Shunt

by Tom Rubython

  Burton simply couldn’t have been happier after his marriage to Suzy. As he told journalists: “Although I like to be thought of as a tough, rugby-playing, Welsh miner’s son, able to take on the world, the reality is that this image is just superficial. I am the reverse of what people think. Suzy is a crutch to me. Without Suzy, I might very easily have been dead. When I met her, I was on the edge of self-destruction and Suzy saved my life. I met her just when I was putting my hand up for help for the last time.”

  An amazing friendship then broke out between all the parties. Later, Elizabeth Taylor was in New York at the same time as Burton and Suzy. She had a new boyfriend, a screenwriter called Harvey Herman. The two couples went out to dinner twice and had a great time. In truth, however, Taylor never warmed to Suzy, mainly because Taylor could see how happy she made her ex-husband – a man with whom many thought she was still very much in love.

  But Hunt truly liked Richard Burton, and would do anything to make him happy. When Burton and Suzy travelled to Marbella, they stayed with Lew Hoad, the former Wimbledon tennis champion, at his club – where Hunt and Suzy had first met. They socialised with Hunt whenever possible, invited him for dinner, and Hunt even brought Sean Connery along with him on one occasion to please Burton, thinking that he might enjoy having a fellow actor at the table. Bringing Connery turned out to be a mistake, as Burton and Connery soon discovered they had nothing in common. But Hunt and Burton generally got along really well together.

  Burton also mixed easily with all of Suzy’s friends. Although she denies it now, claiming they hardly knew each other, Bette Hill, the widow of Graham and mother of Damon, became one of Suzy’s closest friends. They had met in 1974 on the Formula One circuits and were taken with each other. Suzy had rushed to Bette’s side when her husband was killed in an aircraft accident in November 1975 and, equally, Bette had comforted Suzy during the split from Hunt. Suzy used to invite Bette Hill out with Burton to social occasions whenever they were in London. At the Evening Standard Drama Awards in 1977, Burton passed her a note that said: “Thank you for saving Suzy for me.” The marriage was clearly a long-term commitment, and Suzy loved New York life and the arts. She loved going to dinner at the apartments of people like musician Leonard Bernstein. She got on very well with him, as she did also with composer Jay Alan Lerner, and moved easily in their company.

  After the wedding, they moved into Burton’s house in Celigny, and Burton bought a new holiday home in Puerto Vallarta. He had lived in Celigny, an unfashionable small quiet village near Geneva, with his first wife, Sybil, and then Elizabeth. The house was called Le Pays de Galles, which in translation means the ‘Country of Wales.’ It was an unpretentious house and had been extended over the years. Suzy extended it further and added her touches.

  Burton had a grand piano installed for Suzy, and she played for at least two hours a day. Music filled the house whenever they were there. He spent most of the day reading and she was happy as his companion. When they had to travel to another location for filming, the only luxury Burton demanded in his trailers was a baby grand piano for Suzy to play.

  The relationship thrived for the next five years, and Burton hardly ever drank. When he did fall off the wagon, Suzy quickly pulled him back up. On their fourth wedding anniversary, in August 1980, Suzy gave Burton a portable bookcase that held over 100 hardbacks and could be put on a plane just like an ordinary suitcase. It meant he could easily take part of his library with him when he travelled; he was overwhelmed with joy.

  But, triggered by health problems, Burton’s lifestyle soon changed. Like many people who reform and stop bad habits, he succumbed to terrible illness. In March 1981, the love story started to unravel.

  They were in Los Angeles when Burton suddenly collapsed. He had chronic pains in his arms and was suffering from a viral infection. He was rushed to St John’s Hospital in Santa Monica.

  An expert neurosurgeon was flown across America, from Florida, to treat Burton. The diagnosis was serious: Burton was suffering from severe degenerative disorders in his cervical spine. He required immediate major surgery or the results would be fatal. However, the operation had to be delayed until Burton first recovered from the viral infection. The doctors in Santa Monica managed to keep him alive, and it was a full month later that a team of four surgeons operated on him.

