The Athletic Hello and welcome to And Colossally. That's history with me Richard Williams and me Matt Bishop. And Matt, this is it, the 10th and final episode of season 4. And it's zipped by hasn't it? It has time flies when you're enjoying yourself Richard is what they say isn't it? But although the regular series is coming to a close we've still got one more episode coming for those of you in the Race Members Club. And that'll be our now traditional end of season Q&A episode. If you want to join us for that and get access to all of the rest of the bonus content we do at the race, you need to head to patreon.com/thecloss to sign up. But anyway, to get back to today's episode we're rounding off season 4 by looking back at the crownings of America's two Formula One World Champions. Because there have only ever been two actually. And more specifically we're going to look back at the tragic similarities between those two crownings. Actually it's all a little bit eerie isn't it Richard? Yes that might very well be the right word. There were 17 years between Phil Hill becoming America's first F1 World Champion at Monza in 1961 and Mario Andretti being crowned the second also at Monza in 1978. But as you say both men found themselves in the same position by which I mean that rather than being able to celebrate their triumphs unconditionally their crowning career achievement was overshadowed by their teammate being involved in a fatal crash in the very same race. And as it happens on the very same date September 10th. Certainly eerie in those regards. And also it's almost unthinkable that anything like that could happen in the modern era thank goodness. Let alone twice within a 17 year period is also more or less unthinkable today that a driver would spend the honeymoon period following a Formula One World Championship success morning a teammate and carrying a coffin. But yes it did happen and it happened twice. Both times to American drivers and both times after crashes at the same circuit. Monza a very very sad coincidence which also speaks well certainly speaks to the harrowing nature of motor racing for much of its existence actually. Yeah and at this point I should say that the two drivers who so sadly died as a result of crashes in the two Italian Grand Prix we mentioned were Phil Hill's Ferrari teammate of Gangwon Trips in 1961. And Mario and Dretty's Lotus teammate Ronnie Peterson in 1978 and we'll talk much more about both those drivers as we go along we will indeed yes. But we should probably start with a little background about America's two Formula One World Champions shouldn't we? Because although they both ended up achieving the same thing in other words winning the Formula One World title as Americans they got there in very very different ways didn't they Richard? Yeah they did very much so and in ways actually tell us quite a lot about the history of post war motor racing not just in the USA. Shall I talk a bit about who Phil Hill was Matt and then invite you to describe Mario and Dretty's background it's a deal excellent. I always found Phil Hill a particularly fascinating character. He was a bit of an anomaly among racing drivers for reasons that we'll explore. So let me start by saying that he was born in 1927 in Miami Florida but he was raised in Santa Monica California on the Pacific coast just west of Los Angeles. His father was Santa Monica's head postmaster and his mother wrote hymns. They had a place in Santa Monica's high society and young Phil was subjected to a strict upbringing which he didn't enjoy at all. Including three years at the Hollywood Military Academy between the ages of eight and eleven. What he did enjoy was cars and music. A bit like your good self. A few other differences though. He learnt to play several instruments and developed a lifelong love of classical music. He also became obsessed with automobiles and he was encouraged by his aunt Helen a wealthy divorcee whose garage contained a 1918 packard town car and a 1931 PSARO La Baron both of which she don't from new. She let Phil steer them sit on the driver's seat and steer them with the aid of her chauffeur and when he was twelve she gave him an old but very well preserved model T Ford for which she paid forty dollars. A school friend of Phil's from the military academy was George Hurst the son of William Randolph Hurst the immensely powerful newspaper publisher and kind of Rupert Murdoch of his day who was the model for Orson well citizen Kane young George had the use of a dirt track laid out on the family estate overlooking the Pacific where he and Phil raised each other in their jolopies. In 1940 Phil saw his first proper race at Gilmore Stadium where future Indy 500 stars like Sam Hanks and Billy Vukovic competed in midget cars on a quarter mile dirt oval and he was hooked. Mario and Dretty may have grown up in very different circumstances but didn't he have a similar reaction when he first saw racing cars in action he did indeed and I'll actually I'll come to that in a minute but first I'll just say something about Mario's background so Mario Gabriele and Dretty was born on February the 28th 1940 in Montona a seaside hill town in the Austrian peninsula then part of Italy but now. Renamed Motivan and now part of Croatia he was one of two identical twins and I think it's fair to say that his particularly close relationship with his beloved twin Aldo who sadly no longer with us he died five years ago would shape his personality and ambitions for decades to come. The Andretty family's world changed dramatically at the end of World War II when Austria was ceded to Yugoslavia or now Croatia as I say and as Italian citizens the Andretty suddenly found themselves displaced in a region swept by political upheaval. Over the next seven years they lived in a refugee camp at Luka Tuscany years that Mario would later describe as formative not surprisingly not because of hardship per sale that there was certainly hardship but because the tight community and shared struggle taught him not only resilience but also imagination or to put it another way the desire to dream of a better future. Not wishing to seem frivolous but I suppose if you're going to be in a displaced persons camp then there are actually worse places to be than look which is one of the nicest towns in it. I guess so I guess so but I doubt if the gorgeous scenery was front and central in Marios and Aldo's minds as they were growing up possibly not. Anyway despite the austerity of camp life and notwithstanding the outstanding natural beauty all around the twins discovered an electrifying passion and you're going to know exactly what it is motorsport as you know well Richard because you've studied it and written about it for decades. Italy in the early and mid-1950s was intoxicated with racing heroics and the names Ferrari and ascari in particular drifted through conversations there like magic spells Mario and Aldo absorbed it all sketching race cars on scraps of paper pretending their bicycles were V12 Ferrari. I think we all did to be fair taking racing lines always. Anyway and following every rumor about the exploits of Ferrari and yes Alberto ascari the brilliantly fearless driver or should that be the fearlessly brilliant driver which you think is better. Let's say both who became their first idol in 1954 when the twins were 14 the Andretti family allowed them to make a 190 mile journey or perhaps pilgrimage is a better word that would ignite the trajectory of their lives a trip to the auto drama national and get the monster for the Italian Grand Prix walking into Italy's famous cathedral a speed must have felt to them like stepping on holy ground I imagine. Anyway Mario would later recall how struck he was by the scale and splendor of the circuit you know the steepness of the banking the roar of the engines the crowd stressed in Ferrari red watching ascari wrestle a Ferrari around monza wasn't just inspiring for him it was a revelation actually he
