Shunt

by Tom Rubython

  And indeed what happened next dictated the eventual outcome of the championship. Caldwell had been brooding about the task in hand all evening, trying to see where McLaren could get an edge on Ferrari.

  Finally, he turned to Mayer and said: “Teddy, go ring Fuji and tell them we want to be testing there on Monday, i.e. tomorrow.” He told Mayer: “We’ll put the car on a plane and we’ll go to Fuji tomorrow morning.”

  Resisting the idea mightily, Mayer stared at Caldwell as if he was crazy. But the car and equipment were already packed and ready to go the airport. Mayer was also worried about the cost. The charter was already paid for, as was the airfare for all personnel, but what Caldwell proposed would cost at least an additional US$15,000 that wasn’t budgeted for. He was also uncertain about track availability and getting the car through customs. Thinking the whole scheme foolhardy, Mayer told Caldwell: “No way, we’re not going testing in Japan. It isn’t feasible.”

  An exasperated Caldwell excused himself and got straight on the phone to an air freight agency in New York, which informed him of a flight leaving for Tokyo the next day. It was the only outbound plane that week with big enough cargo doors. He said he would ring back to confirm. Then Caldwell rung the Watkins Glen circuit and told his mechanics the new plan. He told them to pack the spare car separately in a crate with enough tools and kit for a two-day test session. The car would have to be ready and at the airport on Monday morning. The mechanics got straight on it.

  At the circuit, the Ferrari mechanics watched the McLaren men pack up the car and immediately guessed what was going on. Daniele Audetto put in a call to Maranello; he was going to test as well. Unlike Caldwell, though, he wasn’t willing to take responsibility for the extra cost on his own head.

  Meanwhile, Teddy Mayer was on his way to New York to catch his plane back to London that night. When Caldwell dropped him off at the heliport, Mayer’s last words to him were: “Don’t send that car to Japan; it’s a waste of time and money.” But as the helicopter took off for New York, Caldwell shouted out: “Well, stuff you.”

  Mayer’s comments galvanised Caldwell even more. As soon as Caldwell returned to the hotel, he rang the shipper and told him the crate would be ready first thing in the morning. The shippers were keen to help Hunt, and only too pleased to send a truck over to Watkins Glen from New York to pick it up.

  While all this was going on, Ermanno Cuoghi, Ferrari’s chief mechanic, had also telephoned the same shippers to ask if Ferrari could get a car on the flight as well. The shippers answered that a truck was already on its way to pick up the McLaren and that the Ferrari crate could go on as well. The problem was that Cuoghi, like Audetto, also didn’t have the nerve to authorise the cost himself. Cuoghi sought out Audetto and told him what he proposed. But Audetto told him he must first get permission from Enzo Ferrari to spend the US$15,000. Enzo Ferrari couldn’t be contacted until Monday morning, with the time difference giving them just enough time to meet the truck and load the car.

  Without thinking, the shipping agency then telephoned Caldwell at the Glen Motor Inn and told him the Ferrari would be on the same flight but that they were waiting for authorisation from Italy.

  When Audetto finally spoke to Maranello the next morning, they promised to get authority from Enzo. He gave his blessing straightaway and his secretary called the track to let Audetto know he could send the car.

  Having noticed all the to-ing and fro-ing from the pit lane telephone, and understanding just enough Italian, Caldwell had worked out what was happening, By then back at the circuit, he resolved to try and intercept the call in order to stall Ferrari. He knew if Audetto and Cuoghi didn’t get permission, they wouldn’t risk sending the cars.

  There was only one telephone in the pit lane at the time, and it was right next to McLaren’s garage. Cuoghi told the security guard who attended the phone that Ferrari was expecting a call and asked him to come find him when it arrived. Caldwell, overhearing this, went over and told the unsuspecting guard to shout for him first if there were any calls, as he too was expecting one.

  Caldwell later told the whole story to Hunt biographer Christopher Hilton: “He’d get a call and shout: ‘Hey Alastair, telephone.’ I’d go over and say: ‘Hello.’ The Italian voice said: ‘This is Italy, this is Ferrari, we wish to talk to our team manager.’ I said: ‘Hang on a minute, we’ll see if we can find him.’”

