by Tom Rubython
Hunt didn’t know it at the time, but he was actually in the driver’s seat with Philip Morris. Hogan admits: “I was desperate to sign him but I didn’t tell him that.” Hunt could have demanded three times the money and got it, but he didn’t want to call Hogan’s bluff.
Having made his pitch, Hogan left the offer with Hunt that night and drove back to Reading.
The next morning, when Hunt sobered up, he telephoned his brother Peter with the news. They were delighted as well as secretly relieved. Years later, it emerged that one of Hunt’s biggest anxieties about driving for McLaren was whether he would be able to beat his new teammate Jochen Mass. Mass had had a formidable reputation in Formula 3 and Hunt’s fear was not as irrational as it now seems.
Hunt was also overawed by his potential new team. McLaren was the most successful Formula One team of the past five years. The McLaren-Ford M23, designed by Gordon Coppuck, was a knock-off of the highly successful McLaren M16 Indianapolis car, which in turn was a knock off of the even more successful Lotus 72 Formula One car. The car had been painstakingly developed and had already raced four seasons, an unusually long time for a single Formula One car design.
McLaren itself was a very good team, well-organised and methodical. It had been founded by Bruce McLaren, a New Zealander who entered Formula One in 1966 and who had been killed while testing a McLaren M8B Can-Am sports car at Goodwood circuit in June 1970. The team survived its founder’s death and carried on being run by Mayer. It operated from a factory at Colnbrook, near London’s Heathrow airport, and was a top team in all three categories of racing. By the end of 1975, the team had won 15 Formula One Grand Prix, several races at the Indianapolis 500 and had dominated the Can-Am series.
On Sunday 23rd November, the whole world was informed of what was happening as Emerson Fittipaldi and his brother Wilson held a press conference in Brazil to announce that he was leaving McLaren and driving for his own Copersucar-sponsored team in 1976. At the Daily Express, when David Benson saw that news come over the wire, he rang Teddy Mayer, who told him: “I am very interested in James Hunt.”
On Monday 24th November, Peter Hunt rang Hogan and accepted his offer. Hogan immediately called Michael Mockridge at Coward Chance, Philip Morris’ lawyers, and told him to prepare a contract.
Later that day, Hogan managed to secure permission from Philip Morris executives in Lausanne to sign Hunt. Hogan knew the British market was very important to Marlboro and, up until then, the American brand had made little impression in England. He successfully persuaded his bosses that signing Hunt could change all that. Hogan says now: “I managed to slip and slide it through, partially on the grounds that it would give us a good story – the Brit (Hunt) against the German (Lauda).”
But Hogan still had to convince the McLaren team. Apparently, team manager Alastair Caldwell did not want to accept Hunt at any price, and Hogan knew that the choice of driver was ultimately down to McLaren. Even though Mayer had ceded the decision to Hogan after the shock of Fittipaldi’s defection, Mayer still had to approve his choice.
Hogan knew Mayer was a waspy character and apt to change his mind. An American lawyer, he had met Bruce McLaren in 1964, when his brother Timmy raced in the Tasman series for downgraded Formula One cars in New Zealand and Tasmania. Mayer was a graduate of Cornell University in New York. After he qualified, he declined to practice law and became his brother’s manager. But Timmy died in a qualifying session in Tasmania and McLaren invited Mayer to come and work for him in England. Mayer invested money and bought shares in Bruce McLaren Motor Racing Ltd. When McLaren was killed in June 1970, Mayer bought some of his shares and split ownership of the team with McLaren’s widow, Patty. In the five years which followed, Mayer had become Formula One’s most successful team principal.
In truth, neither Mayer nor Caldwell, also a veteran from the Bruce McLaren days, really rated Hunt at all, although they recognised his achievements with the small Hesketh team. Caldwell described the situation as: “We had no racing driver and James had no seat. No option for him and no option for us.” According to Caldwell, it was an arranged marriage in which Hogan had “forced” McLaren to accept Hunt. It was about the truth.
Persuading Caldwell, a sometimes able but erratic and stubborn manager, had been very tricky. But he and Hogan shared a bottle of Absolut vodka one afternoon that week, and Hogan quickly brought him around.
