From our archives: May 10, 1982 | Jacques Villeneuve, a coldness that frightens

40 years ago, the death of Gilles Villeneuve caused a real shock wave. A look back at the reactions of the time with two texts by The Press published on May 10, 1982: a report by Pierre Gingras with the Villeneuve family, in the Berthierville region, and a column by Réjean Tremblay.

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“Jacques is trying to be tough, but he’s upset too…” said one of his friends he met earlier. Leaning against his car, phone in hand, Jacques Villeneuve awaits good news that will never come.

The small village of Saint-Cuthbert celebrates spring today and the river which flows at the foot of the house has made itself beautiful. Only the chirping of birds breaks the silence. But Jacques Villeneuve is elsewhere. We guess that the noise he hears is that of an uninterrupted tire screeching, that the smell of the grass is replaced by that of overheated oil.

In his head, he tries to imagine what were the last moments of his brother Gilles. St. Cuthbert is ugly. The sun, almost indecent… Faced with death, Jacques shows a frightening coldness.

He knows what he is talking about: he has already experienced two “crashes” at 150 miles per hour. But, he says, he “doesn’t [s’est] nothing serious happened”. The man is iron, at least in appearance.

“Running for the money is, of course, stimulating. But what I love about motor racing is the risk. The “fun” is there. »

The 26-year-old is also a speed freak. The youngest of the Villeneuve family will be aboard his racing car, on the Atlanta track, on May 23. “It’s not this accident that will take away my taste for speed. Maybe I’ll take fewer chances. »

Jacques says that he lost several friends on the track, but that the idea of ​​giving up never crossed his mind. “On the contrary, he explains, I am…how can I put it, a bit of the sadistic type…I like thrills. It must continue. Anyway, I know my turn will come at some point…”

The two Villeneuve brothers had met a month ago. “We were two great friends. I paid attention to what he was doing. He always supported me. We had a lot in common. Our hobbies were the same. »

Jacques recalls however that at a certain time, especially in adolescence, the two brothers hardly agreed. “Gilles didn’t want to have his younger brother in the legs. I also remember that, when I was younger, during a quarrel, I ran after him with a long kitchen knife. It’s a memory that I have never been able to erase from my memory…” Jacques Villeneuve does not yet realize that his brother is no more. Like an automaton, he goes to meet another group of journalists to whom he will undoubtedly repeat that death is a stimulant, that one should not pay attention to it…

“I squealed the tires to excite Gilles and Jacques”

It is 3:40 p.m. Seville Villeneuve interrupts the interview he is giving to the CTV network to answer the telephone. A stone’s throw from him, his wife, visibly dejected by the events, listens. The conversation ends quickly. Seville Villeneuve turns away, looks people in the face and drops: “It’s done. It’s finish. Madame Villeneuve burst into tears. Her husband consoles her and takes her to the living room, out of sight. The CTV camera is still rolling. The photographer of The Press grapeshot. The scene is indecent.

Seville Villeneuve returns, dries a few tears and takes his place in front of the camera.

The father of the Villeneuve sons has retained this coldness specific to car racers. His great serenity amazes. A few minutes ago, he said he believed that his son had a 99 out of 100 chance of getting out of it, that Gilles would call him during the week to finally tell him that he was recovering from the accident. The optimism of despair?

Seville Villeneuve, who retired from working life after owning a clothing factory, plays piano tuner from time to time. This serenity has never left him, he confides.

