Millionaire at High Speed

(See Cover) Outside a tidy hangar just northwest of Palm Beach's International Airport hangs a neatly lettered sign: PRIVATE KEEP OUT. The rest of the sign, if the busy men inside bothered to spell it out, could read: SPORTSMEN AT WORK. Inside, periodically deafened by the takeoff thunder of DC-6s and Globemasters, crews of men in blue coveralls worked lovingly this week over three low-silhouette (40 inches) automobiles with an arresting look of sleek power.

No sports-car fan in the U.S. or abroad would have to look twice to know what they are: Cunninghams, in the blue-and-white international racing colors of the U.S.* the only U.S.-built cars that can challenge, in classic road racing, the Ferraris and Lancias of Italy, the Jaguars of Britain, the Mercedes-Benzes of Germany.

Unlike the manufacturers of these famed European cars, the builder of the sleek blue-and-white racers at Palm Beach is not in business to make money or to advertise the qualities of his regular production models. At 47, Briggs Swift Cunningham of Palm Beach and Greens Farms, Conn, is an outstanding example of a vanishing breed: the millionaire amateur who devotes his time and money, his enthusiasm and his burning energy to the pursuit of a breakneck sport.

More than that, Millionaire Cunningham is the ranking figure in the whole throbbing, racketing U.S. preoccupation with motor cars and engines. Before World War II, youngsters with a hankering for speed and excitement almost inevitably took to airplanes. Now the young U.S. speed fancier is apt to find his big kick in tucking a Cadillac engine into the ribs of a Ford and barreling out to surprise his friends on the highway. Among the well-heeled, there is a boom in sports cars; among the nostalgic, the urge to find a "classic," or "antique," such as a vintage Mercer, Marmon or Stutz, and fret and burnish it to an immaculate, working shine.

This June Briggs Cunningham, sports-car builder and racing driver by postwar compulsion, will be out to show that his U.S.-built cars can perform with the best in the world's No. 1 road race: France's famed 24-hour Grand Prix of Endurance at Le Mans. To hundreds of thousands of U S. speed fans, he is the symbol of all their own sporty urges, the man who makes fast cars and races them with the best at home and abroad.

To his friends of the British racing fraternity, Cunningham is "Old Briggs --bless his heart." To the Germans, he is "der grOesste Idealist" (the greatest idealist) in the sport. To the Italians, he is " un pericoloso rivale" (a dangerous competitor).

By Night & by Heart. Briggs Cunningham, whose years of yachting, flying and racing have given him piercing eyes and a weather-beaten face of fine, light, top-grain leather, stood close by his speedsters in Palm Beach this week overseeing the work of the Cunningham mechanics. With Le Mans seven weeks away, the cars are in various stages of reassembly. Two of them, veterans of last year's Le Mans, are being rebuilt from the engine blocks up. All their moving parts, and most of their other parts, will be new: pistons, rods, cylinder heads, crankshafts, valves, rings, water pumps, oil filters, distributors.

Essentially, the cars will still be ones that Cunningham and his fellow drivers know well: V-8 Chrysler engines in Cunningham bodies and frames, souped up to 330 h.p., that can accelerate from a dead stop to 110 m.p.h. in eleven seconds, reach top speeds of 160 m.p h. on a straightaway.

But at Le Mans, no matter how much speed a car has, it must also be able to slow down to a crawl for the 90DEG turns--and do it quickly. Last year Cunningham & Co. saw the British Jaguars snatch victory from them with new disk brakes that withstood the 24-hour pounding without too much "fading," i.e., loss of bite. This week the third racing car in the Cunningham hangar was being fitted with a radical new set of liquid-cooled brakes whose specifications are still secret. This car, a Cunningham-V-12 Ferrari, is entered in the 200-mile President's Cup Race at Andrews Air Force Base next month. If the new brakes hold up (and earlier liquid-cooled brakes never have), Cunningham may be able to spring a major surprise on the Jaguars, Lancias and others at Le Mans.

