Pironi

by David Sedgwick

  Il Commendatore had been anxious to meet the mother of his French driver. Steeped in the traditions and folklores of the country of his birth, Enzo Ferrari knew a thing or two about Italian mothers, knew also the strength of bonds that could exist between a Friulian matriarch and her only son. In his own way, Ferrari was reassuring what he assumed to be an apprehensive mother. Therefore, when Imelda had arrived at Maranello as a guest of her son, she had been ushered into Ferrari’s inner sanctum for a private audience, a privilege reserved for very few. As the meeting ended, the old man gallantly escorted his guest out of the office.

  ‘Goodbye madam! Your son is a great driver. He has all the qualities required to become a world champion.’ Ferrari took Imelda’s hand. ‘And Ferrari is going to give him the means, I promise you!’

  1982 – a year that promised so very much, a year in which Didier might have expected to cement his reputation as a world class sportsman, one in which he was also looking forward to marrying the woman of his dreams and living happily ever after. 1982. Oh, ill-fated year! Decades later it still seems unreal, the ambience, the climate, the sheer scale of intrigue. Not in his wildest imagination could the French lieutenant have foreseen just how fast events would overtake him in this, a year in which anything had seemed possible. Swept along by an unseen power, at times Didier appeared helpless, an unwitting star actor caught up in a film noir entitled simply, 1982.

  Tumult, upheaval, tragedy, words barely begin to adequately describe this remarkable 12-month period. 1982 would leave its mark indelibly printed upon both the driver’s body and soul. A tangled mess, Didier’s life would never be the same again.

  Yet on a crisp morning in early January, optimism had been there for all to see when Ferrari unveiled their new car. Didier and Gilles knew instinctively that 1982 would be Ferrari’s year, their year.

  Energised by its British designer and its powerful engine, Ferrari had been a hive of activity throughout the winter of 1981/82. Determined to regain their place at Formula 1’s top table, its personnel worked round the clock in order to perfect the 126C2. The team had just two days off over the holiday period – Christmas and New Year’s Day. It was all hands on deck as a team of 170 technicians went about constructing the new machine. Didier too had never been busier.

  Effectively, the team had gone back to the drawing board. ‘It’s a completely new car,’ announced Mauro Forghieri at the machine’s launch on Wednesday, 6 January, ‘not just the chassis, and the aerodynamics, but the entire mechanics as well.’ Dr Postlethwaite had indeed created a brand new car. Drawing upon his aerospace experience, the British designer had introduced a sandwich structure for the car’s bodywork – aluminium panels reinforced with carbon fibre and Kevlar. The 126C2 thus represented a significant improvement over the car that had caused so many problems in 1981, not least of which was a 40kg saving in weight. Thanks to this new technology, Ferrari had a lighter car with the added bonus of greater rigidity. The omens looked good.

  Initial testing at Fiorano had indeed convinced the team that they had a potential winner on their hands. Both drivers had already lapped under the circuit record with the promise of more to come. A few days after its launch, with a lap of 1’07.10, Villeneuve shattered the existing record for the test circuit by almost one and a half seconds! The Canadian completed 60 laps, never once missing a beat. The 126C2 was not only quick, it was reliable too. ‘We believe we are on the right track,’ said Forghieri with masterly understatement. Although officially enjoying equal status with his superstar team-mate, Didier had spent a large proportion of his time testing the hybrid car, an updated version of last season’s model. Gilles meanwhile had been focused solely on the new car, the 126C2, a subtle but crucial distinction regarding Ferrari hierarchy.

  On the eve of the new season, Ferrari looked worthy favourites. The 126C2 was fast, reliable and strong. Along with fellow turbo teams, Brabham-BMW and Renault, the Italians would surely have too much power for those outfits still using normally aspirated engines, Lotus, McLaren and Williams among others. Only time would tell.

