Legendary long-distance racer Olivier Gendebien

The smallest change in fortune might have changed history for one of the best long-distance drivers ever

HISTORY IS NOTORIOUSLY

fickle in its recognition of past glory. In the analogue era of post-war motor sport, before corporate money and technology moved the goalposts, Olivier Gendebien was a four-time Le Mans winner, the first and, for over a decade, the only. During an international career spanning barely seven years, he furthermore took three wins each in the Sebring 12 Hours, the Targa Florio and the Tour de France, and accumulated an overall record to put him surely among the all-time greats. Yet even by we who recount history for a living, he is often remembered, alas, as the driver we always forget to remember.

Which is not to deny he led a memorable life. Gendebien was born in 1924 to an old, rich and prominent Belgian family, although he wasn’t, as some reports maintain, a titled aristo (while father Robert indeed held a barony, it didn’t pass to Gendebien). An enthusiastic sportsman from youth, he ran the 100 metres in 10.9 seconds, and he was an accomplished tennis player, footballer and equestrian who later hunted big game (Cape buffalo, no less), flew light aircraft and climbed the odd mountain.

He left university for the Resistance when war came, then escaped to Britain, joined the Belgian paratroopers in exile, and fought across Europe until the German surrender. With peacetime he finished his studies – an agricultural engineering degree – and moved in 1948 to the Congo, working on the development of Stanleyville. There he made a friend with a keen interest in rallying and, after the pair returned to Belgium in 1952, Gendebien served as his co-driver while also dipping a toe into circuit racing.

By 1955 Gendebien had flourished as a driver; it was his breakout year. In his own Mercedes 300 SL he won the Liege rally, placed second in GT class at the Mille Miglia and, most importantly, won the Coppa d’Oro delle Dolomiti, essentially a ‘Mille Miglia of the Mountains’, beating Enzo Ferrari on his home turf. Never a fool, Enzo promptly signed him, and Gendebien rarely drove for another brand, with the lion’s share of those aforementioned victories and more besides going towards the reputation of Ferrari.

But the thing that would have best enhanced Gendebien’s personal reputation, and what he wanted most from Enzo, was a decent shot at Formula 1. And it didn’t happen. Maybe because Ferrari genuinely did consider the Belgian unsuited to monopostos; maybe it was a typical Enzo mind-game. Maybe it was entirely personal: Gendebien was mature, composed, courteous, educated, cultured and had no silly

‘THE FOUR-TIME LE MANS WINNER TOOK THREE WINS EACH AT SEBRING, THE TARGA FLORIO AND TOUR DE FRANCE’

vices for Enzo to manipulate (or, frankly, for the general press to immortalise). Enzo, by contrast, was simply, well, Enzo – forever the hustler.

Whatever the reasons, Gendebien had only nine Ferrari F1 starts in five seasons, despite some admirable results from mediocre cars. Eventually, Gendebien changed tack; in 1960 he drove an F1 Cooper-Climax for Yeoman Credit Racing. Yeoman struggled, and he contested only half the calendar, but nonetheless took worthy podiums at Spa and Reims and finished sixth in points. Moving to Porsche for enduros yielded his second Sebring win, although he was persuaded back to Ferrari for Le Mans and the Paris 1000 Kilometres – and won both.

For a younger driver, it would have been quite encouraging; Gendebien, however, was 36, with children, and a wife who truly wished he’d stop. So he made the rational decision, running selected events with Ferrari for the next two years, to great success, and, after winning his fourth Le Mans in 1962, retiring alive. As with his racing, however, retirement was a mixture of accomplishment and misfortune. In 1965, wife Marie-Claire, who so feared for his safety on track, died in a tragic road accident. Gendebien subsequently devoted much energy to business concerns; he also mentored young racers, and drove early editions of the Mille Miglia Storica.

Then his health started to decline, and in the 1980s he was diagnosed with a particularly rare and cruel variety of Parkinson’s, similar to the condition that befell old teammate Phil Hill, partner in many of his Le Mans and Sebring wins. Gendebien lingered until 1998, passing at his home in Provence; internet reports say the ailment is now named for him. But if so, such was not recorded in any medical reference works. Perhaps it was merely forgotten.

THANKS for their research assistance to my colleague Doug Nye, to Dr Afsie Sabokbar, Director of Graduates Studies, Botnar Research Centre, University of Oxford, and to the Oxford Parkinson’s Disease Centre, University of Oxford.