"I take exeption to the comments of Turnbull regarding the Paletti tragic death at the 1982 Montreal race. I was the Judge of fact at the Start-Finish linea that race, and a first hand witness to the accident.
From best of my memory, I would not describe the marshalls as \"hapless\" thought Pironi did help them. ALso the fire lasted less than a minute, and certainly not 40 minutes as Mr Turnbull says. Certainly available footage will confirm this. The FIA safety vehicule was on location seconds after the impact after all.
I trust a serious site like yours will correct the facts promptly."
I would like to thank Mr Arthur for correcting me on a very serious error, and for supplying a valuable first hand account of the incident described. We at Updatesport pride ourselves on accuracy, and I hope that this apology goes some way to pacifying Mr Arthurs concerns.[/b]
Steve Turnbull, 4th June, 2006.
It is inevitable that, when writing of Imola, the events of that black weekend in 1994 come to the fore. Never has a weekend in ‘modern’ Formula One been so bleak, or so tragic, and the hope is that one never will be again. The 1994 events have been written about perhaps to saturation, and it is for that reason that this column will concentrate on a different, but also momentous, San Marino Grand Prix. Before we leave that terrible weekend it is fitting to remember that, in addition to poor Roland Ratzenberger and Ayrton Senna, a third individual lost his life on race day. He was a spectator in the stands beside the start line, and he was hit by flying debris thrown from the Lotus of Pedro Lamy as it collided, through no fault of the driver, with the Benetton of JJ Lehto. He succumbed to his injuries sometime later, and is described as a ‘28 year old from the ski resort of Courmayeur’. Should anyone know his name, please let me know, as this article is for him. He deserves to be remembered, after all.
For this little tale we roll the years back to 1982 and it strikes me that this race, still fresh to me today, took place almost a quarter of a century ago. In many ways it was a watershed in Grand Prix history for it heralded, unknowingly at the time, the end to the most acrimonious period of political strife that has ever affected the sport. If you think today’s protracted wrangling between the GPMA and the FIA are hard to bear, the so called FISA/FOCA war of the early 1980’s was bordering on the unbearable.
A few quick explanations, to cut a very long story short:
FISA – Federation Internationale de Sport Automobile -the forerunner of the current FIA, at the time headed by a brash and often comical Frenchman by the name of Jean-Marie Balestre, represented the de-facto governing body of Formula One, and garnered support from those teams referred to charmingly by the great Enzo Ferrari as ‘Grandees’. Among their number the traditional powers of Ferrari, Alfa Romeo, plus Renault and a smattering of more minor teams that used manufacturer built power units.
FOCA – Formula One Constructors Association – set up by Bernie Ecclestone (then owner of the Brabham team) and Max Mosley (co-founder of March) to fight for greater rights and say so among the ‘Garagistes’, the mainly British teams that constructed their own chassis and, almost to a man, utilised the still formidable Cosworth DFV engine. Teams such as Williams, Mclaren, Lotus, and Brabham, teams whose innovative and inventive designers and engineers were frequently finding new ways to cut back the power advantage of the bigger teams by way of, among other things, the rapidly developing field of aerodynamics and the mysterious ‘ground effect’.
Basically, it was about money, about equality of the rules, and about a shift in the balance of power. Sounds uncomfortably familiar, I agree. Things came to a head with a series of disputes, the details of which I shall not dwell on, but let us say they came from both sides, they concerned allegations of ‘cheating’, and they threatened to rip the sport down the middle, leaving two weaker series’ in the wake of one stronger one. Again, the familiarity is startling.
The upshot was a string of boycotts, by certain teams at certain races, culminating in a move that saw the FOCA teams boycott the San Marino Grand Prix, a traditional Ferrari show piece. The organisers, however, were far from concerned as they had two Ferrari’s attending, and the ‘tifosi’, naturally, would turn up to support the local team.
One FOCA team did turn up to race; the stalwart Tyrrell outfit. The reasons behind ‘Uncle Ken’s’ decision to break ranks had to do with the recent sponsorship deal Tyrrell had signed with an Italian domestic appliance manufacturer, a deal that Ken could ill afford to lose. True to form, Tyrrell ranted and raved against the FISA opposition, his outspoken criticism going some way to pacifying his enraged FOCA comrades.
The 14 cars that arrived for practice at Imola were a mixed bunch indeed. Some need no introduction – the two Ferrari’s of Gilles Villeneuve and Didier Pironi, the two Renaults of Alain Prost and Rene Arnoux – but the remaining ten are cars, and in some cases drivers, whose names may mean little to the reader of today.
