In 1978, at Bernie Ecclestone’s behest, Sid entered Formula One as its chief
medical officer. Deaths were then routine. Wolfgang von Tripps had recently
killed himself and 14 spectators, Jochen Rindt had died and Niki Lauda’s
appalling burns had led to the sport being banned in Sweden.
In his first four years in office, he endured the deaths of Ronnie Peterson,
Gilles Villeneuve and Riccardo Paletti. As late as 1994 the sport killed
Roland Ratzenberger, Ayrton Senna and severely injured Karl Wendlinger, JJ
Letho, Pedro Lami and Jean Alesi. Many, most famously Senna, were close
friends of Sid. With each death came more resolve and more effort. Where the
wider medical community could only think of a ban, ‘Prof’ insightfully
identified three fronts and then systematically delivered on all them all.
The work was long and hard; he went to every grand prix, inspected every
hospital at every race and sat in the medical car for every practice session
and race during three decades of work.
Firstly, the improvements to the evacuation and resuscitation facilities
around the track along with the medical centre were taken to extraordinary
levels – levels today of which many hospitals would be proud. Secondly, the
cars were redesigned to protect the drivers with monocoques,
head-restraining systems and handling improvements. And, thirdly, the tracks
were redesigned to absorb the energy of a crashing vehicle and reduce the
high G-force bends.
With the support of leading figures, such as Sir Jackie Stewart and
Ecclestone, he drove through relentless improvement. In so doing he set a
standard that spread across all sports in all parts of the world.
His brilliance was such that he even created the international language of
sport safety. When the IOC came to inspect our London 2012 Olympic bid they
asked us if “the medical facilities would reach Formula One standards”. Upon
Seb Coe’s invitation I was able to reassure them that not only could we
deliver these standards but that we had invented them.
Not enough. Sid led neurosurgical units in New York and then London,
pioneering brain surgery for Parkinson’s disease and the first implantable
electrodes to relieve crippling disorders of the brain and spine. If the
remarkable drugs we now use for Parkinson’s had not been developed, he would
have been as famous for his neurosurgery as Christian Barnard was for the
heart. His sports achievement would have been but a footnote in the career
of a medical genius.
What was he like? Imagine a cross between the mischievous Mr Toad, Winston
Churchill, Henry V, Romeo and an encyclopedia. His Juliet and wife, Susan
Watkins, herself an accomplished historian and playwright, is the jewel in
the family that was his crowning glory. No surprise, then, that in these few
hours of our grieving, my phone has been alive with tributes from his
patients, friends and colleagues alike. On Wednesday we all lost a bright
and guiding light.