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Frankl's story starts in Communist-controlled Hungary in late 1956, when, at just 18 years of age, he was issued an AK47 and order to shoot the Russians. But the Hungarian Revolution was quickly suppressed, and by two days after Christmas he was a refugee, having literally dashed through a machine gun-laden no-man's land to flee his home country and start a new life in Britain.
In the early 1960s, Frankl was recruited by automaker Ford. He soon changed careers and joined the annual motorsport publication Autocourse, and within a few years he moved on to CAR. Over the next two decades, Frankl helped turn CAR into Britain's largest automotive magazine, created TRUCK and helped launch BIKE. Along the way, he became a well-known figure in the Grand Prix world, writing and shooting photos, commentating on television and befriending World Champions like Sir Jackie Stewart, Niki Lauda and Jochen Rindt.
After selling CAR to Rupert Murdoch in the late 1980s for a tidy sum, Frankl set his sights on the Olympic Games, organizing and running a bobsled team in 1994, 1998 and 2002. But he couldn't stay away from publishing for long: in 1996, he joined the staff of the internationally known Ferrari magazine, FORZA, where he has served as Grand Prix Editor ever since. Right around that time, he was reunited with his first love, Suzie, from whom he had been separated by the '56 Revolution. They married in 1996.
A note from the author: "In the summer of 2012, I began to think about writing a memoir. I was then 74 years old but in no hurry. That changed abruptly.
"Just as I was getting ready to commentate on the London Olympics for Hungarian television, a searing pain in my abdomen sent me to the hospital. The doctors there completely misdiagnosed my infected gallbladder, an error that soon left me in intensive care. Things got so bad that, at one point, a doctor even suggested to my wife that it might be time to say goodbye--and he wasn't referring to visiting hours ending.
"After two miserable weeks, I was able to return to my London apartment, where I watched the Olympics while propped up on a settee. A month later, I had regained enough strength to fly home to San Francisco. After a few more weeks of recuperation, I finally had the wretched organ removed.
"This was in October, and the truly bad news was still to come. That December, my beloved sister Vera, just 62 years old, lost her battle with cancer. Her death, and my brush with it, inspired me to write this book."
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