describe the feeling "as though a door had swung open." In his retelling, he often says that after that visit to Monza, he no longer merely dreamed of being a racing driver. No, he knew he'd become a racing driver. Indeed, if I may briefly skip forward 23 years, and I'm doing that only because it's relevant to this bit, to immediately after he'd won, Mario had won the 1977 Italian Grand Prix at Monza for Lotus. He said, "I came here first in 1954 with Aldo when we were 14. That's when the dye was cast as far as the dreams of a young boy were concerned. My life has come full circle now here at Monza because for me, this is where it all began." "Dude, it is a nice quote, isn't it?" Anyway, yet as powerful as that awakening was, the family situation remained unsettled and opportunities in post-war Italy were limited. But that would all change when, in 1955, so the next year, the Andretti family received authorization to emigrate to the United States. For the boys, it was both exhilarating and, of course, frightening. They were leaving their homeland, their culture, their mates, and the motorsport universe that had fueled their imaginations. Yet the prospect of America, its wide open spaces, its glamour, its possibilities, felt to them like an open road. The transatlantic voyage, obviously by ship, delivered them to a country they barely understood, but one in which they sensed they could design their own futures in a way that had never been possible in Italy. Another door had swung open. In effect? Exactly. Exactly. The Andretti settled in Nazareth, a small town in eastern Pennsylvania with a strong immigrant community and a surprising, while surprising to Mario and Aldo, affection for motorsport. Although they were a far cry from Munz's famous outer drama, Nazareth had dirt tracks, weekend race meetings, and local racing legends. Mario and Aldo spoke little English at that time at first, but the language of engines, chassis, and speed required no translation. They discovered that American racing culture, rougher, more grass roots than Italy's Grand Prix traditions, was actually far more accessible to them. Ordinary people built their own race cars, local drivers could become aces, and that realization would shape the twins next bold step. And what was that? Well, by the late 1950s, Mario and Aldo were already sketching plans for their own race car, which they'd eventually build and debut at Nazareth Speedway. Just think about it. He was a child displaced by war, inspired by a national hero, transported across an ocean, and deposited in a small town where a dream could take shape. Looking back, he's often emphasised that he never felt limited by circumstances, only propelled by the belief, instilled at Munz that, quote, "racing was my world," and my world was racing, unquote. That's another great quote. It is. Mario was and is always a great corner of the phrase. Oh, yes, he was and is, yes, yes. And while he was settling into the land of the American dream, young Phil Hill was dreaming of Europe. He was still in high school, but he was also working at a local petrol station to earn the money to buy a succession of cars that he learnt how to do up and modify, including a Plymouth, a Chevy, and a V8 Ford. He did a bit of the street drag racing thing that was common among teenagers in Southern California at the time, and he started helping people to prepare their hot rods. But he'd also begun reading magazines that covered European road racing, and he soon formed the view that American style racing on ovals or drag strips was unsophisticated and boring by comparison. And the father of his sister's boyfriend had a collection of cars, including a Bugatti, a BMW, and an eight-cylinder Alpha Romeo with a Zagato body, just the sort of thing that Navellari had used to win the MieleMedia. And that all helped Phil find his own direction. Though there obviously were a few people with a few bobb around Phil, and you can see the sort of circles in which you grew up. Yes. This is what he said. He said, "I was immersed in a passion for it all, and even before I ever got to drive anything serious, I was completely captivated by the remanse of everything I'd read about it, of the great Mercedes and auto-unions of Caracciola, Von Brauchich, Tim Berkin, and his Bentley, will be sure and his indie-winning Maserati's. Everything about all of it. I was a fan." He was actually studying business administration at the University of Southern California, not out of interest in business administration, but simply because his rich aunt had told Phil and his siblings that when she died, they would have to look after her estate. He didn't enjoy college life either. Any more than his earlier years. And he dropped out in 1947 when he was 20. After his pal George Hurst mentioned that a mechanic on one of the top midget car teams was looking for an assistant. And that was it. That year Phil also sold his Ford and borrowed $200 from his aunt. What a significant figure she was. She was. She was. She was. Yep. So she she lent him $200 to buy a brand new MGTC from a dealer in Beverly Hills called International Motors. He made such an impression on the people there that he was offered a job as a mechanic, which turned out to last for seven years. He had his first taste of competition as a driver in the TC in rallies and time trials before trading it for a second one to which he added a supercharger. And it was in that car that he had his first proper race at Carol Speedway in Gardena, an LA suburb. He entered three races at an evening meeting under flood lights and he won the mall. So his ambition was fired and very soon he was fancying something a bit more powerful than the little MG. With the support of his employers at International Motors, he took himself to England where he spent several weeks absorbing knowledge at the Jaguar factory and Coventry followed by time at the Su Carboretta Works in Birmingham and the Rolls Royce factory in Derby. And while he was at Jaguar, he bought himself a brand new left-hand drive XK120 which was at the time the DC to sports car. Yes, absolutely. And when he and the XK went home to California, they were ready to race. So Matt, how did Mario and Dretty get himself into the cockpit of a racing car? Well, after the and Dretty family had emigrated from Italy or Yugoslavia or Croatia and they'd settled in Nazareth, Pennsylvania, Mario and Aldo began working at their uncles and not their aunt, but their uncle this time, their uncles garage to earn money and learn the mechanics craft. That was in 1955. By 1959, they'd learned a lot and they'd actually also saved a few dollars as well. So they scraped together just about enough money to buy themselves a bit of a junkyard car, a junkyard 1948 Hudson Commodore and convert it into a stock car. Oh, great car. I have the dinghy to maroon over cream deuterot, as I recall. It's amazing the things you remember. Oh boy. Anyway, I think I was brilliant. I loved the look at, I loved the look of that car, but sadly I never had the dinky version. Anyway, one camber dream. On April the 25th, 1959, Mario entered that car in a race at Nazareth Speedway, which by the way was a half mile dirt oval and it was his first ever race and, guess what, yes, he won it. Actually, they both raced it, both Mario and Aldo and in it, they won their first four races, two wins each, not two bad actually, pretty impressive. That early success was remarkable, really wasn't it? According to Mario, the project had been a labor of, quote, scraping together every cent, unquote, but it paid off. They quickly became regular winners. He, Mario once said that that 48 Hudson was, quote, no junker, very Mario expression. I've just called it a junkyard special, but according to the man himself, it was no junker. So I listened, dear listeners, no junker, no junker, believe Mario, not me. But anyway, it was no junker. And he went on to say a lot of thought and hard work had gone into it, unquote. But anyway, that early success didn't come without cost. In the final race of that 1959 season, Aldo crashed the Hudson hard. And he suffered a serious head injury, a fractured skull that led to a coma, lasting many days. Some reports say a couple
of weeks. Anyway, the twins had kept their racing secret from their father, and after Aldo's crash, Dad was absolutely livid. Luckily, Aldo recovered. Also, pretty lucky that Maria managed to carry on racing after his brother had had such a horrible accident. Absolutely, with his father's disapproval. Yes. Anyway, I guess that episode underlines how dangerous the racing scene was in Nazareth and places like that back then. But it also highlights the passion and the grit of the young and retty brothers. According to Mario, "When you have that desire, it supersedes a reason. You just go out there and do it." But Mario didn't stop at stock car events. His early victories in the Hudson gave him the confidence to have a go at other forms of racing. In the early 60s, he turned to midget car racing and small sprint cars on dirt tracks all around Pennsylvania and New Jersey. Or New Jersey. Yes. And by the end of his first two years racing in the modified stock car class, he'd already notched up 20 race wins. That's right. And his first properly big win came on March 3, 1962 when he was 22 when he won a 100 lap midget feature race at T-neck New Jersey. Great name for a town. It really is. T-neck. The following year, 1963, on one wonderful day in September, Mario won, not one, not two, but three midget feature races. Yes, three races, three race wins in a single day. These early years helped hone not only Mario's driving skills, obviously, but also his mechanical understanding. You know, the feel of suspension tweaks, chassis balance, throttle control, on dirt, all that kind of thing. Those humble Hudson days taught him more than speed. They taught him car control, mechanical sympathy, and the kind of technical ingenuity that would become a feature of his success in Indie cars and even, even in Formula One. But we'll come to that later, of course. By the early 1960s, Mario had developed from being a teenage immigrant tinkering in a garage to being a serious regional racing force. If I can put it that way. His wins at Nazareth Speedway and other dirt tracks now in the vicinity had bolstered his confidence and just as important his reputation among race promoters and his ability to build a competitive machine to set it up and to win on a minimal budget, by the way, demonstrated to him and