Pironi

by David Sedgwick

  ‘The treatment is very long, the patient must understand and accept it,’ explains Francine, Letournel’s long-term partner who bore witness to the professor’s agonising over the case and who came to call the ex-Ferrari ace a friend. ‘In the case of Didier, several grafts were necessary because the infection did not respond to antibiotics. That is, the grafts were eaten by the infection that persisted.’

  Disappointments became a frequent occurrence of life in room 626. That autumn the stricken driver was riding an emotional rollercoaster where moments of wild optimism were just as quickly followed by periods of introspection. ‘Every time a transplant failed,’ remembers Francine, ‘the prof and Didier looked at one another. Eventually Didier would say, “OK, we start again.”’

  His angel sat faithfully at his side, never wavering in her devotion. Didier endured a never-ending cycle of assessments, general anaesthetics and operations over the months that followed. Some of them, like the one that took place on 26 August, lasted for up to 14 hours. It was a pivotal intervention, one of many to come. Prior to the start of the procedure, the medics discovered that the ulna of the right arm was also broken, overlooked in the haste to treat his other more serious injuries. To cap an unnerving day, sometime into the procedure the patient awoke! Didier could clearly hear the professor delivering one of his celebrated running commentaries. By moving his humerus, the patient alerted the surgeon, who duly administered more anaesthetic. Later, when he came round, Didier was able to recount the professor’s monologue almost word for word!

  Such marathon sessions on the operating table were not without consequence. Didier would arrive back from theatre blue in the face, shivering uncontrollably. At such times Veronique would hold him tightly, describing the warm, golden beaches they would one day visit together when this nightmare finally came to an end. In the meantime, while the nurses tended to Didier’s medical needs, Veronique focused on his personal needs: washing, shaving, cleaning and feeding the man she adored; above all else, being there for him: ‘Didier was everything to me. He was my passion, my love, my child.’45 Sometimes she would push her man around the hospital floors in his wheelchair, the couple squealing with laughter as Didier played the role of pilot. Days became weeks became months.

  The arrival every day at lunch and dinnertime of Imelda and Ilva bearing home-cooked delicacies helped to relieve the monotony. An Italian boy at heart, Didier always loved his momma’s (and aunt’s) food. In addition, there, amid the porcelain plates presenting their delicious wares, always a single orchid, Didier’s flower. ‘He really appreciates these moments,’ observes Imelda, ‘that bring him pleasure, relaxation, a family flavour. He shares these feasts with his love, Veronique.’ Visits from his F1 colleagues also helped raise his spirits. Needless to say, occasionally the situation got on top of him and hope would turn to despair. With Veronique’s help, he soon snapped out of such gloomy moods. A constant stream of telephone calls from friends and associates also helped divert attention away from his predicament. Didier was especially delighted when Enzo Ferrari telephoned one day and promised him a place back with the Scuderia upon his recovery. Thus the hours passed, slowly. Time seemed to come to a standstill in room 626 that summer.

  Watching the remaining Grands Prix from his bed, Didier kept a keen eye on the Formula 1 championship battle. Thanks to his consistency, Keke Rosberg was edging closer to Didier’s 39 points. Victory in the Swiss Grand Prix on 29 August saw the Finnish driver finally overhaul his rival in the table, 42–39. Winning the world championship from a hospital bed had always been a forlorn hope. Nevertheless, it was another downwards dip on the Pironi rollercoaster. Good and bad days, he had his share of both.

  Into this milieu one day, stepped Jean Cau. The journalist had been sent by Paris Match to write a story about the tragedy that had befallen France’s celebrity couple. Arriving at Choisy, Cau immediately sensed the delicacy of the situation before him. ‘We do not know how to approach this story – a story of love,’ he mused in the introductory paragraph to his front page scoop, ‘Pironi: Sauve par l’amour’ (Pironi: saved by love)46. ‘We are afraid of being indiscreet, rude, awkward …’ Reservations aside, there was huge appetite for a story so tragic, Shakespeare himself might have composed it. Didier’s plight had touched people around the world, proof of which could be found in the stack of cards and letters delivered daily to the hospital from all four corners of the globe. One such letter arrived from Argentina. The writer – a member of the Argentinian rugby team that had crashed in the Andes – urged him to not give up hope. Other letters arrived from fans expressing their sadness. From Vienna, a young Austrian girl was so moved by his plight she sent the driver drawings she had sketched of him and the 126C2. Touched by the simplicity of such gestures, Didier ensured he replied to every letter.