  What they discovered when they opened him up was grave. The whole of his spinal column was coated with crystallised alcohol. The surgeons had never seen anything like it. They had to scrape it off before they could rebuild the vertebrae in his neck. It was a dangerous and delicate operation, carrying with it the risk of paralysis.

  Suzy camped at the hospital day and night, and Burton’s family flew over from Wales during the recovery period. He was not expected to survive the operation but, somehow, he did. When he emerged from hospital, he was a physical wreck. Unable to take painkillers for his back due to their harmful side effects, Burton suffered huge discomfort in the aftermath of his operation.

  The ramifications from the illness gradually started to destroy his marriage. Burton became irascible and unpleasant, and Suzy struggled to cope as his nurse. He was a very difficult patient. Wracked with pain, Burton failed to appreciate Suzy’s efforts to support him, and, by the time he resumed taking the painkillers, it was too late.

  For the first time, Burton found his wife less than perfect, and her attentive ways were becoming a burden. She tried her best and seldom let him out of her sight, constantly running her fingers through his hair for assurance as she always had. She brought him chicken soup and tea continually, as it was all he could eat and drink. But they started to argue, and the arguments often became violent. Feeling the force of Burton’s thunderous temper, Suzy became worn down by his constant abuse.

  It was at this point that Suzy decided she had had enough. When he was back to full health, she left his side for the first time and rumours immediately circulated that there were marital problems. In truth, Suzy had finally reached the end of her tether and was exhausted after Burton had attacked her verbally one time too many. Finding him increasingly difficult to live with, Suzy simply began to fall out of love with him. The perpetual fight to keep him sober was a losing battle and, faced with the recognition that she had no future but as a widow if he continued to drink, she decided to bow out.

  After a few weeks, she sent him a short telex saying she was not coming back and wanted a divorce. He was with the actor Franco Nero when he received the message and immediately went on a drinking session like none before. As he drank himself into oblivion, wanting to die, the torn-off telex from Suzy lay nearby.

  When the news got out that Burton and Suzy were to divorce, there was immediate speculation that he and Elizabeth would get back together. Burton held a drunken press conference at the Dorchester Hotel in London, telling reporters: “Susan my wife? Taller than a ghost – and just as remote, I may say. She is so English; hopeless, hideously remote.”

  If there was any hope of getting back together with Suzy, these words had removed it. And the final straw was when Burton was reported to have been seen flirting with Elizabeth Taylor, who was on stage in London, and it emerged that they had spent a night together. Before that, Suzy would have returned to Burton had he asked her; but that sealed it.

  At the beginning of 1983, Burton returned to Port-au-Prince in Haiti for a divorce from Suzy; much as he had seven years earlier when seeking a divorce from Taylor. Suzy was given US$1 million in cash and their holiday house in Puerto Vallarta as a settlement. He kept his home in Celigny and the rest of his money.

  The reason for the quickie divorce soon became apparent; Burton, it seemed, now wanted to marry another – a pretty Englishwoman called Sally Hay, a film production assistant. 34-year-old Sally was even more attentive than Suzy but in a less intrusive and more intelligent way. He quickly married Sally when he returned from Haiti. But it was to be a brief union.

  Suzy had built a new life for herself in California, but s
he was in England on Sunday 5th August 1984 when the news came through that Burton had died at his house in Celigny from a sudden brain haemorrhage the previous evening. Suzy was with her friend Bette Hill watching Bette’s 24-year-old son Damon compete in a Formula Ford race.

  Suzy was overcome with grief at the sudden news, and Bette was at a loss as to how to comfort her. Out of desperation, she phoned Alan Jay Lerner, the 66-year-old world-renowned composer who lived in Chelsea, London, with his wife, the young actress Liz Robertson. Robertson, who was only 30, was also a great friend of Suzy’s. At their home, the Lerners soothed the grief-stricken Suzy as much as they could and put her to bed with a tranquiliser.