There should be no surprises on the 8.6-mile Le Mans course, a crudely rectangular ribbon of asphalt stretched over the gently rolling French countryside. Cunningham, like the rest of the Le Mans drivers, knows it by night & day, and by heart. "Among other things, there's a fog early in the morning. I don't know anything as hair-raising as driving in that fog at 150 m.p.h. It's in patches and moves about the course."

He is familiar with the sharply angled turns where a miscue can send car and driver hurtling into trees. He knows the delicate little jog at Maison Blanche, almost midway in the long (2.7 mile) northwest straightaway--where the drivers are at flat-out top speed and where British-born Driver Tommy Cole spun out and was killed last year. "I was following right behind him," said Cunningham. "I saw a yellow flag and jammed on the brakes, and saw him lying on the road and his car rammed up against the gully. You have to concentrate like the devil."

"I Don't Know Why . . ." There are other kinds of danger. Engines can overheat and tear themselves apart before a groggy driver has fully realized the warning of his oil and temperature gauges. Without warning, gearboxes can shatter, axles crumble, fuel lines clog up, brakes freeze or fade out, tires blow. Cunningham & Co. are just as aware of these mechanical hazards as they are of the physical hazards. In the last years, fewer than 40% of the starters have even managed to limp through the grueling 24-hour test, much less finish it with the cars intact.

Cunningham enjoys the distinction of leading the first U.S. entries at Le Mans since 1929--and the added distinction of having made the best showing there of any teams of U.S. cars and drivers.** In his first race, in 1950, driving a heavy special job with a Cunningham chassis and Cadillac engine (which the French affectionately dubbed Le Monstre), he finished a respectable eleventh. In 1951, his first year with Chrysler engines, one Cunningham spun out and was wrecked, a second dropped out with mechanical trouble, and the third, after running second in the late hours of the race, came down with bearing trouble and crept home 18th. In 1952, thanks to a drastic weight reduction from 3,800 to 2,800 Ibs., the Cunninghams were faster than before; Cunningham himself, driving a staggering 19 1/2 hours, finished fourth with an average speed of 88 m.p.h. Last year, after a further 200-lb. weight reduction, the Cunninghams finished third, seventh and tenth, turned in a top average of 104.14 m.p.h. against the winning Jaguar's 105.85.

For the high-priced professionals who drive for most of the European manufacturers, victory or even a respectable finish at Le Mans means a handsome bonus. For such amateurs as Cunningham, the nearest thing to a tangible reward is champagne and a back-pounding--and Cunningham doesn't care much for champagne. "I don't really know why I like to race," he says, considering the question as though it had never been put before. "By golly, if you like automobiles and like to drive fast, I guess you like racing. Once the damn bug bites you, it's hard to get rid of it."

The Epidemic. The "damn bug" has gripped drivers, spectators, garage mechanics, backyard engineers, high-school boys, middle-aged businessmen. On scores of enclosed tracks from coast to coast, drivers of hot-rods, modified stocks, midgets and micro-midgets chase each other from New Year's to Christmas. The annual Indianapolis 500-miler is drawing bigger crowds (and producing higher speeds) than ever. Utah's famed Bonneville Salt Flats is the scene several times a year of hair raising time trials, run by serious-minded engine improvers who rev up their alcohol-fueled streamliners to 250 m.p.h. over string-straight courses.***

For Briggs Cunningham and thousands of other Americans, the bug leads to sports cars, i.e., a car to be driven for the sheer sport of driving. In the modern era, it is the Europeans who have done most to define the sports car--by building it to meet 1) the demands of Europe's winding network of old-fashioned roads, and 2) the tastes of European driving bloods. Fundamentally, it is an open two-seater, light in weight, with a fast pickup, quick brakes and good "cornering qualities," i.e., the road-hugging ability to take a curve at high speed without turning over.