Years afterwards, Caldwell confessed to Hunt’s biographer Christopher Hilton: “James was an ordinary driver to me. We were fairly hard-bitten, we were a professional racing team and the golden boy-hype business at Hesketh really meant nothing to us. They were just a bunch of wankers.”
Against that background, Hogan had literally finagled Hunt into the drive using all his powers of persuasion. Hogan simply says now: “I was convinced he was the right man.”
With everyone finally on board, Hogan got the deal done in record time. From hearing about Fittipaldi to signing a contract, it had taken 13 days. Hunt was represented by IMG’s Ian Todd. With the deal already agreed, IMG actually played little part in the negotiations although Hunt complained that, when they did, they got in the way. At one meeting that week, after another Hunt tirade about IMG, Peter Hunt turned to his brother, exasperated, but with a rather knowing look.
Contract details took only a few days to finalise as Hogan fought to get Hunt’s signature on a driving contract before someone else at McLaren signed Ickx. But it was still not done by the following weekend and Hunt stayed at Hesketh’s house in London, waiting. By then, he had been in London a fortnight and his brother was worrying about his residency status as he only had 90 nights he could stay over. But Peter Hunt knew they had to get the deal done.
Hogan knew that both Mayer and Caldwell would have preferred Ickx to Hunt. Ickx also had the support of Texaco vice president John Goosens. Goosens was Belgian, and not only was he lobbying for his countryman, he was actively lobbying against Hunt.
Hunt’s elation at having found a competitive drive was severely dampened by news filtering through on Sunday morning that former world champion Graham Hill and young driver Tony Brise had been killed in a light plane which had crashed on Elstree golf course the previous night. Hunt and Suzy had been great friends with Hill and his wife, Bette, and Hunt had the uncomfortable task of phoning Suzy to tell her the news. Hill had been, in many ways, very similar to Hunt. He was a handsome, womanising character with a quick wit and an entertaining sense of humour. Despite their age difference, they had been very close and had spent a memorable night together the previous year at Trader Vic’s bar under the London Hilton Hotel in Park Lane. It had been Hunt’s stag night, the evening before his marriage to Suzy. That night, no woman in London was safe but they had both been too drunk by the end of the evening to cause their partners any concern. Hunt was devastated by the news of Hill’s death.
The agreement was finally ready to sign on Friday 5th December, and Hogan took it round to Eastbourne Terrace to get Hunt’s signature. When the deal was finally signed, Hunt, Hogan and his wife donned their finery and walked to the annual British Racing Drivers Club ball being held at the Dorchester Hotel in London’s Park Lane. The Hunt-McLaren deal was still top secret as Philip Morris had yet to conclude its own promotional deal with Hunt. Hogan warned Hunt not to say anything to anyone about it. But Hunt was scheduled to make a speech and, after a few drinks, proceeded to do just that. It was not to be the only time that Hogan, over the next three years, would end his day completely exasperated with Hunt. But it turned out the speech mattered little, as Hunt had already confided in David Benson of the Daily Express. When Benson had it confirmed by other sources, his duty of confidentiality to Hunt ended and the story broke in the newspaper on Sunday 6th December, some three days before the official announcement.
The following Wednesday, on 3rd November, McLaren and Marlboro held a joint press conference to announce Hunt as their new driver. At the conference, Mayer took all the credit for signing Hunt and made no
mention of Jackie Ickx: “When Emerson Fittipaldi rang me to say he would not be driving for us this season, I was deeply upset, more dismayed than I cared to reveal. It was a great personal relationship and it had suddenly been jarred. The mood lasted 27 seconds. I thought of James Hunt. I thought of Hunt’s great talent, his courage and his technique. But most of all, I thought of his hunger. Like great boxers, a racing driver has to have that thing inside him which drives him on beyond his rivals.”
It was utter nonsense but only John Hogan knew that Mayer had really wanted to sign Ickx. It had been Mayer, in fact, who coined the phrase within McLaren: “Anyone but Hunt”. But John Hogan stood nearby and just smiled at Mayer’s audacity and didn’t care to correct him.