to others that he really did have what it took. That's right. Anyway, back to Phil Hill, who was discovering the very different world of high-tone meetings organized by the sports car club of America. In his new XK120, he started winning races at places like Pebble Beach, a genuine road circuit and a very good one, just off the Pacific coast highway. And in 1952, he bought a Ferrari from none other than Luigi Kinetti, the New York-based Wheeler dealer, whose exploits we discussed at length in our recent episode dedicated to marathon performances at Le Mans. It's quite fun, isn't it, the way some of these characters interweave between Pogcasts? They do. The Ferrari that Phil Hill bought was a 2.6 litre barcetta, actually the very car in which the young French driver Jean-Larivier had been killed at Le Mans the previous year. And now repaired, it was the first of several Ferrari's with which Phil really established his reputation, particularly when he lap the entire field in a big race at Torrey Pines outside San Diego. In 1952, he went to Mexico to make his international debut in the Carrera Panamericana, the fabulous five-day race over open roads. He and his mechanic, Arnold Stubbs, were in a 2.9 litre Ferrari coupé owned by a man called Alan Giberson, an oil man from Dallas. They were up against works teams from Ferrari, Mercedes and Lancia, and they managed to finish sixth. And that encouraged Phil because a year later he was back for another crack. This time, accompanied by a fellow mechanic from international motors whose name you might recognise, it was Richie Ginta. That's certainly recognized. Indeed. And this time Alan Giberson provided a more powerful 4.1 litre Ferrari for what turned out to be a highly eventful race. On the third day, they were in the mountains trying to make up time lost to various problems. On a very fast downhill right-hander, they went over the edge and ended up in a wrecked car, 50 feet below the road. And here's how Phil remembered it. Quote, "When we stopped bouncing, the Ferrari's top was caved in. I shouted, 'You okay Rich?' and he said, 'Yeah, he was. And we got out fast. We were remembering Antonio Stagnoli, who burnt to death in his car the day before. But luckily, the coupé didn't catch fire." And when they clambered back up to the road, they discovered that it was covered with skid marks. A warning sign had been removed by a bunch of Mexican spectators who were now hiding behind rocks watching the entertainment. So, Hylene Ginta, very responsibly, spent the next 17 hours at that spot, warning oncoming competitors. They were jeered by the local hooligans until the race had gone by and they could hitch a ride to the finish. Racing in the 1950s, huh? Honestly, that story, Richard, it was another world. It wasn't it? Yeah. And when Phil got back from Mexico, he took a bit of a break from racing. It was a break that included starting the restoration of his dear aunt, Piersaro. But he was leured back. And in 1953, he made his debut at Le Mans in a little 1.3 liter oscar. He was sharing it with a chap called Fred Wacker, Chicago businessman, engineer, socialite, jazz musician, and president of the sports club in America. Sounds like my kind of chap. I was just thinking that. They were doing pretty well. They were third in class behind a couple of porches when the transmission broke during the night. Hylene Ginta were back in Mexico in 1954 in another of Alan Giberson's Ferraris to finish a quite brilliant second in the Carrera Panamera corner. 24 seconds behind Umberto Malioli's 4.9 liter works Ferrari. Yeah, look, some of these stories about the Carrera Panamera corner. I have to say, I think it's pretty, it's true to say that in those days the Carrera Panamera corner was, well, the most dangerous race of the more. Anytime, any place, anywhere. What do you reckon? Yeah, so I'm suspectator's as well as for drivers. Yeah. There was no, you know, security or any kind of safety provisions at all. You just had spectators removing warning signs. By the way, you mentioned Umberto Malioli who won the Carrera. I mean, what a great driver. Yes, he was in the works car. He was a type of a striker. He was. But to return to the, the sad news, there were nine fatalities in 1953 and seven more in 1954 after which the Carrera Panamera corner was discontinued as a proper race. Yeah. Anyway, Luigi Kanetti was impressed enough to persuade Enzo Ferrari to invite Phil to join the work squad at Le Mans in 1955, sharing a car with Gesu Umberto Malioli. They were lying forth when Pierre Leveg's terrible accident happened four hours into the race, killing 82 spectators and Leveg himself. And a few hours later, Phil and Malioli were actually lying third when a hole in the radiator put the car out. No one cared, Phil said. Not surprised, really. Yep. But nevertheless, he was now part of the international scene. And while he continued to win races at home, Kinetti fixed him up with another works Ferrari drive in the 1956 Buenos Aires thousand kilometers. This time he was sharing the car with a Belgian aristocrat Olivier Jean de Pierre, one of Enzo Ferrari's favorite sports car drivers. They came second to the Maserati of Sterling Moss and Carlos Mendelegi despite a nine minute stop to replace a broken oil pipe. And I think I'll just say because I stopped you to praise Malioli or Umberto Malioli. So I think I'll say Olivier Jean de Pierre was also one of the all-time great sports car drivers, wasn't he? You know, if you add up his stats, a four-time Le Mans 24 hours winner, a three-time C-bring 12 hours winner, a three-time target floria winner, let's not forget, a three-time Tour de France automobile winner, two-time Reims 12 hours winner. Anyway, he and Phil Hill became quite a partnership, didn't they? Yeah, he was and they did. Phil was the quicker of the two, but they were very complementary types. And neither of them was a car breaker, which of course was very useful in endurance racing. They won the 24 hours of Le Mans together three times, as you say, in 1958, '61 and '62. And yes, the C-bring 12 hours twice in '59 and '61. Phil actually won that C-bring five times in all three times with different co-drivers. But in terms of results,
partnership with John DeBierre was maybe the greatest in the history of sports car racing. Wouldn't you agree, Matt? Well, yes, yes. I suppose the list of triumphs we've just run through is evidence enough of that. But oh, by the way, I'd add Jackie X and Derek Bell, wouldn't you? Yeah, that's a very good call. Of course, they also had three wins as a pair at the more in 7581 and 82. But back to Phil. It was in 1958, the year of his first Le Mans win, that he also got himself promoted to the Ferrari F1 team. He'd raced a private 250 F Maserati at Reims in the French Grand Prix that summer, finishing seventh. But the deaths of Luigi Musso and Peter Collins had created sudden vacancies in Enso Ferrari's F1 squad, and Phil was called up to support Mike Hawthorne's bid for the World Championship in the last two races of the season at Monza and Casablanca. He did his job brilliantly, finishing third, immediately behind Hawthorne in both races. And in Casablanca, he actually let the Englishman go by late on so that he could take the points needed to snatch the title from Sterling Moss, which Hawthorne did by a single point. So just pause there a second. Had it not been for Phil Hill, Sterling Moss would have won a World Championship? He would indeed. Sterling needed to win the race and make the fastest lap for which you got a point. And he needed Hawthorne to finish third or lower. And it was Phil's gesture that enabled Hawthorne. How about that? On such things, does history tell? Yes. So it was obvious by then that Phil was both very quick and a good teamman. And then so put him in the starting line up for 1959 alongside Tony Brooks, Dan Gernie, Jean-Berr, and Cliff Allison. And for 1960, after Brooks Gernie and Berrides left, he became the team's number one, and he was joined by his old pal Richie Ginther. And that September, Phil won his first Grand Prix at Monza, the first for an American driver since Jimmy Murphy took the French Grand Prix in 1921. And as it happens, it was also the last Grand Prix victory for a front-engine car. Well, I think that's two anorac facts for the price of one. Boom, boom. Or ding-ding. Drum roll. Yes. I guess it's now my turn to explain how Mario and Dretty warmed his way into Formula One. By 1964, he was an indie car or rather userack regular. Racing offy, often houses, but we say offy, offy engine, blooms, elders, mescal skis and kuzmas. How so, names everyone. How so, names somewhere. Yeah. Great old racing American marks. All gone. Anyway. And the highlight of his first year, 1964, I mean, was third place in the Milwaukee Mile in a bloom offy. But by 1965, he was winning, but not only winning, winning at Indianapolis. Or be it, or be it not the Indy 500, but the Huzier Grand Prix at Indianapolis Raceway Park, which is not quite the same thing, in a hawk Ford. But to be fair, he was third that year in the Indy 500 in that hawk Ford. He placed well in a lot more races that year too, 1965. And he became a userack champion, a feat he repeated the following year in 1966. In 1967, he