Professor Sidney Watkins, who has died at 84, was one of the most
respected, influential and humane people in the F1 hierarchy. Few
contributed more to the sport in matters of safety and his efforts
undoubtedly saved many lives, though sometimes there was nothing
he could do. He was a close friend of Ayrton Senna, whose death along
with Roland Ratzenberger at Imola in 1994 was the worst weekend in
Sid's life. Despite the serious nature of his profession Sid was a very warm
and funny man and everyone who knew him will remember the generosity
of his spirit and his sense of humour. I once encountered him in a hotel
fitness centre where he was kicking up a storm on a treadmill while puffing
energetically on a fat cigar. Another time, on a longhaul flight,I was wandering
around unable to sleep when Sid offered me a prescription he said would cure
insomnia. It was a generous slug from a bottle of fine malt whisky he always
carried in his medical bag. Sid wrote two volumes of memoirs which should
be read by every F1 enthusiast.
The following profile, which appeared in my book Grand Prix People
(written in 1990) gives an impression of what Sid did and what he was like...
Sid: "I make a lot of jokes about the fact that as a neurosurgeon I
should hardly be required at a motor race because the drivers
don't have any brains, otherwise they wouldn't race!"
Professor Sidney Watkins is a neurosurgeon at the London Hospital
where he is head of the academic unit which deals with the whole
spectrum of brain disorders and injuries. He is also President of
the FIA Medical Commission, Formula 1 Medical Inspector and,
unofficially, the "family doctor" for everyone in the Grand Prix
circus, treating any aches and pains that may crop up on a race
weekend. He has been to every event since the Swedish Grand Prix
of 1978, on call to perform his most important function: attending
drivers who have been injured.
"To be serious, most of the drivers are very accomplished people
in terms of perceptual skill. And I admire their capability to
control the machines as they do. They have highly tuned sensory
skills, and obviously highly tuned motor ones too, to be able to
drive the machines. But from the point of view of a neurologist,
they've got excellent computers up there, for doing what they're
doing. And I like most of their personalities."
"One of the interesting aspects of my presence at the races is
that the drivers who know me, like to see the father figure
arriving and to know that I'm around. And that I think has
helped a lot, because in the circumstances of a big accident it's
sometimes hard for the driver to know who's actually trying to
help him. Often the drivers don't really know who is trying to do
what to them, and they're anxious that they don't get injured
further than they already are. So, there's a fair amount of
anxiety and tension around the situation at that stage, and my
presence seems to help control it.
"The racing is getting safer, but there's always a possibility,
that something terrible will happen. It's always upsetting, and
that applies to all of them, even the people who have been
injured savagely but have not died. I'm always sad and upset when
they do get hurt, or worse. I remember when I first met Gilles
Villeneuve, he said, 'Prof, I hope I'm never going to need you.'
Then, of course, when I got to his accident at Zolder in 1982 his
injuries were such that he didn't need me. And that made me very
sad."
"I suppose you could develop an argument that there's a conflict
of interest for a doctor, dedicated to saving lives, to be in a
sport that can take them. But if you believe in free will, as I
do, then I think it's up to anybody to do what they need to do in
life, and to recognize that there are dangers, and at times there
are serious dangers. Besides, there's hardly a sport that isn't
dangerous, except perhaps snooker or something like that. But
the physical sports, the contact sports, all have their injuries
and their fatalities from time to time.
When he was a boy Sid Watkins spent a lot of time in his father's
garage in Liverpool, often driving cars around the property
before he was licensed to do so. He became interested in the
competition possibilities of cars after the war, though his goal
in life had always been to become a medical practitioner. He
served for two years as a British army doctor in West Africa,
then trained in general and orthopedic surgery to become a
neurosurgeon. While working at Oxford the proximity of
Silverstone beckoned and his "obsession" with motor sport began.
He became a medical officer at club events, then moved to
Syracuse University in America, where he also headed the medical
team at the nearest circuit, Watkins Glen, for several years.
Returning to England in 1970, he joined the medical panel of the
RAC where Bernie Ecclestone was impressed with his work. When
Ecclestone asked Watkins to coordinate the medical side of Grand
Prix racing, the doctor was only too happy to oblige.