  Caldwell could see Audetto and Cuoghi supervising the packing, but instead of calling him over to take the call, he waited a few minutes and then picked up the phone again and said: “No, we can’t find him, he’s playing golf.” The Italian voice said: “Can you tell us where?” to which he replied: “Watkins Glen golf course. We’ll get you the number.”

  Having provided the number for the golf course, Caldwell put down the phone. Ten minutes later, the phone rang again. The same routine followed with the security guard handing Caldwell the telephone. The voice said: “This is Italy, this is Ferrari, we can’t find our team manager at the golf course.” Caldwell replied: “Perhaps he’s gone to the Seneca Lodge hotel. We’ll get you the number.” It went on in a similar vein for the entire morning, and Caldwell managed to prevent Maranello from talking to Audetto. So, when the shipper’s truck arrived, only the McLaren was loaded onto it. Caldwell, Hunt and two mechanics followed to Tokyo the following morning.

  When Audetto finally spoke to Maranello, he knew immediately what Caldwell had done but by then it was too late. Ferrari’s cars had been loaded onto the truck and left for the charter flight.

  Initially, it did occur to Caldwell that perhaps Mayer had been right about what a waste of time it was. Caldwell spent a very frustrating week trying to get the car out of Japanese customs. The customs service in Japan was notoriously difficult, and it had a particularly difficult import policy which was carried out with the utmost vigour. Caldwell remembers the problems the delay caused: “Because you weren’t allowed to test on the week of the race, we had to do it all by the Saturday.”

  In the end, the car was released on Friday afternoon and taken straight over to the Mount Fuji circuit. But after less than a dozen laps, the gearbox seized up. It had been assembled incorrectly in England and there was no spare gearbox in the crate. But those completed laps proved incredibly important as Hunt learned the track and acclimatised himself to Japan. After the car failed, he donned his running gear and ran the track; noting all the corners and circuit characteristics.

  Since the Mount Fuji circuit would be new to all the drivers, any time spent on the track in advance was invaluable. It was the first time the Mount Fuji track had hosted the Japanese Grand Prix, and it would now work to Hunt’s advantage. The track had been built under the shadow of the sacred snow-capped mountain in the foothills of the extinct volcano. It was situated in the Shizuoka Prefecture, 60 miles west of Tokyo. The car journey from the capital took an hour and a half.

  Mount Fuji was Japan’s tallest mountain and the volcano had last erupted in 1707. On a clear day, it was easily visible from Tokyo. The 2.7-mile track had been built in the early 1960s, originally to host Nascar racing, and it had a very long main straight measuring 1.5 kilometres.

  Apart from its fabulous surroundings, the circuit itself was devoid of any character and not particularly challenging to the drivers. But Hunt liked the circuit straightaway and found it suited his style; especially after two full days of preparation, which no other driver had.

  As he drove away from the Mount Fuji circuit after testing on Sunday, Hunt reflected on his year. It had been incredible; no dramatist could have created a more riveting scenario or two more heroic rivals.

  Between them, he and Lauda had won 11 of the 15 Grand Prix races in the lead-up to Japan. The Austrian had overcome the horrific injuries he sustained in the Nürburgring accident and had returned to racing still leading the world championship. And Hunt had fought his way from relative obscurity and from being over 50 points behind to become the man of the moment in Formula One; the man wh
o would take Lauda down to the wire in the battle for the title.

  Because of its intensity and closeness, the battle between them had made front page news all over the world and propelled Formula One into the global spotlight. Because of them, F1 was now one of the top sports in the world and every major country was to broadcast the Japanese Grand Prix live. Formula One had never before received such exposure, and it was to mark a big sea change in attitudes towards the sport. In the process, James Hunt had also become a global celebrity and was now more famous than all the previous Formula One world champions combined.

  The world’s media had 14 days to prepare for the showdown and all the satellites that transmitted TV pictures were quickly booked out. Bernie Ecclestone was busy selling broadcast rights for every territory; it was the first time he had experienced any real demand. It was a watershed for his burgeoning TV sales operation, which, up until then, had not even been able to give the rights away gratis. There could be no real loser in Japan.