  The following day, Suzy was composed enough to telephone Sally Hay. Hay told her exactly what had happened, and the two women spent a long time on the phone reminiscing about Burton’s life. It seemed that, upon reflection, Suzy now deeply regretted the divorce and wished she had been there in his final moments – she had truly loved him.

  But Suzy was sensible enough to agree not to attend the funeral in Celigny, and decided to mourn Burton at a memorial service at the Wilshire Theatre in Los Angeles to be held on 24th August.

  Hunt was in Germany at the Nürburgring, commentating on the race for the BBC that day. It was an emotional race for him as he watched his friend Niki Lauda, now driving for his old team McLaren, desperately battling with his teammate Alain Prost for the race and the world championship; it was just as he and Niki had done eight years earlier.

  When he heard the news of Burton’s death, Hunt tried immediately to contact Suzy, knowing that she would be overcome with grief. Failing to get through, he didn’t manage to speak to her until a few days later. As he drove away from the Nürburgring that night, he reflected on how his life had indeed turned full circle. It had been a desperately sad day.

  CHAPTER 19

  The first Win 1975

  An instant injection of credibility

  James Hunt was gunning to win a Grand Prix in 1975. The 27-year-old was now Formula One’s established golden boy, but he had never won a Grand Prix and in truth, few pundits expected he would ever do so.

  He had won a Formula One race in 1974 – the Daily Express International Trophy at Silverstone – but it was non-championship and didn’t count. Moreover, Hunt readily admitted that the victory at Silverstone was down to his Firestone tyres, which had been infinitely superior to the Goodyears. The truth was that the 1974 Hesketh 308 hadn’t been much of a car, but on the Firestones it was as good as any other that day. For 1975, though, as Firestone withdrew from Formula One, the team was forced onto Goodyears.

  But money dominated the early months of the year. The team badly needed to win a Grand Prix in order to secure its future credibility as a top team. But the obstacles were multiplying. In 1975, Lord Hesketh stopped funding the team and told Bubbles Horsley he would have to rely only on what money was in the bank, plus prize money and sponsorship, to sustain the team.

  Formula One was costing Hesketh nearly US$600,000 a year; a price he was no longer prepared to pay. Development costs for the car and driver salaries were half of that. Such costs hadn’t existed when the team started in 1973. Moreover, Harvey Postlethwaite planned another new car for 1975 and was spending US$160,000 designing the new Hesketh 308C. Hunt was being paid a retainer of US$150,000 a year to drive the car. Having now created a monster that was financially out of control, Hesketh felt powerless to stop it.

  The economic downturn seriously affected Hesketh’s businesses, and he soon ran out of cash. There were no longer millions in the bank. A private individual, however enthusiastic, could not afford that sort of outlay on his own. The amount was close to what the giant Philip Morris tobacco company was spending on its participation in Formula One. Faced with the high expenditure coupled with the weakening US dollar, the Lord declared the need for Hesketh Racing to become self-supporting.

  Hesketh talked a lot about the lack of money at the beginning of 1975. In previous years, he had found it vulgar; but no more. After two years of uncapped spending, Hesketh signalled an end to the good times for the team: “Entertainment is being cut to a minimum. Yachts are out, and all the money available is being spent on the racing car. We’ll still have fun, though perhaps fun is now related to success.”

  Acknowledging that 1974 had not been a good year for the team, he said: “We did very badly last year and I can’t afford a repeat of that performance. We have got to win some races and money, or else.” Hesketh sold his helicopter and, realising he had to set an example, began driving a Vauxhall car supplied by Hunt’s sponsor. In lieu of cash, Horsley gave Hunt Lord Hesketh’s personal Porsche 911 Carrera road car as part payment of his salary. Hunt took it to Spain, lest the Lord changed his mind and tried to claim it back.

