You know how it is when a friend dies; you wish you had done more, visited him more, telephoned him more, at least thought of him more? That is how it was with me when Luigi Villoresi, distinguished gentleman and heroic racing driver, died eight years ago. I had known Gigi for the last 14 years of his life and the high point of our association was our trip to California together, an account of which is featured in an earlier edition of VRJ. But we lost touch when I went off to work at Pirelli’s North American headquarters in New Haven, Connecticut, in 1992. Then, while I was still in the U.S., Villoresi fell on hard times and entered a home for old racing drivers at Modena, where he died at the age of 88 on August 24, 1997, just before I returned to Italy.
For years I had driven past a rather unimposing Maserati dealership on my way to work in Milan without really noticing anything special about it. Then, one day in 1982, I gave a friend a lift to the office and as we passed the rather forlorn- looking Maserati showroom and repair shop he mumbled the name “Villoresi” with a half smile on his lips. I asked what he meant and he told me the great Gigi owned and ran the rather scruffy-looking dealership. I could not believe it: the famous pre and post-war racer worked just around the corner from my Milan office.
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