"End this cruel game," the Countess Thessa Berghe von Trips pleaded with her son. But Count Wolfgang Berghe von Trips could not even think of ending it. And his argument was eloquent in its simplicity: "I love driving," said he.
Last week, after 15 years of driving everything from sputtering motorcycles to high-horsepower sports cars, Von Trips was just a few points away from winning a world championship in the sport he loved—Grand Prix auto racing, the swift and dangerous pastime that binds its practitioners to a peculiar, almost chivalric code. With goggles and helmets for armor, with throaty, low-slung cars for mounts, they scorch the race courses of Europe and the Americas in dedicated pursuit of their elusive Holy Grail—which is always one more victory. Death is always at hand. "In every race," said Von Trips, "we are close to the limit. We must be, if we want to win."
Count Crash. Count Wolfgang von Trips, who could have managed his family's Hemmersback Castle in the German Rhineland as a moneyed aristocrat, had a desperate desire to win. All through the summer, Von Trips, 33, and Phil Hill, 34, of Santa Monica, Calif., teammates in Italian Auto Magnate Enzo Ferrari's racing contingent, had dueled across the Continent for the world title.* Before the Italian Grand Prix at Monza, the pale, slim German nobleman was just in front of the taut, nervous American in the competition for the Grand Prix championship. Victory at Monza would have given him the title.
Von Trips was wary of Monza, "the Death Circuit" that had killed some dozen drivers since it was opened 39 years ago. Twice it had nearly killed Von Trips. In 1956 his Ferrari spun out of control, rolled over eight times without injuring him. Just two years later, he took the first turn too fast, rolled once more, and suffered a fractured knee that kept him out of racing for a year. Von Trips was always "Count Crash" after that, but he was driving more carefully this year, taking fewer risks; and he took heart because Monza had not had a fatal accident since 1955.
Last Curve. The Death Circuit was bathed in a soft, hazy light, and pennants fluttered in a brisk breeze as Von Trips and 31 other drivers gunned their racers to the start of the 267-mile race. A crowd of nearly 50,000 packed grandstands and bleachers, and pressed against the wire fences at the edge of the 6.2-mile course that winds through a boomerang-shaped road circuit and a broad speed oval. They had come to see the five blood-red Italian Ferraris—all but one members of Enzo Ferrari's superb factory team. When the cars went off, Von Trips quickly faltered and fell behind. He had a history of first-lap trouble; fellow racers said of him: "If he gets past the first lap, he's all right." He was fifth, behind three Ferraris, and a forest-green Lotus driven by Britain's Jimmy Clark.