was userack runner up to AJ Foight. In 1968, he was userack runner up again, this time to Bobby Unser. And in 1969, he was userack champion yet again. You know, make no mistake, Mariah was big time by now. Put it this way. He won 29 of the 85 userack races that were run in 1966, 67, 68 and 69. That is a serious town. It really is, isn't it? It really is. He was absolutely big time. He'd become an absolute household name. Anyway, even despite that, the lure of Formula One, Mario's first love, remains strong. And in 1965, the Formula One legend, of course, Jim Clark had won the Indy 500 for Lotus. And Mario had impressed him. Clark duly told the Lotus boss Colin Chapman that Andretti just might be the real deal. A legend has it that Chapman sideled over to Andretti and staged whispered, "When you're ready, call me." Well, in the end, that's exactly what Mario eventually did. And so it was that Chapman made available for him a Lotus 49 B for the 1968 Italian Grand Prix at Monza. Dennis, D.S.J. J. J. J. Jenkinson, who we quote often on this podcast, wrote the following words in Motorsport magazine at the time. And I quote, "In official practice Andretti showed excellent form, lapping faster than the existing lap record." But he and Bobby Unser, who'd also bagged a guest drive for Monza in a BRM, not a Lotus, but in a BRM, were both disqualified from starting the race because they were flying off to compete in the Uzac Husia 100 on the Saturday. And they weren't allowed to fly back for the Italian Grand Prix. On the following day. On the following day, yes. A pity, really, because Mario had qualified a pretty impressive 10th. But the rules for bad drivers from taking part in two events within 24 hours, you see. Spoil, spoil, spoil, spoil, spoil, spoil. But actually, as it happened, it worked out rather well for Mario because he missed the next Formula One Grand Prix at San Javit in Canada. But he was ready for another tilt at making his Formula One debut at Watkins Glen two weeks after that. And guess what? Even though he'd never driven a Formula One car, of course, in anger, and also never seen the Glen before, despite the fact that he was American, he put Chapman's Lotus 49B on the pole with a lap 700th of a second better than Jackie Stewart's best effort in a Mattra MS-10. Mario DNFed with a broken clutch after 32 laps, but he made his mark. I mean, so impressive, pole position on his Formula One Grand Prix debut. Only the true greats ever managed that, you know what I'm going to do here now, don't you, Richard? Indeed, it would happen next four years later in Buenos Aires in 1972 when, yes, Carlos Reuterman stuck a Brabham BT34 on the pole for his Formula One Grand Prix debut. Carlos Reuterman, yes. I couldn't resist it. No, sorry. Anyway, we've now described the significant, very significant, actually, differences in the roots that Phil Hill and Mario Andreotti took to reach the very highest level of motorsport, namely Formula One, and as people, were they just as different, Richard? Oh, I think they were. Yeah, Phil Hill was introspective, anxious, artistic, a charming man who could talk interestingly about almost anything, but not one given to enjoying big social gatherings or any hint at all of being treated like a celebrity. He was a bit ambivalent about what he did for a living, and in the mid-50s, he suffered so badly from an ulcer that it stopped him racing for a while. The gifted American journalist Robert Dailey called him, quote, "a gentle man in a profession devoid of gentleness," unquote, and he described how, during his Ferrari years, Phil would go back to his hotel in Modena and lie in his room, listening to opera on a high-fi he'd rigged up himself rather than join the rest of the boys in the bar. He also carried a like a camera with him to the races, and he used it to take many really excellent photographs, which were collected in a beautifully produced book called Inside Track, published a couple of years ago, and still available to those with a bit of cash to spare. Well, quite a lot of cash actually, but worth it. 140 quid, I believe? Yes, and that's just the single volume edition. The two volume job is quite a bit more. Is it really deary me? Anyway, as you say, Richard, Mario was and is an altogether different kind of character. He was and is a great recontor, a marvellous phrase-maker, as you've actually already observed, but he's also properly charismatic, and like all true grates, he carries his fame lightly. There's no sense of how, well, there's no sense of the pedestal about him. Only the pleasing certainty that he stands on the ground he's earned, and with a grace that invites you to stand there with him too. He includes you, I mean, I don't know very well, but I've obviously had conversations with him, and he includes you. He's generous, despite the grandeur of his legend. Would you agree? Yeah, yeah, I would. That's nicely put. Quite agree. Yeah, he listens to your questions, and by the way, he actually even listens to your
stories was not quite the same thing. We all listened to your stories, man. Well, I suppose there must be some people listening to our stories at this very moment. Anyway, but back to Mario, Mario's replies arrive. Of course, they arrive with a twinkle and as often as not a well-turned phrase, because that's what he's like. And that's actually how can I put it? There's a kind of old school call lyricism in the way he speaks, even when he's using slang, which he does, you know, American slang, although I've never heard him swear actually. But even a casual remark carries cadence and color. And then there's his quiet magnetism, you know, an aura that doesn't shout but resonates. You find yourself leaning in as he's talking, not because he demands attention, but because he rewards it. I mean, he really is a proper legend. Yeah. So now with both these two great Americans on the brink of what would be the climactic season of their careers, it's time to take our first ad break. Welcome back. In part one, we told you a bit about Phil, Hills and Mario and Dretty's contrasting backgrounds. They're different paths to Formula One, they're contrasting characters and they're different approaches to racing. But in part two, we should start focusing on the similarities in their stories because as we said at the beginning, there are several. But before that, I think I should probably whizz us through the first bit of Mario's Formula One career because he didn't get near world championship glory, nowhere near it until he was something of a veteran. The thing is he never gave up Indy cars or Uzak. At M Y Shute, he was super successful in stateside racing after all. But as I say, the lure of Formula One remained always remained. So he got into the habit of doing a few Formula One Grand Prix every season, but not that many, and combining doing that with a full Uzak program. For instance, in 1969, he entered three Formula One Grand Prix for Lotus in 1975 for March. In 1971, seven for Ferrari and he won one of them, by the way, at Kyle Army, his maiden Formula One Grand Prix win. In 1972, five for Ferrari again, in 1974, two for Vells Panelli Jones. But in 1975, he did 12 for Vells Panelli Jones again, and in 1976, he finally, finally decided to give Formula One his serious attention, returning to Lotus. And doing the whole season for the first time. And it was pretty good. He was third at Zan Vorten Mossport, and he won at Fuji. That extraordinary Japanese Grand Prix in a monsoon in which James Hunt became world champion for McLaren. Then in 1977, he Mario and Dretti, I mean, not James Hunt, raced for Lotus again, winning four Grand Prix, Long Beach, Harama, Dijon, and Monza. And that Italian Grand Prix win of Mario's was the one I was talking about half an hour ago, in fact. And by 1978, at 38, so no spring chicken now, he was ready to give everything he had to becoming Formula One World Champion. And Colin Chapman was ready to give him the car he needed to do just that. Yes, exactly so. The most obvious similarity here is that both Phil Hill in 1961 and Mario and Dretti, in 1978, found themselves sitting by far and away the best car in those respective seasons, which is after all part of the art of being a Grand Prix driver, isn't it, Matt? Well, it certainly is. I mean, I mean, the obvious example, look at Juan Manuel Fangio, five Formula One World Championships with four different teams in eight full seasons in Formula One. And each of those World Championship winning seasons, in each of them, the Alfetta, the Mercedes W196, the Lancia Ferrari D50, and of course the Maserati 250F, were the best cars on the grid. As without question, was the Ferrari Dino 156 in 1961 indeed so? Designed by Carlo Kiti, it was known to the world as the Sharknose, thanks to the twin air intakes at the front of the bodywork, which made it one of the most charismatic Formula One cars of all time. And it had a head start on the competition, even though it didn't look as if it needed one. The rules had changed for 1961, the engine capacity limited gone down from two and a half litres to one and a half litres, which was the old Formula Two capacity. Ferrari had actually been racing a one and a half litres of V6 engine in F2 for a couple of