In early November, the São Paulo Grand Prix was the last report by Formula 1 photographer Peter van Egmond. Unknowingly, Max Verstappen’s historic masterclass in the rain (from P17 to P1) provided a beautiful and fitting finale to Peter’s long, rich career. He passed away last Thursday from the devastating disease we all deeply despise. He was only 68 years old.
Peter was the Formula 1 photographer of the Netherlands. Loved by everyone in the paddock for his charming personality, loyalty, and boundless sense of humor, he was respected by his colleagues for his craftsmanship.
From Spa, Silverstone, and Sochi to Suzuka, Shanghai, and Melbourne. We ran into each other all over the world in the past years. Often we traveled together or sought each other out to grab a bite to eat after a hard day’s work. It never got too late, as he had to be up at the crack of dawn the next morning. All for the photo!
Brazil was the last trip I had the pleasure of experiencing with him. For me personally, it was one that will stay with me for a long time. This time, Peter was not in the same hotel or nearby, as in previous years in Sao Paulo, but in the official hotel of Red Bull Racing. For several years, Max Verstappen’s team had been an important client for Peter. In Brazil, Red Bull had chosen to somewhat ’embed’ him in the team, mainly to keep an eye on him due to his fragile health.
Prednisone Kept Peter Going
Because he was vulnerable. Peter wanted to go to Brazil – after a long absence in the paddock – even though the doctors, according to him, didn’t think it was a great idea. He persisted, believing that the trip would give him more energy than it would cost. And that was certainly the case. He enjoyed the atmosphere in the paddock, the contact with the teams and colleagues, and the photography. He was tired, but the prednisone kept him going. He sarcastically called it a miracle drug. “I feel surprisingly good,” he said almost every time I spoke to him briefly. It was always fleeting. He was busy, I was busy, that’s how things go.”On the Sunday following Max Verstappen’s sensational triumph, we had agreed to travel to the airport together. Both of us were on the late-night KLM flight to Amsterdam.
Catching a flight in São Paulo is often a story in itself. The previous year, I had played it safe, arranged a taxi in advance, and jumped in right after the race. I made it on time. Peter had a tighter schedule. He first had to send photos, drop off his equipment for shipping to the next race, and return his rental car. He also made the flight, just in the nick of time. I still see him boarding the plane, sweaty but with a broad smile. The doors closed immediately behind him. Instead of going to his own seat, he sought me out triumphantly. He had made it, against all odds. “Sir, could you please go to your seat? Then we can depart,” a friendly stewardess abruptly ended the pleasant conversation that followed.
Last year, we had an extra hour of leeway and thus traveled – as usual in São Paulo – together to the airport. We were supposed to leave the circuit half an hour after the race, that was the agreement. I was ready at the exit of the press center, Peter was not. After sending the last photos, it was time to say goodbye. To the many friendly colleague photographers and the volunteers of the circuit, some of whom he had known for years.
Intimate Embraces
I watched the scene from a short distance and forgot – just like Peter – the time. I saw the silent emotion in Peter and in many cases the tears in the eyes of his colleagues and friends. They were intimate embraces, lasting longer than usual. Nobody said it out loud, but in everyone’s mind was the thought that this could well be a final farewell.
During the one-and-a-half-hour car ride to the rental location at the airport, Peter and I had plenty of time for a good conversation. It was a nostalgic ride, in which we recalled shared memories and he told great anecdotes. Like the time he drifted into his street in Veenendaal and accidentally hit an oncoming police car. Peter could tell stories in such a way – with his characteristic dry humor full of self-mockery – that everyone who heard it had to laugh. Me too. But this time it was a laugh with a tear.
We also talked about his illness and the uncertain future ahead of him. He didn’t want to hear about giving up. In fact, he was very cautiously thinking about the next F1 season. The trip to Brazil had given him new strength and hope.
It was not to be. “Well, what can I say? Nobody can really do anything about it,” was his last message to me.
Rest in peace, dear Peter.”
