, what a champion! His third time winning the Indy 500, they said! That's a record!

Mauri: You don't say.

Bob: (burping) I do say! My, I wonder how much money he's got... And how many women!

Mauri: (chewing)

Bob: Oh, to be that man! I'd never show up for work again! But what was his name... Was it Matthew? Martin? No... Marvin? Yeah, I think it was Marvin. Did you catch his name, Mauri?

Mauri: (getting up) Can't say that I did.

Bob: And you call yourself a racing fan!

Mauri: Have a good day, Bob.

Bob: (shaking head) Jews!