Elio was not just a great driver, but above all, a true class act in terms of elegance and manners. In the turbulent years of Formula 1, marked by the heavy delays caused by the political wars between “FOCA supporters” and “legalists,” his garage, first at Lotus and then at Brabham, became the natural refuge for the entire Italian press. Elio was a man of rare humanity: he played the piano divinely, was a huge football fan, and welcomed everyone with an extraordinary pleasantness.
The most beautiful New Year’s Eve of my life
There is an intimate episode that perfectly describes the man behind the visor. It was New Year’s Eve in Porto Cervo. I was on a boat with two couples of friends when Elio, passing by on a scooter on the pier, recognized me and invited me to spend the evening at his place. Being a good Genoese, I initially refused.
I didn’t want to be an intruder on a night usually reserved for the closest loved ones. But at 11:20 PM, Elio showed up again, wouldn’t take no for an answer, and affectionately “kidnapped” us, taking us to his splendid villa featuring a gigantic glass window overlooking the beach.
I expected a high-society and glamorous party, but instead, I found the exact opposite: an intimate domestic hearth. There was his father with his partner, Elio with the beautiful Ute, his brother and sister with their respective fiancés, besides me and my wife.
It was an evening of extraordinary warmth; they made us feel, to all intents and purposes, like two members of that very family. It is a very sweet memory that, even today, mitigates the immense pain of his loss.
The life lesson
When Elio left us in that tragic accident, for me and many other colleagues, it wasn’t just a friend who passed away, but a brother. I still remember the heartbreaking emotion of his funeral in Rome, a day enveloped in infinite sadness. That tragedy marked a decisive turning point in my life. From that day on, I made an irrevocable decision for my profession.
As a journalist, I would continue to respect the drivers and demand respect, but I would never again try to become their friend. Because when you lose a boy you love that way, it’s like losing a piece of your family. And the pain of Elio’s death remains the greatest wound I have ever suffered in my fifty-seven-year career.
That technical cutaway never drawn for Elio
The BT55 based its entire concept on an exasperatingly low center of gravity. A radical design choice that forced the driver to assume an almost lying driving position, significantly more reclined compared to all the other single-seaters on the grid.
To better analyze and illustrate that extreme posture, I asked Elio De Angelis if he could simulate it for me. He, with his proverbial and unfailing kindness, immediately agreed to the request. In his hotel room, he lay down on the floor wearing his full racing suit and helmet, perfectly replicating the setup he maintained inside the cockpit.
My intention was to use those shots as a basis for creating a detailed technical drawing: a cutaway of the car that would highlight the exact and unusual positioning of the driver inside the cockpit.
Unfortunately, after his tragic passing, the weight of that memory took over. I intimately understood that I would never be able to complete that illustration. That cutaway of the BT55 never saw the light of day, and the photograph of Elio on the floor of that hotel room has remained locked in my drawers, jealously guarded.