But Hogan’s problems were just beginning. Hunt, emboldened by his new contract to drive for McLaren, tried to get as much as he could out of the promotional contact with Marlboro. But Hogan stood his ground. When Hunt threatened to walk away from the whole deal, as he frequently did, Hogan got out the driving contract and offered to rip it up there and then, inferring that maybe Jackie Ickx would be a better bet after all. Hunt just smiled at Hogan and became quiet.
When all the details were finalised and the Marlboro promotional contract was ready to be signed, Hunt, his brother and his lawyers arrived at the offices of a company called Charles Stewart Ltd, the marketing subsidiary of Philip Morris in London. They were to meet the Marlboro lawyers to conclude the deal. The contract was about to be signed when Hunt noticed a clause that had previously escaped him – a clause regarding dress standards. The clause read that Marlboro-sponsored drivers should always be dressed in a presentable way, especially at functions away from the race track, where jacket, flannel trousers and tie were required to be worn by their drivers. It was not an unreasonable request, but Hunt shouted across the table at Hogan: “If you think I’m going to walk around in a blazer, your mistaken. I’ll go and drive the Lotus.” The lawyers were shocked, but Hogan was unmoved. He took Hunt outside and told him to go back in and sign the contract as it was or it was over. Hunt, by now very emotional, had to be calmed down before he could go back in. Hogan sensed this and soothed him by saying that the clause had to be in the contract but was unlikely to be enforced. And, indeed, it never was – even for Hunt’s worst sartorial excesses.
Hogan, a savvy operator, worked in the real world. He could see that Hunt’s natural, unkempt style fitted the mood of the 1970s. He was sure his bosses at Philip Morris would appreciate Hunt’s quirky personality and not invoke any dress clauses. And he was right. The Philip Morris directors loved Hunt. When Hogan first took him to Lausanne to meet them, Hunt had no shoes on. In a much told story, Hogan took Hunt into the office of a top Philip Morris executive. After they had shaken hands, Hunt walked out of the office and, as soon as he was out of earshot, said in front of more than a half a dozen other more junior Philip Morris execs: “He’s a cunt.” Hogan recalls: “Everybody burst into laughter and another top Morris man said: ‘You’re absolutely right.’” Years later, the same scene was re-enacted in the Jim Carey film, Liar, Liar. It is hardly surprising, given that the story has been re-told so many times, that it has become such a classic.
It was the start of a wonderful relationship and one of the best deals Philip Morris ever did; Hunt walked the walk and smoked his Marlboros, and sales of the brand soared across Europe.
Well actually, he didn’t really smoke Marlboros.
Hunt preferred to smoke Rothmans. Every night, in deference to his new sponsor, he used to transfer his Rothmans cigarettes to Marlboro’s red and white cartons.
With his moderate retainer, Hunt and his brother sought ways to capitalise on his new status as a driver with a top team. IMG were good at the big picture but pretty useless at hustling for smaller deals. So Hunt and his brother took a chance and hired Barrie Gill and Andrew Marriott of the CSS agency to handle Hunt’s personal sponsorships and promotional work. It was one of the best decision they ever made and, from late 1975, Gill and Marriott gradually assumed control of that side of Hunt’s life.
One potential problem was that CCS already had the John Player cigarette account in Formula One. But everyone turned a blind eye to that inherent conflict and Gill and Marriott were very good at building Chinese walls in their agency. The two men were also well known to John Hogan and had worked for Philip Morris in their very earliest days of Formula One before Hogan took over.
Hunt had been very savvy getting into CSS early and recognising the talents of Gill and Marriott. In that era, CSS were the only game in town. IMG just didn’t have the specialist motor racing experience. It was CSS’ success with Hunt that made everyone realise there was a market. Marriott says: “We were looking for other ways to build the business, and driver management was one of them. Peter was the accountant, he just wanted to do the money side of it, and James approached us. We immediately struck up a good relationship. In a way, we were lucky because his career was taking off and the Hesketh thing was a fairytale, and with the sponsorship just starting to boom, we were really able to capitalise on his success and his looks.”
