Formula One and Beyond

by Max Mosley

  All the great and good of Formula One went to Senna’s state funeral in Brazil. I decided to go to Ratzenberger’s more modest one in Austria. After all, it was just as tragic for his parents and family as it was for Senna’s. Although there was nothing I could really do, I felt it important to try to support his parents and partner rather than join the big names in Brazil. It was desperately sad. He had just started out in Formula One in a small team and had worked very hard to get there with the support of his family.

  Two weeks later, Karl Wendlinger, another Austrian, suffered severe head injuries in practice for the Monaco Grand Prix. Pictures of the incident appeared all over the world. We now had a full-blown crisis. Commentators were asking what was wrong with Formula One; the big car manufacturers and sponsors were talking openly about pulling out; and there were even suggestions from politicians that Formula One should be banned. I found myself having crisis meetings with senior car industry executives, who always seem to be particularly numerous at the Monaco Grand Prix.

  The media storm brought home to me just how global Formula One had become. I fully understood why people felt as they did, having been through this all too often myself, but it was not a time to let emotion take over. What was needed was a calm and systematic approach. Had I pointed out that the five serious incidents in one weekend at Imola, followed by another major accident two weeks later, were simply a statistical cluster, I would probably have been attacked from all sides as irresponsible. It was best not to say that. However, the crisis provided an opportunity to do something that needed doing.

  Ever since I started looking at it closely following my election, it seemed to me that Formula One was more dangerous than it needed to be. But until the accidents happened, I had been unable to interest anyone in safety. The conventional view was that it was safe enough, too safe some said. Now there was panic. Annoyingly irrational, certainly, but the hysteria gave me the opportunity to start a revolution.

  At very short notice we were able to introduce a number of measures to reduce the risks and, much more importantly, I decided we should set up an expert group to look at all aspects of motor sport safety systematically and scientifically rather than in the ad hoc way it had been dealt with in the past. I asked Professor Watkins to take charge. Apart from being our top medical officer and a world-class neurosurgeon, he was brilliantly clever and able to apply a scientific approach to non-medical problems. He also understood about keeping things simple. Once, sitting in an airport lounge, he told me about a revolutionary technique he had invented for getting a blood supply from one part of the brain to another. ‘That’s really clever,’ I said. ‘Oh no,’ he replied, ‘just O-level carpentry!’

  Until then, a failure to apply basic science and scientific methods systematically had been a fundamental problem. A lot of work was done on such things as rollover bars, fire prevention and protection of the driver’s feet. We had endless FOCA discussions on these and other aspects of safety before repeating them with the FIA in Paris. But it was all piecemeal rather than systematic.

  Safety had also improved as a side effect of the adoption of new technologies, such as composite materials, but those benefits were incidental – the main objective of all that engineering work had always been to improve performance. A few individuals did their best, particularly one or two drivers, but drivers lacked the qualifications and knowledge to make real progress. Being able to drive a car fast does not make you an expert on how to minimise the risks if you lose control. The media listen to the drivers, who are quite rightly the public face of the sport, but the effect of this is to amplify the confusion and put pressure on the circuit owners. Some unwise and unscientific things were done in the name of safety before reason took over. Armco barriers, particularly in the wrong place as in François Cevert’s fatal accident in 1973, are a classic example.

  The lack of science is illustrated by the discussions between the teams and the FIA about reducing cornering speeds back in 1980, described in chapter 12. The question was whether to reduce grip and hence cornering speeds by changing the tyres or by curtailing the aerodynamics. Representing the FIA was, among others, Paul Frère, a recognised authority. He had driven in several Formula One races and in 1960 won the Le Mans 24-hour race for Ferrari (with Olivier Gendebien). He was the author of Sports Car and Competition Driving, then a standard motor racing textbook.

  In one of the technical meetings he disagreed with Colin Chapman’s suggestion that reducing the grip of the tyres would be the best way to reduce cornering speeds. Frère explained this would be dangerous because, if grip were reduced, a car would decelerate less quickly if the driver lost control. As a successful racing driver himself, he had the support of almost all the drivers. They knew from experience that the bigger the tyres, the more grip they had and the quicker the car would stop if it went out of control.

  They were right, of course. The car would stop more quickly if it had more grip, but the problem is, if it hits something before it stops (the only thing affecting safety), it will hit it harder. Aerodynamics apart, any first-year engineering student can prove on a single sheet of paper that the distance for which a car spins, if control is lost when it is travelling at the limit of adhesion in a corner, is a function of the radius of the corner. Neglecting second-order effects and aero, it remains the same irrespective of grip.

  It follows that at any given point before the car stops of its own accord, it will be travelling faster if it has more grip because it starts from a higher speed. And the impact, if it hits something, will therefore be greater. If it doesn’t hit anything there’s obviously not a problem, but our only real concern is what happens when it does hit something. All this is difficult for many drivers to accept, and the big-tyres-stop-quicker theory was explained to me yet again at a meeting with the Grand Prix Drivers’ Association at Heathrow in 1999. When I offered to do the sums for them there and then, they said, amid laughter, they’d prefer to take my word for it.