seasons, developing it in anticipation of the change. Ferrari's rivals, the British manufacturers, Cooper and Lotus and BRM, they may have led the change to mid-engine designs, which Ferrari was now belatedly adopting, but they'd been left behind when it came to engines. They hoped the new regulations were going to be postponed or even abandoned, but they were wrong. And Ferrari took full advantage. They were eight races that season, 61, and they won five of them. Sterling Moss in a Lotus with an old four-cylinder climax engine, beat them twice, at Monaco and the Nürburgring, those being the circuits where virtuosity could trump sheer power. And in Asylum, won the last race of the season, at Watkins Glen also in a Lotus, but that was because the Ferrari said already wrapped up both championships and didn't bother to cross the Atlantic. Of the seven races, the Scuderia entered, they took a one, two, three, four finish at Spa, and a one, two, three at Aintry. Phil Hill and Wolfgang von Trips ended up with two wins a piece, but it was the fifth victory that did most to prove the supremacy of Carlo Kiti's shark nose, particularly on high-speed circuits. And that went at Reims, went to Giancarlo Baguetti, a 26-year-old from Milan. It was his very first drive in a World Championship series for me, the one race. And he squeezed home by a tenth of a second from Dan Gernese Portia, after all his teammates, Hill von Trips and Gintha had hit trouble. Matt, you understand betting. Baguetti's achievement of winning a World Championship Grand Prix at his first attempt has stood alone since 1961. And what are the odds of anyone matching it? Wow, good question. A thousand to one, I reckon. Yep, I should think. So when the team's got to Monza in September, for the penultimate race of the season, the championship was between Hill and von Trips. There was no designated number one in the team, no team orders. It wasn't at all like the race in Morocco in 1958, when Hill was expected to provide Hawthorne with whatever help he needed. But since at that point, von Trips had won twice to Hill's single victory, the odds were probably shading in the German's favour. And maybe there was a feeling that he was the quicker of the two, where Hill had been aggressive and a bit accident prone in his very early days. Now he was generally seen as fast and steady. von Trips was swarve and sophisticated, fluent in four languages, the very model of an old school European Grand Prix driver. He was gregarious and popular with the other drivers. He made home movies of the more relaxing together on holiday or mucking about in hotel swimming pools, but he took his job seriously. And now here's what Hill said about the way his opponent raced, quote, "I was very aware of staying within my limits, but Trips was unpredictable in this regard. And in a way, I feared him, racing against him. I soon learned that I was capable of being sucked into areas where I didn't want to be, even as I was having enough trouble knowing and sticking to my own limits." That's fascinating, the use of the word feared. Isn't it? Yeah, yeah. He was very honest about everything himself facing. And here's what he said about the atmosphere in the build-up to the season's climax, quote, "the tension was excruciating and could not be relieved by a frank expression of competitiveness, not acceptably anyhow between friends and teammates. All year long, it was him or me for the championship. It's not a normal situation that race drivers are in. You try to beat the other guys all day and then at night you're supposed to forget all that, unquote." So, Monza, the race there, was impossible to call. All that was certain was that one of the Ferraris would win on a circuit including the high-speed bank section and to make sure five of them were entered for Von Trips, Hill, Ginther, Baguetti and the 19-year-old prodigy Riccardo Rodriguez, who on that day would become the first Mexican driver to take part in a world championship Grand Prix. Now, moving to Mario Andretti, Matt, would I be right to suggest that the Lotus 79 was just as dominant in 78 as the shock
nose had been in 61? Yeah, I think that's fair, yes. But the Lotus 79's advantage, unlike the Sharknose, the Lotus 79's advantage was entirely aerodynamic. The previous year's Lotus, the 78 of 1977, had been Formula 1's first wing car, but the 79 of 1978 was Formula 1's first ground effect car, slightly different thing, although related technologies of course. And like the Ferrari Sharknose of 1961, the Lotus 79 of 1978 was not only quicker than its rivals, but more beautiful too. The 79 perfected Lotus's wing car stroke ground effect concept, creating strong downforce without incurring the drag penalties of traditional wings. Okay, it had wings, of course, front and rear, but they didn't have to be quite as big or therefore quite as draggy as some rivals wings. And to be clear, the 79's ground effect Venturi, by which I mean longitudinal tunnels sealed by sliding skirts running alongside the cockpit on each side, created suction that translated into a car that felt absolutely planted in corners. Even before it had made its race debut, which it did make in the 1978 Belgian Grand Prix at Zolder, the 79's pace in testing had convinced Andretti that it was the machine that could carry him to his long awaited Formula 1 World title. Sure enough, when the 79 raced for the first time, which was, as I say, was at the Belgian Grand Prix, Mario immediately demonstrated its superiority by taking pole position by a mile. Well, by 8/10 of a second actually, which is a big margin, Carlos Reutemann's second on the grid in a Ferrari. And that's significant, by the way, because the Ferrari's Torki flat 12 engines and powerful brakes, because Zolder was always hard on brakes, had traditionally suited Zolder in recent years, but nonetheless, the 79 had the legs of it by a long way. And then of course, on the Sunday, Andretti converted that pole position into a commanding victory. Yeah, so I was there at Zolder for that one. Were you? Yeah, in the lotus pit, as it happens. And you could see straight away that the 79 was setting a new standard, and everyone in the paddock knew it. Well, I am the you being there, and I wasn't there. I mean, I was only 15, but I certainly wish I had been. Anyway, next time out in Spain, Harama, Mario won again. He and his new four 1978 Lotus teammate, Ronnie Peterson, having delivered a dominant Lotus one two in the race from an equally dominant Lotus front row lockout in qualifying. They really were beginning to dominate now. Then came Anderstorp, which was the Brabham fan car aberration. It's kind of way of putting it. Yes, yes. Anyway, just to be clear, to remind everyone, that was the race that Nikki Loudow won in Gordon Murray's crudest ever Formula One car. And I'm being a little bit controversial here. And I will concede it was a brutally effective one, but very crude, which Brabham boss Bernie Eccleston thankfully had the good sense to withdraw after its one and only Grand Prix. But after that, because it wasn't banned, by the way, it was withdrawn. People often say it was banned. It wasn't banned. It was withdrawn before it could be that. Yes, indeed. Anyway, after that, the next race was at Paul Ricard in France, and normal service was resumed. Andretti and Peterson finishing first and second again in that order. And they were cruising to another one, two victory in the next race, Brandshatch. I was there for that one. Will you? Nope. Oh, there you go. One one. Anyway, until a few leaks stopped Peterson on lap seven, then a puncture and an engine failure stopped Andretti on lap 29. Right from one for Ferrari. I was very happy. I was very happy. Anyway, Andretti then won at Hockenheim, while Peterson DNFed with a broken gearbox. And Peterson then won in an Austrian downpour at the Eurstereichring, while Andretti shunted on lap one while trying and failing to overtake Roytem and Ferrari. I'm sorry, I'll keep mentioning Roytem, but he is relevant to the narrative. Of course, completely. Completely German. Anyway, then at Zanvort, Andretti took the pole with Peterson alongside, and they serenely motored off to another easy and dominant Lotus one, two victory. Andretti again, finishing first, this time less than a second ahead of Peterson. Could Ronnie have won that one, Matt? Do you think should he have won it even? Well, good question. Good question. And I will come to it, but just let me say, in answer if I may, I mean, look, Peterson was a genius. He was a genius. One of the most naturally gifted drivers we've ever seen in any series, in any era. But he wasn't that bothered about car development. He was so talented that he was usually able to drive around a car's handling problems and make it go as fast as another driver could make it go by dialing its setup. But Ronnie could do it by sheer talent and probably go faster than them. Andretti wasn't like that. He was technically minded and he was a natural tinkerer. You know, he enjoyed perfecting a car setup and actually Chapman loved him for it. I think it's fair to say that yes, the Lotus 79 was a brilliant car, but it wouldn't have become quite so brilliant if Andretti hadn't been working so diligently and cleverly