Alfa Romeo had returned to Formula One in the late 1970’s and was represented in 1982 by a pair of quick but inconsistent Italians. Andrea de Cesaris is perhaps the better remembered of the pair, his reputation for blinding speed and remarkably frequent accidents having gained him the label ‘de Crasheris’, while Bruno Giacomelli is the lesser known. Giacomelli was a far better racing driver than his results would have you believe, a man whose luck, or lack of it, was extraordinary by any standards. The car, the Gerard Ducarouge designed 182, was a capable machine, although hampered by the thirst and weight of the ageing V12. A turbo, in development, would see the light of day later in the year, but with no great success.
Toleman had emerged from the successful Formula Two outfit financed by the haulier Ted Toleman, and were at Imola with the TG181, a huge and ungainly device from the pen of an emerging engineering talent by the name of Rory Byrne. In its favour the ‘Flying Pig’, as it was christened by driver Derek Warwick, had the amazing Hart 415t engine, a ‘budget’ device of prodigious power built by Brian Hart and his brilliant team, and the drivers, the aforementioned Warwick and young Italian Teo Fabi. Derek never achieved the potential his obvious talent deserved, and Fabi’s career was a mixture of exceptional speed tempered with inconsistency. He remains the only driver ever to have sat on pole that has not led a race.
ATS were a popular outfit owned by one Gunther Schmid, a self-made millionaire whose fortune came from the ATS wheel business (this team, incidentally, has nothing to do with the ATS of earlier days). The team grew from the defunct Penske team of 1977, via the purchase of March, and in 1982 had at their disposal the Cosworth powered D6, designed by Gustav Brunner, and drivers Manfred Winkelhock, talented father of MF1 test driver Marcus, and Chilean journeyman Eliseo Salazar. ATS and Schmid deserve an article to themselves as his Gunther’s antics became the stuff of legend; one story goes that, enraged by a front wing modification he had not authorised, he jumped on the offending article in a rage until it was damaged beyond repair.
Until this year we have always lauded the much missed Minardi as the ‘back-markers’ of the game, but in the early 1980’s this accolade belonged (sometimes unfairly) to Enzo Osella’s little outfit. Osella went from year to year with little funding and an array of ‘pay’ drivers, and by 1982 the drivers were Jean Pierre Jarier, the once great Frenchman now a shadow of his former self, and a young Italian by the name of Riccardo Paletti. The car, the heavy and out-moded FA1, was powered by the venerable DFV.
And last, but far from least, Tyrrell, the great team present with the Maurice Philippe designed, Cosworth DFV powered 011, a neat and efficient chassis that was steadily improving as the season bore on. Drivers Michele Alboreto, the rising star of the time, and veteran Brian Henton looked well placed to score much needed points in the depleted field.
Many readers will be wondering why I have chosen to write about a race that, quite clearly, was going to be won by only one of four entrants. The answer lies in the result or, more correctly, in the manner in which the result was achieved.
One has to cast aside the ‘win at all costs’ mentality that prevails in Formula One these days, for in the early 1980’s a certain level of respect still existed amongst the competitors. We had yet to see the ‘Schumacher chop’ or other somewhat dubious ethics that are commonplace today, and a driver would leave enough space for another to pass, rather than squeeze him almost off the road. The racing, in the words of one of the greats of the time Alan Jones, was ‘firm but fair’.
Hence, when Rene Arnoux’s leading Renault expired at a late stage of the race leaving the two closely following Ferrari’s of Villeneuve and Pironi (in that order, please note) running first and second, Marco Piccinnini, the great team manager of the day, immediately ordered the ‘Slow’ signal to be shown to his drivers; hold position, it meant, the race is run.
Villeneuve obeyed, naturally, backing off the throttle to conserve fuel and tyres, and was therefore surprised (to say the least) when Pironi came past him at high speed a little while later. Gilles fought back, assuming the Frenchman was intent on putting on a show for the Ferrari faithful cheering wildly in the stand, and re-passed for the lead, whereby Pironi came by again. This went on for the remainder of the race with Gilles believing, surely, that as he passed Pironi into the final lap the race was his. Approaching Tosa (now renamed ‘Villeneuve’) on that final lap, Didier pulled out of the slipstream of Gilles number 27 and planted his car firmly in front of the enraged Canadian. They crossed the line Pironi first, Villeneuve second.
On the podium a clearly delighted Pironi waved and sprayed the champagne, but Gilles was only there by gentle persuasion from his wife Joann. He looked forlorn, and he felt betrayed. Later he vowed never to talk to Pironi again.