Hunt was always over at Marriott’s flat at 73 Baker Street, scheming how to make some money. If not, he would be at the Shepherd’s Market offices of CSS. IMG gradually had less and less to do with Hunt’s affairs although its contract did not end officially until 31st December 1976.
But when the deals with McLaren, Marlboro and Texaco were all concluded and the cheque had been cashed, both Hunt and his brother Peter became worried that they could not live up to the deals they had signed. As Peter Hunt recalled: “Nobody really knew how good James was. Maybe the Hesketh was a super car and his driving was only average.” Hunt himself, for all his self-confidence, was remarkably candid and realistic about his own abilities at the time: “If you want to be ridiculous about it, I wasn’t to know if the Hesketh was a car that was three seconds a lap better than anything else and I was just driving it slowly, or vice versa – that it was three seconds a lap worse than anything else and I was driving it mighty quick. You can form opinions, but you don’t know for sure.” Despite all this, he told others that the Hesketh wasn’t much of a car and that, if he got into the right car, he would start winning. But, he was careful to add, it was the sort of thing a driver does not tell the world until he is winning races.
Hunt went for a seat fitting at the McLaren factory in Colnbrook and found the cockpit of the M23 very uncomfortable. But he was assured that everything would be sorted out for the first race in Brazil, just over four weeks away. A few weeks later, in a very wet and cold testing session at Silverstone, Hunt drove his McLaren-Ford M23 for the very first time. There were two sessions at Silverstone in similar conditions and Hunt couldn’t really get a feel for the car. But Alastair Caldwell was impressed and became totally sold on his new driver, saying: “It was clear after one hour of practice that we’d got ourselves a cracker.”
CHAPTER 21
The Championship Year January to June 1976
Just as the game appeared to be over
There was no Argentine Grand Prix to open the season in 1976. There were two reasons. The main one was that Argentina was struggling financially as price inflation spiralled out of control. By the end of 1975, inflation had reached over 300 per cent, and the organisers realised they didn’t have anywhere near enough local currency to pay out the teams in US dollars. But the race was also being used as a pawn in the continuing battle between the FIA, FOCA and the circuit organisers. Bernie Ecclestone, on behalf of FOCA, was trying to squeeze more money from resistant circuit owners. An impasse was reached as the circuit owners became bolder, supported by the FIA, and Ecclestone threatened to cancel the whole series in 1976. When the owners called his bluff, Ecclestone, mindful that the race was not going to take place anyway, duly cancelled the Argentine Grand Prix. Ecclestone brilliantly manipulated the situation by cancelling a race that had effectively already been cancelled. After the shock of the cancellation, the organiser
s capitulated and agreed to FOCA’s financial demands.
With effectively no income from TV rights, payments from circuit promoters were the teams’ only form of income. It ended with the European circuits paying around US$350,000 a race and the long-haul races (outside Europe) paying around US$500,000 a race. All in all, it would mean an income to the teams for 1976 of US$5 million, less Ecclestone’s agreed commission, which was then less than ten per cent. It was enough to pay a team’s entire operating budget and, proportionally, drivers took a huge chunk of the available budgets in the 1970s.
The other row going on as the 1976 season got underway was that between Ronnie Peterson and Colin Chapman at the Lotus team. The two men did not speak at all in Brazil. Peterson’s contracted stipulated that he be paid his retainer for 1976 in full on 1st January, whether he completed the season or not. Before Brazil, Chapman, with his Lotus empire desperately short of ready cash, had paid him one-eighteenth of it, exactly US$13,800, on the basis that there were 18 races scheduled that year including non-championship events. Peterson did not care a whit about Lotus’ problems and was insulted by the gesture. They spoke not a word to each other and communicated via team manager (the very same gentleman who hadn’t bought Hunt his lunch), Peter Warr.
As word got around the paddock, Hunt suddenly became aware that Warr probably did not have the spare money to buy him lunch that day, which was why he had prevaricated so much when the waiters had hovered with their menus. The Lotus cash situation was indeed as desperate as it looked – Chapman was just hanging on.