with Chapman and the other Lotus engineers behind the scenes to make it so and actually Peterson benefited from that work that he couldn't do and Andretti did do. Also, just to be clear, while we're on the subject, one of the key reasons for the 79 success was how naturally Andretti meshed with its driving style. You know, the car rewarded smooth, confident cornering, which was, you know, with a hallmarks of Andretti's technique, whereas Peterson was by contrast a natural opposite locker. Don't get me wrong, brilliant, brilliant driver Peterson, but a different style. And there's a quote here that I'd like to read. Andretti described the 79 as quote, "almost reading my mind." And I think that intuitive connection gave him the confidence to push hard early in the races. If you look at them, he often developed and established a good lead early on. Thereby break the field's resistance, then control the pace from the front. Peterson was often not far behind, sometimes just a few meters, in fact, as at Zamvort. And I will come to your question. And Andretti's critics began to whisper it that Ronnie could have beaten Mario whenever he chose, but he chose not to. Well, was that true? So to answer your question at last. Well, it may have been true. It may have been the case at Zamvort. And actually to be fair, it probably would have been the case at Brands Hatch, had they not both DNF'd, because Ronnie's pole position there was a thing of quite majestic beauty. But it's an over simplification to say that it was the case everywhere, because it simply wasn't. Or to put it another way, Mario Andretti and the Lotus '79 might have been made for each other. I think it's worth my reading a quote from the book Mario Andretti World Champion. And the quote is Andretti's as follows. It's quite true that I was initially less than delighted when Colin suggested that Ronnie should come back to Lotus for 1978. I felt that I'd played my part in bringing the team back to the front. And I also felt that 1978 would give me my best shot at the title. I didn't want anything to screw that up. Ronnie was a fantastic race driver. The man was a number one driver, nothing else. It seemed ridiculous to me that a guy with his ability and experience should have to accept the restrictions of a number two. At the same time, I'd made my position clear to Colin. The agreement was that if both cars were running at the front with no problems, then I was to win. Ronnie accepted that when he signed his contract. More important, he gave his word, unquote. That's fascinating and all true. But Peterson accepted those terms and conditions. Well, I think probably for three reasons. A) he was a humble and honorable chap. B) he wanted to get back into a winning car after a couple of pretty iffy seasons with March and Tyrell. And C) although he was super experienced, he was still only 34. And he figured that a good season with Lotus would put him back on other team's shopping lists, enabling him to kickstart a great last few years of his Formula One career. And by the way, it would have worked actually as we'll explain a bit later in this podcast. But sticking with 1978 for the moment, I think it's fair to say that the load of 79 influenced the psychological landscape of the season. It was a great car and it was dominant.
and as the other teams scrambled to adapt or reverse engineer Lotus's wing car, stroke, ground-effect technology, and Dretti benefited from an environment in which the opposition was perpetually on the back foot. Rival drivers knew that even white, knuckle, bansai qualifying laps were never going to be able to match the Lotus on circuits that rewarded aerodynamic grip. And therefore Andretti's pole positions and early race sprints demoralized competitors while simplifying his own race management. Don't forget, in a season in which car reliability and driver racecraft still played major roles because you never knew when an engine was going to explode in the late 1970s, as you remember Richard. The Lotus 79's performance margin meant that Andretti and Peterson could run slightly within themselves, preserving their machinery while still dominating. That's true. By the time the F1's circus departed Zandvot after the Dutch Grand Prix, which the 13's or the 16 rounds, they were sitting pretty first and second in the F1 World Championship standings. Mario had 63 points, Peterson had 51, with three Grand Prix still to run, and nine points for a win in those days, only Peterson could challenge Andretti for the driver's title. And Lotus already had the constructors title sewn up. That's right. So the stage was set for a joyful coronation at the next race. Monza, which was Andretti's motorsport alma mater, and a place he loved as much or more than any other. But it didn't work out quite like that, did it Richard? It most certainly didn't. But before we tell you why, and before we compare and contrast what happened to Mario Andretti and Ronnie Peterson at Monza in 1978, with what happened to Phil Hill and Volkang von Trips at Monza in 1961, it's time to take another ad break. Welcome back. We're now into the final part of the pod, and the final part of Phil Hill's and Mario Andretti's Formula One World Championship seasons. Both drivers, Hill in 1961 and Andretti in 1978, are now headed to the old outer Dromo. Monza, Italy, with the prospect of becoming Formula One World Champion. For Hill, it's the seventh of eight rounds on the World Championship calendar that year. For Andretti, it's round 14 of 16. And as we've already said Richard, both drivers adored Monza, didn't they? Well, who wouldn't, but they both had special reasons. For Mario, as we've said, it was where he first saw a Grand Prix as a boy in 1954. And for Phil, it was where he first won a Grand Prix in 1960. As for their teammates, Hill's team-mate von Trips enjoyed racing there because it was fast and encouraged drivers to push their limits. And he duly took pole position for the 1961 race at the head of a Ferrari 1234 on the grid with Hill only fourth. It's worth saying that Monza hadn't been a particularly lucky circuit for von Trips in the past. He'd had a massive crash there during practice in 1956 when his Lancia Ferrari spun off at the old curva grandee and he was thrown out while it destroyed itself. There was another narrow escape in 1958 during the race this time when he collided with Harry Shell's BRM at the Lesmo corners and was again thrown from his car. This time he landed in a rose bush and broke a leg so he was lucky again. The car carried on without him and wrapped itself around a tree. A head of the 1961 race, von Trips had spoken to the press in the pits and they asked him whether he'd become a better driver since that pair of crashes. "No only luckier," he replied. "To do this, you must drive close to the limit, which I'm always prepared to do." "There's a thin line between winning and crashing. You have to walk it like a tightrope," unquote. And in the context of what was to happen, those would prove to be very sadly prophetic words. Absolutely. And it's interesting that while von Trips was willing to put it all on the line in pursuit of glory, Hill's mindset had somewhat changed by the tail end of 1961. This is what he had to say about where he was at mentally. "I'd been to many races and many funerals and a battle was mounting within me. There was an inner drive to race to excel, but there was also a tremendous drive to stay alive and in one piece. Some drivers never seemed to entertain that conflict. I think Trips was one of them. He was tremendously turned on by everything about racing, the driving, the adoration. His inner image of himself seemed to be as a racing hero." "Very interesting. And speaking of racing heroes, Mario and Dretty's teammate, Ronnie Peterson, was undoubtedly one of those. And he was also very quick at Monza, winning there in 1973 and 1974 for Lotus and in 1976 for March. But by 1978 he could only qualify fifth while Dretty took pole position ahead of Jill Villeneuse Ferrari. But going back to 1961, with four forrries at the front of the grid and the Monza crowd in a mood for celebration, no one could imagine how it was going to turn out. "No, indeed. But by the time they came around at the end of the first lap in 1961, I mean, not 1978, a leading group had separated itself from the rest of the 32 car field. All five forrries with Phil Hill in the lead, plus Jim Clark's Lotus and Jack Brabham's Cooper, all slipstream each other like mad. As they ran down the back straight towards the parabolic curve for the second time, heading into the braking zone, Von Trips and Clark somehow touched. The Ferrari turned sharp left, shot across the grass verge, and climbed up a bank and hit a chain-link fencing that was holding back the spectators who were crowded against it. The car summersaulted over Clark's Lotus and cartwheeled back onto the track, throwing Von Trips out. He'd suffered fatal injuries, and so had 15 spectators." You know, from a 21st century perspective, it's hard to believe that the race went on. But it did. This was the middle of the 20th century, 64 years ago, and that's what they did, all the way to the scheduled finish of the race after 43 laps of the 6.3 mile combined