It’s fair to say that the world of automotive journalism is place where, more often than not, the cliché is king. This is particularly true of modern cars, where tired old hacks struggle to tell identical homogenous shopping blobs apart in the car park, let alone to describe their dynamic differences. And it’s understandable – a number of models even use the same engines, the same chassis and the same switchgear.
In many ways, the problem is worse when we talk about sports cars. But who is really fooled? Do we really think the writer ‘kicked the tail out’ on the two-mile crawl to the office through rush hour traffic? Probably not.
By far the worst offender, to my eyes at least, rears its ugly head when the test car is of Italian disposition: passion. The truth is, most Italian cars are built just like Audis, just like Jaguars, and just like clock radios. Design by committee, along the same sterile production lines. But there is something about Maserati – something that lasts.
It was born in a dark and overbearing Bolognese chamber of commerce a century ago this week, as Afieri Maserati, the eldest of six brothers, signed a declaration that their automotive repair shop had opened for business.
That was way back in December 1914, but now I’m standing in the exact spot where it all began, listening to Adolfo Orsi – grandson of the man who bought Maserati in 1937 – speak of the beginnings of a company that would come to mean so much to this part of Italy. His words are heavy with love of the cars, but also the people behind the firm’s most famous designs, the Khamsin, Ghibli and 250F. But he is most excited about the brothers, and the masterpieces they created with little more than their bare hands and a dream.
Stepping out of the chamber of commerce and into the narrow streets of Bologna, we walk just a few hundred yards into the night, arriving after a few minutes at a small alleyway. A door is open halfway down the passage, and peoples’ voices spill out into the street. Above the door is a sign – installed this week – declaring that this small, unassuming building was the place where it all began: the Maserati’s workshop.
Inside, it’s changed very little. Two small rooms, barely large enough to accommodate a double bed, make up the bulk of the floor space, with another, larger adjoining room to the left. These days, you have to walk down a series of steps to get to the workshop floor, but during those early years it would have been a ramp, which was used to get the cars back up to street level.
Of all the brothers, the only one not to be involved in the engineering business was Mario, who devoted his life to art. It was Mario who, under Alfieri’s instruction, came up with the logo for the fledgling brand: the Trident. You don’t have to wander too far to find the source of his inspiration – the statue of Neptune stands just a short walk away, holding the weapon proudly above one of Bologna’s largest squares.
In the early days, the brothers mainly stuck to repairing customers’ cars. Gradually, however, they broadened their horizons, gaining an interest in motor sport. Before long they’d created a winning car, and more followed. The business grew slowly as the brothers’ reputation began to spread, but their sights were never set on becoming the next Henry Ford. Instead, each car was produced and raced by either Alfieri or Ernesto – both talented drivers. When it won, it was sold to raise funds for the next project.
Hardly anything was bought in. All the work was carried out by the family, from building the engines to designing the chassis. The only parts bought off the shelf were gauges, and a few other items of little consequence. Incredibly, none of the brothers had an engineering qualification to his name – each had learned from hard-won experience.