  If January’s Kyalami testing times meant anything, Ferrari’s confidence was well placed. Didier finished the tests just a few tenths shy of Piquet’s best, the Brabham and Ferrari men comfortably ahead of a field that included both Williamses (Reutemann and Rosberg) and both Renaults (Prost and Arnoux).28

  F1 cars were getting ever faster.29 There was, however, a fly in the ointment. In the race to extract ever-greater performance, the cars were becoming lighter, while thanks to ground effect technology, speeds – particularly while cornering – were reaching dangerously high levels. Light cars and high speeds – a potentially lethal cocktail. Didier was not the only driver in the field gravely concerned about the way the sport was headed: ‘The speed of these ground effect cars increases the chances of a serious accident,’ observed Didier in a pre-season interview, adding prophetically, ‘In the instance of an accident, it would be all too easy for a car to become airborne at which point it would become an aeroplane. Under such circumstances, the pilot would become a passenger, helpless. If there is a serious accident, then the FIA30 must take the blame.’

  As ever, Formula 1 was pushing the barriers. Even as he spoke, Didier could never have known just how prescient his words would prove to be. At least he was now in a position that enabled him to express his reservations formally, to those who mattered.

  Since the previous year’s Canadian race, Didier had represented his fellow drivers on the Grand Prix Drivers’ Association (GPDA), a sort of F1 drivers’ trade union. When the association had required an articulate spokesman, his fellow drivers had immediately turned to their calm, unflappable French colleague. Intelligent and cool in equal measure, the French driver was the ideal candidate to represent drivers’ interests, be that in relation to the sport’s administrators, circuit owners or team bosses. Didier took the position seriously. Always a vociferous critic of the era’s ground effect cars, he began what amounted to a personal crusade, the goal of which was to make Formula 1 safer, and not before time.

  Meanwhile, Didier and Gilles continued their own unique form of macho bonding. Despite the Carbinieri’s best efforts, the legendary runs to and from Fiorano showed little sign of abating. On one such occasion, the daredevils agreed to meet up in Milan. Arriving from Geneva in his 308, Didier duly collected his Canadian team-mate. Full speed ahead! Hitting top speeds of nearly 150mph as they roared along the A1 autostrada, the Ferrari soon caught the attention of the Italian motorcycle police who, unable to keep pace, radioed their colleagues further down the line.

  ‘Expected! Two fugitives in a red Ferrari!’ Upon reaching the toll at Modena, police armed with machine guns greeted the drivers. In a gesture of surrender, Didier and Gilles raised their arms.

  ‘Is it really you?’ The police could not quite believe their eyes. ‘It is! It is you! What are you guys doing?’ An excited gaggle of police officers surrounded the car.

  The Ferrari colleagues happily autographed the scraps of paper thrust into the car. Following a phone call to Enzo Ferrari, half an hour later the officers finally released the pair of firebrands. The old man had simply contacted the Ministry of the Interior. Friends in high places. Chastised, the two friends drove on to Maranello where they fully expected to be read the riot act upon their arrival. Au contraire. When the drivers sheepishly presented themselves in the office of their employer, an animated Ferrari sprung up from his chair.

  ‘Bravo boys! What an advertisement for Ferrari!’ Didier and Gilles exchanged bemused smiles. ‘Go ask the accountant for a bonus! Bravo!’ Enzo Ferrari was nothing if not a capricious employer.

  As far as Villeneuve and Pironi were concerned, Mr Ferrari took an almost parental interest in his two drivers, an old headmaster looking out for the interest of these, his errant pupils.

  A man of contrasts, paradoxes even, as well as this carefree, adolescent side of his nature, Didier had a deadly serious side too. The boy-racer, who co
uld drive at speeds in excess of 150mph on public roads for the sheer thrill of it, was the same one who fretted over the ever-increasing risk of ever-faster F1 cars. Perhaps it should not have come as a surprise then when in January 1982, the scourge of the Carabinieri assumed the GPDA presidency and with it ever more responsibility in matters of safety. Ironically, it was a position that in just a few weeks’ time would thrust this shy, private man into a pivotal role in one of the sport’s most infamous episodes, a drama that was broadcast and reported on around the world: the South African Grand Prix drivers’ strike.

  It all started when Didier received a telephone call from Niki Lauda while on a skiing holiday at Megève in the French Alps. Returning to the F1 fray after a two-year sabbatical, upon receiving his super-licence contract – the document that grants drivers permission to compete in international motorsport events – the Austrian legend had smelt a rat. The double world champion was disconcerted to note certain amendments to the licence, granted by FISA, the sport’s governing body. Didier and Niki spoke at length. It was a conversation that would set in motion a chain of unprecedented events.