  Among the many package sent, a couple of paperbacks arrived, thrillers, sent by ‘the woman of your life’ but one too embarrassed to visit in person. Didier understood the sub-text perfectly.

  Cau’s piece perfectly captured the emotion contained within the four walls of room 626 that unforgettable summer. Noting Jannot’s presence in the sickroom, he described the exact moment he clasped eyes on the actress: ‘She was there and did not have time to escape, like a deer, this gentle animal which she resembles.’ Clearly smitten by his ‘deer’, Cau’s attention turned to the medical paraphernalia on show:

  ‘But what are these weird little tubes that Didier has at the end of his feet? She tells me it’s “Suction drains” and it sucks traces of infection that might occur in the legs. What a nurse we have here! And he [Didier] looks at her in the corner with the full happiness of an absolutely infinite tenderness.’

  Cau continues his piece in the same delicate, almost reverent tone. What emerges is a fascinating window into Didier’s world at this time. The Paris Match writer notes how the couple clasp hands throughout the interview, afraid almost to let go of one another:

  ‘Where did you find this gem?’ On the Castellet circuit, replies Didier, ‘She agreed to come and never left … Eight days later, at Hockenheim, I had (he smiles) a traffic accident …’ Cau is spellbound, overwhelmed by the tenderness he his privy to: ‘I listen to this extraordinary poem they recite in low voices, this song of life, where love is born and death conquered. They will go to the sun, they told me, when Didier recovers.’

  Interest in the couple indeed reached fever pitch. Not only were the mailbags full, but a constant stream of guests made their way to Choisy that autumn. Much to Letournel’s chagrin, racing drivers, actors and politicians joined a queue of international journalists eager for a scoop. All arrived at room 626 to pay homage to the fallen hero. On one occasion, Piero Lardi Ferrari arrived with Marco Piccinini. They presented Didier with a beautiful sculpture of a rearing horse, the emblem of Ferrari. Inscribed in marble underneath were the following words: ‘a Didier vero Campione Mondiale 1982’ (to Didier the true 1982 world champion). Flattered as he was to receive this trophy, as ever Didier remained pragmatic:

  ‘I have often read that I am the moral 1982 world champion. This means absolutely nothing. We play according to precise rules. The world champion is he who accumulates more points than his opponents. The rest is literature!’

  When GEO asked Didier to compose a piece for the December edition of their social science magazine, he readily agreed to produce some ‘literature’ of his own. In the piece, written from his Paris sickbed, the pilot pens an extraordinary composition, part biography, part daydream, the result of which is a metaphysical journey through time and space. As an insight into his emotional state at this time it is well worth quoting in detail. Written in the first person, a narrative unfolds that is as compelling as it is poignant.47 It begins:

  ‘Wet, this autumn evening! It rains on Paris. The last visitors have left. Professor Letournel shouted that he thought my room, between two operations, was noisier than the winning team’s garage at the finish of the 24 Hours of Le Mans! Draconian instructions
: ten minutes per visitor. Tomorrow, small passage on the operating table. Like insect bites, I do not count them. My gaze comes to rest on the model of the Ferrari, placed on my radiator, between two piles of books. I close my eyes. I dream ... ’

  Staring at the model car, Didier enters a trance-like state from where the reader is taken on an astonishing journey into the realms of fancy and whimsy. Projecting himself into a future time when he is free of the physical torments that assail his body, his reverie takes him to Italy, to Ferrari:

  ‘I’m in Maranello, near Turin, on Ferrari’s private test track. We are in April or May 1983 … I recognise the bald silhouette of Ballentani, my chief mechanic …’ Didier’s friend and colleague is preparing the new Ferrari. On seeing the machine, the writer’s heart skips a beat: ‘That car is mine. In a few minutes, I will slip behind its wheel. Am I unconscious, or mad, to feel this violent urge to drive a Formula 1 car only nine months after so closely brushing death, and even closer to the amputation of my two legs?’

