Dino: Not A Flintstones' Character

Please enjoy the thoughts and musings of our friend, supporter, and long-time contributor Art van Bodegraven Jr., who passed away on June 18, 2017. Art was a prolific writer and had amassed a collection of unpublished blog posts he had planned to run well into the future. To honor his memory, we will continue to post these remaining blogs as he had intended. If you’ve been a fan of The Art of Art blog, check out our tribute.

 

For children of a TVLand age, Dino is a household pet from the Stone Age.  In a more somber time, Dino is a reminder of human fragility and the cratering impact of tragedy.

Enzo Ferrari was a genius engineer and pre-eminent designer who bestrode the automotive universe, symbolizing the best of Italian produce in his legendary cars.  His son and heir was primed to assume control of the signature marque, inheriting the closet-full of checkered flags and trophies that destiny was ready to bequeath when Rex d'Italia Enzo was ready to give up the throne.

Cruel fate intervened, however, and Dino died, in failing health, at the age of 24, never having ruled the kingdom.

Enzo's tributes were two: First, always clad in a black tie symbolizing perpetual mourning; second, creating a permanent auto line, with solely the Dino name as an identifier.

The Dino was a departure, with a tubular and modular mid-engined design (and Pininfarina coachwork), with a limited but long-lasting shelf life.  Over time, Enzo stayed glued to the tribute Dino, as horsepower increased and the wheelbase was extended.

Not truly a performance machine in the realm of "real" Ferraris, the Dino could hit 60 in seven seconds, and was sold world-wide at Ferrari dealerships.  The movable tribute eventually exhausted its cuteness factor, and production ended in 1974, after a build of 4,000 (against a target of 100).

That it was noisy beyond the comprehenion of heavy metal devotees, and had no luggage space whatsoever, were not deterrents to aficionados.  The Dino was testament to a father's love - and the futility of human plans.

For us in SCM, the questions are: to whose memory are we paying tribute?  Who has committed to memorials that either celebrate or mourn our work?