As soon as you glance at Alfred Eisenstaedt's photographs from the 1939 Indianapolis 500, you're hit with a wave of nostalgia that hits you hard.

The race vehicles themselves are quite appealing to the sight. To the naked eye, the vehicles appear to have sprung immediately from the mind of a child preparing for a soap box derby, complete with thin bodies and open cockpits.

Then there are the stands, which, according to one photograph, appear to have been hammered together by the Three Stooges the morning of the competition.

In addition, the clothing is distinct. One motorist appears to be the Invisible Man, as he is completely concealed by facial covers, with barely an inch of skin showing through. The apparel worn by the fans, from the caps and ties to the undershirts, transports you back to the late driving directions 1930s and early 1940s.

It's hard to imagine anything more traditional than the main figure at the event, who is none other than World War I flying ace Captain Eddie Rickenbacker, who went on to become an auto racer and the president of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

All of Eisenstaedt's photographs add to the nostalgic experience, whether it's his use of large newsreel cameras, the sight of drivers sipping water from real glasses rather than plastic bottles at pit stops, or the presence of a sign that reads BLEACHER SEATS for $1.50 per seat.

Racing lovers will take particular note of the track's brick surface, which was used back in the day when the races were held there. The Indianapolis Motor Speedway is still referred to as "The Brickyard" today, despite the fact that its racing surface has been replaced with asphalt, with the exception of three feet of brick at the start/finish line. This is a ceremonial salute to Eisenstaedt's history, which is captured in these photographs. The victors of the current races kiss those bricks as a symbolic tribute to the past.

Pictures convey the narrative of what looks to be a pleasant day at the track—even though a number of spectators appeared to be resting on the infield—as captured by photographers. While Eisenstaedt was more concerned with the setting than with the race itself, he did manage to catch the joy of the winning driver, the great Wilbur Shaw. However, he was unaware of the grim news of the day, which was a mid-race collision that claimed the life of reigning champion Floyd Roberts and others.

The piece that appeared in LIFE's June 12, 1939 issue, with the heading "145,000 Watch Sport of Death at Indianapolis Speedway," was naturally focused on the tragedy. One of those massive cameras captured newsreel video of the disaster, which was used to portray it in LIFE.

The author of LIFE's story stated that the Indianapolis 500 was a Memorial Day tradition that ought to be ended, and the tone of the piece implied that the end of car racing was imminent.

In the words of LIFE, "American motor racing reached its zenith when the vehicle and speed were both novel and exhilarating." "Its arduous testing, as well as its materials and technologies, made significant contributions to the advancement of the automobile industry." However, as speed became the possession of every driver, and as airplanes were developed that could outrun even the quickest cars, car racing began to lose popularity." Mrs. Floyd Roberts and her three children enjoyed a Memorial Day celebration that was praised in the story by columnist Bill Corum, who had written, "I can't believe there is enough sport or enough scientific gain to justify the sort of Memorial Day Mrs. Floyd Roberts and her three children enjoyed yesterday."

LIFE was completely incorrect about the future of racing, which has endured and prospered despite an astonishingly huge amount of racing deaths that has occurred. Crashing was considered as a normal element of the sport by the audience. In 1966, famed Los Angeles Times writer Jim Murray memorably summed up the situation with his snappy remark in front of another Indy 500 race: "Gentlemen, start your coffins." "Gentlemen, start your coffins," Murray said.

Eisenstaedt missed the tragic collision because he was more interested in the personalities around the track than in direct sports photography. However, he did catch the essence of the social experience of race day, which has been important to keeping the sport alive for so many decades.