He sometimes glances at the trophies and photos of Gilles, sometimes life-size, which line the walls of the room. “Gilles has given me the greatest satisfaction in my life. He never spoke against anyone. »

Mr. Villeneuve says his son wanted to be the first, always run faster. Gilles’ father regrets only one thing: his son had not yet had time to really live. “He gave himself another ten years. But he told me, on more than one occasion, that his ambition was to beat the record of 26 victories held by Jackie Stewart. Once the record was broken, he had to hang up his skates, as he said. »

But where did the two sons of the Villeneuve family acquire a taste for car racing? “I’ve always been a fast driver. When they were young, I took them by car. On the street corners, during departures, I made the tires of the car squeal. It gave “thrill” to the children. I believe that they remained marked by it. ” Most likely. Seville Villeneuve claims that on his last visit to Quebec, Gilles covered the distance between Berthier and Mirabel in 45 minutes. He was late, he said.

when heroes die

From our archives: May 10, 1982

Yesterday, in Monaco as in Berthierville, it should have been all mothers’ day. Yesterday, in Monaco, it should have been a morning of joy for Mélanie Villeneuve who was to make her first communion. Or, as my granddaughter told me a fortnight ago, “who was to receive Jesus in her heart”. Yesterday, and today, and tomorrow, and for a long time to come, these will be days of mourning for women.

For Georgette Villeneuve who lost a son, who saw him fly away in front of a television screen like a disjointed puppet, who sooner or later will see photos of her son lying against a fence, his neck broken. For Joanne Villeneuve who loses a husband. For Joanne Villeneuve, whom I had met several times in the “pitts” where she helped to keep her man’s ever faster times.

Today, as she lies in shock in Monaco, Joanne Villeneuve no longer has a husband, she is a widow. For Melanie, little Melanie, who was to receive Jesus. This first encounter with his God is an extraordinary celebration for a child. In Monaco as in Montreal, we offer a beautiful white dress to the little one, we hang a few flowers in her hair and we accompany her to church.

Yesterday, Papa Gilles couldn’t even share his daughter’s joy in his thoughts. Besides, there was no longer any joy, there was only an immense pain of incomprehension. Seville Villeneuve said it. Gilles Villeneuve had to chase his demon, he had to do his job, go even faster. He was handsome when he settled into his cabin, Joanne gave him a wink and he hummed towards the track. And when he let go of the clutch pedal, the thought of danger gave way to an immense concentration, to a well-being that no one in the world could share, could understand.

He was doing what he loved. Heroes die too young. But while Gilles became one with his car (what a tragic irony this ejection from the car…), which he imposed on a mechanism that was increasingly difficult to tame, all the will, all the intelligence, all the technique and all the passion for life, women suffered in silence.

Georgette, in her kitchen, who didn’t even want to see a race start on television, Joanne, in the pits, who only lived the two or three seconds of a passage in front of the Ferrari pit. Heroes die too young. Men have always played heroes. They made war as soon as they knew how to stand up, they wanted to dazzle themselves by attacking animals ten times bigger than them, and when they no longer had war to amuse themselves with , they invented other ways of defying death, of measuring themselves against nature, against technology.

They killed themselves climbing mountains, fighting in a ring, trying new stunts in airplanes, going ever faster in cars that should have been driven by computers.

And even if, finally, women begin to free themselves from the wars and games of men, they are still the ones who remain with the pain when the heroes die.

Yesterday, hundreds of thousands of men philosophized on the death of Gilles Villeneuve. We tried to guess the moment of his death, to try to imagine what a terrible flash he must have had when his car flew away. “A beautiful death for a pilot like him”, some even claimed. “At least he didn’t have time to suffer,” other sensitive hearts noted.

I knew Gilles Villeneuve. He sometimes came to the Forum and we stayed in the press room during periods to have a good chat. I had met him about ten times, the last time in Berthierville, last year, during the exhibition Berthierville – Gilles Villeneuve, organized in his honor. Enough for me to feel personally touched by the announcement of his death. But it is a woman who may have changed the course of my emotion.

She too was pensive. “It is not over him that we should cry. He lived and died as he chose. One should think of his mother, his wife, his remaining children. It’s always like that, you’ve always been like that. Yes, always like that. Gilles Villeneuve wanted to cut another half second off his time. Half a second that was there. Half a second is less than a sigh. Half a second that had to be attacked. Because it was his job, his life. The meaning of his life. The only meaning of his death.