Posted: Fri Aug 29, 2008 5:54 pm
Sorry to hear about your uncle Colin. I bet you had some interesting conversations with him over the years. Did you ever get to meet Carroll Shelby?
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Interesting conversations dating back to Christmas of 1969 when he patiently described to me the workings of synchronizers, going up through the time where I worked with him from 1980-1983 at Hill & Vaughn and we talked about American Business vs the Social Contract, evolving into discussions of God and "moral productivity" vs "experience", he was my Republican foil who helped me to tighten up my Democratic arguments.gmag69 wrote:Sorry to hear about your uncle Colin. I bet you had some interesting conversations with him over the years. Did you ever get to meet Carroll Shelby?
He did. I talked with Derek yesterday, and he said that the thing that struck him most about Phil was that he was like a child in his enthusiasms throughout his entire life. Now that is in the genes.bus71 wrote:Sorry for your loss. I think he had a hell of a good time!
In the last few days everybody, it seems, has told a Phil Hill story. And they have all been good: The newspaper and wire obituaries that listed all of Hill's many accomplishments--America's first world champion, three wins at Le Mans and three at Sebring, how he won his first race and his last, how he won the Pebble Beach Road Races one day and the Pebble Beach Concours the next. There were short notes from ordinary fans who grew up reading about Hill's victories in Ferraris and were inspired to follow the sport for a lifetime, or to buy a race car and join in the fray; people who met him at some vintage race or other and told of a philosophical but generous man who could talk with them for seemingly as long as they wanted, as interested in what they were doing as they were in what he had done. Everybody loved and respected Phil Hill.
My favorite story was the one we ran here, written decades ago by our own Denise McCluggage shortly after Hill won the world championship. It told of a complicated, introspective Phil Hill with just as many doubts and fears as the rest of us who went out and raced in spite of challenges that would have had a lesser driver parked in the paddock calling it a career. Hill went out and raced anyway, outlasting and overcoming the grinding politics of the Ferrari team and the ridiculously dangerous cars and tracks of the day and coming out unscathed and a champion.
I was lucky enough to see Hill many times over the years. He hated being on camera, but whenever we asked him to be on AutoWeek's old TV show, Phil Hill dutifully answered the call. And we did call. Likewise, he hated formal interviews, always trying so hard to say the right thing and always seeming as if he was afraid he hadn't (he always did say the right thing, of course).
But my favorite Phil Hill encounter came in the early '90s, on what might have been the first of Martin Swig's wonderful California Mille Miglias. To make a Mille, Swig takes the great trans-Italian open-road race and reconstructs it on the twisting country roads of his northern California. On this particular Mille, there were a few of us hackers from the press tagging along. And there was Phil Hill as guest of honor. So my favorite Phil Hill encounter took place on the Mille, but not as co-piloto in one of the many beautiful race or touring cars that participated in that Mille, but in a 15-passenger airport shuttle van.
Even Great American Racing Heroes need a ride from the airport and, as luck would have it, I wound up in the same van as Phil, sitting on the bench seat one row behind him. Next to him was his friend and Road & Track collaborator John Lamm. It was a long drive from the San Francisco airport up north to where the Mille would begin, and Lamm spent the time prodding Hill for stories. Hill had raced through Golden Gate Park back in the '50s, and as we were driving through that very park, Hill told stories of the dangers of racing in those days, pointing out a course that wound past dangerously placed trees or around blind corners that even errant, thrill-seeking kids today wouldn't tackle at speed despite airbags and crush zones Hill's car never had. With Lamm's occasional prodding, Hill told us about guys he raced against, people he knew, things he did, all the time speaking to us and we to him as if he was just a regular guy and not a Great American Racing Hero.
The Mille lasted three or four days, and at any time in that period you could find yourself sharing a table with Phil Hill. He never stopped being the guy he was, never got tired of strangers asking him the same questions, always remained thoughtful and considerate in his replies. (A couple of years ago, several media colleagues and I sat with Kimi Raikkonen at a Michelin lunch at SEMA. All we learned about life and humanity from Raikkonen was that he could text-message very well, and this was not because he told us.)
On one of the day's drives, the car I was in happened to be behind Hill when we both came upon a disabled open touring car. I don't remember what the car was but it was like Hill's own beloved Pierce-Arrow. He pulled over immediately, of course, and got out to help. We followed, partly because everybody helps everybody else on the Mille and partly because, well, it was Phil Hill, man. He raised the hood, one of those half hoods that rose from the side, folding up on top of the other half, and had the problem diagnosed within seconds. He looked around, saw a big bush next to the road, reached in and, with a crack, broke off a branch about the size of a crow bar and shaped roughly like the letter J. He wedged one end of the branch under the generator and the other on some fixed point below. In seconds he had created what modern engineers would call an accessory drive-belt tensioner. With a tree.
After that, he wiped his hands on a rag, got into his car and drove off, leaving the rest of us just sort of standing there wondering if we should cancel that AAA call.
I think the reason Phil Hill had so many nice stories told about him in recent days was not because he was a world champion--Kimi Raikkonen was a world champion, too--but because of the kind of champion he was, and that had nothing to do with motorsports.
So, you make me cry in Starbucks, what the hell. I'd rather cry in Starbucks than not cry in Starbucks.Quadratrückseite wrote:Here's a really nice story about your uncle, and it reminds me of the ingenuity and helpfulness of a certain someone...
That was actually the same day. There is a photograph of Phil accepting the Concours trophy for his 1931 Pierce Arrow (was my great-aunt's car that took Phil to school when he was a little boy) in his totally filthy racing togs with a raccoon shadow surrounding his eyes. Yes, you too, can be sartorially challenged and happy.how he won the Pebble Beach Road Races one day and the Pebble Beach Concours the next.
:) - sorry brother. It just really sounded like you! What a great man he must have been - so many stories.Amskeptic wrote:So, you make me cry in Starbucks, what the hell. I'd rather cry in Starbucks than not cry in Starbucks.Quadratrückseite wrote:Here's a really nice story about your uncle, and it reminds me of the ingenuity and helpfulness of a certain someone...
That was actually the same day. There is a photograph of Phil accepting the Concours trophy for his 1931 Pierce Arrow (was my great-aunt's car that took Phil to school when he was a little boy) in his totally filthy racing togs with a raccoon shadow surrounding his eyes. Yes, you too, can be sartorially challenged and happy.how he won the Pebble Beach Road Races one day and the Pebble Beach Concours the next.
Colin