  Interspersed into this surreal, introspective dreamscape, the author reveals tantalising glimpses into his own nature and essence: ‘I think I am a sentimental boy, extraordinarily attached to life and all that it brings. I love orchids, astronomy, the sea. Whenever today I enter a greenhouse, I have the same pleasure as at the age of 15. As a child, the catechism did not bring me the expected answers on the creation of the world, so one day I decided to immerse myself in a book of astronomy. The taste for infinite spaces remained with me.’

  Didier goes on to reveal his ‘weakness for solitude in nature’ and following in the footsteps of Peterson, Depailler and Villeneuve, a fatalistic conviction that one day he will similarly ‘hurt himself’.

  Just as revealing is the scenario he conjures up to describe the reunion with his faithful crew: ‘In a joyful ruckus, the entire Ferrari team from Maranello welcomes me. They look as happy to see me as I do to find them. I catch Ballentani’s eye. He smiles at me. I’m warm in the heart.’ In the midst of these celebrations in which the team welcomes home its prodigal son, the writer senses the Ferrari engineers are wary, reluctant even. The team is worried about his legs, worried if he will be able to perform to the level he did before the accident. Didier dismisses their concerns, ‘Come on guys, forget my legs – don’t be afraid!’ Evidently, returning to the fold will present its own problems. Not least convincing a sceptical team – Formula 1 itself – of his physical well-being.

  He observes the team lovingly preparing the red chariot. ‘She’s beautiful, is she not?’ asks Tomaini, the chief engineer. ‘She’s ready for you.’ Didier slips into the cockpit once more:

  ‘Hello to you, old accomplice! My eyes caress the dials, unconsciously note the temperature of water and oil, stop at the pressure indicator of the turbo. My hands play with the steering wheel, the buttons, the gearshift.’ Reacquainted with his Ferrari all the doubts vanish both internal and external. The pilot has returned to his spiritual home, whole again. Although still haunted by the events of Hockenheim, Didier has the strength to face his demons. What follows is a vivid description of the accident in which the author recounts his thoughts that grim morning. He recalls, for example, the sensation of flying through the air, the ground coming ever closer: ‘Fear? No. I did not have time. No pinch in the heart, no cold sweat, no anxiety. The certainty, simply, that I was going to die …’

  Nothing can stop him pursuing his dream, not even memories of the horrific accident. He is ready to start all over again; ready to conquer the world once more. It is a goal that gets him through the long days and even longer nights in the clinic. It is also a way to cope with the physical and spiritual pain, and he clings to it, tenaciously so. In reality, the satisfactory reconstruction of his legs, in particular that troublesome right tibia and ankle, would take far longer to achieve than he might have hoped as winter 1982 set in. Ahead lay a prolonged and not to mention painful rehabilitation programme. On top of this, the process of grafting had only just begun; many more general anaesthetics would follow, many more highs and lows. Didier might have been leaving Choisy in time for Christmas, but he would return many times over the months and years that followed. Even so, by December that year a small landmark had been reached: with the aid of crutches he was now able to stand up. Thus, on 3 December he was discharged from Choisy under strict instructions from the professor how he should adapt himself to incapacitation. The hospital marked the occasion by holding a small party in his room from where Didier went home to Neuilly.

  Before the end of the year, he had journeyed to Italy to meet Enzo Ferrari and the team, an arduous proposition for one in his condition. He still considered himself a Ferrari driver and always would. While at Maranello he visited the factory and discussed F1’s new regulations for 1983 that he had helped create. He loved being back among his old friends again. Ferrari was where he felt he belonged.

  A hellish year was finally over. In the sheer scale of its acrimony and tragedy, 1982 had been an unprecedented year in F1 history. A year that had begun in the calm, untroubled waters of the Caribbean, the promise of glory ahead, the promise too of happiness and fulfilment, had finished in destruction and despair. Didier had effectively been one race away from triumph. Had he clinched the title in Germany or elsewhere his lifetime ambition would have been fulfilled; he would have quit the sport at the height of his powers. He never had intended hanging round F1 forever. Life had a multitude of experiences to offer and Didier Pironi, bon viveur, astronomer, philosopher, had only just embarked on his investigations

