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My walks were infrequent, my trips to the dog park nonexistent. Little attention was paid to me by Denny or Zoë.
Her head was covered with a stocking cap. Her cheeks were sunken, her skin, sallow. She lifted her head and looked around.
“Please, Denny. We have to face the reality of it. The doctor said six to eight months. He was quite definite.”
Bobby Deerfield is a very underappreciated film, as is Pacino’s performance in it. My third favorite actor is Paul Newman, for his excellent car-handling skills in the film Winning, and because he is a fantastic racer in his own right
sack lunches, often writing a note on a piece of notepaper, a thought or a joke he hoped she would find at lunch and might make her smile.
Who is Achilles without his tendon? Who is Samson without Delilah? Who is Oedipus without his clubfoot? Mute by design, I have been able to study the art of rhetoric
which, after all, is based on conflict and opposition, the irresistible force meeting the unmovable object.
the television news had to proclaim an allergy emergency. The drugstores literally ran out of antihistamines.
Being on a track was a new experience for me. No buildings, no signs, no sense of proportion.
Sometimes, to this day, in my sleep I bark twice because I am dreaming of Denny driving me around Thunderhill, the two of us laying down a hot lap, and I bark twice to say faster.
I devoured, I gorged, I gulped, I did all the things I shouldn’t have done.
Eve, her death was the end of a painful battle. For Denny it was the beginning.
“I don’t know if you have a lawyer,” Maxwell said. “But if you don’t, you should get one. We’re suing for custody of our granddaughter.” Denny flinched
Racing is about discipline and intelligence, not about who has the heavier foot. The one who drives smart will always win in the end.
work of the greatest of all courtroom dramatists, Sidney Lumet, whose many films, including The Verdict and 12 Angry Men,
That is Mark Fein’s blustery style. Bombastic. Boisterous. Bold. Bellicose. Mark Fein is a capital letter B. He is shaped like the letter, and he acts like the letter. Brash. Brazen. Bullish. Bellowing.
The nervous hand-shuffle of another driver proves how uncomfortable he is in the car. A driver’s hands should be relaxed, sensitive, aware.
So he didn’t fall hopelessly into the bottle, the refuge of the weak and the maudlin. He got my point. Gestures are all that I have.
Yes: the race is long—to finish first, first you must finish.
I had seen a documentary on Bruce Lee; Lake View is where he is buried, alongside his son, Brandon, who was a wonderful actor until his untimely death.
realized that keeping my hind legs together in my gait—though much more comfortable for me—was an obvious sign that my hips were defective.
tightly and whispered to me, “It’s a mean bastard who won’t pay for a little local anesthetic for his pups.”
Denny thanked the man and drove me home. “You have hip dysplasia,”
Well. We all play by the same rules; it’s just that some people spend more time reading those rules and figuring out how to make them work in their behalf.
In the early afternoon Mike picked me up and drove me over to Mercer Island, and I spent the afternoon playing with Zoë on the great lawn. Before dinnertime, Mike returned me to Denny.
They had no idea who they were dealing with. Denny would not kneel before them. He would never quit; he would never break.
He left that morning wearing the only suit he owned, a crumpled khaki two-piece from Banana Republic, and a dark tie.
1932 through 1953. He is known mostly for winning the first ever Ferrari victory at the 24 Hours of Le Mans, in 1949. Chinetti
Chinetti drove all but twenty minutes of the twenty-four hours. And he won.
Spanaway?” the worker boy asked Denny after her very first session. Spanaway was a place south of us where children often practiced go-karting on an outdoor course.
Of course, I understood that a race car driver must be selfish. Success at any endeavor on an elite level demands selfishness.
But Denny refused to yield to that idea. He wanted his daughter and he wanted his racing career and he refused to give up one for the other.
This one asked for a continuance, which is what you can do in the legal world if you need time to read all the paperwork. And while I understood it was necessary, I was still concerned.
was unsettled by the snow, I remember. Seattle is rain. Warm rain or cold rain, Seattle is rain.
The tires did not scream, as tires do. The ground was covered with a thin layer of snow. The tires hushed. They shushed. And then the car hit me.
It came to me: on the Grand Prix circuit in the town of Imola. In the Tamburello corner. Senna did not have to die. He could have walked away.
Enigmatic is Ayrton Senna, in death as well as in life.
remember the doctor painfully manipulating my hips. Then he gave me a shot and I was very much asleep.
“You’ll be all right, Zo,” he said. “You cracked your pelvis, but it will heal. You’ll just take it easy for a while, and then you’ll be good as new.”
they’ll settle for misdemeanor harassment and probation; no sex offense on your record.”
“No,” he said, “I’m with Enzo. I piss on their settlement, too. I don’t care how smart it is for me to sign it.
He started the tape. Ayrton Senna driving the Grand Prix of Monaco in 1984, slicing through the rain in pursuit of the race leader, Alain Prost.
my mobility was severely limited and I couldn’t gallop or canter, but I could still trot fairly well.
think I’d make a very good car salesman.” “Neither do I,” Luca said. “But you’re with Ferrari.”
“To live in Italy,” Denny said. “And test-drive Ferraris.”
room was filled with hundreds of people, and I was sitting on the witness stand, strapped to Stephen Hawking’s voice simulator; the judge swore me in.
The very next day, Mr. Lawrence informed Denny that the Evil Twins had dropped their custody suit. Zoë was his.
The concept of euthanasia has some merit, yes, but it is too fraught with emotion.
To have become a Formula One champion out of nowhere. At his age. It is nothing less than a fairy tale.
“Come ti chiami?” he asks the boy. “Enzo,” the boy says. The champion looks up, startled. For a moment, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t write. He doesn’t speak.