Since the end of the war, when Cunningham and others founded the Sports Car Club of America, membership has doubled nearly every year, and 175 like-minded groups have sprung up across the country with members driving everything from British MGs ($2,250 and up) to Jaguar I 20s ($3,345 and up) to 4.5-liter Ferraris ($15,000 and up). Detroit is obviously perking up and taking notice. The Chevrolet Corvette and the Ford Thunderbird (TIME, Feb. 2, 1953), though probably not sporty enough for European purists, are efforts to meet 1) the conditions of the U.S. highway network, and 2) the tastes and pocketbooks of a potentially good-size U.S. market.

"All Persons Are Warned." In Europe, where both salt flats and hot-rods are rare, the racing emphasis is on sports cars and their Grand Prix counterparts.**** The road-racing circuit is year long over such famed courses as Germany's Nuerburgring, where half a million crowd the 174 crackling curves, France's narrow Rheims course, where a quarter-of-a-million fans congregate, and England's Silverstone and Goodwood courses, where the crowds reach 125,000. Italy has its closed course at Monza and the wide-open public road race of the Mille Miglia, the thousand-miler up and over the Apennines from Brescia to Rome and back, which is watched every July by a million cheering fans.

Time was, in the goggle and duster days, when the U.S. had such a road tradition, when half a million New Yorkers jammed out to watch the Vanderbilt Cup races on Long Island. In the Vanderbilt were such car names, now dim, as Pope-Toledo, Darracq, Simplex and Locomobile, such still familiar ones as Mercedes and Fiat. The driver lists included such U.S. professionals as Barney Oldfield, Ralph de Palma, such millionaire amateurs as William K. Vanderbilt himself and Spencer Wishart, such Europeans as Jenatzy, first man to exceed 60 m.p.h., Lancia, Nazzaro, Victor Hemery and Louis Chevrolet. But the toplofty language of the racing notices enraged many a Long Island citizen from the first: "All persons are warned against using the roads between the hours of 5 a.m. and 3 p.m. . . . Chain your dogs and lock up your fowl." By 1910, more than the local farmers were embattled. That year, the crowds were so large and unmanageable that four spectators were killed, and 22 more ended up in hospitals. That race sounded the knell of U.S. road racing for many a year.

Stately Pierces. Briggs Cunningham was born in the middle of the Vanderbilt Cup era, in 1907. But at the Cunningham house in Cincinnati, where Briggs Sr. made his money in meat packing, the speedy shenanigans on Long Island were ignored. Father Cunningham was a lover of good horseflesh. It was not until he died in 1914 that Mrs. Cunningham bought the family's first car, a stately Pierce Arrow that Briggs, with the help of the family chauffeur, later learned to drive.

Cunningham remembers that first Pierce well, since "mother was happy with the same car as long as it would run. It lasted ten years, and after that we had another Pierce that lasted another ten years." Briggs got his own first car, a Dodge, at 16, graduated to Auburns and Packards at a time when some of his racier friends were racketing around in Stutz Bearcats and Mercer Raceabouts.

He signed up at Yale's engineering school, but gave it up at the end of his sophomore year and married Lucie Bedford, daughter of a New York industrialist--and an enthusiastic sailor. The young couple went to Europe on their honeymoon; Briggs bought a rip-snorting Alfa Romeo, but he was more interested in his six-meter yacht, which he had shipped over from Long Island Sound for racing on the Riviera.

Back in the U.S., Cunningham, like many another of his generation, learned to fly airplanes. But sailing became his chief sport. Sparing nothing to get the best boats available, he won time & again in the tough six-meter class, and sailed against the best, e.g., Corny Shields, Arthur Knapp, in the top-drawer International Class. He also began collecting "classic" sports cars. Among them: a 1929 Bugatti Royale, a 1913 Mercer Raceabout, a 1909 American Underslung, a 1913 Peugeot, plus a mint collection of Bentleys. the $15,000 British sports car that Cunningham generally drives when he is not racing. Cunningham candidly admits that he does not know precisely how many of the cars (all licensed, tuned and ready to go) he keeps in the spreading garage on his estate at Greens Farms, but his best guess is "between 30 and 40."