  Two clauses in particular aroused concern. The first involved a potentially profound change in relations between team and driver, employer and employee. Under FISA’s proposals, drivers would effectively become the property of their team, commodities to be traded between manufacturers in much the same way as footballers are transferred between teams. Such a move would not only undermine driver autonomy, but also erode any negotiating power they had when it came to matters contractual. Another clause forbade drivers criticising FISA and its irascible president, the autocratic and ever pugnacious Jean-Marie Balestre. Sign the new contract or do not race. FISA’s message had been stark enough.

  1982 had started with dissent in the air. In the run up to the South African Grand Prix – scheduled for 23 January – Didier and Niki discussed counter measures. Many of the drivers had, however, already signed the new contract, and now bitterly regretted having done so. Just days before the race, Didier attended a raft of meetings where, according to an impressed Lauda, he showed himself to be ‘diplomatic but firm’, arguing the drivers’ cause ‘completely unemotionally’. FISA though remained intractable. Soon enough the dispute escalated. On the advice of the French and Austrian ringleaders, the drivers simply refused to drive their cars. The stakes were getting ever higher. Team bosses were not impressed. A standoff. The South African Grand Prix came within an ace of being cancelled.

  Come 9am Friday – start of official practice – the Kyalami circuit stood eerily silent, a hire coach having spirited the drivers away to Johannesburg’s Sunnyside Park Hotel, some 20 miles from the circuit. Thirty-one of the world’s top drivers would famously barricade themselves in the hotel ballroom for 24 hours eating, sleeping and joking together, lest team managers should attempt to break their resolve. Solidarity, F1 style.

  In many ways, Didier was in his element during this surreal showdown. Flown back and forth by helicopter between his hotel and the Kyalami circuit, he seemed to revel in his role as chief arbitrator. Certainly, his calm, analytical approach came to the fore. From holding press conferences to negotiating with FISA and the Kyalami organisers, the Frenchman articulated the drivers’ position clearly and precisely.

  A few years previous when guesting in Japanese F2 he had already shown a definite affinity in matters legal as Beppe Gabbiani recalls: ‘We were both racing in Japan and I had a big accident involving another driver. The stewards decided I caused the accident and I had to go to conference to explain myself. Didier heard about this and offered to come with me. It lasted two hours! I remember him acting like my lawyer. He helped me enormously that day.’

  Back in Kyalami when Balestre resorted to underhand tactics, in Didier he found his equal. ‘He [Pironi] accepted the terms of the super-licence in December,’ argued the FISA president, firmly on the back foot and coming under increasing pressure from all sides. True enough, Didier had attended a meeting of the Formula 1 commission in Paris on 16 December where the terms of the new super-licence had been discussed. ‘I had five minutes to read the documents, written in English,’ complained Didier, ‘and I specifically expressed reservations about certain clauses.’ To no avail. His presence at the meeting largely ceremonial, he was powerless to affect proceedings. Besides, the views of the GPDA cut little if any ice with the governing body’s autocratic president. The suspicion remained: Balestre had hoped to sucker the drivers into accepting the new contracts. Had Lauda not been so wily, he might have succeeded too.

  A battle of wills unfolded. FISA threatened fines, suspensions and retraction of licences. Similarly, the teams, a significant proportion of them represented by Bernie Ecclestone’s FOCA (Formula One Constructors’ Association), threatened to bring in reserve drivers. Backed by Lauda, Didier remained resolute. With the threat of cancellation of the South African GP very real, and with the prospect of long and protracted legal battles to follow, a truce was eventually agreed, or so it seemed. Telephoning Lauda back at the hotel, Didier relayed the message the Austrian had been hoping to hear: the drivers’ demands had been met. The race was on.

