Moss's mangled Mille Miglia Maserati to move Monaco money

Stirling Moss drove the 1956 Mille Miglia in a heavy rain that came down in sheets; no visibility, no brakes. Spectators lined the streets regardless. Piero Taruffi took the lead in a Maserati 300S, but he had to stop at Savignano when his brakes gave out. Wolfgang Piwco died instantly when his Mercedes-Benz 300SL careened into a wall in Montemarciano. In the early morning hours of April 29, Max Berney hit a house and rolled his Alfa Romeo Giulietta SV outside Ravenna; hours later, John Heath flipped over a fence at the exact same location. Heath, who helped partner Hersham and Walton Motors as the first example of British racing success after World War II, broke an arm and four ribs and died in a hospital two days later. By the end of the weekend of April 28, three drivers and three spectators lost their lives; newspaper reporters, fresh with the memory of the Le Mans disaster just a year earlier, called it a massacre. "The bloodiest Mille Miglia in 18 years!" one paper reported. A deputy called it "collective homicide."

Moss and co-driver Dennis Jenkinson crashed as well, in a six-cylinder Maserati 350S. Somewhere outside Rome, the duo went off the road and down a frightening ravine, coming to rest against a tree. Moss and Jenkinson were unhurt, except for their pride; the car was toast. Moss broke his wristwatch.

As they walked to the nearest village, they heard a Ferrari roar by; it was Juan Manuel Fangio. They wished him well by giving him a thumbs-up, which was the least they could do, but Fangio stopped.

"Are you all right?" asked El Maestro. "Would you like a ride to the village?"

"Juan," said Moss, "you're supposed to be competing!"

Fangio smiled and drove off. He ultimately finished the race in fourth place.

RM Auctions
The 450S prototype was rediscovered in 1981 by an Italian connoisseur who spent the next six years restoring it.

Maserati was the only works team that raced that terrible Mille, and the 350S was the first of three examples built. This version used one of the 28 Maserati 300S chassis built from 1955 to 1958, and its 3.5-liter six later found its way to the 3500 GT. After Moss's shunt, Maserati engineers brought it back to Modena and didn't really know what to do with it.

But Tony Parravano did. A wealthy housing developer from Los Angeles, he later became the only man ever to fire Dan Gurney. But early in 1956, he wanted Maserati to build a V8 for a Kurtis Indy car, which worked out for Maserati. It had wanted to develop the Tipo 54, but the 1955 Le Mans disaster put a damper on the firm's spirits. The wrecked 350S proved a perfect testbed -- another milestone in the rough and unsung life of a racing prototype, saddled with a dizzying amount of chassis numbers.

The wheelbase was lengthened, the bodywork tweaked by Fantuzzi, a monoposto fitted. Maserati switched chassis numbers with aplomb, leaving a mess for brand historians to sort out in the remaining decades. As it stands, the car wears three different chassis numbers, each owing to a unique period in its life. It took only four months to repair the wrecked 350S, to fit a new V8 and to redesign the chassis.

It showed. At the Swedish Grand Prix in August of 1956, the prototype accelerated hard, hit a dizzying top speed -- when Jean Behra tested it, Jenkinson measured the 450S's top speed at 181 mph -- and turned the third highest practice time. But the V8's vibrations threatened to overwhelm the chassis, and the vibrations threatened to shake Moss's head off. Its job was done, its potential proven. It returned to Modena to pave the way for a special-built chassis to accommodate the 5.7-liter V8.

Maserati ultimately churned out 10 more 450S race cars, driven to success in Sweden and Sebring a year later. At the Buenos Aires 1000KM (where it ultimately didn't finish), the 450S was baptized the "Bazooka," by a certain El Maestro -- Fangio was now Moss's teammate.

RM Auctions
"You need to be brave," said the owner. "Like a jet taking off, the car pins your shoulders against the seat in any gear."

This prototype is what RM Auctions calls "the ultimate evolution of Maserati's sports racing prototype." Ignominiously squirreled away in a corner, the car eventually sold without an engine to Ferrari designer Tom Meade. At various convoluted points in its life, it had a coupe body, a Corvette engine, brief ownership by an unrelated Moss, and further ignobility as a daily driver in Nevada City, Calif., of all places.

Eventually, it wound up back in Modena -- where Maserati, now keenly aware of its own provenance, helped with a full restoration. Ex-factory engineers helped source a period Maserati V8, from -- of all places -- a racing hydroplane from a Count Agusta. It is engine number 4519, a Tipo 59 with a 110-mm bore for a total of 6.4 liters. "It develops a rather exuberant amount of power but easier to handle because of its 'softer' marine unit cam profiles," said Franco Lombardi (in the middle of an internet argument, nonetheless), the man who has held onto the car since 1981 -- one of three private owners since the car escaped the Maserati factory.

RM Auctions believes that the Maserati, brimming with history and legendary provenance, will sell for 4-5.5 million euros. That's $5.5-7.6 million, for those who will file into the Monte-Carlo Sporting Club and Casino on May 10. The value is in the history, but it's also in the speed, the style, the deranged rawness. Like former owner Gerald Satterfield of Nevada City, we'd daily drive it to Safeway.

RM Auctions
Driven by the likes of Fangio, Moss, and Behra, this car is worth its millions.

By Blake Z. Rong