After a year or so of Jaguar E-Type ownership ('There's nothing like Jaguar motoring!" D.S. Jenkinson was fond of writing in Motor Sport magazine), I had grown weary of breaking down at the side of the road albeit in some very picturesque locations--the California desert, the Malibu coastline, along Route 66 in Arizona--not to mention my own driveway when starting off on a much anticipated trip. The Jaguar was like being married to the most beautiful and most temperamental woman in the world. I was the envy of everyone but few knew of the frustrations. If only I had a dollar for every time someone approached me as I sat in the car waiting for a tow truck to have them tell me how lucky I was to own such a beautiful car! Well, of course, they were right, and yet...

As beautiful as the Jaguar was (and still is, by any standard), I had always had a special reaction to Ferraris. Recuperating in the hospital after my head-on collision on the Ventura Freeway, I discovered Road & Track magazine and started familiarizing myself with the Italian brand and its history not to mention the legendary drivers who raced the cars from Maranello. I wanted a Ferari but I wasn't yet old enough to drive much less own one.

At Riverside Raceway, I saw the most amazing car being driven by Jill St. John. It was obviously a Ferrari and later I learned that it was a Berlinetta Lusso. It was breathtaking and I wanted one. It did not occur to me that owning one might be difficult given that it was a limited production item with only 351 Lussos being manufactured during its production run from 1963 through 1964. I had staked my claim.

One of the first Lussos I looked at when my time came to buy one was a dark blue example owned by Haskell Wexler. Haskell had directed the film Medium Cool and would be the cinematographer on films like Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, the original Thomas Crown Affair and One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest among others. As much as I was eager to acquire a Lusso, I didn't buy Haskell's car. When I visited his home in the Hollywood Hills to see the car, I didn't even ask to test drive it. I wanted one that was in better shape.

I looked at a couple more Lussos which weren't that easy to find and I wanted one that was in 'like new' condition if possible. Finally, I found one that met my requirements. It was silver blue with French racing blue leather and carpets. The owner, who lived in Las Vegas, Nevada, agreed to drive the car to Los Angeles so that I could drive it and have it inspected by my mechanic.

After the Lusso cleared the mechanic's inspection, I agreed to buy the car. It was arranged for me to drive to Las Vegas with the seller that same day to get accustomed to the car and fly back to Los Angeles leaving the car with him until I had arranged for a transfer of funds into his account. I would bring the car back to Los Angeles in the coming days.

We left Los Angeles just before rush hour traffic got underway and this would be my first long distance drive in a Ferrari. The weather was cool and the engine sounded magnificent with the windows down. We by-passed a long section of the San Bernardino Freeway in favor of a tree-lined road that seemed to go on forever towards the I-5 and the sounds of the V12 engine echoed off those trees as I imagined they would along the Mulsanne straight at Le Mans. Compared to the E-Type, the Lusso seemed like a wild animal that had slipped its leash--it revved to seven thousand and the fenders stretched forward hunting every nuance of the pavement in a predatory manner very different from what I had been used to.

As we passed Victorville, it began to rain and by the time we reached Barstow, a heavy fog had moved in. It made not the slightest difference and the Lusso maintained a cruising speed at or near 100 m.p.h. the whole time. All I did was to turn on the fog lamps that are designed into either side of the Lusso's front grill. I felt as though a new world had opened for me.

At Baker, we stopped for gasoline and I let the seller take the wheel. As we climbed the incline leaving Baker, I saw 120 m.p.h. on the speedometer, which is so extraneous on a Ferrari that the designer Pininfarina saw fit to put it on the passenger side of the instrument array. It wasn't to dip blow that speed until we slowed to exit the freeway going towards McCarran Field and my flight home.

It was another two days before I took possession of the Lusso. I was still in high school (having missed a semester because of the accident) and it was not 'opportune' for me to miss any school time. Realizing that I was impatient to have the car and that I was not happy about waiting for the weekend to get it, my father offered to fly to Las Vegas and drive the car back home to me. I countered by suggesting that we fly up together but that didn't solve the problem of school.

The following day, I was hoping to find the Lusso waiting for me as I came out of school. It was not to be. Not wanting to waste a trip to Las Vegas, my father spent some casino time at the Sands (as he and I would do on our subsequent trips) and it was almost midnight before I heard the Lusso coming down the street and turning into our driveway. At that point, the Lusso was mine!

I've heard people refer to Ferraris (and other special automobiles) by saying, "It's just a car". Nothing could be further from the truth. The Lusso formed a way of life for me that opened the door to special people and adventures I never would have otherwise known. It was never a toy that was taken for granted and I don't think I ever parked the Lusso without turning back to admire it before walking away.

In retrospect, I would say that the Lusso became a lifestyle; one that I was very grateful to experience.

 

once again.................great story

 

I was talking to a Ferrari friend coordinating a visit to the Ferrari factory in Maranello for another Ferrari friend and it looks as though my friend will get to enjoy his Ferrari tour but what became clear is how different things are today than they were in Enzo Ferrari's time. My visits to the factory weren't planned, choreographed, orchestrated or stage managed; I just showed up.

The first time I darkened the door of the factory in Maranello was in 1970. I had flown from Los Angeles to London where I stayed a few weeks looking for Bentleys to buy and ship back to California for resale. I scoured the landscape purchasing cars among them a pristine James Young R-type discovered in Surrey and a beautiful S1 I found (after enjoying a first class lunch aboard the train) in Southampton. It was a wonderful life and I experienced meals at Claridge's, cricket at Lord's, pub lunches in the countryside and plays in London's West End--on that trip I saw Agatha Christie's The Mousetrap and Sleuth starring Anthony Quayle at the St Martin's Theatre. I was wined and dined by my very good friend W.J.D. Clarke and his family in their homes and ventured into some very interesting antique shops. I had been making these trips to London since I was 16 and knew where to go and what to do.