  The truth is counter-intuitive but is easier to understand if you imagine a Grand Prix starting on packed snow. Then it should become obvious that no one would be likely to get hurt because the cornering speeds would be so low. If low grip increases safety in competition driving, exactly the opposite is true for normal driving on an ordinary road. There, if the driver is being responsible, speed is limited not by the grip of the car but by various legal speed limits. So, in everyday motoring, the more grip the better. It increases the driver’s chances of keeping out of trouble in an emergency.

  I’m afraid this may be a bit tedious for the non-enthusiast, but it illustrates perfectly the well-meaning but relatively primitive mind-set we were up against at the beginning of Professor Watkins’s work. Since then, two decades of applying science to safety by Sid Watkins and his team, working with all sorts of consultants and university departments, have transformed Formula One and the rest of motor sport. It will never be safe but by eliminating the folklore element we reduced the probability of injury. In all activities where safety has to be taken seriously – aviation, for example – the work is all about reducing the probability of injury while recognising that it will never be zero.

  As part of its research, I had suggested to Sid that the group should look at government work on occupant safety in road cars. It seemed certain that with (at that time) some 50,000 deaths on the roads and up to eight times as many serious injuries each year in the EU, there must be several extensive research programmes for road safety in the countries of western Europe. These would inevitably include the protection of car occupants because they accounted for such a high proportion of the casualties. Official work on protecting car occupants was likely to be directly relevant to driver safety in Formula One. Compared with the FIA, governments had virtually unlimited resources and it seemed likely we would be able to learn a great deal in a very short time from their research programmes.

  To our astonishment, we found almost nothing was happening. There had been quite extraordinary
neglect. The crash-test requirements for road cars in the EU had not changed since 1974, largely due to the powerful car industry lobby that was firmly entrenched in Brussels resisting anything that might add cost. This revelation provided the incentive to begin work in Brussels on road safety and start the Euro NCAP crash-test programme, of which much more follows later.

  Apart from the cars themselves, we also subjected the circuits to Sid’s scientific approach. We began with really accurate plans that enabled us to use a computer program to look at each corner and ensure that our approach was uniform and consistent. Many of the major circuits were also used for motorcycle racing. What was suitable for cars was not always ideal for the bikes, but we co-operated closely with the FIM, the world governing body for motorcycle racing. Our principal circuit inspector was Charlie Whiting, which worked well because he was also in charge of the Formula One Technical Working Group and a member of Sid’s safety group. As a result, he could deal with the safety issue in its entirety.

  Right at the beginning, we had a particular problem at Monza, where inspections and our calculations showed conclusively that more run-off was needed at the Curva Grande. Slowed by a chicane in 1972, this was originally the very fast corner just after the start which I had discussed with Jochen Rindt back in my Formula Two days. The new work would mean cutting down 150 trees, a proposal the park authorities refused to countenance. The race organisers offered to plant 5000 trees elsewhere in the Monza Park, but still they refused. The World Council gave them a deadline: if the trees were not felled, there would be no race. The deadline passed. On holiday in the South of France, I called the FIA office and asked them to put out a press release saying the 1994 Italian Grand Prix had been cancelled.

  I went into our sitting room and told Jean I had just cancelled the Italian Grand Prix. She looked at me as if I were mad: ‘You what? No one cancels the Italian Grand Prix!’ It seemed to me the obvious thing to do. If the World Council gave a deadline and those responsible took no notice, as far as I was concerned cancellation was inevitable. If we wanted the FIA to be taken seriously, particularly on safety, we had to act.

  Predictably, the effect was dramatic. The press release provoked an astonishing political crisis in Italy. We were told the Northern League were even threatening to pull out of their coalition with Silvio Berlusconi if the problem wasn’t solved. I started getting calls from what seemed to be someone in an Italian government office. Our number was supposedly ex-directory so, trying to sound like a local Frenchman, I kept telling them they’d got the wrong number. Eventually, however, it became clear I couldn’t just forget about Monza and get on with my holiday. A meeting was set up and Berlusconi’s right-hand man, Gianni Letta, plus a very senior Northern League politician came to Cannes to negotiate, accompanied by advisers. I suggested Cannes airport as they would be coming by plane.

  To my surprise, they arrived in a motorcade. Apparently, the government DC9 couldn’t get into Cannes with its relatively short runway, so they had landed at Nice. I was alone. We debated the question for some hours. It was all very polite, but I wouldn’t budge. It was the same reasoning as for the Canadian Grand Prix almost 20 years earlier. Never compromise once a deadline passes. If you do, no one will ever again take your deadline seriously. At one point, Berlusconi himself joined the discussions by phone. ‘Do me this favour,’ he said, ‘and you will always have a friend in the Council of Ministers.’

  It was difficult. Gianni Letta (uncle of the recent Italian prime minister) is extremely clever and has great charm. I was very tempted to give in but felt it was my duty to refuse. The lack of run-off at the Curva Grande was not a problem for anyone except the drivers and the chance of one of them being killed or seriously hurt at this part of the circuit was remote, but that was not a risk for others to take on their behalf. The deputation left empty-handed. Yet everyone still wanted the race to go ahead. I discussed what to do at length with Gerhard Berger, who was able to represent the drivers. I said it was entirely up to them, but we would only reinstate the race if they all agreed.