Some of you familiar with the ‘modern’ version of Formula One may question the naivety of Villeneuve's belief that he had been duped, and would be fair to do so, but that is the difference between the likes of Gilles, of Jones, Piquet, Scheckter, Lauda, of many of the days great drivers. Many times, during the dominant season of 1979, Gilles had sat behind Scheckter, right behind, knowing that to pass would have been against the team play. He believed he would be paid back, that one day it would be his turn.
What happened next is familiar to all, I believe, as Gilles was killed in a horrific accident in qualifying two weeks later at Zolder. The Ferrari, on a final lap dictated by the ridiculous one-lap ‘qualifying tyres’ of the day, committed to pass the slowing March of Jochen Mass half way around the lap. Mass, tragically, moved the same way. Number 27 rode over the rear of the March, flew across it, and slammed into an earth bank nose first. The impact tore the chassis apart and flung the drivers body across the track into the catch fencing. Villeneuve died later that day, May the 8th, 1982. In a famous and quite stunning obituary in the next weeks ‘Autosport’ Nigel Roebuck, a close friend of Gilles, wrote that ‘for me, and for many others, the lights have gone out in Formula One.’ No-one could have put it better.
Gilles Villeneuve’s death at Zolder robbed the world of a truly great talent, possibly the greatest, certainly among the greatest, and it was also a catalyst for the political troubles then destroying Formula One. It seemed to bring to light the irrelevance of the arguments, and bound the teams and the two sides together. Before long, agreement was reached and the ‘war’ died down.
And what of the remaining players in that unusual and era-defining race?
Pironi went on to more success as the Ferrari 126C2 rapidly became the car to beat in 1982, and was leading the Championship by a healthy margin when, in a torrential downpour in practice for the German Grand Prix at Hockenheim, he slammed into the back of Prosts cruising Renault. The Ferrari, in a fashion eerily reminiscent of Villeneuves accident, was launched skyward, some say twenty feet, and landed sickeningly on the guard rail. Didier’s legs were terribly maimed, and he would never drive in Formula One again. He died some years later, chasing the thrill of speed in a powerboat racing accident of the Isle of Wight.
Alain Prosts career went from strength to strength, of course, while team mate Arnoux moved to Ferrari for 1983. He put up a good fight for the title but his perennial poor luck let him down. Following his sacking a year later he returned with the Ligier team, his glory days gone.
De Cesaris would go on to drive more Grands Prix, without winning one, than any other driver in the history of the series in a motley collection of mid-grid teams, while Giacomelli found solace at Toleman when Alfa Romeo pulled out of Formula One, then a later, thankfully brief, spell with the farcical ‘Life’ F1 team.
Derek Warwick enjoyed a good career in Formula one with Renault and Arrows, among others, and was famously vetoed by Ayrton-Senna for the second Lotus Renault drive that went to Johnny Dumfries. Wins avoided Derek, too, but his jovial manner never failed him.
Teo Fabi found fame and fortune in Indy Cars in America, when he wasn’t managing his family’s Talc Mining corporation, and also shared the second Brabham-BMW with younger brother Corrado in one of the more unusual driver arrangements in the history of the sport.
Winkelhock was destined for great things when he crashed his Porsche 956 sports racer fatally in 1986, and son Marcus now takes up the family mantle, and promises much. Salazar drove anything he could get his hands on in a largely lacklustre career.
Michele Alboreto looked good for the 1984 title at Ferrari, outclassing Arnoux all season, and then had a mixed career at various lower-grid teams, before he also died in and endurance race. Another great talent lost. Team mate Henton was past his youth by 1982, and his career close to its natural end.
Jarier was also in the twighlight of his career by this time, but the jinx of 1982 also befell his team mate, the young and promising Riccardo Paletti. Having qualified the difficult Osella for the Canadian Grand Prix at Montreal in June, only the third time young Riccardo had achieved the feat, he found himself unsighted at the start and slammed, at high speed, into the back of Pironi’s stalled Ferrari. The Osella caught fire and, sickeningly, the TV camera’s broadcast the sight of the flaming car with the driver trapped inside to millions of viewers across the world. Pironi helped the hapless marshals to direct their extinguishers, but it was forty minutes before the flames were put out and the body of Paletti released from the wreckage. Mercifully, post mortem revealed he had been killed by the impact and not by the flames.
When Roebuck had written of the lights going out, few of us could imagine that they would stay so dark across the whole of the season.
From Paletti’s death in Canada it would be a full twelve years before another young man lost his life on a Grand Prix weekend. Ironically it would be at Imola and, again, after the death of Ratzenberger, few of us could imagine that the horror would return just 24 hours later. Not even the poor young man from Courmayer.
Written by Steve Turnbull on Wed, 19 Apr 2006 11:35:38
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