THE HISTORY OF WILLIAMS
THE HISTORY OF WILLIAMS PART 4: 1994-99
Tragedy and more titles: part four of our series on Williams F1
At the height of its mid-1990s success, Williams was laid low by an unforeseen tragedy which changed the face of Formula 1 forever – and robbed it of one of its most fascinating characters
Williams was awesome in the middle chunk of the 1990s, winning five constructors’ world championships in six seasons – a run back then only Mclaren could rival – as Damon Hill and Jacques Villeneuve joined Nigel Mansell and Alain Prost among its illustrious roster of champion drivers. But it’s the glaring omission from that roll-call that will forever cast a shadow deep and long over the team’s most successful era. No amount of race wins and titles could possibly sooth the pain that would engulf Williams following the death of Ayrton Senna.
But guilt? No, not that. Regret, certainly.
But guilt suggests culpability for the crash that killed the world’s greatest racing driver, and for the rest of the decade and even a chunk of the next, technical director Patrick Head and chief designer Adrian Newey would be forced to defend themselves from such allegations, within an Italian legal system centred around pointing the finger of blame at individuals – scapegoats, depending on your point of view – for an accident that, by definition, was a freak occurrence no one could have foreseen.
The sequence of events that led to Imola’s flat-out Tamburello curve on lap seven of the San Marino Grand Prix on 1 May 1994, are familiar but no less haunting after all these years. Senna, sainted and vilified in almost equal measure, looked strangely unfamiliar in his new white and blue Rothmans overalls, Frank Williams having finally signed the world’s most (in)famous racing driver. Alain Prost, with nothing to gain and plenty to lose from facing his old nemesis in the same car, had retired as a four-time champion, and the path seemed wide open for Senna to match that tally now he was sliding into the best seat on the grid. But something about Senna’s serious countenance, from the launch of the new FW16 and into the new season, suggested a strain, a tension. Something seemed off.
It didn’t help that his new car was a handful to drive. After mastering new technologies that were changing the shape of F1, Williams had been rewarded by a wholesale ban on such systems,
THE BEST OF TIMES THE WORST OF TIMES...
denigrated as ‘driver aids’ for a generation of racers who apparently now had it too easy. Traction control, launch control, servo-assisted braking, four-channel ABS, rear-wheel steering, electronically controlled power steering… they were all outlawed, as was a CVT (Continuously Variable Transmission) system developed by Head that might have been the biggest gamechanger of all. Why? To aid struggling Ferrari, which was all at sea in this high-tech era? Because the cars were now too easy to drive? Or because Williams was one of a number of teams beginning to question the burgeoning influence of Bernie Ecclestone’s accord with FIA president Max Mosley? Perhaps the truth lies somewhere between all three. Whatever, Williams and its rivals would now revert from ‘active’ to ‘passive’ mode. And, as Newey later admitted, he might have underestimated the aerodynamic effect this back-to-basics approach would have.
At bumpy Interlagos, Senna took pole position – but mainly because he was Ayrton Senna…
In the race, a new threat showed (some of) its hand as Michael Schumacher’s Ford Cosworth V8-powered Benetton upstaged the home hero. Senna, struggling to manhandle his unpredictable car, spun out on lap 56. Next time out at Japan’s Aida, Senna again claimed pole, but found himself nerfed off at Turn 1, from where he watched the rest of the race. He returned to the paddock in a seething fury, certain from what he’d witnessed that Schumacher’s Benetton was using traction control – an insinuation that would hound the upstart team throughout this troubled season, and one that still clouds its achievements to this day.
For all of Senna’s conviction, all Williams could do was get its own house in order and uncover the aerodynamic flaw that was threatening to derail its dominance. After a test at Nogaro in France, Newey experienced a “eureka moment” in the wind tunnel, but the shorter sidepods, new floor and bodywork required to settle FW16 couldn’t be ready for round three: Imola.
First, there was Rubens Barrichello’s narrow escape from a violent accident in his Jordan on Friday; second, sunny, popular Roland Ratzenberger lost his life when the front wing of his Simtek gave way on the run to Tosa during qualifying on Saturday – the first driver fatality at a grand prix for 12 years; third, Pedro Lamy’s Lotus slammed into JJ Lehto’s stalled Benetton on the grid, sending debris into the crowd; and fourth… well, we know what came next. But how and why?