  In the end, the deal was one last race without the run-off, so we gave the circuit a year’s grace to cut down the trees. Happily, no one was hurt and the missing run-off was not needed, even though there was a multiple accident on the first lap and the race had to be restarted. Gerhard finished second for Ferrari; Damon Hill won in a Williams. The trees were duly chopped and the run-off extended in time for the following year. The trees were never fine specimens and, when they finally came down, almost all turned out to be rotten.

  Following all the controversy, Berlusconi invited Bernie and me to dinner after the race. He had a house in the Monza Park, so instead of flying back to the UK we found ourselves in a police helicopter being taken to a very strange gathering. It was mainly for friends of his from Hollywood. I found myself sitting next to Sylvester Stallone, who told me all about O.J. Simpson, then very topical. He was also interesting about the American film industry, of which I knew nothing. He was quite different from his screen persona.

  At one point, Berlusconi, who spoke very little English, was trying to explain his legal difficulties to the entire table. ‘The problem,’ he seemed to say, ‘is that all our little Jews are communists.’ Or at least that’s what it sounded like. We all froze in embarrassment. A guest at the dinner broke the silence – it was the leading South African businessman Johann Rupert, who quickly said: ‘I think he means judges.’ He had realised that what Berlusconi wanted to say was ‘magistrates’, but not knowing the word had tried to say ‘little judges’. But he had used the French word for judge (juge) which sounds a bit like Jews. Everyone relaxed again – Johann’s quick thinking saved the dinner.

  Senna’s death the previous May led to a major judicial inquiry in Italy whose focus was apportioning blame for the accident. Frank Williams and Patrick Head were prosecuted. In Italy, if someone is killed and anyone can be blamed, even to a minor degree, it can be a criminal offence, so something that in England would be mere negligence can be deemed a crime in Italy. If the degree of negligence is slight, it is not a serious crime but a crime nonetheless. Frank and Patrick were eventually acquitted, but it took about ten years before the case was finally finished.

  I thought the whole thing a colossal waste of time. The important question in Senna’s case was not why did he crash or who was to blame, but why did the crash kill him? On a public road it is obviously important to ask who was to blame for an accident but not on a racetrack, where everyone is at their personal limit in a sporting contest. They are bound to make mistakes and a crash is the likely outcome. Losing control and going off the road is an inevitable part of the contest. It’s like hitting the ball out in tennis. The job of the authority (sporting or legal) is not to inquire endlessly as to who was to blame (other than, sometimes, as a minor sporting infringement), it is to try to make sure that, when the inevitable crashes occur, no one gets hurt.

  The Italian Olympic Committee picked up on this and on the undesirability of the authorities getting involved and prosecuting those organising or participating in a dangerous sport if someone is accidentally hurt. In 1997, it organised a major conference on the subject La Colpa di Voler Vincere (Guilty of Wanting to Win), with the then president of the European Olympic Committee, Jacques Rogge (later president of the IOC), and Francesco Zerbi, then president of the FIM, plus a number of legal and political experts. They invited the FIA to participate and also asked if I could persuade an expert on English law to come and explain the very different way the English common law approaches the problem of dangerous sport.

  I thought of Sir Maurice Drake, then a prominent English High Court judge. When he was at the Bar I had been one of his pupils. He very kindly agreed to come to Rome and gave what everyone thought was a brilliant exposition of the English approach and the law of negligence. It made a great impression on our hosts and the representatives of dangerous sports. I took advantage of the time I spent with him to ask why (as I had noticed
from the press) he seemed to be getting such a high proportion of the most interesting cases coming before the High Court. He explained that he was in charge of the list. I felt quite envious – if only I could choose the interesting questions like that.

  Meanwhile, the problem of cornering speeds in Formula One had not gone away. They were constantly increasing and tending to negate our efforts to improve safety on the circuits. Sitting in an office at the French Grand Prix, I thought back to the discussions about skirts and tyres in 1980. I knew the answer was to decrease the grip of the tyres. I did a few sums to convince myself once again that the conventional wisdom was wrong and that, in competition (as opposed to road) driving, less grip meant more safety. By chance, Robin Herd was in the pits doing a bit of consulting for one of the teams. As it was more than 30 years since my university days, I was not totally confident about my maths and went to find him to ask him to check the calculations. He confirmed the sums were right.

  The simplest way to reduce the grip was to reduce the size of the tyre contact patch, and the easiest way to do that would be narrower tyres. But if we decreased the maximum tyre width, the straight-line speeds would increase because a very high proportion of the aerodynamic drag of a Formula One car comes from the wheels and tyres. So, for a smaller contact patch we needed some form of tread, just as Colin Chapman had pointed out to the FIA and Paul Frère back in 1980. But it had to be a clear rule and easy to check. Hiroshi Yasukawa, the head of Bridgestone’s Formula One programme, came up with the answer: parallel grooves all the way round the circumference of the tyre – easy to define, easy to measure, and the same for everyone.