circuit. Amazing, really. "Yeah, and the drivers had to pass the wreckage as it was cleared away, and they went round lap after lap. For a long time, it looked as though the race would finish with Ferrari's in the first four places, but first Baguette's engine expired, and then so did Rodry Gizze's, both of them before half distance, and then Guinness's Ferrari met the same fate, and that just left Phil Hill alone at the front. He built up such a margin over the rest that he could back off and take it easy, reassured by the knowledge that he'd had a brand new engine fitted between the last practice session and the race. When he saw the checkered flag, he had a lead of 21 seconds over Dan Gernie's Porsche, and two and a half minutes over Bruce McClarence Cooper in third place. In the grandstands around the circuit, there was a lot of Italian rejoicing because they hadn't been informed of the tragedy. The organizers didn't want to risk a stampede to leave the circuit, impeding the ambulances as they came and went, carrying the dead and injured. And Hill didn't know of Fontripp's fate until after he got out of the car and had the laurels put round his neck. Sports Illustrated, the American magazine, reported that he wept when he heard the news, but that wasn't the case. This is how Phil reflected on it. At the risk of seeming to be callous, I can only say that my emotional defenses are pretty strong. I can be stereical when I have to be. He did admit to feeling what he called a certain amount of guilt that Fontripp was dead and he was alive and had won the World Championship. And then the glory of being the first American World Champion was brusquely put into perspective by the New York Times, which put the story of Fontripp's death on the front page, but relegated the news of Hill's triumph, the first American World Champion, to page 33. Wow. Yeah. You know, as I hope we've shown already in this podcast, Phil Hill had a way with words. Now, he wasn't a wise cracker and retie was and is that, but he, Hill, I mean, often spoken a, I don't know, a measured, thoughtful, intelligent, unshoey and elegant way. He certainly wrote like that. And if you haven't read Phil Hill Yankee Champion, dear listener, which Hill co-wrote with the prolific American sci-fi author, William F. Nolan,
You really should. It's a great book. Here's its haunting description of Von Tripp's funeral in Horan near Kallon, Germany, told in the first person by Hill. Quote, "Richie Ginther and I came up from Monza to service poor bearers. After the funeral mass at Hammersack Castle, our procession formed outside. It was raining, but none of us wore raincoats. We walked bare headed, beside Tripp's casket, carried on his open Ferrari sports car. That dark coloured Ferrari was driven very slowly behind a band, dressed all in black, playing shop as funeral march. The pace was set by an ancient woman, also dressed in tally in black, and carrying a symbolic brass lantern. And we trudged along the cobbled road in the rain for a mile to the church, where another interminable mass was sung. The procession again formed outside the church for the final mile to the cemetery, while the rain was now beating down steadily, drumming on the flower-decked casket in the open car. The family chapel was on a high knoll, and we clambered up it, eight of us, slipping and sliding on the mud, bearing the heavy casket. There, at the chapel, the last service was performed, after which poor Tripp's was finally in toomed. I have never experienced anything so profoundly mournful as that day. "And it's very moving what he wrote next in the same book about going to see Von Tripp's mother in the family's castle that night." She was composed, I sense, that she didn't condemn racing. I knew that, of course, she was terribly hurt at the loss of her only son, but he'd freely chosen a dangerous career, and now that he was gone, she accepted the fact, like a Spartan mother. I left the castle, without pain, strangely relaxed, for the first time in days. It's beautiful prose, isn't it? It is, very, very. As you said, a thoughtful man. Yes. But the rest of Phil Hill's career in F1 was a disappointment, wasn't it, Matt? At the end of 1961, most of Ferrari's top engineers and managers walked out after a disagreement with the old man, and 1962 was a disaster. Absolutely. The British teams have new engines at last, and they simply took Ferrari to the cleaners. The reigning world champion managed a total of 14 points, one second place and two thirds in the first three races of the season, and thereafter nothing. The zip. Hill always felt that Enso Ferrari put part of the blame on him. "He never understood me," Phil said. "I wasn't his type, not super-gung-ho enough to suit him. I wasn't willing to die for Enso Ferrari. I wasn't willing to become one of his sacrifices." Very, very remarkable quote. Yeah, strong words. Well, mercifully he didn't become one of those sacrifices. But for 1963, Phil made the mistake of linking up again with Carlo Kiti at a new Italian team called ATS. Out of Mobili, Turismo is Sport, whose cars turned out to be absolutely useless. They appeared only six of the season's ten races, and might as well have stayed at home for the rest, because they didn't score a single point. And after that it was a story of further decline, wasn't it? Well, it was. Yeah. Even so, Hill still had enough of a reputation to be offered a place in the Cooper Works team alongside Bruce McLaren in 1964. But Cooper's heyday was over, and he, Phil, managed only a single world championship point. And that effectively was the end of his career in Formula One. Although, although he reappeared in race overalls in 1966 to drive one of the camera cars during the shooting of the film Grand Prix in Monaco and Spa, then finally Dan Gurney invited him to make one last appearance at Monza, fittingly, in an Eagle climax, in the place where he had twice triumphed, he failed to qualify. He carried on making a mark in sports cars, though. I wish I'd been at Brown's hatch in 1967 to see him win the BOAC 500 with my expense in a mighty shaperol 2F. Although I did see him race it at Le Mans earlier that year, which was a spectacular sight while it lasted. What a great car. It was. Yeah, with its huge wing, movable wing. But that win at Brown's where he beat the Works Ferrari P4s must have been very satisfying for him. I bet it was. Yeah. Anyway, he died in 2008, aged 81, and actually, actually I knew him quite well in his last 10 or so years. In old age, he used to appear at Monza every year for the Italian Grand Prix as a guest of Ferrari and at no other Formula One venue. And I often used to chat with him in the paddock about racing, obviously, but also about his prized collection of old Packard road cars. And when I say old, I really do mean very old. At one time, I jotted them down in my notebook at the time, actually, at one time he had. And I list them. A 1912 Model 30 touring. A 1927 343 convertible sedan. Not one, but two 1932 twin sixes. And a 1938 Model 12 touring, which was mint. That is an obsession. It really is. It really is. And from 2000, the year 2000 to 2003, by which time Phil's son Derek was racing, first in Italian Formula 3000, then in international Formula 3000, having cut his racing teeth in stateside series such as Barba Dodge, American Lamar and Toyota Atlantic. Phil and I used to talk about how to navigate Derek into Formula One. And actually, to be fair, the well-known Formula One journalist Tom Clarkson, who was then working on the magazine that I was then editing if one racing, did his best to help too. Sadly, it never happened. A bit of a pity. I should also add that Phil spent some years contributing road test reports of exotic cars to the American monthly magazine Road and Track. They were so well written that I used to cut them out and save them. You still got them. Somewhere, yeah, believe me. You're not a man who throws things away. That's a generally not. Anyway, we should now discuss what happened at Monza in 1978. And one of the many sad coincidences in our dual track story is that the fatal accidents that occurred to the teammates of both Phil Hill and Mario and Dretty took place very soon after the start of those races. In 1961, Vovkongvon Trips was killed close to the end of the second lap. In 1978, Ronnie Peterson died after an accident that took place after only a few hundred yards. That one, in 1978, had a chaotic start. And Dretty was on pole with the Gilles Biel nerves for R.E. next to him. Peterson was only fifth on the grid. He'd lost time having his engine replaced during practice. Then he'd crashed the car during the morning warm-up session so he had to use his spare car, a year old Lotus 78 for the race. The starter, one Gianni Restelli, couldn't wait for all 24 starters to take their places. So many of them were still moving into their grid slots when the lights went green. Not everyone at the front was ready and some strange things started happening as soon as they set off. The cars bunched up and they were beginning to funnel into the approach to the first chicane when Riccardo portrays his arrows, shot past James Hunt's McLaren on the right hand side of the track. Hunt jinked instinctively left into Peterson's path. The two cars touched, the Lotus veered right and smashed into the guardrail and burst into flames. Several other cars were involved and spun to a halt. Hunt, Clay Regatsohnie and Patrick DePierre jumped out and ran over to Paul Peterson out of the blazing wreck. He lay on the track fully conscious with slight burns but severe leg injuries for 20 minutes before the medical team arrived. Meanwhile the rest of the field toured round and and came back to a halt on the grid. While Peterson was being taken to hospital in Milan, the race was restarted, shortened from 52 laps to 40. Andretti won it with Vielner's second, but they were later judged to a jump the start and were relegated to sixth and seventh, and in first and second to the Brabbermalfers of Nikki Lauder and John Watson. In terms of the championship, it didn't matter. When Ronnie died 12 hours later of the catastrophic effects of multiple embolisms after an operation on his legs, it became impossible for any other driver to surpass Mario's total in the two remaining races at Watkins' Glen at