On this trip, however, I did not return home after consigning my cars to the shippers and instead took an Alitalia flight to Milano where I would attend the Italian Grand Prix at Monza (and meet Enzo Ferrari in the process) and absorb some Italian atmosphere and culture. The Grand Prix was exciting and Clay Reggazoni won in his Ferrari though the weekend was was spoiled by the death of Jochen Rindt who suffered a fatal accident during practice. Jochen became the first and only posthumous World Champion.

On the Monday after the Grand Prix, I took the express train to Bologna and then doubled back to Modena. After walking around the town and finding that the Ferrari customer service department in Modena to be closed for lunch, I found a restaurant and enjoyed a wonderful and leisurely-paced luncheon along with some pleasant conversation with the proprietor. I was especially interested in his thoughts on the famous neighbors, Ferrari and Maserati, and his appreciation of their legendary efforts in racing. I told him I was visiting the Ferrari factory after lunch and he asked if I had an appointment. Without seeing beyond his question, I told him that I did not. He called a taxi for me and I took my leave.

"Maranello," I told the taxi driver and with a smile he steered the familiar course and about twenty minutes later he was dropping me at the factory gate. Approaching a door near the archway over which the familiar Ferrari logo confirms your arrival at a place of legend, I rang a bell that was answered after several minutes by a man in a suit. "Hello. I would like to take a tour of the factory, please," I told him in Italian. He asked if I had an appointment. I felt like Monty Python's John Cleese when he would answer an awkward question with "Not as such" but confined myself to a simple "No". I added that I had come from Los Angeles and that I owned a Ferrari GTO. Though I had, in the course of the previous two days at Monza, met Enzo Ferrari and the Formula 1 team manager Franco Lini (whom I had originally encountered some months earlier at a Ferrari Owners Club meeting in Los Angeles), it did not occur to me to mention this to him. He asked me to wait.

Whatever conversation (or series of conversations) had taken place, the result was that I was beckoned to enter and was taken on a full tour of the factory by a nice gentleman whose name was Pietro de Franchi. I saw the production line that included an example of a new model that had not yet been revealed to the public (it would debut later as the 365 GTC/4), witnessed an engine undergoing a dynamometer test (what a glorious sound!), paid a visit to the foundry and--Holy of Holies--the racing department.

Did I ask to see Il Commendatore or Franco Lini? No. I'd met them two days earlier and had nothing new to say or ask of them, but I have to confess that it was impossible to walk around the factory without feeling Ferrari's presence. Whether he was observing us or I was feeling his proximity via the cars that were his life's work, I don't know. It was, however, hallowed ground and, as my friend Paolo Migliorini Brizzolari said to me, "...it was a very special day impressed in your memory."

It certainly was

 

I can never stop reading this thread so much amazing information and wonderful stories.

 

Glad you are enjoying the thread, Marc.

 

If you havnt written a book, you should. Every chapter a short story like your been sharing with us.

 

I am doing exactly that. It will be published by Eau Rouge Publishing which published Marc Sonnery's book Maserati: The Citroën Years 1968-1975.

I am currently working with an artist who is illustrating the book and, if I may say so, his work is superb. We hope to announce its availability before Christmas.

 

Hope to get one book before christmas........always enjoying the specially dresed stories

 

Looks wicked to me man :P

 

There was no money in the budget to fly to Connecticut to interview John Fitch for the Carrera Panamericana documentary project that had landed in my lap but after speaking with John on the phone and enjoying the way in which he received me as a stranger, it was obvious that John would not just be a desirable addition to the cast of interviewees I had in mind to shoot but, rather, he was the sine qua non of the project. Film producer/distributor John Lawrence Ré offered up his home as a place to stay just across the border in Massachusetts making the trip easier and providing the opportunity to dine with him in a restaurant from another era that relies solely on candle light.

On the day, we arrived at John's house not knowing what to expect. John had been suffering declining health and I was cognizant of the fact that he might tire easily and I should be prepared to get what I needed in the shortest amount of time possible. John welcomed us and presented his good friend Don Klein with whom I had conversed with over the phone. We set up quickly, without rushing; the oxygen tank and mask parked nearby a constant reminded of the state of John's health and the extraordinary gesture he was making in allowing us to come to his home for his interview.

As we got underway, it was a very gracious and enthusiastic John Fitch I found before my camera lens. Someone later asked me about John wanting to know what he was like. My reply was, "Where you might expect arrogance there was only enthusiasm." John was a gentleman and was still very passionate about racing. As we exchanged questions and answers, I had to constantly remind myself that this was the man who had had an impact on the survival of the Corvette, who had raced at Le Mans and the other great races of his era including the Carrera and yet he could easily be mistaken for a university professor of English.

For me, the highlight of the interview was when I asked John if he could ever imagine himself as a passenger in one of the classic road races rather than the driver. He reacted as though the thought was anathema to him and said, "A driver is always an optimist and a passenger is always a pessimist." What a wonderful observation!

When an hour of interview time had run out, I began to turn off the camera and prepare to load-out. John looked at me and asked, "Don't you want to continue?" I certainly did but not at the expense of his health and I was afraid he might be tiring, John made it clear that he was enjoying the interview and wanted to keep going; and so we did--for another hour.

Before leaving, John escorted us across some icy, slippery snow to his garage. He wanted us to see the Fitch Phoenix, a car he designed that bears an uncanny resemblance to the Corvette Stingray (Mako Shark) that came later after GM had taken a few months to study John's creation. [Place a pregnant pause and a knowing look here]

Only a small part of my conversation with John was used in the Carrera documentary and we spoke of a number of other topics that were of interest to him. Maybe one day, I'll share them with you.
Carrera Panamericana