Heading into the race, Senna was a troubled man. Traumatised by Ratzenberger’s fate and still incensed by a concrete belief that Benetton was cheating, Ayrton responded in the only way he knew. The safety car for the Lamy/lehto collision forced him to coil up his aggression, before it was released on lap five. He flew through Tamburello on lap six, logging what (but for the
red flag that negated it) would have been would be the third fastest lap of the race, on a relatively heavy fuel load… and the accident happened the next time around. The explanation most have accepted, including his team-mate Hill, revolves around low tyre pressures resulting from slow speeds behind an Opel Vectra Safety Car that fell far short of its task. Also, Senna was taking the tighter, bumpier but theoretically quicker line through Tamburello in his blinkered determination to break Schumacher’s chase. The tyres lost traction, then gripped, and the FW16 shot towards the wall. Did he have a slow puncture? That was another theory, pushed out once again a few years later when a picture emerged of the Williams heading for a piece of debris a lap earlier. What about the steering column failure that would become the focus of the prosecution’s venom towards Head and Newey?
It certainly had been modified, reduced in diameter by 4mm at one localised point, because Senna’s knuckles were rubbing. But Williams would subsequently prove it failed in the impact rather than in a manner that left the driver powerless to steer through the corner.
Head and Newey found themselves vulnerable in the tangled aftermath. Both were acquitted of manslaughter in 1997, but the case went through an appeal in 1999 and was subsequently re-opened. Newey was acquitted for good in 2005, but Head was found to be responsible for the
steering failure in 2007 – after the case had timed out under Italy’s statute of limitations.
The car was never returned to Williams and was eventually destroyed in custody, so the final, incontrovertible truth can never be known, leaving everyone involved to come to terms with the tragedy in their own way.
For all, there was simply a deep sadness and frustration; for Newey a nagging pain that FW16’S aerodynamic imbalance made Senna’s last races more difficult than they should have been. As he put it in his autobiography: “I will always feel a degree of responsibility for Ayrton’s death, but not culpability.”
What a torrid season. In the unrelenting glare of a global spotlight trained on F1’s deepest flaws, Sauber driver Karl Wendlinger was left in a coma after crashing in Monaco – and the FIA felt compelled to react. From the Spanish Grand Prix, rear diffusers were shortened, the front wing endplates simplified and a rudimentary 10mm step – better known as ‘the plank’ – was added to underfloors to slash downforce ‘Knee-jerk’, shouted those that understood. ‘Entirely justified and necessary’ shouted back those who were feeling the heat.
Amid the chaos, Damon Hill calmly assessed his changing status within Williams. From his position as understudy first to Mansell, then Prost and finally Senna, suddenly he found himself thrust centre stage – much like his old man at Lotus in the wake of Jim Clark’s death in 1968. But Graham Hill was a seasoned world champion back then. His son, while a winner of three grands prix, fell some way short of such stature in the eyes of his team. In truth, he always would. Still, Hill rose to his daunting challenge magnificently through the summer – even when Mansell was drafted back from Indycars for the French GP and the final three races of the season. A turning point was Silverstone when Hill achieved what his father never had by winning his home grand prix, on a day when Schumacher ignored a black flag after passing Hill on the warm-up lap and found himself disqualified. Was his subsequent and heavy-handed two-race ban really for this indiscretion or for the lingering, unproven suspicion his car was not always running in legal specification? Whatever, the combination of missed races, a further disqualification from victory at the Belgian GP for an overly worn plank and Hill grinding out victories in his absence, left Damon within range of an unlikely world title.
At Suzuka, we saw the best of him. Rain usually left the masterful Schumacher rubbing his hands, but on this day, in an aggregate race interrupted by a red flag, Hill turned around a seven-second deficit and beat his nemesis fair and square. Respect. And it left him just one point down on Schumacher heading to Australia. His tail up after the race of his life, Hill pressured Schumacher in an enthralling chase around the streets of Adelaide, until Schumacher buckled and hit the wall. But Hill had been too far back to see, caught the damaged Benetton at the next right hander, went for the gap… and Michael did what he was intuitively tuned to do. For the third time in six years, following Suzuka 1989 and 1990, a professional foul ultimately decided the outcome of an F1 world championship. Still, Mansell took a final grand prix victory and Williams claimed the constructors’ crown – even if it felt hollow in the wake of… well, everything.
For 1995, Hill would be joined full-time by David Coulthard, the team test driver who had fallen into one of the best seats on the grid as a consequence of Senna’s death. DC showed promise in 1994, but was unsettled by the team’s recall of Mansell and responded to overtures from Mclaren, whom he would join for 1996.