At each circuit Professor Watkins first checks that everything in
the medical centre is in order, the intervention vehicles and the
rescue helicopter are ready to go and the medical personnel are
in place. Then, prior to the cars going on to the track, he takes
up his station at the end of pit lane, sitting in a high speed
intervention vehicle in his flameproof suit, helmet in hand. He
remains there throughout practice and qualifying, keeping in
touch with developments by radio and ready to spring into action.
At the start of the race Watkins speeds into the wake of the
storm, following the cars around on the first lap.
"You have to make rather quick decisions as to whether or not you
need to stop when you see an accident. I suppose that's the most
difficult part of it, really. But with regard to the confusion
of the start, and the chaotic pattern that many of the cars
produce as they leave, with bits of this and that flying around,
and the speed, I think, as I've done so much of it, I no longer
get involved in that aspect of it. I ignore all that part of it,
and I'm looking for the accidents. If there is an accident, I try
to make the right decision as quickly as possible, whether to
stop or push on.
"The high point for me is at the end, when there hasn't been an
accident and nobody's been hurt. And I get back in the hotel
room, and have a shot of whisky and a shower, and then I'm always
hungry, ready for a decent meal. I do keep away from most of the
Grand Prix social life. I also disassociate myself from any
particular relationship with any particular team. And I'm usually
to be found hanging around the circuit, rather than in a motor
home."
"While I don't participate in any of it to any degree, I think
it's a very interesting and glamorous scene. I think until you've
seen the inside of it, you have no idea actually what goes on in
Formula 1 motor racing. It's a meeting of a large number of minds
at all sorts of levels in society, even to the giants of
industry, and a fair amount of wheeling and dealing goes on in
the background. It's almost as if the sport were riding on the
back of the entertainment and a huge business system with a lot
of corporate decisions being made."
Professor Watkins vows he will stay in the Grand Prix circus until
he is "superfluous, extraneous, or perhaps a bit geriatric." When
that happens Watkins, the enthusiast, will still watch the races
on television. But Watkins, the neurosurgeon, prefers to be on
the spot and admits that a large part of his fascination is with the
specimens he observes there.
"They're all very bright people, and they are very dedicated. I
only do this job outside my professional life, and they are
utterly immersed in it the whole of their time. They are
extremely singleminded. And I've always found them absolutely
logical to deal with. We don't get any hysterics, we don't get
any nonsense. They're exceptional people."
respected, influential and humane people in the F1 hierarchy. Few
contributed more to the sport in matters of safety and his efforts
undoubtedly saved many lives, though sometimes there was nothing
he could do. He was a close friend of Ayrton Senna, whose death along
with Roland Ratzenberger at Imola in 1994 was the worst weekend in
Sid's life. Despite the serious nature of his profession Sid was a very warm
and funny man and everyone who knew him will remember the generosity
of his spirit and his sense of humour. I once encountered him in a hotel
fitness centre where he was kicking up a storm on a treadmill while puffing
energetically on a fat cigar. Another time, on a longhaul flight,I was wandering
around unable to sleep when Sid offered me a prescription he said would cure
insomnia. It was a generous slug from a bottle of fine malt whisky he always
carried in his medical bag. Sid wrote two volumes of memoirs which should
be read by every F1 enthusiast.
The following profile, which appeared in my book Grand Prix People
(written in 1990) gives an impression of what Sid did and what he was like...
Sid: "I make a lot of jokes about the fact that as a neurosurgeon I
should hardly be required at a motor race because the drivers
don't have any brains, otherwise they wouldn't race!"
Professor Sidney Watkins is a neurosurgeon at the London Hospital
where he is head of the academic unit which deals with the whole
spectrum of brain disorders and injuries. He is also President of
the FIA Medical Commission, Formula 1 Medical Inspector and,
unofficially, the "family doctor" for everyone in the Grand Prix
circus, treating any aches and pains that may crop up on a race
weekend. He has been to every event since the Swedish Grand Prix
of 1978, on call to perform his most important function: attending
drivers who have been injured.
"To be serious, most of the drivers are very accomplished people
in terms of perceptual skill. And I admire their capability to
control the machines as they do. They have highly tuned sensory
skills, and obviously highly tuned motor ones too, to be able to
drive the machines. But from the point of view of a neurologist,
they've got excellent computers up there, for doing what they're
doing. And I like most of their personalities."