  Hesketh was serious when he told the team they must win races in 1975 to survive. The prize money from FOCA for winning a Grand Prix was worth an extra US$30,000 a time to the team. Without sponsors, the team could only survive by earning more prize money. For reasons best known to himself, Hesketh didn’t want any sponsor’s names on his car. But any other form of income was acceptable.

  For much of the season, Hesketh became a two-car team for the first time. It was all about money and it kept the team alive by hiring out a second car to rent-a-drivers. Alan Jones, Torsten Palm, Harald Ertl and Brett Lunger all participated in the rent-a-driver scheme. Their wealthy backers ponied up as much as US$15,000 a race to rent out the team’s second car. Between them, these four drivers effectively paid the bills for the 1975 season.

  Bubbles Horsley took full advantage of the demand and was wheeling and dealing to keep the team alive. He managed to sell 12 races to four drivers in 1975, bringing in nearly US$150,000 – half of the team’s costs. In Monaco, he even ran a third car and had two paid drivers. Horsley’s efforts were aided by the exchange rate, with the rapid decline of the value of the British pound enabling foreign sponsors to get a very good deal out of Formula One. But nobody in the team cared about the second drivers. They just wanted the money to spend on Hunt’s car.

  The team was also helped by the times. 1975 was the last of an era of low-cost Formula One, in which teams could race for a season for as little as US$200,000. From 1976 onwards, costs exploded and almost doubled in one year. They doubled again by the end of the decade.

  Hesketh also broke new ground by being the first Formula One team to get into merchandise sales as a serious money-making venture. They began selling replicas of the iconic clothing items worn by the team at races. Tens of thousands of t-shirts with the Super Bear logo were sold to fans, and profits from sales of such merchandise contributed at least US$30,000 to that year’s budget. Horsley can remember taking cash from the sale of the t-shirts to pay for an urgent engine rebuild at Cosworth. Hunt had been wearing a patch on his overalls which read: ‘Sex is a high-performance thing’, which helped propel merchandise sales even higher.

  Hunt’s salary was also vulnerable to the cutbacks. He had agreed a salary of US$150,000 for 1975 but knew it was unlikely to be paid. He also knew it was too much money. So Hunt was forced to earn his own money away from the tracks. He was able to charge something like US$3,000 to US$5,000 a day for personal appearances and, since there were only 14 races in 1975, he had plenty of free days to sell. To help the team pay its bills, Hunt also let Horsley keep his share of the prize money, which came to US$70,000. It was eventually paid back to Hunt in instalments the following year. And the Porsche officially became Hunt’s when Horsley sent him the logbook.

  Horsley finally managed to get a budget together and the team now looked forward to going racing.

  In truth, Hunt’s status as a driver was outgrowing the team. He did occasionally get above himself and act like a superstar. When that happened, Hesketh and Horsley told him they were seriously considering hiring a cheaper driver who might win them some races. The barb was aimed in the right direction and was semi-serious.

  Lord Hesketh was an
amazing character. He may have occasionally acted like a buffoon, but in reality he was a very perceptive individual. He recognised that his driver was enjoying his fame and indulging in life’s pleasures perhaps just a little too much. But, in truth, Hesketh had long ago realised that 1975 was going to be his last year in Formula One and he dearly loved his driver and wanted more than anything for him to succeed with another team after he had left. He was determined that Hunt leave the team in the very best shape for the future.

  Hesketh was no prude and was prone to indulgence himself, but seeing that his driver was indulging to excess, Hesketh said: “The trappings of his style of life don’t necessarily interfere with his job of being a racing driver, but possibly they do with winning races. Yes, sure, he has the raw talent, but so does everybody else in this game. Other qualities must be added beyond talent. If he doesn’t work out, we can always find another driver.”

  The words were spoken in earnest, and there is little doubt that Hunt was chastened by him. Despite his fame, he knew that if Hesketh dumped him, there was no guarantee he could get a drive elsewhere.