The children--Briggs Jr., 21, Lucie, 20, and Lynn, 9--have been brought up in the sailing tradition, though Briggs Jr. managed to squeeze in a few sports-car races(he won one in his father's O.S.C.A.) before entering the Navy last year.

Air to Ground. In World War II, Airman Briggs Cunningham flew antisubmarine patrols for the Coast Guard (after being turned down as over age by the Air Force). When it was over, he tucked his flying license away and took a hard look at the new European sports cars. His first, purchase was a chirpy little British MG, soon followed by a 2- liter Ferrari and a Jaguar I 20. Meanwhile, the sportscar revival in the U.S. was gathering speed. A highly successful road race was held in 1948 at Watkins Glen. N.Y., another at Bridgehampton, L.I. in 1949. The enthusiasm spread to races at Elkhart Lake, Ind., and to the West Coast at Pebble Beach, Calif. Cunningham, more enthusiastic than most, was able to do something about it.

At the Watkins Glen race of 1949, he met Phil Walters and Bill Frick, who were operating a Long Island custom-repair shop for U.S. and foreign cars.***** They got to chatting about the feasibility of an American sports car, and before long B. S. Cunningham Inc. was formed, with Phil Walters as general manager.

Ups & Downs. Since then, U.S. road racing has had its ups & downs. In 1950, Sam Collier, a close friend of Cunningham and one of the original Sports Car Club enthusiasts, was killed in a Ferrari in the Watkins Glen Race. Two years later a skidding Cadillac-Allard killed a youngster who was watching from a Watkins Glen sidewalk. The same year, a driver was killed at Bridgehampton. Again there was a public hue & cry, an echo of the Vanderbilt Cup days, and road racing was on its uppers.

At the critical moment, just when it seemed that sports cars were about to be driven off the roads again, the Strategic Air Command's General Curtis LeMay (a sports-car fan who once owned a Cadillac-Allard) stepped up with an offer to make airfields available--at a price. The price was reasonable: all proceeds to an Air Force benefit fund. A year later, after five races, the Air Force fund had collected more than $200,000, and the sports-car enthusiasts had a safe place to race, where crowds of up to 100,000 could be effectively controlled.

The 'Cunningham has been a star performer in airport races, generally driven by the team's three top drivers. General Manager Walters, 38, who piloted gliders in the airborne attack on Europe, Johnny Fitch, 37, an ex-fighter pilot, and Cunningham himself. These, with Bill Spear, 37, Sherwood Johnston, 26, and John Gordon Benett, 41, make up the Cunningham group registered for this year's Le Mans.

Team Captain. As captain of his Le Mans team, Briggs Cunningham will have special responsibilities, most of them predictable. During the race, when he is not driving (Le Mans rules, since 1952, limit a driver to 18 hours), he is the boss. "I have the final say. If a problem comes up and I'm around, they ask me. If one of our cars spun out and the driver got killed, I'd have to decide whether to keep the other two in" (a problem that might not occur to the hardheaded professionals Cunningham races against). If it is his turn to rest in the pits, he suffers intensely from enforced idleness, will make work for himself. He has been caught at such times, broom in hand, furiously sweeping out his machine-shop trailer.

He is well aware of his inability to relax, and last year, at a team strategy meeting, attempted to apologize in advance. "I get impatient and might blow my top. If I see Eddie [a chain-smoking mechanic and a natural comic] smoking in the pits and punch him in the nose, I hope you'll understand and not think anything of it." Eddie had a ready answer: "If I punch you back, I hope you won't be offended," a remark that broke up the meeting.