"One of the interesting aspects of my presence at the races is
that the drivers who know me, like to see the father figure
arriving and to know that I'm around. And that I think has
helped a lot, because in the circumstances of a big accident it's
sometimes hard for the driver to know who's actually trying to
help him. Often the drivers don't really know who is trying to do
what to them, and they're anxious that they don't get injured
further than they already are. So, there's a fair amount of
anxiety and tension around the situation at that stage, and my
presence seems to help control it.
"The racing is getting safer, but there's always a possibility,
that something terrible will happen. It's always upsetting, and
that applies to all of them, even the people who have been
injured savagely but have not died. I'm always sad and upset when
they do get hurt, or worse. I remember when I first met Gilles
Villeneuve, he said, 'Prof, I hope I'm never going to need you.'
Then, of course, when I got to his accident at Zolder in 1982 his
injuries were such that he didn't need me. And that made me very
sad."
"I suppose you could develop an argument that there's a conflict
of interest for a doctor, dedicated to saving lives, to be in a
sport that can take them. But if you believe in free will, as I
do, then I think it's up to anybody to do what they need to do in
life, and to recognize that there are dangers, and at times there
are serious dangers. Besides, there's hardly a sport that isn't
dangerous, except perhaps snooker or something like that. But
the physical sports, the contact sports, all have their injuries
and their fatalities from time to time.
When he was a boy Sid Watkins spent a lot of time in his father's
garage in Liverpool, often driving cars around the property
before he was licensed to do so. He became interested in the
competition possibilities of cars after the war, though his goal
in life had always been to become a medical practitioner. He
served for two years as a British army doctor in West Africa,
then trained in general and orthopedic surgery to become a
neurosurgeon. While working at Oxford the proximity of
Silverstone beckoned and his "obsession" with motor sport began.
He became a medical officer at club events, then moved to
Syracuse University in America, where he also headed the medical
team at the nearest circuit, Watkins Glen, for several years.
Returning to England in 1970, he joined the medical panel of the
RAC where Bernie Ecclestone was impressed with his work. When
Ecclestone asked Watkins to coordinate the medical side of Grand
Prix racing, the doctor was only too happy to oblige.
At each circuit Professor Watkins first checks that everything in
the medical centre is in order, the intervention vehicles and the
rescue helicopter are ready to go and the medical personnel are
in place. Then, prior to the cars going on to the track, he takes
up his station at the end of pit lane, sitting in a high speed
intervention vehicle in his flameproof suit, helmet in hand. He
remains there throughout practice and qualifying, keeping in
touch with developments by radio and ready to spring into action.
At the start of the race Watkins speeds into the wake of the
storm, following the cars around on the first lap.
"You have to make rather quick decisions as to whether or not you
need to stop when you see an accident. I suppose that's the most
difficult part of it, really. But with regard to the confusion
of the start, and the chaotic pattern that many of the cars
produce as they leave, with bits of this and that flying around,
and the speed, I think, as I've done so much of it, I no longer
get involved in that aspect of it. I ignore all that part of it,
and I'm looking for the accidents. If there is an accident, I try
to make the right decision as quickly as possible, whether to
stop or push on.
"The high point for me is at the end, when there hasn't been an
accident and nobody's been hurt. And I get back in the hotel
room, and have a shot of whisky and a shower, and then I'm always
hungry, ready for a decent meal. I do keep away from most of the
Grand Prix social life. I also disassociate myself from any
particular relationship with any particular team. And I'm usually
to be found hanging around the circuit, rather than in a motor
home."
"While I don't participate in any of it to any degree, I think
it's a very interesting and glamorous scene. I think until you've
seen the inside of it, you have no idea actually what goes on in
Formula 1 motor racing. It's a meeting of a large number of minds
at all sorts of levels in society, even to the giants of
industry, and a fair amount of wheeling and dealing goes on in
the background. It's almost as if the sport were riding on the
back of the entertainment and a huge business system with a lot
of corporate decisions being made."
Professor Watkins vows he will stay in the Grand Prix circus until
he is "superfluous, extraneous, or perhaps a bit geriatric." When
that happens Watkins, the enthusiast, will still watch the races
on television. But Watkins, the neurosurgeon, prefers to be on
the spot and admits that a large part of his fascination is with the
specimens he observes there.
"They're all very bright people, and they are very dedicated. I
only do this job outside my professional life, and they are
utterly immersed in it the whole of their time. They are
extremely singleminded. And I've always found them absolutely
logical to deal with. We don't get any hysterics, we don't get
any nonsense. They're exceptional people."
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