  The only thing that bothered Hunt was all the attention he was getting. Suddenly it seemed everyone wanted a piece of him, and all the attention spooked him. It was made worse for Hunt because Lauda was still a virtual recluse as a result of his facial injuries. Hunt fount it all rather overwhelming, and his new fame did not rest easily on his shoulders.

  Uncomfortable with the attention, Hunt wondered whether it was going to his head. As he told his biographer Gerald Donaldson, he was worried he might start believing his own press: “People spend a lot of time telling you how clever you are, and it’s very easy to believe. I’ve seen too many people become victims of such flattery and start taking themselves too seriously. That’s when they destroy themselves and their personalities.”

  In truth, things became so extreme in Japan that for the first time Hunt found he was not enjoying his racing, as he said at the time: “I try to be myself but I worry that I’ve lost the ability to enjoy life. I’m a tax exile, but England is where my heart is and where my friends are. But everywhere the demands on my time are so great that already my private life is shot to hell and I feel the loss of close friends. The main problem in this business is that you lose your individuality. Whatever you do or say is watched. You are used as evidence against yourself.” There were signs of paranoia setting in, but there is no question it was a difficult time.

  The McLaren team stayed at the luxurious Tokyo Hilton in downtown Tokyo. Japanese hotels were then the very best in the world. The rooms were loaded with gadgetry unknown in the west and the décor was minimalist. For Hunt, the Hilton was a playground. Once in the confines of the hotel, he was unmolested. So he set out to have a good time in the few days before the race. With his privacy guarded by the hotel staff, he tried to distract himself by stepping up his physical fitness routine to new levels.

  Hunt was constantly in the Hilton’s state of the art gym: running, swimming and playing squash every day. In the evening, he was flexing his mental skills by playing backgammon and won over US$1,000 that week.

  But the hotel’s head waiter blanched when Hunt wanted to play backgammon in the main restaurant during dinner. He had already made an exception and let the famous racing driver into the restaurant with no shoes on. When the backgammon board appeared, he told Hunt the restaurant was not a “playhouse.” Hunt reportedly responded: “The whole world is a playhouse” and carried on playing. The head waiter was overruled by the hotel’s manager, anxious to do anything to please the eccentric young Englishman.

  An added bonus of the hotel was that British Airways, then called the British Overseas Airways Corporation (BOAC), used it for its flight crew layovers and a new batch of air hostesses was arriving fresh every day. Knowing their timetable, Hunt began greeting the arriving stewardesses in the hotel lobby every morning. He would tell them his room number and invite them to a party that night, to which they would all dutifully turn up. Hunt particularly enjoyed group sex sessions, and many of them were up for it, with Hunt bedding up to four of them every night.

  Also staying in the hotel was another world-class playboy called Barry Sheene, the motorcycle world champion. During the season, Hunt and Sheene had become good friends. Sheene travelled to Japan to give Hunt moral support and he came without his girlfriend, the model Stephanie McLean, whom he would later marry. McLean was a stunning woman and Penthouse Pet of the Year in 1971. But that didn’t stop Sheene partying with the same fervor as Hunt and sharing the stewardesses with him. The then 27-year-old motorcycle racer regarded the trip as his last fling before getting married to Stephanie. Sheene admitted: “[Hunt and I] were both sportsmen and we drank and smoked and chased women, went to places you shouldn’t go and did things you shouldn’t do.” Hunt was also by then officially going out with Jane Birbeck, and in some ways also regarded it as his last fling. At night, it was just sexual mayhem, compliments of BOAC.

  Sheene remembered that Hunt was never out of his t-shirt and shorts, even at formal occasions: “I loved going somewhere with James because he always made me look well-dressed.” In turn, Hunt took to calling Sheene ‘Mr Sheen’ after the spray-on furniture polish popular in England and chortled merrily every time he did. Sheene was not particularly amused, especially when the stewardesses he was wooing also began addressing him as such.

  But eventually, Hunt had to turn his attention to the race and the forbidding Mount Fuji circuit and the challenge ahead of him. He admitted he was not that keen on returning to the real world after five days in the fantasy world that had been the Tokyo Hilton.