  Turbo country – when the South African Grand Prix finally started, thanks to the high altitude, the turbocharged cars ran away at the front of the field. As the super-fast Renaults of Arnoux and Prost made the break, Didier looked more than comfortable in fourth place sat on his team-mate’s tail. Although Gilles often ended up the faster of the two Ferrari drivers in qualifying, racing it seemed was a different matter altogether. The Frenchman’s pace was more than equal to that of his esteemed colleague. After Gilles’ early retirement, Didier clung on to the leaders, just. Renault had produced an awesomely fast car. Even the vastly improved 126C2 struggled to keep the yellow and white cars in sight. Tyre wear would, however, blight what had looked like a promising run for the new car’s debut. Following a long pit stop, Didier fought his way back to second place only for a further stop to end his hopes. During this sensational comeback drive, the Ferrari had blown past Watson’s McLaren and Rosberg’s Williams, cars that had so often left the red car standing in 1981; not any more. Renault apart, Ferrari had clearly been the best of the rest in the southern African veldt.

  No sooner had the race finished than FISA launched what amounted to an attack on not only Didier’s integrity but also his competency. Post-race, the sport’s governing body wasted no time imposing fines and suspensions on drivers who had only agreed to race provided the terms of the super-licence were revised. As far as Didier knew that is precisely what FISA had agreed to do. The administration begged to differ. No, retorted the sport’s governing body, no such concession had been made. Had Didier misread the signals? On the other hand, had he been the victim of a classic double cross?

  Having obtained a verbal guarantee from Balestre and Ecclestone that the contentious clauses in the super-licence would be dropped, Didier had assumed the battle had been won. On that basis, the drivers had decided to race. FISA’s lawyer, Max Mosley, disagreed: ‘There is no agreement, secret or otherwise, except to have a meeting to discuss the drivers’ demands,’ declared Mosley. The battle might have been won, but clearly not the war. Just days after the race, along with Villeneuve, Prost, Laffite, Giacomelli and Patrese, for his part in the strike, FISA slapped a $10,000 fine on Didier. The remaining drivers were each fined $5,000. The governing body then gave the drivers 48 hours to pay or face suspension.

  Didier vowed to fight on. ‘We are determined to get justice. Our aim is not to overturn the FISA, but to arrive at a solution of our problems, both as regards the profession and safety.’ Time to marshal the troops. Using the services of a firm of international lawyers specialising in sport, the drivers convened at offices on 44 Champs-Élysées, central Paris. Among other things discussed was the possible formation of a new group to supplant the somewhat impotent GPDA. Hence, the PRDA (Professional Racing Drivers’ Association) came into being with Pironi and Lauda as preside
nt and vice-president respectively. Where the previous organisation had been largely perfunctory, this new incarnation promised to have teeth. Didier threw himself into his new role. The question of circuit safety was just one aspect of his role that occupied much of his time, especially the provision of and access to on-circuit medical facilities, another foreshadowing of events yet to unfold.

  Uncertainty, however, still hung in the air. Balestre it seemed was not prepared to compromise: ‘We have to use an iron fist,’ said FISA’s president. ‘If the drivers refuse to submit to the decisions, the situation will become untenable.’

  When the sponsors of the Argentinian Grand Prix withdrew their support, leading to the cancellation of the 7 March scheduled event, the dispute threatened to spiral out of hand. Formula 1 could not go on this way. Ultimately, common sense prevailed. The teams decided to pay the fines, a gesture that allowed the drivers to save face while also saving the blushes of the governing body; a goalless draw. From start to end, it had been an unsavoury affair. Nevertheless, for the dignified and calm way he represented their interests, Didier won the lasting respect of his fellow drivers.

  Nineteen

  Calm before the storm

  Testing of the 126C2 continued. In early March, the team rolled up at Le Castellet in the south of France. With a little more work, Ferrari sensed they had the capacity to overhaul the dominant Renaults. Entering the ultra-fast Signes corner at an estimated speed of 180mph, Didier’s heart jumped into his mouth when the car showed no sign of wanting to turn into the right-hand corner. Instead, the Ferrari went straight on. Smashing through three barriers, the car eventually came to a halt. Incredibly, Didier extracted himself from the cockpit, hobbling away from the wreckage with nothing more serious than a badly bruised pair of knees. The Postlethwaite-designed monocoque had proved its worth. The 126C2 had already shown itself to be a fast car. In the light of this incident, it had also proved its mettle in terms of its structural integrity. As for the cause of the crash: a jammed throttle.