Hmmm ... a story that seems somewhat typical of the big "stars" in sports these days.
I recall Mario Andretti as being very accessible and friendly, but that was back in the days when any spectator could buy a pit pass and wander freely amongst the cars, drivers and mechanics. As a counterpoint to Mike's tale, I'd like to pass along a much more positive story. When I was in high school I was a big fan of motor sports, and Ferrari cars and drivers were my favorites. This was when Phil Hill, Wolfgang von Trips, Stirling Moss, Richie Ginther, and others were in their prime. I learned that Luigi Chinetti, the importer of Ferrari at the time, had a shop in NYC, and I went down there one Saturday morning, mostly just to stand outside and gawk. The shop was open, and I wandered inside, loving every moment of my proximity to the shining red cars with the prancing horse emblem. At one point I stuck my head around a corner, and there, right before me, was the garage area. Oh, all those gleaming red cars and snorting 12 cylinder engines - even as I write these words the memories of my youthful joy brings a tear to my eye. And there, in the corner, almost looking abandoned, was "La Barchetta", the little boat, a Type 166 Mille Miglia, the car that Chinetti himself drove at LeMans in 1949, one of only three or four ever made. Oh, the joy! I couldn't help myself, and I slowly, quietly, walked over to it, standing close enough to smell the leather of the driver's seat, touching the tires ever so gently, afraid of doing some damage, breathing in the history, and imagining the speed and excitement of racing down the Mulsanne Straight. When I left that day I knew that I was coming back. And the next Saturday I returned, this time with a little camera loaded with color film. I took some snapshots of the cars, the garage area, of the mechanics at work - if only I could capture the sound of those marvelous engines as the mechanics revved them - their snarling exhaust and their deep breathing through six dual barreled, downdraft Weber carburetors, muffled only slightly by wire mesh air filters. I was in heaven. I went back to the shop many times, always on Saturday mornings. At no time did anyone ever ask me to leave, or to not take pictures, or to stop drooling on the cars. It seemed as if no one even noticed me. And then, one Saturday morning, Luigi Chinetti himself came up to me, and asked if I'd be kind enough to help the mechanic move "La Barchetta" - if it wouldn't be too much trouble. Imagine how I felt when the mechanic suggested that I sit in the car and steer it while he and Luigi pushed it across the garage to its new spot in the morning sun. Man, the memory of that moment, and the following moment when Luigi and the mechanic asked if I'd be kind enough to take a picture of them standing by that marvelous red machine. Mike Johnston wrote: > But Michael Andretti's an ass. > [...] I tried explaining that I had a very nice picture framed and > just needed _someone_ to be looking out the window, so, even if he didn't > want his own picture taken, would he mind asking the mechanic to come sit > where he was sitting and just look towards the stand for five seconds? > > Slowly and deliberately, he finished his soda, got up and walked away. Never > once glanced my way, never answered. No chance he didn't hear me, unless > he's stone deaf--I was a yard and a half from the guy. > > I've got one word for that guy: PRICK. Selfish, swell-headed, self-centered, > rude prick. (Uh, well, okay, so that's seven words.) -- Shel Belinkoff mailto:[EMAIL PROTECTED] http://home.earthlink.net/~belinkoff/ - This message is from the Pentax-Discuss Mail List. To unsubscribe, go to http://www.pdml.net and follow the directions. Don't forget to visit the Pentax Users' Gallery at http://pug.komkon.org .