HILL ROSE TO HIS DAUNTING CHALLENGE MAGNIFICENTLY THROUGH THE SUMMER – EVEN WHEN MANSELL WAS DRAFTED BACK FROM INDYCARS
In time, Coulthard would come to realise he’d turned his back on a world title shot for more money at a less competitive team. Then again, on the basis of the 1995 season neither he nor his team-mate looked anything like world champion material. In Head and Newey’s FW17, Williams once again produced the fastest car as new safety regulations and a reduction in engine capacity from 3.5 to 3 litres kicked in. But now Benetton and Schumacher had a Renault V10, too – and the combination left a misfiring Williams for dust when it came to race strategy.
High-profile errors from Hill, who crashed into Schumacher at Silverstone and Monza, left him in a slump despite four wins, and while Coulthard added a single victory in Portugal, the season was a disaster by Williams standards. It also cost Hill his drive – not that he yet knew it – and indirectly led to Newey leaving the team.
Exactly when Frank and Patrick signed Heinzharald Frentzen as Hill’s replacement for 1997 remains a point of conjecture. Head has said the deal wasn’t done until the summer of 1996; Newey claims he was told it had been agreed before the start of the season. But what is certain is Hill’s poor form in 1995 crystallised Williams’ doubts about its driver’s status as a true team leader. Somewhere between the shunts and Schumacher drubbings that year was when he really lost his drive.
News first broke just before the German GP of 1996, during a season in which a reinvigorated Hill had stepped up his game, knowing full well that at 36, this was his last chance for a title. He was on course to become world champion, aided by the superiority of the wonderful FW18 and Schumacher having left Benetton to build empires at Ferrari. Yet here were stories that he was about to be sacked. Surely not? Surely yes. Frank made the phone call between the Belgian and Italian GPS, just as Hill was gearing up for his final push for the championship. How he did so with a stylish win at Suzuka left British fans (and Murray Walker) with a lump in their throats, but it was bitter-sweet for F1’s first second-generation world champion. He had achieved something truly special and would remain forever grateful to Williams for what it had given him – but for the third time in five years, a Williams world champion wouldn’t defend his crown.
For Newey, Hill’s sacking was the last straw. He’d negotiated a more lucrative three-year deal the season before, but only on the basis he would be given a say in all major team decisions. But after years running their team as a like-minded and forthright duo, Frank and Patrick were always going to struggle with the concept of a trio. They didn’t confide in their chief designer on Hill’s fate and it pushed Newey to Mclaren. He would leave to tend his garden in November 1996, having completed his work on the evolutionary FW19.
Meanwhile, as Hill contemplated life lower down the grid with Tom Walkinshaw’s Yamaha-powered Arrows, Williams focused on another second-generation racer who took an unconventional approach to F1. Jacques Villeneuve was fresh from conquering the Indianapolis 500 when he travelled to Silverstone for a Williams test in the summer of 1995, and very much his own man rather than simply ‘the son of Gilles’. The team took something of a punt and signed Villeneuve for 1996 – again without consulting Newey.
Following an intense campaign of testing to get him up to speed, Jacques impressed in a maiden season during which he pushed Hill all the way to the final round.
While Frentzen would fall far short as a replacement for Hill, winning just a single race before leaving for Jordan in 1999, Villeneuve stepped up, although perhaps made hard work of the 1997 title – clinched after Schumacher’s most notorious professional foul backfired at Jerez. And on that note the Williams-renault partnership, one of the finest in F1 history, drew to a close. Having achieved all it could and more as an engine supplier, the French manufacturer chose to bow out, only to return as a full-blown works entry in the next decade. In nine years, its
V10s had won 75 out of 146 races and matched Honda’s tally of six constructors’ titles in a row (including Benetton’s in 1995).
Suddenly Williams was back where it had been after Honda split in 1988, paying for customer engines that lacked the power and development to keep the team at the sharp end. As sponsor Rothmans also took its leave, the team embarked on an interim two-season period in garish red, powered by hand-me-down Renault V10s badged as Mecachromes and Supertecs. Villeneuve departed at the end of 1998 for the folly that was British American Racing, and while Indycar double champion and all-round hero Alex Zanardi failed to find his F1 mojo in 1999, new signing Ralf Schumacher showed he was more than just a ‘brother of’. To come was the potency of BMW power and the promise of more world titles. It was surely only a matter of time – wasn’t it?
SUDDENLY WILLIAMS WAS BACK WHERE IT HAD BEEN AFTER HONDA SPLIT IN 1988, PAYING FOR CUSTOMER ENGINES