The European Array. It is also predictable that Cunningham & Co. will this year be facing the most formidable array of European cars they have yet met. (One exception: Germany's Mercedes-Benz announced last week that its cars will not be ready in time to compete.)

Italy's Lancia will be there, with a reassembled version of the cars that swept the 1,920-mile Mexican Road Race 1-2-3 last November. Driving for Lancia will be the most imposing array of champions since the prewar days of the late Tazio Nuvolari, old Rudolf Caracciola and Louis Chiron. On Lancia's list: World Champion Alberto Ascari, former World Champion Juan Manuel Fangio of Argentina, and Italy's famed Piero Taruffi. England's Jaguar will be there, a completely new hush-hush model, and a stable of such eager youngsters as Stirling Moss, winner of the U.S.'s Sebring Grand Prix (in a Cunningham-stabled O.S.C.A.), and Reg Parnell.

France will have its Talbot, the car that held the lead through the 23rd hour of the 1952 race, and its light (1,800 Ibs.), nimble Gordini. And the chief threat of all will be the new 4.9-liter Ferrari, making its Le Mans debut.

Cunningham is well aware of the odds against him. His veteran Chrysler-powered Cunninghams may have as much horsepower as any of the other Le Mans cars, but several of the fastest European cars "have a better horsepower-to-weight ratio than we do," i.e., are lighter and accelerate faster.

The other side of the argument: Le Mans is a test of both speed and endurance. It is by no means certain that the nimblest cars will hold up.

Says Cunningham himself: "In the Le Mans, it is not a question of how fast you can go, but how slow you dare to go to save the motor and still keep up your standing." It can be a tantalizing question. Last year, the top Cunningham's average lap time was just 1 m.p.h. too slow. This year, as usual, Cunningham will do his best. If it is not good enough, he will try again.

Logic & Logistics. Cunningham's 1954 invasion of Europe will involve expensive and careful logistics. Besides his team of fellow drivers, there will be a crew of 20 mechanics to be transported (on the S.S. Mauretania) and housed at Le Mans. Besides his racing cars, which will be loaded on to the Mauretania next month, Cunningham will transport his mammoth machine-shop trailer with its self-contained generator, power lathe, drill press and surface grinder, which also accommodates enough spare parts to rebuild a Cunningham right on the spot (chassis excepted).

Cunningham himself will fly over in time to pick up the cars. From Le Havre, the Cunninghams will go to Le Mans under their own power. Most of the other cars in the race, particularly those from the big European sports-car plants, will be coddled to Le Mans in vans, like so many fragile, high-spirited race horses. But not the Cunninghams.

Though he would be the last one to mention it. Builder Cunningham takes quiet pride in the fact that his cars are built to be driven and enjoyed, not nursed and coddled. Wherever they race, no matter if it takes a thousand miles of hard driving to get there, the Cunningham arrives under its own power. Le Mans will be expecting them, and their racing owner. To the French at Le Mans, Amateur Briggs Cunningham is "le grand Americain au grand coeur."

*Some others: Britain, green; France, blue; Italy, fire-engine red; Germany, silver.

**The only U.S. winner on the Le Mans course was Jimmy Murphy, driving a Duesenberg in a 1921 speed test. Since 1923, Le Mans has been a 24-hour speed-endurance test. A U.S. Stutz (France's Eduard Brisson driving) placed second to a Bentley in 1928.

***World auto speed record, for engines of unlimited size: 394.196 m.p.h., set by Britain's John Cobb in a 24-cylinder, 2,600 h.p. Railton-Mobil at Bonneville in 1947.

**** Unlike Le Mans-type sports cars, which must be equipped with such standards as headlights, batteries, self-starters and a spare tire, Grand Prix cars, much like Indianapolis racers, are stripped down to bare essentials of engine, chassis and a place to sit.

***** Nowadays a thriving establishment, Frick Motors, Inc., where Bill Frick specializes in turning out such sporty items as the Studillac (Studebaker refitted with Cadillac engine) and the Fordillac.

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