Montreal. He retired from the first of those and he finished 10th in the second. At the end of the season, Ronnie finished a posthumous second in the championship with 51 points to Mario's 64. Yes, indeed. I'd like to read a quote from Andretti now from 2018. So only seven years ago, but he was talking about Monza 1978. So he was talking 40 years after that weekend of triumph and tragedy. Quote, "The next morning after the race, my wife, D.Anne and I were driving to the hospital to see Ronnie. We stopped at a toll booth and the toll taker recognized me. He said, 'Signare andretti, are you going to the hospital?' I answered, 'Yes.' He said, 'I just heard on the radio.' Ronnie died. 'I couldn't believe it. I had to find out the fact so we rushed to the hospital. There we found out that the story was true. There were a lot of press skies there, a lot of chaos. There was no celebrating the World Championship now. And we forgot about appealing the race result, which we might have done otherwise, because that was my race. I won it. But now, with Ronnie gone, I let it go too. Nikki Lauder was to be given the trophy, but he refused to take it. In fact, I still have it in my house. In those two days, I remember feeling euphoric happiness, then sadness at its worst. And in a way, that's the legacy of Monza." Peterson's death was, you know, incredibly sad. But in my opinion, it was also an atrocity. I'm going to say that. I think it was an atrocity. He had minor burns and broken legs. Yes. But broken legs and minor burns usually heal. So yes, in my opinion, it remains one of the most heart-rending awful tragedies in racing history. That for reasons that may never be fully known, but surely involved a degree of medical malpractice, the fastest, if not the greatest, but yes, the fastest driver of his era died in the night when he really didn't have. The next day, the day on which Andredi should have been celebrating his joyful culmination of his life's work, becoming Formula One World Champion, instead he was utterly bereft. Unhappily racing is also this. He muttered to the assembled journalists on the steps of Milan's Niguarda Hospital, where his teammate had just died. It was a simple remark, but it expressed all that needed to be said. It did indeed. Ronnie was such a popular driver within motor racing, and among fans of all nationalities, that it's impossible to see his death as anything other than a tragedy, as you say. But actually, we can say that one good thing did come out of it. The eminent neurosurgeon, Professor Sid Watkins, had been at Montserrat Day in his recently created role of surgical adviser to F1, a position to which he'd been appointed by Bernie Eccleston. However, Prof Watkins had been prevented from getting access to the scene of the crash by the carabinieri, and he only saw Peterson for the first time, after he'd reached the medical center in an ambulance, a good deal of time after the crash. As described by Watkins in his excellent autobiography, Life at the Limit, the medical center itself was pandemonium. Sid even describes having to kick a photographer out of the way who was trying to take a picture of Peterson through his legs. So it's little surprise that he points the finger for Peterson's death at what he described as a "shambolic initial response of the rescue team." And he has more of what he had to say, quote, "Subsequently, Bernie came to the conclusion that my authority had to be extended to supervising the rescue arrangements on the circuit, instead of merely being the surgical adviser to Formula One. It was clear that this would necessitate my taking a very active role at the race tracks, and this subsequently provoked a great deal of resistance and controversy." Yes, absolutely, but once that resistance was broken down, Sid, as the official Formula One doctor would go on to revolutionize trackside medical safety, saving many lives in subsequent years, and treating many drivers badly injured in racing accidents. A true hero of our sport would you say? I would. Here. Here. Right. I just want to tie up a loosen now, if I may. You'll recall that earlier in this podcast, I said that Peterson had agreed to join Lotus for 1978, as Andretti's number two, but only because he just had a couple of iffy seasons with March and Tyrell. And he figured that a good season in a fast Lotus would put him back on other team's shopping lists. Well, it worked. Obviously, it didn't work because he died, but it worked otherwise, because at the time of his death, Peterson had a McLaren contract for 1979 in his briefcase. Okay, the 1979 McLaren M28 turned out to be not a great car, but by 1981, you know, only two years later, the McLaren MP4 was a race winner in John Watson's hands. Peterson would have been only 37 by then. Who knows what Ronnie might have achieved at McLaren that year? And in 1982, 1983, and 1984. Perhaps Ron Dennis would never have needed Nikki Louder. Anyway, I digress, but it's a poignant and interesting thought, isn't it? Yeah, certainly is. Obviously, we'll never know the answer. Anyway, Peterson's death was doubly tragic for Mario, because he and Ronnie had forged a very close friendship that year in 1978 while they'd been such successful and collaborative teammates at Lotus. And here's a quote from Andretti's book World Champion, published in 1979. Quote, "We've known each other for years, but only when we became teammates, did we become really close friends? For all his reserve, Ronnie had a really great dry sense of humor. There's such a hole in motor racing now, and it'll never be filled. No question about it." Yes. And also, Mario tweeted about Ronnie in September, in September this year. Yes, just three months ago. And what he wrote was very moving too, quote, "I haven't talked to you in 47 years, but I think of you often. You wouldn't believe how often I'm asked to talk about you and how much your spirit still lives on in the Formula One world. I miss you. Look up my twin brother, Aldo. He's also in heaven." And that feels like the right place to say, and colossally, that's history, and to wrap up our episode on Phil Hill and Mario Andretti, the American F1 World Champions, one from a white collar background, the other from a blue collar world, both with tragic coronations. I hope that when there's another American champion, they can enjoy their triumph in happier circumstances. Let's hope so. Yes. Thanks, as ever, for joining us for this episode, and indeed for listening to this season of the podcast. It's been a great pleasure to bring you so many stories over the past few months, and we're already looking forward to bringing you season five at some point in 2026. Exact date TBC. If you need a motor racing history fix over the next few months, why not check out our back catalogue, or perhaps you could enjoy one of the many episodes from our sister show Bring Back V10s. They've just done an excellent mini-series, analysing the controversial splitting apart of IndyCar racing in the mid to late 90s, and it's well worth checking that out. Yeah, and if you've enjoyed what you've heard today, do share our podcast with a friend, or perhaps you could even leave us a nice review on the podcast app of your choice. Yes, that would be lovely. And don't forget, if you're a member of the race members club on Patreon, you've got an 11th episode on the way, our bonus Q&A episode. So once again, if you're listening to this as a non-member and you want to sign up so that you can check that out, head to patreon.com/thorace. I should add, we're not entirely sure when that episode, the Q&A episode, I mean, will come out, as we sit here today and talk about it, that is, but it'll come out either late December or early January. And our final message is, as ever, the ways you can contact us. You can drop us a line via
[email protected] or find us on social media. I'm @RWilliams1947 and Matt is @TheBishF1. So that's it for this episode. Until next time, with thanks to our producer, the star-spangled Johnny Reynolds and to you for listening, it's goodbye from me. And it's goodbye from him. I'm philosophy that's history. The Athletic.
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