  The GEO article ends with the driver sat in the cockpit of his Ferrari. This is where he belongs. Peace at last. Serenity. All too quickly, it is time to return to the present, to Paris and to the routine of the sickroom, to the pain and uncertainty: ‘I open my eyes. A blurred image of Formula 1 becomes clear: the model of the Ferrari is again in front of me, on the radiator of the clinic ... A dream? No. Next spring, in Maranello ... It’s called hope. It’s called life …’

  Twenty-four

  The long road back

  Free of his sick bed, Didier next headed to Chamonix where Veronique was filming the movie, Thieves after Dark. Didier arrived on crutches, his right foot entombed in a cast. When his lover had hesitated to leave the side of his bed to join the film set, Didier had insisted she go. His devoted nurse had a life of her own, as well he knew. In between takes, the young couple frolicked in the snow, glad to be in one another’s arms once more.

  In spring, they made an appearance together on an edition of Le Grand Exchequier (The Great Chessboard), a popular TV magazine programme hosted by Jacques Chancel. They spoke about the accident of course, about their hopes and fears. There were also trips to film and theatre premieres. On the surface, everything appeared as before; they laughed and loved, but it was not the same, not anymore. In the period between Choisy and the resumption of their life together, the ground had somehow imperceptibly shifted. Differences that had hitherto been hidden or ignored came to the surface. Even before their first anniversary approached, the couple had agreed to separate. From the moment Didier had crashed that Hockenheim day, there had been an inevitability as regards how this great romance would end. The pressure had been enormous, on both parties. Releasing that pressure could only lead to one place.

  ‘Every minute of my life was devoted to Didier,’ recalled Jannot in her autobiography. ‘He never left my heart or my mind. Whatever I did, he was in me. It was a permanent emotional charge. It ended up being exhausting.’48

  Had the couple burned themselves out, compelled by fate to live as a single entity too soon? Had the very strength of their feelings consumed that same passion? They had certainly shared an experience of profound intensity in which there had been no time to catch so much as a single breath. Distance had afforded the opportunity to take a step back, to pause, reconsider. If the lovers were a little jaded, it is easy to see why. Between the four walls of room 626 – their room – emotionally they had lived the equivalent
of a lifetime. Furthermore, Didier faced a long and painful convalescence. Veronique, meanwhile, had a career to pursue.

  Not that there was time to mope, at least not for Didier. Invitations to events flooded in. He had always cultivated excellent relations with his sponsors Haribo and Candy and continued to do so. Business occupied a considerable amount of his time too, both the family construction company, but more so the St Tropez powerboat sales and rental venture, Euronautique. Much time was invested working with Lloyds of London on a bespoke insurance policy for racing drivers, from F1 to rally and junior ranks. He also invested in a string of health clubs and a timber yard. An avid collector of all things Ferrari, he devoted time and energy to his fleet of cars which included several models: a Daytona, a Berlinetta Boxer, a Dino 246, the 308 GTB and the jewel in his crown, a rare GTO rumoured to be one of only a handful in existence. Business concluded, he liked nothing more than to dine at the Tong Yen, a favourite restaurant located on the Champs-Élysées. Just six months after that horrific day in Germany, paradoxically Didier found himself busier than ever. When he had said that F1 was not the start and end of his world, he had not been kidding.

  Before the accident he had been prepared to walk away from F1 as a champion. He could see no reason, he professed, to carry on once he had achieved this goal. Things had however changed, radically so. His career as well as legs shattered into fragments, he vowed to return to F1 – to claim the prize that had been ripped from his grasp so unjustly and so brutally, but only, he stressed, if he was 100%. Better to stop right now than come back a shadow of his former self. Didier was never going to be an also-ran.

  Thus, throughout 1983 he formulated a plan to return to the sport if not by the end of the year, then in 1984. There was talk also of a Ferrari ‘B’ team. Certainly, Didier was aiming to be on the starting grid in ’84. Between twice-weekly visits to Professor Letournel’s clinic, he embarked on a punishing schedule of physiotherapy and gym sessions. A special fitness room was even commissioned at the castle. A relationship begun in the consulting rooms and operating theatres of Choisy, developed into a genuine friendship. Emile and Francine would share the patient’s joys as well as his disappointments over the course of the next five years.