FERRARI 156: SHARKNOSE


By Ed McDonough;
Published by Sutton Publishing

Viewed against the backdrop of all the various Grand Prix cars through history, the Ferrari 156 may not represent the pinnacle of success, technical innovation, or perhaps even aesthetics (although I know that many would disagree with the last point), but there are few cars that could hold a candle to it when it comes to charisma.

I know of a few non-racing fans who would struggle with the fundamental concept that a car can be charismatic, and admittedly even I deliberated for some time before deciding that there was no word more appropriate. Obviously, it has something of an advantage being a Ferrari, but even a non-devotee of the Prancing Horse such as myself can't help but find the 156 a captivating machine.

The shape probably has a lot to do with it. The distinctive nostrils and front section that led to the car being dubbed the 'Sharknose' is at once elegant and aggressive, and renders the car one of the most readily identifiable of the early-1960s.

Then there are the events with which it was associated – the first American World Champion Phil Hill, or Giancarlo Baghetti's surprise win in his first Grand Prix outing – the only man to do so, although Jacques Villeneuve came oh-so-close at Melbourne some 35 years later.

On the flipside, there was the horrific accident at Monza that claimed the life of Wolfgang von Trips and several spectators. In a word, the 156 was special, and if ever someone was to write a book about a specific model of Grand Prix car then the 'Sharknose' would be an obvious candidate. Ed McDonough obviously agreed, and the end result is sitting on my desk as I write.

This book has 'labour of love' written all over it. Where this can sometimes be a bad thing – nobody wants to shell out a fortune for the privilege of poring over somebody else's idol-worship – in this case it creates an undercurrent of controlled, but nevertheless genuine, enthusiasm and affection that proves mildly infectious.

McDonough speaks in his introduction about how, for him, von Trips's accident at Monza was a 'defining moment' that helped ignite his curiosity about the Ferrari 156. Forty years on, there is still some hint of the wide-eyes boy in the text, but it does not detract at all from the quality of the content. If anything, it's kind of endearing.

This book serves a dual role – it is the biography, for want of a better word, of the 156, but on a broader scale it uses the 'Sharknose' as a springboard to create a more general picture of Grand Prix racing, early-1960s style.

All of the obvious angles get a look-in: the technical aspects of the car are described, and while the level of detail is ideal for the average reader, the serious technophile might be disappointed that McDonough doesn't choose to go into more depth. This is where a technical specification table might have been a valuable addition, perhaps as an appendix, and I was a little surprised to find that such a chart had been excluded.

Similarly, the political climate – both at Ferrari and in the sport as a whole – that prevailed when the car was drawn up are described, as indeed are the changes to the regulations that led to the car's creation in the first place. This for me was one of the greatest things about the 156 – the switch to the 1.5 litre formula naturally placed huge demands upon the manufacturers to come up with a competitive solution, and the 'Sharknose' represents one of those examples where one marque (against all odds, some would argue) got it just about spot-on, while everybody else was made to look like they were chasing their tails.

There are plenty of folks out there who are better qualified than me to vouch for the accuracy of the information in this book; I'm going to settle for saying that I didn't notice any glaring errors. There is evidence throughout the book that McDonough has tried his best to present his information responsibly – there are lots of footnotes, excerpt from second-hand interviews are duly acknowledged, and where he is describing an issue about which there are conflicting or incomplete accounts or details, he draws attention to this and, if appropriate, weighs in with his own thoughts.

There are two aspects of this book that deserve big thumbs-up. One of them is the proliferation of original interview material. McDonough, it seems, has tracked down just about every available person who ever set eyes on a 156 and in some cases it paid great dividends. Ironically, one particular standout did not actually concern the 156, but rather Tony Brooks's experience behind the wheel of a BRM at Monza:

"Well, I finished fifth in the race but what I remember is driving a completely uncompetitive car – the BRM – on a great circuit. It had always been a happy circuit for me. I'd won there in 1958 and had fastest lap in 1957, so to be driving this not-even-glorified go-kart there, well it was pathetic, and I was pretty frustrated. That's my memory of the race, and of the whole season really.

"The reason I drove the car was that the one that won the championship in 1962 driven by Graham Hill was supposed to have been available to us at Monaco in 1961. In fact, what they cobbled me up was an overweight BRM with a second-hand 1.5 litre Coventry-Climax engine with about 140 horsepower. It was just pathetic and was one of those things that made it easier for me to retire. That was the P48/57 but it really wasn't worth giving a number to. It was just a bodge-up because they hadn't got a proper car ready.

"I don't remember running with the Ferraris. The BRM wasn't fast enough to do that. I worked my way up and it was flat out all the way around, but pathetic is the word that springs to mind whenever I think of that BRM. The best thing that happened all season for Hill and myself was my third place at Watkins Glen in my very last race, and fastest lap in the British Grand Prix in the wet. You might ask if it was a heap, how was it fastest? But it was wet, that was all, so it gives you a chance, even with a heap like that." (p. 100)

Naturally, the appeal of this book is probably rather limited. Ferrari buffs will no doubt get a kick out of it. Some of the more serious motor racing historians might find elements of the book a little lightweight, but even they should still find it to be at the very least a pleasant read. It's not one of those great epics that fills some gaping hole in the universal body of motorsport knowledge, but it certainly contains enough substance to warrant a spot on the bookshelf. If early-60s Ferraris sound like your thing, then this book is worth a look.