  But it hadn’t all been pleasure. David Gray had arrived in Tokyo a few days before to support his friend’s bid for the championship. Gray worked for Collett Dickenson Pearce (CDP) and one of CDP’s clients was Olympus Cameras. Gray was due at a pre-arranged meeting in Tokyo together with Olympus’ European marketing director, Barry Taylor. The Japanese managers told Gray and Taylor it was about to embark on a global advertising campaign to establish the brand in world markets. Gray remembers: “We had a meeting with Olympus where they showed us the most appalling international advertising campaign written by some clapped-out Canadian copyrighters and art directed by some more clapped-out American idiots and they said: ‘What do you think of it?’ Barry said it would be a complete waste of money and I told them the campaign could be for a Greek airline or a typewriter company and no one would be able to tell. I told them: ‘I think you should be in an arena where, although you’re not really known, you could make a big impact.’”

  Then Gray made his pitch: “There’s an arena that is about to happen, here on Sunday were you can conjoin with the major brands of the world and be part of it.” To his eternal surprise, the Japanese bought the idea and authorised Gray to go ahead.

  The deal with Hunt was quickly approved by Barry Taylor, who not only headed up marketing in Europe but had helped Gray sell it to his Japanese bosses. Gray says: “I’ll never forget him, he was the most brilliant client, a brilliant marketer and he was the one that actually said: ‘We will do it.’”

  Gray did a quick deal with Peter Hunt to get an Olympus logo on Hunt’s race overalls for the weekend. The deal was for US$10,000 for the race. It was unorthodox, and Peter sowed the patches on his brother’s overalls himself before qualifying started. Gray remembers: “I persuaded Olympus to put a badge on his overalls, and I said to them: ‘If he wins the championship, you will be on the front page of every newspaper all over the world.’ So he did, and they were.”

  But it almost didn’t happen, as John Hogan walked into the Marlboro hospitality area just as Peter Hunt was sowing on the patches. Hogan was not happy at all and stared around the room at the conspirators. Gray remembers: “In the middle of it, Hogan walked in and said some choice words to us.” He said to Gray: “You can’t just sow that patch on. We own James’ overalls.” Feigning outrage, Hogan then quickly agreed to it. He was aware Marlboro was underpaying Hunt substantially, especially in view of what he had achieved, and didn’t want to stand in the way of him makin
g some extra money.

  The Olympus deal was vital because it became permanent and was worth US$90,000 a year to Hunt for the rest of his career. It was the first big money deal of his championship year.

  By contrast with Hunt’s early arrival, which had also proved very lucrative, Niki Lauda arrived in Tokyo at the last possible moment. In those days, Lauda was not interested in girls nor the casual sex that was so easily available around the circuits. In direct contrast, he was enjoying married life with his wife, Marlene, in Vienna.

  When he did finally arrive, Lauda was feeling rather down and depressed. He really did not want to be in Tokyo and longed to be home in Graz. He had never planned to be there. He was sure he would win the championship in Watkins Glen and then be able to recuperate at home from his much needed eye operation. The euphoria of his comeback had worn off, and he admitted the physical and mental trauma of Nürburgring was suddenly getting to him. He knew the Fuji weekend would be stressful and inevitably full of drama. But even Lauda had no idea just how stressful and dramatic it would turn out to be.

  Alastair Caldwell had been in full battle mode from the moment he arrived in Japan. He would have worn war paint had it been appropriate. He was determined to win and thought about nothing else from dawn to dusk. As far as he was concerned, the contest with Ferrari was a battle with no rules. His attitude was completely different from that of Daniele Audetto, who treated Mount Fuji just like he would any other race. But Caldwell knew this was the battle of his life, and there was a world of difference in the two men’s attitudes towards what had to be done.

  Flush from his successful prevention of Ferrari testing, Caldwell started some rumours that the Fuji track’s tarmac surface would begin to deteriorate and break up as early as Friday. To this end, he instructed the mechanics to make up dummy metal screens for all the intakes of the team’s spare car. Caldwell then had all the brake ducts, radiators and air intakes covered by these screens, and a tarpaulin was placed over the car as it was held under close security by guards on shift both day and night. This interested Ferrari and particularly intrigued Lauda when he arrived in the McLaren pit garage to greet Hunt.